HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Citizen, 2012-12-13, Page 6THE CITIZEN, THURSDAY, DECEMBER 13, 2012. PAGE 5.
There are many things in this world
beyond my feeble ken – nuclear
physics, Microsoft Word, women –
but a daily and ongoing bafflement is the
corner coffee shop. How does that work
exactly?
By which I mean: how do those enterprises
stay in business?
From an outsider’s perspective, it’s
economic hara kiri. You have proprietors
paying a hefty rent to occupy a trendy,
expensively refurbished space to sell heated
beverages to, well, basically, a roomful of
freeloaders.
Granted, the cafe owners get a nice return on
the four or five bucks they charge for a mug of
hot water and .000003 cents worth of ground
beans, but still...
Think of the customer turnover
compared to, say, a hamburger joint. At the
Burger King the customers are sliding
through like Jeep chassis’ on a Chrysler
assembly line. And at the coffee shop? Well,
the lady at the first table – the one hunched
over her iPad next to the chai latte that’s so old
its sprouting lily pads – is working on chapter
20 of her doctoral thesis on the influence of
Rumi on neo-Renaissance architecture. At
table two, a homeless guy wearing Bose
headphones is puzzling over the New York
Times crossword. The rest of the clientele is
reading, writing, snoozing, gazing into space
or murmuring sweet nothings into adjacent
earholes.
Hardly any of them are buying and
nobody’s moving. I’m no economist, but
that does not sound like an outstanding model
of mercantile viability.
And speaking of unsound business practices,
who’s the marketing genius who came up with
the idea of offering free Internet access in
coffee shops? Brilliant! Now every geek with
a laptop who’s still living with his parents has
a free downtown office (with a heated
bathroom and complimentary serviettes)
where he can go and play Grand Theft Auto
until his fingers bleed.
It makes no sense. And yet there is an
intersection in downtown Vancouver
that features a Starbucks on the northeast
corner; a Starbucks on the southwest
corner – and two independent coffee shops on
the other two corners! They all appear to be
crowded and they’ve been in business for
years.
So what do I know?
Well, I know that some coffee shops
seem to be feeling the pinch on their
bottom line. They’re taking down the free
internet signs and taping up the electrical
outlets in an effort to uproot the laptop
squatters. There’s a cafe in Chicago that’s even
resorted to flat-out bribery. If a squatter
voluntarily gives up a seat when the place is
crowded, management will buy that squatter a
drink on the house.
Which, presumably, said squatter will sip
while standing outside on the sidewalk,
looking in.
Not every customer who goes to a coffee
shop is a space hog of course. A lot of
customers line up and get their orders to take
out – which again would make sound, efficient
business sense if the customers were ordering
a double cheeseburger with a side of fries to
go.
They are not. They are ordering concoctions
such as a half-skinny, half-chai, iced
Frapuccino with whipped cream and a spritz
of hazel nut syrup with an organically grown
cinnamon stick on the side. Or possibly a
demitasse of Ethiopian high mountain dark
roast pour-over with a decaf espresso shot and
a lemon slice.
It’s ironic. Coffee shops have been around
since Shakespeare’s time. They are the social
equivalents of watering holes on the
Serengeti – great places to meet with friends,
catch up on the latest gossip.
The only problem – it’s getting harder and
harder to find anyone who’s nose isn’t buried
in an iPad or – radical thought – to just get a
cup of coffee.
Of course there’s always the Canadian
solution.
No upholstered chairs, no baristas at the bar,
no Po-Mo computer graphics on the wall. Just
fluorescent lights, formica tables...and a queue
that moves like Jeep chassis’ on a Chrysler
assembly line.
Timmy Ho’s. Make mine a double-double.
To go.
Arthur
Black
Other Views
Make mine a double-double
By now everyone has heard the story of
nurse Jacintha Saldanha. She was the
nurse who patched through a call she
believed to be from Queen Elizabeth II,
inquiring as to the status of Kate Middleton
and her “extreme morning sickness”.
It wasn’t the Queen on the other end of the
line, however, it was two Australian radio DJs
pulling a bit of a prank on the hospital for all to
hear. A few days later, Saldanha died from
what is being called an apparent suicide. The
mother of two was 46.
The case has brought about all sorts of
questions, including what kind of blame the
two DJs, Mel Greig and Michael Christian,
deserve.
The more disturbing discussion, to me, has
been those on the other side of the argument:
the people who feel completely at peace
putting themselves in Saldanha’s shoes,
making her “decision” for her in hindsight.
I’m not comfortable on the extreme other
side of the argument, however, with those who
say these two radio show hosts should be hung
from Australia’s highest tree. I’m not sure why
people feel inexplicably qualified to speak for
Saldanha, despite being someone who had
never met the woman who is simply
commenting on a story they happened to come
across.
What I’m talking about are the people who
feel safe in saying that Saldanha’s life must
have been in shambles. “No one would commit
suicide over a prank call” they say, “there must
have been a multitude of other problems in her
life.”
Isn’t this the problem we have when we
simply don’t understand what someone else is
going through?
The Centre for Addiction and Mental Health
is currently running a great television spot. It’s
30 seconds of people running through common
responses to people when they’re not feeling
themselves. Responses include “It’s nothing a
few beers won’t fix” and “You’re imagining
things.” It’s meant to highlight the lack of
understanding in the public for subtle
behavioral conditions like depression and
paranoia among other things.
But now here we are – thousands of people
dismissing the heat being thrust upon the DJs,
saying that Saldanha’s pre-existing conditions
(to date there have been none proven) would
have supplied the majority of the stress, with
the DJs supplying the final “push” off the cliff.
In sports, recent research has shown that
every concussion is different. A concussion
that keeps a football player out for a week
might keep a hockey player, like Sidney
Crosby, off of his skates for the better part of
two years.
Pain has never been something people can
explain to one another, because everyone deals
with it differently. One mother may be able to
handle a natural birth, while another can’t bear
the pain and resorts to pain medication.
For years people have accepted this unlevel
playing field with physical pain, but they don’t
extend the same courtesy to other types of
pain.
No one knows what Saldanha was going
through except her and whether it was a past
trauma, a stressful day-to-day life or the
humiliation of the scandal involving the royal
family (whose power and influence in the
United Kingdom few outside of the UK
understand), the mother of two took her own
life, feeling there was no other way out. That
shouldn’t be something random people
commenting on the internet should feel
qualified to explain on her behalf.
A mile in her shoes
Shawn
Loughlin
Shawn’s Sense
Over the weekend I had the joy of
visiting my early teen years by re-
visiting one of my favourite movie
franchises as a child: Men In Black.
Friday evening, in Dorchester at my
fiancée’s father’s house, through the magic of
a satellite dish and Pay-Per-View movie
rentals, I saw Men In Black III.
When the original Men in Black movie came
out, in 1997, I was 12 years old. Will Smith,
having just come off more than half a decade
as the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, was riding high
and Tommy Lee Jones was, well, Tommy Lee
Jones.
Never once did I think, “Boy, this is one
artful movie,” nor did I ever think that it would
be one of the quintessential experiences of
growing up in the 90s, but I did think that I
loved that movie and nearly wore out the
cassette I had of the film.
In 2002, when Men In Black II came out, I
wasn’t disappointed. Some people said it
didn’t measure up to the original, but I didn’t
see it as that. I saw it as the logical progression
of the story.
Now, more than nine years after the sequel
and 15 years after the original, Men In Black
III is out and, aside from wishing I hadn’t
watched it in 1080p high definition and saw
just how old Tommy Lee Jones is getting, I
have to say I was incredibly happy with the
movie.
I guess that’s the trouble of living in a time
saturated with new blockbuster movies every
quarter and YouTube sensations and pop music
that bursts on to the music scene and fades
away before I need to shave; we never really
know what is going to stand the test of time
anymore.
There are moments in history where I have
to believe people knew they were making the
stories that would forever be handed down to
their ancestors. Maybe that’s Woodstock,
maybe it’s The Beatles, maybe it was when
they saw Gone With The Wind, but, when
talking about art, who can really know what’s
going to be the stuff of legend come our
children or our children’s children.
I think Men In Black will make that list for
one very important reason: it’s consistent.
The special effects, while amazing in my
mind (given that I’m a Doctor Who fan, most
special effects look pretty amazing to me),
weren’t precedent-setting but they did help the
story along. They weren’t the focus, but they
were there and nearly believable.
The characters, despite having single
character names, were deep, relatable and as
lovable as any childhood icon I can remember.
The story line wasn’t overly deep. There was
a puzzle, there was a solution, sometimes
you saw it, sometimes you didn’t, but you
would never really feel like you were over
your head.
In my mind, the trilogy appeals to everyone.
I may be labelling myself a bit tame here,
but I’ve always enjoyed Smith’s particular
brand of comedy, so, really, I liked everything
about the movies which made me love them as
whole films.
I suppose the other reason that they could
foreseeably succeed is because, in an age of
remakes, reboots and re-imaginings, they have
kept the same characters, the same actors and
the same story since day one. There won’t be
any confusion when someone says, “Let’s
watch that old 2D classic Men In Black.” On
the other hand, if someone suggests you watch
a Batman movie, you’re going to have to
decide which Batman “reboot” they’re talking
about then debate who you found to be the best
actor to don the Dark Knight’s cowl. The same
can be said of Superman, Spiderman and The
Incredible Hulk.
Anyway, I think that, in 10 years, in 20 years
and maybe even in 30 years time, Men In
Black and its sequels will be movies that are
enjoyed by families around the world.
Sure, the films may not be masterpieces of
cinema in some people’s minds and I’m
certainly not claiming they are the pinnacle in
any particular field of artistic creation. They
are, however, successful in being what they
were designed to be: a movie you can sit,
laugh at and enjoy some popcorn while
watching.
It’s just sci-fi enough to keep geeks like
myself entertained, just adventure enough to
appeal to a larger demographic and it even
throws in enough pop culture references to
make it palatable to almost anyone open to
enjoying a solidly crafted trilogy.
So Men In Black and its sequels are
interesting, yes, they are amusing, yes, and
they are watchable by almost everyone. Does
that make it art? Well, in my mind it does.
I love the works of artists like Salvador Dali
and The Group of Seven, but I do have to
admit that I understand why other people don’t
like them. Some people would claim they
aren’t art. I claim they are because I can enjoy
them.
In that same way, I understand why someone
would disagree with me here; they may not see
the merit in the trilogy of movies and may
pawn it off as pulp sci-fi. I believe, however,
that the number of people who do that would
be few and far between (unless you’re sitting
in a room of hoity-toity film critics).
I think the films are art because they can be
appreciated by so many people. True art, in my
mind, is accessible and understandable (on the
base level) by everyone and everyone from
five-year-old Junior to 95-year old Grandpa
can sit and enjoy these films if they take them
for what they are: action comedies with a bit of
sci-fi thrown in.
Art that stands the test of time
Denny
Scott
Denny’s Den