A couple of months ago, I wrote* about the re-opening of the St. Regis Hotel. Located kitty-corner from my old haunt, the Railway Club, and central to much of downtown Vancouver, the 95-year-old edifice has been renovated with the business type on-the-go in mind—free wireless and local calls, passes to a nearby high-end gym. The wreckage in my condo, from current renovations, was all the excuse we needed to check out a local hotel; the folks at the St. Regis were kind enough to accommodate.
By luck, the night of our stay coincided with an event of such magnitude and vapidity, the Twister and I needed a TV. We tuned the flat-screen in our (“junior”) suite (there’s a screen in the bedroom as well) to the Academy Awards, so I could watch the dwindling returns of the ballot I’d cast at work. Pfft, 2 bucks gone up in smoke, and bad Hugh Jackman dance routines.
As for the show itself… Jackman was lame, Joaquin Phoenix was ridiculous but kind of funny, Daniel Craig was unbelievably stiff, Anne Hathaway was kind of sexy when doing the opening number, but why does every academy awards show have to start with a moronic opening # incorporating all the nominees? Sean Penn’s speech was heartfelt and cool, Kate Winslett lost it, and Slumdog Millionaire proved a sleeper hit. I can’t begrudge director Danny Boyle though because Love Actually is the best Christmas movie ever. And Mickey Rourke thought about his chihuahua. “He’s here with us,” he told Canadian commentator Ben Mulroney** on the red carpet.
Back to the St. Regis… I have to say, I like the decor and the colours; espresso brown, pale blue. It’s a tight little room for a suite but cozy. More than enough room for two people, even if one of them is the Twister (ba-DUM). And I mean that personality-wise… eager to get out of the disaster area that is our condo, we came for checkout time, 3 p.m., and around 6 went down for dinner at the St. Regis Grill: crab cakes, sambuca prawns, meatlovers’ pizza (which I’m regretting) and a chicken salad.
Following the Academy Awards, we thought we’d dial up the year’s winner for Best Picture; but we only got a few minutes into Slumdog Millionaire before exhaustion, and the comfort of the bed, took over. By then, though, all I could think about was the continental breakfast that would be mine upon awakening. I do love a good continental breakfast.
*For another publication.
**Why does this man have a job?
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