Convention Blues

One of the ways Bryan and I justify our big trips is by always working them around some type of convention so we can write the trip off. The downside to this is that we have to actually go to the convention. Court reporters are a dorky lot, and I do not by any means exclude myself from this label. Many turn up for the annual convention, but only the diehards show up for midyear. Topics at this year's midyear include Everything You Never Wanted to Know About Court Reporting 101 and Advanced Knowledge of Even More You Don't Care About.

One of the things I looked most forward to on this vacation was not having to set an alarm. The East-to-West jet lag aids me in this, but I wanted to get Bjork tickets, which went on sale this morning at 11 in NY, so I had to get up at 8 this morning. The problem is that yesterday I was confused and thought it was Friday, so I was up yesterday at 8 as well. It took me about 20 minutes and a phone call to Radio City Music Hall before I spoke to a human that informed me it was only Thursday. And now I have to actually get up really early tomorrow as the first seminar starts at 8:30.

Other than the convention, we didn't do much else of note today. We did hit Granville, the next road over, and did a bit of rock shopping. I picked up a few more stage outfits and this awesome Nikki Sixx framed trading card with a little fake Thunderbird bass attached. I about died when I saw it. It was as if it was crafted specifically for me.

We ate dinner tonight at a place called Nu on the water, a small plates place that took the word "small" to another level. Just as we started to comment on the slow service, the manager came over to tell us that he would give us free desserts. I think I'm going to start using the word "Canadian" in place of "really" when referring to a new level of nice; as in "he isn't just nice, he's, like, Canadian nice." I actually joked before the desserts came out that maybe since I dropped the fact we were from NY to our waiter, that we'd get free dessert, and it was a self-fulfilling prophecy. We've got one more night in Canada for me to add another inch to my waistline, so I just might even don a fanny pack just to make sure they know we're tourists.

Ain't No Mountain High Enough

So my Kevin Smith story goes a little something like this. Bryan spotted him first. I was immediately struck by his fashion sense. He was decked out in a Silent Bob jacket, but bare legs were sticking out from under it, along with Spicoli-style sockless sneakers, paired with a Louis Vuitton suitcase. As I was eyeing the open laptop case atop the suitcase, it suddenly occured to me that all of Kevin Smith's movies take place in Jersey, and that he is exactly the type of patron I expect to frequent a Girls Girls Girls concert. At that moment I knew what I had to do. One of our band's business cards must somehow stealthily find its way into that bag. I didn't want to be the annoying fan and just tell him about my band. On the contrary, I let another annoying fan help distract him so that I didn't get caught. Usually these are the kinds of shenanigans that Stacey and Sarah encourage me and join me on, while Bryan points out the things that can go wrong and tries to tell me the more cautious route. Not this time. I was delighted that Bryan waited until after the deed was done and I was giggling with glee to point out that I had just commited a security breach in a post-9/11 airport, and it could very well have been a crime. True, but in the end, I'm sure Kevin Smith is in his hotel somewhere thinking "I don't know how the hell this card got into my bag, but I need to see these girls play!"

We're staying on the cheap in Vancouver since Japan will be very expensive. On our way from the airport, as we were passing a few adult shops that Bryan commented on, all of a sudden the cab slowed and we were at our hotel. While our neighborhood does have a little bit of a seedy element, we are also surrounded by rock shops, music venues, nightclubs and arcades, so the seediness really only lies in those shops. As Bryan said, everyone here seems so nice and we still feel very safe here.

Still, one thing that has led me to some crazy places is a good plate of nachos. Because I have to go to a dork reporters convention today, last night I wanted to do something "Vancouvery." There is a cable car that goes to the top of Grouse Mountain, and the guidebook's exact words are "Here Grouse Grinders down well-deserved pints of beer and eat the most deserved nachos in the city." I knew we needed to go. I never realized before how much my husband dislikes heights. The cable car would be an eight-minute ride 3,700 feet up the side of a mountain. I was able to talk him into going mainly for the nachos. (He luckily forgot the London incident where we stayed at the world's worst hotel, conveniently located near the restaurant aptly named Nachos, which was closed when we got there, or our Denver trip into the barrio to the world's cheesiest restaurant ever.)

When we got to the top, I actually wasn't feeling all that hungry, since we'd just eaten fish about three hours previous. Rather than keep this feeling to myself, I thought it might be more fun to utter those words out loud. My traumatized husband did not take the news well. He had fun talking in the Patty voice, and I had fun picking at a huge plate of, well, they were pretty damn good nachos.


We enjoyed the nachos in a pretty little ski lodge with a fireplace and incredible views. Here is one of them:

Off We Go!

Ok... Patty and I began our trip (early) Wednesday morning with a subway ride to JFK and a 6-hour flight to Vancouver. I got a bit of work done on the plane... while Patty slept peacefully... and then watched a bit of "Night at the Museum" before I too was fast asleep.
Upon our arrival in Vancouver, we were met with one of the slowest moving immigration lines I have ever encountered. Fortunately, we were only a few feet away from Kevin Smith, director of Clerks, Mallrats... not to mention Clerks 2 -- I wish I could have those 2 hours back.

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Anyway... here's the best pic I got of "Silent Bob" without making it completely obvious I was taking his picture.
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Patty has her own Kevin Smith story, but I'll let her tell it.

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Anyway... Vancouver-ans are the nicest people we've ever encountered in our travels. Examples: Everyone smiles and says Hello... bus passengers thank the driver upon exiting the bus... apparently they give out free desserts if you say you're visiting from New York... I mean I've never felt more welcomed in a big city like I have felt here.
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Our first full day here, we did a little shopping, Patty got a few CDs and some shirts, and then we were getting a bit hungry so we went to Go Fish, this neat little fish shack tucked away near Granville Island (which isn't really an island, go figure). Patty got the cod and chips and I got the halibut and chips and a dynamite tacone...don't ask. The food was awesome and definitely worth a visit if you're ever in Vancouver.

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Okay, I have a story about a cable car and some nachos, but I'll have to put that off until tomorrow.