Dry Humour on the Wet Coast

So NASA released some new shots of Mars and some intrepid photo-sleuths on the interwebs notices that there appears to be a corroded green statue on the planets surface.

As David Bowie would ask, is there life on Mars?

At first I was excited, my mind immediately recalling Kurt Vonneguts masterpiece, the Sirens of Titan, where (spoiler alert) the eponymous “Sirens” turn out to be well crafted statues.

For a moment I thought, that for the first time, there was colour evidence of intelligent life somewhere else in the sloar system. Infinite possiblities danced across my mind, each more fantastic than the last, all resulting in a new golden age for mankind.

This truly is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius, I thought.

But, much like the infamous face on mars, it turns out it was only a rock. A mere optical illusion brought on by eager and over-active imaginations.

So much for the new renaissance.

…

This past Sunday, Doozy, a few friends and I went to the world-famous Ovaltine Cafe.

You haven’t heard of the Ovaltine Cafe? Why it’s possibly the most renowned easting establishment on East Hastings. Films have been shot there, Celebrities have frequented the halls of the ‘Tine to partake in the local cutlure and enjoy some of the titular powdered beverage.

At around 2 in the afternoon we met John from timelapsedclouds in front of the Gassy Jack statue in Gastown. While we were waiting for the fella to arrive, we were checking out some filming down the street. Sidewalks were blocked off and production assistants were buzzing about like bees in reflective florescent vests. Just as I was about to make a comment about how interesting it is to live in a city with a vibrant film and television industry, who would walk by? Why, none other than Allison Mack, also known as Chloe from TV’s Smallville. From a distance she just looked like any other trendy hipster known to haunt Gastown, but only with very brightly dyed hair. Another suicided blonde, I thought. Doozy made a comment about how she was dressed well, and as she go closer I realized who it was. 5 months in and this would is our first real celebrity sighting. Well, semi-celebrity.

Once John arrived, we set off to the Ovaltine Cafe to meet up with rest of our party. The path to the East Hasting hotspot was fraught with peril, but we made it there in one piece. Hobo’s were running around, engaging in their usual drug-addled antics. The trick is to avoid eye contact at all costs. I find looking up pretending to be interested in the at architecture works well. Nary a bum spoke to use the whole way there.

The atmosphere in the cafe is like something out of the ’50s. Ancient wood, linoleums counter tops, vinyl booths and a long bar for the lunch rush that never arrives. Doozy said it smelled like a bowling alley. She was right.

The menu at the diner offered some usual lunch diner fare. Soups, sandwiches, fries and, of course, Ovaltine. Only everything on the menu was ridiculously cheap. You can get an order of homefries for $1.75. The Ovaltine was only $1.25. I had an English muffin, Doozy had apple pie ala mode, we both had Ovaltine and our bill still didn’t break eight dollars. It was surreal.

The clientèle was what you would expect from the area. Scraggly looking lost souls shuffled in a few at a time, ordering their three dollar minimum while babbling to themselves about how the government is trying to install radios into their teeth… or something like that.

Our waitress was a nice middle-aged Asian woman, who seemed a bit frazzled from having to cover the whole restaurant by herself. But she was still patient with us and the service was good. I did, however, see her yell at a rude patron who was being very demanding, insisting that she gave him fresh coffee every 2 minutes. The man was shaking like he had Parkinson’s and could barely speak, rather the communicated through partially audible grunts and sentence fragments. I assume he was homeless, sick and hungry, so I don’t hold anything against him.

The bathroom was a frightful stall devoid of any paper products and promised the risk of infection to all those who used it’s services. The walls were adorned with strangely inspiring graffiti, fatalistic saying and existential musing. “Feast now friends,” one said. “For tomorrow we die.” It’s as though the spirits of the Spartans is alive and well in the streets of the lower east side.

On our way back to civilization we were accousted by a slew of trouble-minded miscreants. An eyebrowless shemale looking person started signing at the top of her lungs at one of my dining companions on the sidewalk. I saw an overweight man wearing an ill-fitting emerald green nightgown. Someone asked us if we had four quarters in exchange for a loony. Unfortunately for him, none of us had any change left after lunch, so he smashed an empty glass bottle on the ground with temedous force with screaming explitives at us.

We all went to Starbucks to analyze our experience at the Ovaltine Cafe. It’s pretty much agreed upon that more affordable housing and treatment facilities are needed to help those on Hastings.

But I have to wonder. Are they always like this, or do they only act up for company?