I had just returned to my tiny cube of a residence from a friend's place where I'd been invited to have some coffee along with a Sheesha session. His Hookah was still a bit of a novelty, and for me, the thought of drawing on a wee bit of flavoured tobacco vapour to induce some deep conversation seemed a positive and relaxing way to spend my early evening. It didn't take much convincing - especially in light my cigarette butt hunting quest. Shaw (a local cable provider) and Sheesha sure sheemed less shitty than schpending my night at home sheeking out shilling a shmokes schigarettes! 8P
Upon my arrival, however, M.C. Hutterite sadly informed me that the sheesha's glass chamber had met it's demise while the hookah was in transit from the bedroom to the living room. Unfortunate, but not overly regrettable, so I told the M.C. that surely an inexpensive replacement could be found - presuming that the hoses, smoking chamber, and valve stem make up the bulk of the unit's overall cost. Hell, I've even known a guy since high school who is now an artistic glass blower in a shop not far from where I hang my hat each night. I'm sure that he could whip up a hubbly bubbly chamber to spec as s
ure as the pipes and bongs he makes aren't really intended for tobacco use only! Steve the artisan would probably charge more than the Hutterite paid for his whole schmere of a bong in the first place; Steve uses very high quality glass and I understand that his work is favourably appraised. I've seen much of it myself, and the swirling, abstract designs of his glassware are very pleasing to me - for what my tastes are worth. Despite the fact that I resort to smoking recycled cigarettes on occasion, I believe my taste in food, music, and art would be considered at least moderately refined from the perspective of a real aficionado.I wonder if Steve, given his rep, would consider blowing a piece using lesser grade glass to fill a custom order on the cheap if one promised not to tell? That sounds so bad!
Oh well... the M.C. and I sipped some coffee anyway, as I smoked an old stogie I had found behind the counter of a gas station on the way over, and we watched a movie (my own selection from the offerings of the 'movies on demand listings') called, "Bon Cop, Bad Cop" -
a story of how an unlikely pair of bilingual (oh so Canadian) detectives, one from Montreal and the other from Toronto, are forced to partner-up in an effort to catch a serial killer whose first victim's corpse is discovered draped over the Ontario Quebec border crossing sign. Gosh, whose jurisdiction does this one fall under?The movie was satisfyingly ridiculous enough throughout for my tastes, and while unlike the many great actors and comedians this country exports, much of Canadian cinema itself isn't renound for being very popular, at least amongst movie buffs in our own country. Much to our country's brave film-maker's credit, however, you can generally count on a Canadian flick to be strikingly blaise. We sure know how to weave together a real groaner of a plot.
Bon Cop, Bad Cop, if anything, exhibited reasonably convincing fight scenes, a few mediocre car chases and stunt-works, some bang-on explosions, and a hot scene d'amour du fromage. The dialogue was often clever, but at times, I found the fast moving English sub-titles a bit tough to catch against some backgrounds.
I can speak passable French myself but am tremendously deficient when it comes to comprehending what's being said when it's spoken quickly and on the fly. I have trouble distinguishing in real-time where one word ends and the other begins as my brain tries to simultaneously unscramble and translate that said, to my ears, sounds akin to something like, "Peutveutvotrenoirellesontlivreestcenousallors, uh?"
Reading written French, however, pa'd problem! C'est weird! Maintenant?
