The Vancouver Report - Friday, April 22nd

Hostelers golden rule: never expect to be able to sleep past 8am so prepare accordingly. After the craziness of day one I figured I'd slow down a bit for Friday knowing that I have plenty of time to live it up in the weeks to come. Peter picked me up at 11am by Canada Place in his flatmates Skyline (who had borrowed his truck to move some things) and we proceeded to do what he claimed was ''about 140'' over the Granville Street bridge. I had an instance similar to Seattle where I saw something so delicious looking that I had to have it regardless of the cost. In Seattle it was a $20 piece of fudge whereas on Granville Island it was a $11.50 tub of fresh raspberries. We walked those off for what seemed like a few minutes when Peter declared it was time for all-you-can-eat sushi at a place in Burnaby he frequented as an engineering student. I'm a little disheartened to admit I didn't eat so much that I put them out of business as my stomach was sending me mixed signals as to what it required at that time. It turns out what it needed was a little nap. I passed out for a little while in Pete's basement suite and it was exactly what the doctor ordered. I demanded that we try to eat something a little less rich for dinner so we went to Safeway and got the ingredients for broccoli soup and jerk chicken salads. Needless to say it was amazing. Peter went to culinary school on the very Granville Island we were at in the morning and it shined through in his idea to add cheese to the broccoli soup. We had a quiet evening that ended with me discovering that my talents at rhythm games (i.e. Rock Band) aren't what they once were. I had assumed all the excitement for the evening would be through when Pete dropped me off infront of my hostel at 10:30ish, however this wasn't so. The hostel gives its guests keys for the front door so they can get in after hours, and they were quite adamant that we don't let anyone in who doesn't have a key as there are quite a few derelict individuals on East Hastings a few blocks away. As I approached the door a rather unusual gentleman appeared behind me. He had a classy blazer overtop of a thrift store t-shirt, as well as a designer haircut which conflicted with a fresh, bleeding wound to the side of his face. He claimed he had forgotten his key and asked if I'd let him into the hostel. Naturally I told him to beat it before I gave him a matching cut on the other side of his face (perhaps it was in nicer terms, I can't remember exactly). He proceeded to explain that he was a movie star who was shooting a rooftop scene next door and that their make-up/wardrobe was put in the hostel for budgetary reasons. It was difficult to get past his appearance but he had an eloquent Ian McKellan-esque voice (which as David Cross would say, he ''weilded with a mighty, actor-y fist''). Shortly thereafter another equally as odd looking extra appeared and confirmed his story. In this way I was able to avoid the embarassment of being the guy who denied Mr. Homeless-Gandalf the right to get the fake blood removed by his make-up team. It all amounted to a lovely chat once we got inside where he showed me the 108 page script he had on him (to which I later remarked would've made his story infinitely more believeable in the first place). Moral of the story: If you want a decent sleep in a hostel, go to bed early as you will be up due to noise and light by 8am, but always allow yourself that little bit of extra time in case you have to sort out the affairs of people who have an equal chance of being movie stars, homeless, or wizards.