Tuesday, 24 February 2004
Brian goes to the Wellness Show: A trivial blend of creative writing and superficial reporting - PERSPECTIVES - THE COMMENTARY
By Brian Nguyen, for The Commentary
"The people would rather place their faith in the virtue of a tyrant than in their ability to reason properly."
Thus I began, several days ago, in a brilliant essay on social dynamics, when I was abruptly brought out of my analytical reverie by an emergency message from Joseph Planta. "My chief operatives May, Babak, and Michael," said he, "are all out saving the world, and I desperately need someone to attend the 12th Annual Wellness Show at the Vancouver Convention and Exhibition Centre. Can you help us?"
I twiddled my thumbs for about ten minutes, to fool him into thinking that I was too busy chatting with others to respond immediately to his message- in reality; I have no friends- and then proceeded to send him the requisite acceptance speech, replete with smiling faces and three-letter abbreviations. "This is really excellent news," quoth he. "Meet me in two days at 1400 hours for your mission briefing."
***
As I said before, this was going to be difficult. Actually, no, I didn't say that, but pretend I did. I approached Joseph two days later at a shady little coffeehouse called The Grind. Strange name. Stranger patrons. I saw a chichi filly hunched over a wooden tablet and an oversized jug of chocolate grog, her left hand curled around an expensive silver pocketknife. She was carving "I am Death" onto her face. I hastened towards the back room and found Joseph, wrapped in an azure feather boa.
"So Joseph," said I, "what's the poop? Am I hunting another deadly health wizard bent on replacing the world's meat supply with potatoes?"
"Non," respondit Josephus. "Debetis scribere nuntium optimi ostentus."
He quickly banged his head against the table and said, "Sorry, here's the translation."
"Athena, goddess of wisdom, bids thee to hie thyself to the Vancouver Convention and Exhibition Centre, where a great gathering of gurus, salient in the ways of the mind and the body, is now ongoing."
I stared at him. His eyes flickered and rolled.
"Just explore, sample, and test; and come morning, pull a Pulitzer of a piece pertaining to all that you've seen."
He opened a leather briefcase and produced a set of lazuline papers wrapped in perjective perjonimy. No, I take that back. They were wrapped in plastic.
"Once you get inside the building, just head to the media booth and tell them you're from thecommentary.ca. You'll need to present your identity papers, of course."
I took the papers from him and spoke thus: "You realize that I'm only doing this because I owe you my life. After this, we're even."
He nodded grimly. "I've given you all the details."
That should have been it, but Joseph suddenly pointed at something behind me. "Whoa, what the hell is that?" he exclaimed.
I quickly turned around. A man was drinking coffee. I turned back, only to see Joseph now making a wild dash for the back door.
Well, that was Joseph- he always had a flair for unique exits. I glanced at the papers he had given me. I was Hans Steinclod. So it had begun.
***
There is a very famous saying by a very famous philosopher that I wish I could quote here. Unfortunately, I've forgotten the words and the name of the philosopher, so I'll just start this off in a very tepid manner.
I entered Canada Place and followed the giant signs pointing to the registration booth. "Hi, I'm Hans Steinclod from thecommentary.ca," I said to the girl behind the booth. "Your media pass. Give it to me. Now."
She looked at me quizzically and replied, "You're looking for the media booth. It's down the hall."
I thanked her and disappeared deeper into the bowels of the building. Spotted the media booth and sprinted towards the two youth volunteers who were manning it. "I'm Hans Steinclod!" Gasp for air. "From thecommentary.ca!" Deep breath. "Pass! Media! Want!" Naturally, I produced my identity papers for them.
"Oh, you want a media pass!" said one volunteer- an Asian girl, probably still in high school- after reading my papers. She took out a nametag with the word "MEDIA" emblazoned on one side and gave it to me.
I pinned it to my shirt and walked into the exhibition room. Was immediately ambushed by a woman who insisted on giving me a 2004 Pharmasave Live Well calendar. I skimmed through it to make sure all of the dates were correct, and noticed immediately that every month had a specific day marked off with "Pick up your issue of Chatelaine." Thanks. I will.
I began to carefully navigate through the maze of booths strategically placed across the room. Being more interested in food than exercise, I naturally gravitated towards the nutritional section. A spry fellow with short, curly hair, was at one booth hawking a Blendtech blender by showing a crowd of spellbound children how easily he could use it to make ice cream or puree soup. "Get it here for only $599!" he was quick to point out. I watched for ten minutes, hoping to get my hands on a sample of the ice cream- to test for nutritional value, obviously- but alas, I could not battle my way through the crowd of enthusiastic children. I moved on, hungry and disappointed.
Fortunately, food was in abundance at nearby booths. In a span of about fifteen minutes, I was able to pick up rice crackers, protein bars, two different packs of Danone Silhouette yogurt, and several small pieces of turkey. There were other foods available, but those that I saw were being sold at prices which I simply couldn't afford- never mind the fact I was working under the assumption that Joseph would pay for all of my expenses.
I settled down near the cooking stage to rest my weary feet and sample some of my more palatable food products. Thought I could detect a hint of cyanide in my yogurt, but as I've gone several days without any adverse effects, I must conclude either that I was paranoid, or that I'm some sort of a superman, immune to every type of poison. In order to test this latter hypothesis, I fully encourage all of you to poison my meals through malicious subterfuge.
Now, back to our story- and I say this not because I believe that you are all keenly interested in this story- I say it mainly because Joseph has threatened to lock me in a cardboard box. Back to the story, then! As I was eating my food, the last cooking demonstration of the day began: Mona Brun, an 83-year old woman known in British Columbia for her book Cooking with Mona and for her work as a former food consultant at Woodward's, took command of the stage and had the entire audience spellbound as she created both a Gibraltar layer salad and a tipsy laird trifle. Being a dilettante of the culinary arts, there were many moments during her performance where I had to battle the urge to stand up on my seat and begin hooting her name- it was difficult, but somehow, somehow I was able to quell the more rambunctious passions within me. We were, at the end of the demonstration, allowed to sample the salad and the trifle, much to the delight of everyone who had watched Ms. Brun create her works of art.
And really, in what other artistic medium are we able to ingest the creations of our favourite artists? Yes, some of us may go so far as to ingest the books of our favourite writers, but surely, such an exercise will prove to be less appetizing than ingesting a well-made salad? This is merely a matter of opinion, of course, and I welcome the opinions of any readers out there who disagree.
Shortly afterwards, Ms. Brun settled down at a nearby table to sign autographs for those among her fans who had bought her book (which was, oddly enough, being sold at the show). I watched for a few seconds to make sure she was safe from the more rowdy fans of other rival cooks, and then proceeded to explore the rest of the room. At the demo stage, I managed to catch the last portion of a talk by Diana Sillery ("Feeling Good for the Rest of Your Life"). She was discussing good breathing techniques and good posture- both of which I already have, but being magnanimous, I decided to listen anyway.
Once that was done, I decided to explore some of the other booths, in order to make this piece even longer than it already is. Saw some Shinso therapists trying to correct the postures of two women with massage techniques. Similar booths dedicated to the improvement of the body and mind using active therapy were to be found in the complementary health therapies section of the room. In the products section, I found a variety of booths trying to sell items which were all meant to better our living environments and our bodies, including air and water filters, skin care products, armchairs, and massagers. Being adverse to exercise, I passed quickly through the fitness section, but I managed to spot booths featuring fitness equipment and booths for different fitness groups.
By this time, having found no overt criminal activity- aside from the possible cyanide in my yogurt- and more importantly, being tired from all the walking that I'd done, I decided to call it a day. I hied back to the media booth and gave my nametag back to the sole volunteer who was sitting there.
And now, dear reader, it is time to finish this chimerical adventure. In conclusion, I really enjoyed the Wellness Show, and I'd gladly go back next year. The end.
Will that suffice? You shake your head. Very well, let me try again. It happened while I was walking home. Two men approached from both sides and seized my arms. "Hans Steinclod?" one man said in a sullen manner.
"Yes?" I replied. Hmm... Hired goons from the Wellness Show, perhaps? Had I taken one too many free samples?
"We've been looking for you. It's time you paid your mob debts. Hand over the money or you lose a finger."
"Wait, wait, no, no, I'm not really Hans Steinclod!" I cried.
"Our mole within the Wellness Show saw your identity papers," he replied. "Don't try to talk your way out of this."
Blast that Joseph! What sort of a game was he trying to play with me now? "How much do I owe?" I asked resignedly.
"$10 dollars for scratching my car. $10 million for trying to muscle in on our toy-smuggling ring."
"Gee, I've only got $10 dollars on me. Can I pay off the first debt now and pay you the $10 million later?"
It was at this point that Joseph appeared out of nowhere, strolling casually up to us in a suede suit and dark leather boots. "Boys, let me pay off this poor boy's debt." he said. He took a pair of keys out of his pocket and tossed them to one of the men. "Those are the keys to my Honda across the street. If you check the trunk, you'll find $10 million in pennies and dimes, as well as $10 for the scratch on your car."
"Consider yourself lucky," the man with the sullen demeanour growled, before releasing me. The two men crossed the street and began unloading the money from the trunk of Joseph's 1993 purple Honda. They were quick and didn't take long, soon disappearing into the night with rolls of pennies and dimes hidden in their pants.
I turned to Joseph. "Looks like I owe you. Again. What's your price this time?"
"I'm a simple businessman," answered Joseph. "I don't ask much. Just that you continue writing for thecommentary.ca. But no more of this abstract, artistic crud. I want no-nonsense reporting, with perhaps a hint of analysis here and there."
"I don't really have a choice, do I?" I said. "Very well. But you realize that as soon as I've written enough articles to pay off that $10 million, I'm out."
"I know." He smiled. "But isn't that what you said the last time I saved you?"
He looked at his watch. "I really have to get going. Let's do lunch sometime. Now, if you don't mind, can you turn around and face the other way?"
Well, I knew the drill. I covered my eyes and turned away. I soon heard rushing footsteps, followed a minute later by the sound of a Honda driving off. He hadn't even bothered to drive me home. I shook my head and began my ambulatory journey home.
***
For more information on the 12th Annual Wellness Show, visit the website: http://www.thewellnessshow.com