Blade Runner

I saw Blade Runner on my own in 1982; paid extra because it was a Cinema with Dolby Stereo Sound, and in Scarborough, Ontario, that was the regular practice. Similar to paying a premium for IMAX now.
I have loved Science Fiction since my childhood. I was lucky enough to have people give me Astounding Stories and Fantasy magazines back then. They were small, thin paper editions similar to the Soap Opera Digest and Astrology ones that line the shelves of Supermarket Checkouts nowadays.
In my early days in Toronto, I walked up and down Yonge Street checking out the huge number of second hand books stores that were there, before Urban Re-vitalization took over. I am well aware that the bulk of the customers were flipping through the nude magazines, which were not shrink-wrapped in plastic in those days; However, there were shelves and shelves of old classics, Sci-Fi and cowboy paperbacks. I acquired F. Scott Fitzgerald stories, Evelyn Waugh, loads of Penguin Paperbacks with their unique orange spines and all the new science fiction releases, but second-hand. I read all of Philip K. Dick's material. "Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?" was a favourite of mine.
It is the basis for Blade Runner. So, naturally, I fell in love with the 1982 film which one could recognize as a definitive new look at a dystopian future. No sweet Star Trek aliens or Universal brotherhood and Peace in the Galaxy. All the "Off-World" stuff was just alluded to, the plot centred on happenings on Earth. It was intelligent and visually stunning.
So is Blade Runner 2049. I like how the story has evolved, and the way it builds on the previous story.  Too many sequels merely tell the same story merely ten years later, or whatever...
If you enjoyed the original, you should like this. I doubt that anyone wanting to see it because they are a Ryan Gosling fan will like it though. It is long, darkly photographed and imagined darkly. Again.
I will see it again though when iit comes to Netflix in January 2018.

Messing about with clocks

Growing up in London, the bi-annual meddling with clocks had little or no effect on me. Spring or Autumn, I was going to be late for school or college or work... my body just plugged on, ignoring the world's routines and rituals.
Then I emigrated to Canada.
That first year in Toronto, I usually spent Sunday afternoons sharing lunch with the couple that had emigrated along with me. As well as a lot more time during the week with them, too.
However, that first year, 1970, "clocks going backwards weekend" saw me spending that Sunday alone.
I lived on St.George Street, and a couple of blocks from my apartment building was the subway. After a dreary morning, I decided to take the subway downtown and walk around. I got off at Toronto City Hall and walked around Nathan Phillips Square. I thought I would people-watch. In those days, there was no kiosk to buy a coffee or hot chocolate; I cannot recall if the wading pool had become an ice rink yet. What I do remember is, that the piazza/plaza/public space was unusually empty. I stood beside the entrance to City Hall and looked towards the Simpson's Tower and two towers of the Toronto Dominion Centre and wondered what I was doing there. (The third TD tower had not been built yet, nor had the Sheraton Hotel which is nowadays directly opposite City Hall.) The darkness and gloom at 5 p.m. made me really sad. I thought about the family and friends I left behind. I wondered if they were in our usual Sunday haunts; the pub. It was not winter-cold yet, but a chill went through me.
I stayed for about 15 minutes, then took the subway home. I had no TV nor record player, just a transistor radio and a Sony Stereo Cassette player, but I only has about 4 tapes!
I had a cup of tea, put on the radio and read a book. I read hundreds of books that year. In October 1970, I was not sure that I would be staying and building a life in Canada, and that first Sunday that the clocks went back, I really felt like I wanted to return to England soon. I had planned to stay for at least 3 years. I thought that North American work experience would be a good addition to my (then) meager Resume.
However, a Christmas in Florida and a road trip across this continent changed everything within 12 months.