Grace Park Is Stalking Me

I'm a bit concerned, folks.  I don't want to alarm anyone, but I think I have a celebrity stalker.

Her name is Grace Park, best known for her portrayal of the various Number Eight Cylons on Battlestar Galactica, and for being a stone cold fox.  Unfortunately she's one of those creepy celebrity stalkers you keep hearing about in the news.

Here is a picture of the stalker in question.  She usually wears more clothing than shown here, especially when she is stalking awkward, nerdy system analysts.

Allow me to explain.  I, like most cool and hip people, live in Vancouver, as do a number of big-time actors, musicians, and Swedish hockey players.  Grace Park is one of said people.  As such, she has quick and easy access to various stalking targets, including yours truly.  Worst of all, she seems to live in close proximity to my office.

I first noticed Ms. Park on Christmas Eve.  I was done work for the holidays, and went to the nearby liquor store to pick up some Christmas cheer.  My in-laws were in town, after all.  As I reached for the cheapest, largest bottle of whiskey, I saw a familiar face perusing the expensive cognacs.  She pretended not to notice me, but something about the situation felt uncomfortable.  She tried to show off her refined celebrity tastes by asking a clerk for a specific high end cognac but was rebuffed (the store, being a refuge for the common working man, did not cater to Ms. Park's eclectic bourgeois predilections).  I was somewhat heartened to see her having to settle for a lesser bottle.  It didn't matter though; she had found her target, and she would prove to be relentless in her perverse game of cat and mouse, or more accurately, blazing hot actress and fat dork.  I felt her sexy Korean eyes blazing through my messy hair into the back of my unfortunately large head as we stood in line at the checkout.  The hunt was on.

Dun dun dunnnnnn!

Having access to the vast amounts of money and influence that cable TV stars usually do, Grace Park was able to pursue her prey (me) even as far as an Olympic sporting event.  No doubt learning that I would be in attendance, she obtained tickets to the Russia vs. Latvia men's hockey game, being held on none other than my birthday, February 16th.  I was so enthralled by the excitement of Olympic competition that I did not notice her stalking me until the intermission.  Grace pulled a few strings, and got her and her unsuspecting husband to appear on the Jumbotron as part of the Kiss Cam gag.  She pretended to be surprised when the camera was on her, and sheepishly kissed her husband, but I knew exactly what was going on.  It was a message.  The message was: "I'm stalking you, Matt Perkins, and I don't care who knows."  Needless to say, I was terrified.  Melissa asked me what was up, but I didn't dare say anything.  Celebrity stalking is not an easy thing to talk about.

I did not see her again for about a month; not until yesterday, in fact.  As I was quietly enjoying a huge plate of frighteningly unhealthy Chinese food at City Square Mall near my office, she appeared as if out of nowhere ... or at least out of the East entrance.  There was no mistaking her quick stride and oppressive beauty as she briskly walked into the postal outlet.  What nefarious scheme was she planning?  Was she mailing nude pictures to my house?  I kept my head down, avoided eye contact, and finished my lunch, hoping she would leave me be.

She did not return, and I thought I was in the clear.  I quickly made my way out of City Square.  But then, as I rounded the corner of the building, she was there ...

... waiting for me ...

... next to the FedEx drop box.

I knew this was it.  I trembled in terror, waiting for her to molest me or worse.  Fortunately, at the last minute she panicked and pretended to fill out a shipping form.  I made a hasty retreat to the safety of my office.

Friends, readers, Googlebots ... I fear this may be my last post.  I've never had a celebrity stalker before, but I know these things rarely end well, especially when your stalker is as gorgeous and persistent as Grace Park.  If I ever take a long break again, you can probably guess what happened to me.  And if I ever get those shocking nude pics she mailed me yesterday, I'll gladly hand them over to the highest bidder.

I Suck

I have been negligent with the blog lately.  Sorry about that.

To make matters worse, I'm about to leave the country for a couple weeks, so you won't see any updates for a while longer.

To tide you over until I return, here's Lost's Evangeline Lilly doing a phone sex commercial:

Wikipedia Wednesday: Winchester Mystery House

Conan O'Brien once said that his favorite character to write for on The Simpsons was Mr. Burns.  His reasoning was that since Mr. Burns had the ultimate trifecta of being rich, old, and evil, he can do almost anything he wants.  Nearly any insane and extravagant bit that Conan could come up with would be within scope.

This is just as true with the fictional C. Montgomery Burns as it is with many of history's old, rich, and evil people.  Sarah Winchester was not, by any reasonable definition, evil, but she was definitely old, rich, and deeply eccentric, and she used her vast wealth to play out her eccentricity to the extreme.  In San Jose, California, you will find the monument to her eccentricity: the Winchester Mystery House.

The Winchester Mystery House is a well-known California mansion that was under construction continuously for 38 years, and is reported to be haunted. It once was the personal residence of Sarah Winchester, the widow of gun magnate William Wirt Winchester, but is now a tourist attraction. Under Winchester's day-to-day guidance, its "from-the-ground-up" construction proceeded around-the-clock, without interruption, from 1884 until her death on September 5, 1922, at which time work immediately ceased. The cost for such constant building has been estimated at about US $5.5 million (if paid in 1922, this would be equivalent to almost $70 million in 2008 dollars).

Sarah was deeply troubled by the deaths of her daughter and husband, and sought advice from a medium (psychic).  There are several differing accounts of what this medium told her, but the most commonly held belief is that Sarah was told she was haunted by all the people who had been killed by Winchester firearms, and needed to build a very large and confusing house to keep the spirits at bay.  The idea was that if her home had a bizarre, nonsensical layout, the ghosts would get lost and confused and wouldn't bother her.  Makes perfect sense, right?

Due to her inheritance (over $20 million, plus 50% of Winchester Repeating Arms Co. in dividend-paying shares) Sarah had essentially unlimited funds to finance the construction of the house.  Construction was constant, and design was subject to Sarah's whim.  As a result of the ad hoc nature of the design, and Sarah's vast wealth, the house became enormous and extremely bizarre.

Prior to the 1906 earthquake, the house had been built up to seven stories tall, but today it is only four stories. The house is predominantly made of redwood frame construction, with a floating foundation that is believed to have saved the estate from total collapse in both the 1906 earthquake and the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake. There are about 160 rooms, including 40 bedrooms and two ballrooms, one completed and one under construction. The house also has 47 fireplaces, 10,000 window panes, 17 chimneys (with evidence of two others), two basements and three elevators. Winchester's property was about 162 acres (650,000 m²) at one time, but now the estate is just 4.5 acres (24,000 m²) — the minimum necessary to contain the house and nearby outbuildings. It has gold and silver chandeliers and hand inlaid parquet floors and trim. There are doors and stairways that lead nowhere and a vast array of colors and materials. Before the availability of elevators, special "easy riser" stairways were installed to allow Winchester access to every part of the mansion, to accommodate her severe arthritis. Roughly 20,500 gallons (76,000 liters) of paint were required to paint the house. Due to the sheer size of the house, by the time every section of the house was painted, the workers had to start repainting again. 

The Sarah Winchester article mentions what to me is the most amusing part of this story: when the 1906 earthquake hit, parts of the house were badly damaged.  Rather than start repairs, Sarah had the damaged sections boarded up and isolated.

Construction on the house continued until Sarah's death in 1922.  Her will did not specifically mention the mansion, in spite of it being her main preoccupation and source of expense for decades of her life.  Appraisers considered the home worthless, in part because of the neglected earthquake damage, and also due to its bizarre, confusing layout.  It is now a museum open to the public.

I think it goes without saying that I would love to visit the Winchester Mystery House someday.  I was in San Jose two summers ago, and had I known about this place I would have certainly visited.  Some of the most amazing things on Earth are the direct result of wealthy, eccentric people spending their money in extravagant, fascinating ways.  That said, I don't think I could even picture Mr. Burns building something this crazy.

Living in Olympic Wonderland, Conclusion

It's March.  The medals have all been handed out.  The visitors are on their way home.  Vancouver airport had its busiest day ever today.  The thing that has been a big, big deal in this city for the past seven years is over.  Truthfully, I am relieved.

Don't get me wrong: I had a great time, and I'm tremendously glad I was here for this, but by the end I was fatigued.  The atmosphere here was exciting and fun, but it's hard to maintain such a high level of energy and emotion for 16 days.  I revelled in it as much as I could, but I eventually reached a point where I just wanted the crowds to disperse, the lines to disappear, the roads to re-open, and the city I call home to get back to normal.

Vancouver is such a great place year round, no matter what's going on here.  The things I enjoy most about this city happen with or without the Olympics.  Yes, I might miss the experience a bit, but I am consoled by the fact that I get to spend the rest of the year enjoying all the wonders this city has to offer by default.

It makes me wonder how all the athletes and visitors will feel when they get home.  I'm sure many of them are from places that are just as remarkable.  I'm also sure this experience will lead them back here again, possibly permanently.  I think that's great, and I quote Catherine O'Hara's monologue in the closing ceremony: "you're all welcome to come back and visit anytime ... just not all at once."

The latest issue of the New Yorker has a piece by Nancy Franklin in which she says "Vancouver 2010 won't be remembered as a great games; it will be remembered for the senseless death [of luger Nodar Kumaritashvili] that occurred before the competition even began."  I cannot disagree more; in fact, I think it is shameful to presume that such a tragedy can overshadow such a fine event.  Everyone was shocked and saddened by Kumaritashvili's untimely death, but like all deaths the sadness soon faded into the background in the hearts and minds of everyone here.  To dwell on it would have been a great disservice to everyone who worked so hard to make the Vancouver Olympics what they were: exciting, astounding, and fun.

I was particularly impressed with the work done in two areas: security, and transportation.  The security, though at times overzealous (having to go through an airport-style baggage scanner and metal detector to get into a hockey game seemed to be extreme overkill) was on the whole even-handed, serene, and  non-intrusive all things considered.  In my travels around the city, I saw quite a lot of police, and noticed fairly early on that not all of them - in fact, few of them - were Vancouver PD.  Cops from around the country were in town, wearing their home uniforms and walking a beat as though it was their own.  I saw cops from North Bay, Kingston, Saskatoon, and Edmonton, along with RCMP from who-knows-where (no Calgary PD unfortunately).  If I had known in advance, I would have made up some Police Bingo cards and passed them out.  "Oooh!  There's a Halifax cop!  All I need now is OPP and I have Bingo!"

If you read back to my first Olympic-tagged post, you will see me worry about what will happen to transit during the Games.  I can say right now that the worst fears never came to pass, and Translink deserves kudos for that.  An unprecedented armada of Skytrains was deployed to keep the crowds flowing through the metropolis at a pace that was no worse than the middle of rush hour.  Of course, part of my Olympic fatigue came from the fact that it seemed like rush hour all day, every day, but that was hardly a surprise.  I'm sure the system was pushed to the limit, but it never seemed incapable of handling the burden.

On the whole, I think we hosted the Olympics tremendously well.  Reports around the web have nothing but nice things to say about Vancouver.  The city looks damn good on TV, and people love it even more when they visit.  As far as hosting the Olympics goes, all we had to do was not make people miserable and it would have been well received.  I think we did a lot more than that.