Movie in Montreal

One of the many joys I experienced a couple of weekends ago was flying through turbulent airs in a teeny, propeller plane. Thankfully, I finally had a seat neighbor next to whom I would not have minded dying. I told him so, which I intended to be a compliment but I think just freaked him out. But truly, those little D-planes redefine the horrors of air travel, and even more concerning was the fact that, as my seat neighbor pointed out, the safety information card looked extremely used. Well, after over an hour of white-knuckling the arm rests, I landed alive.

Okay, perhaps the true highlight was attending an event hosted by the Fringe film festival where the audience played a drinking game while watching Jumaji. Now, I was hesitant to attend the screening because as a child, Jumaji topped my list of greatest fears in life. It shared that title with neon Band-Aids (yes, I truly feared those) and the dark (so typical, but so justified). I felt that a second viewing of something that caused me such terror would simply bring those scarring memories back to the forefront of my mind. However, about ten minutes in, I realized how pathetic it would be if anyone over the age of 7, maybe 8, were afraid of that film.

A great source of terror in my childhood

It almost got to the point where participants may as well have hooked up to an alcohol IV. Doing so would have eliminated the need for the physical strain of lifting the red plastic cup to our mouths over and over. Honestly, adhering to every single rule throughout the duration of the film would have quickly caused a mass need for stomach pumps. For anyone who has seen Jumaji, you will know exactly what I mean. The rules I remember were: drink every time there is a different animal on screen, drink whenever a character screams, drink whenever there’s a rhyme, drink whenever they say Parshall, (the last name of Robin William’s character, said about 40 times in the first 10 minutes) and at least ten others that I forgot. 

Needless to say, I stopped actually drinking about ten minutes into the film on account of having a desire to not die of alcohol poisoning. Strange, I know. Some of the gung-ho participants actually adhering to the rules had to leave midway through the movie, including the gentleman behind me.

On another Montreal-related note... 

Not being from Europe, I was not accustomed to driving three hours and being in an entirely foreign country whose inhabitants speak another language. I thought EVERYONE spoke English, come ON! Just kidding, that was my inner ignorant American fighting to break out. I suppressed it again, no worries. At least Canadians are kinder when I attempt to practice my French, unlike the French, who just were not having it. I successfully asked where the toilets were and was answered in French. Woo! 

Overall, it was a good trip. I hate writing conclusions to blogs.