Monday, November 21, 2005

Jarhead vs. Bell phone punks

So I drive to Kingston for a few days, mostly to see Jarhead.

I mean, why stay in the woods? Two hours from Ottawa, but this is the Third World.

Since the second "windstorm" a week ago, Bell Canada can't keep the phone on.

It hums, it whistles, it plays endless loop tapes of motherly voices urging me to "Please try your call again." In two official languages.

A Bell guy showed Saturday but his ladder "couldn't reach the phone line. I'll need a bucket truck."

His promised return today? Didn't happen.

No web. And I'm tired of screaming over line noise and cross-talk.

Every time Hydro One burps, which happens about three times a day, the auto-zap on the pump goes off. It has to be manually re-set.

So anyway, by the weekend enough was enough.

Off to Kingston, my new favourite smaller Ontario city.

They've kept a good hunk of their waterfront. You can take your bike over to Wolfe Island and ride for miles. They're on the first-run movie circuit, with decent bars, live music. And the draft Guinness is always perfect at the Tir Nan Og.

I admit I liked Anthony Swofford's Gulf War book way too much. But don't let the mixed reviews for Jarhead--the movie--keep you away. Two of the most affecting sequences in the book are beautifully realized in the flick. Yes, the horse is one of them.

I notice guy reviewers all give Jarhead high marks. (Pete Howell gave it 4 in the Star). Women reviewers don't. The National Post harridan should try something harder than spritzers. Or be reassigned to the Harry Potter beat.

Anyway, if you're looking for something ballsy, funny, profane, awful, profound and deeply moving--often all at the same time--you could do far, far worse.

See it on a big screen for the desert sequences. This will not be the same experience on your poster-sized DVD screen.

Jarhead is a hell of a better use of two hours of your time than calling Bell Repair.

Where's a sniper when you need one?


MouseMeat said...

Guinness lover!!

I should have known. :-)

dunf said...

You have something against the heaven-sent bubbleworks at St. James Gate, Dublin Ireland?

It is the source of all that is brown and good. Burp.