July 16, 2009
Hey guys,
Ever since I started working here, reading the new issue of the Montreal Mirror has been my favourite part of Thursday’s routine. So this morning, when I arrived at work, I was shocked and a little sad to see that it would be their last.
I’ll miss that slow period between the morning returns and the after school rush when I would lean back in my chair, sip on a coffee and let my eyes trundle over its crinkly pages. It was a different view of the city and its people, from saucy sex advice to notes from the rock & roll underground. Yet it had its flaws. Hip to a fault with too many reviews and barely any news. And would it have killed them to throw in a crossword puzzle now and then? It’s a sad day in Montreal – another soapbox has been toppled, another circle squared by the corporate ruler and I’ve lost my only link to the in-crowd.
Where else would you read such astute bathroom stall wisdom as the rantline, that priceless forum for all the incisive negativity unvoiced in the mainstream media? It featured amusing contributions from all kinds of local party animals, sexpots, resentful bike theft victims, the A to Z of disgruntled drug users and those frustrated by poor service and rude behaviour in all its forms. Now that outlet has been chased online into a world even more uninhibited.
Sure, one could argue that the internet has allowed an equality in communications never seen before, but it won’t be long before the means of diffusion become concentrated and corrupted.
Clive enjoyed reading the Mirror too. Here’s a journal entry from January 1988.
Aldo really burst a gasket when he saw me reading the Mirror this morning. He didn’t even care that I was reading the review section, trying to learn about movies for the betterment of the store. He said we needed less thought and more action around here. Told me to pick up a rag and start cleaning. He’s a real fascist.
As I was cleaning, I noticed someone had stuck a wad of gum under the newspaper stand. I don’t know what it was, but something made me decide to leave it there. I wonder how long it will be until someone finds it and does something about it.
Judging by the thicket of cobwebs that spanned from the underside of the newspaper stand to the floor, I was sure that the gum would still be there. As a salute to my big video store brother, I decided to settle his question. I pulled out my archaeologist’s edition Swiss Army knife, walked over and brushed away the tangled filaments. Just as I suspected, the gum remained.
As I pried off the small petrified mound, brittle as the Thracian chamber pot I slaved over in Skopje, it felt like I was peering back through twenty years of history. I contemplated saving it, but decided instead to toss it in the trash. Clive would have wanted it that way.
I washed my hands, made a cup of coffee and sat back down for the final edition of my Thursday ritual, but before long, a pleasant interruption arrived in the form of Georgette Napoleon, former starlet. She was bringing back the fifth disc from the second season of The Sopranos.
“Gimme da nex’ two,” she said in her best Jersey accent, “There’s a late fee on my account, but it’s a mistake. Don’t be wiseguy. I spoke with Steve about it already.” Sixty-four dollars is a big mistake, but I decided to let Steve fight that battle.
“By the way,” I changed the subject, “I was just thinking about the history of the store. How long have you been a customer here?”
“It’s been more than twenty years, I remember because I joined back when I was still getting a few parts on Degrassi.”
“Does the name Clive Powell ring a bell?” I asked. A bomb went off somewhere in her memory.
“Clive… I haven’t heard that name in ages. A long time ago, the two of us had quite the lurid affair. It was the only time I was unfaithful to Jimmy, but by now he knows everything. Besides, he’s no boy scout himself.
‘It was a really exciting time,” she continued, “Video stores were abuzz. I can’t exactly describe what it was, but it’ll never be that way again. Nothing against you guys now, but it was a different world and people just knew how to talk about movies. It was before the internet.
‘At the centre of it all, Clive was this cool, enigmatic figure, without a single trace of youthful self-consciousness. He had this instinctive knowledge of art and the world, describing movies the way a poet would describe nature. We’d even made plans together…but in the end he met Juliette and eventually they disappeared.”
“Where do you think they went?” I asked.
“Maybe Haiti or something. The last I heard Juliette got into a bad fight with someone in her family. I don’t know any more than that. Why do you ask?”
“I discovered his journal hidden away in the backroom. He wrote it while he worked here.”
“What does he say about me?”
“I’m afraid there’s not a single mention,” she looked downcast, “but many pages have been torn out.” I added quickly.
“That’s just like Clive,” she huffed, showing off her acting range. “Ripping pages, what for?” She heaved a heavy sigh, “He was so young, a last careless fling before I really settled down.”
She walked out promising to settle the late fee with Steve the very next day. I went back to reading the Mirror.
…
Everyday I become more attached to Clive. He’s now become the main character in my blog and in some ways my closest friend. Sometimes, as I walk home from work, I find myself having conversations with him, wondering how he would handle different store situations.
He had the cool, passionate soul of a true artist. He had at least two tempestuous affairs with women whom he met at the store, but in his journal he reveals a soft, vulnerable side.
November 1989:
I started my shift a few hours ago. I usually don’t write while I’m here, but I need to get something off my chest. When I got in, I overheard Claude and Cindy talking about Juliette and me. They quickly changed topics when they saw me, and I didn’t say anything, but I’m sure I heard correctly. It was something about Juliette brainwashing me. It really hurt. I don’t know how I’ll face Claude after that. I am writing a bit frantically. I phoned Juliette but she wasn’t around to reassure me. How could they say that? They barely know her.
His journal entries become darker over time and I am beginning to fear the worst. There’s nothing specific, but Juliette may have found herself in trouble.
February 1991:
Juliette’s spent the last three days in her room. I’m supportive of her efforts, she says she is on the cusp of new insight, but it is taking its toll. She’s relying on people I don’t fully trust.
I go about my job numb with worry. Aldo’s yelling hardly registers anymore. I don’t know how she can hold on to her faith so tightly. My attachment is weakening.
Clive was consumed with a burning desire to live life to the fullest, facing treacherous currents in the deep rivers of his being, devoted to a woman who had a higher calling. He may have left his world behind to help her or because they were fleeing something dangerous – could it have been the family feud Georgette mentioned? Right now it’s all conjecture.
…
When I got home I watched Fight Club, a movie that scarcely needs an introduction among the hipster generation. Ed Norton plays a simpering everyman with Brad Pitt as his badass alter ego – which is what Clive is starting to become for me. He had such an exciting life and I know that mine doesn’t compare, but I take solace in knowing that the world needs a balance between its artists and its scholars.
For now I’m going to channel some of his howling spirit and try to find my inner boldness, just like in Fight Club. Geneva’s vernissage is around the corner and I plan on making a deep impression.
Comments:
mulletar: poor clive. sometimes i have truble making frends
always_right_princess: First of all, learn to spell. Second, take a shower once in a while. Third, get a job and move out of your parents’ basement.
doctorphillys_md: Hey young lady, that’s no way to talk to people. Firstly, you should learn some manners. Second, put yourself in mulletar’s shoes for a minute.
Spliffany: Yeah, mulletar showed vulnerability and courage. thank you for sharing mulletar.
always_right_princess: I’m sorry if I sound too harsh, but seriously if I put myself in mulletar’s shoes I would pass out from the smell of my own stank.
SonofEbert: What kind of movie blog is this? I didnt come here to read pseudo-existentialist blather or the problems in your love life! Nothing to say about Fight Club, a famous masterpiece? Give up the Clive business already and focus on one thing at a time.
doctorphyllis_MD: Hey, who do you think you are talking like this on Vic’s blog? It’s a free country. He can say whatever he wants and if you don’t like it you shouldn’t read. I for one am enjoying this blog and I’m tired of policing this comments section.
mulletar: yeah go home troll!!!!!!
averagejoe66: And good luck at the vernissage bro, i’m sure youll make a good impression.
jenkins: yeah, and too bad about the mirror, it had some really cool writers. I used to rant all the time. I’d rant now but I can’t think of anything good to say.
The Man Who Came to Rent 