Back from Montreal (Part 2)

I am not a violent person.

Honest I'm not.

And while the guys on my hockey team may not immediately spring to my defense, I am not hot-headed. I know I have a bit of a temper, but I would like to think that it takes quite a bit of stupidity on some other person's behalf to get my blood boiling.

But last night during the Peter Gabriel concert I came as close as I have ever come to getting into a major beatdown of a fight.

My wife and I were out with our friends at Bell Centre. We'd had a brilliant day with our friends and my anticipation and excitement had been building as the concert got closer and closer.

The opening act did a short little two song number and then Peter Gabriel opened with "Heroes". There was a huge orchestra accompanying him and the conclusion of the first song promised a special evening.

And after the applause finished I noticed out of the corner of my eye that my wife was talking to the guy sitting beside her. And while I couldn't hear what they were saying, I could tell by her body language that something was very wrong.

They finished talking and I turned to my wife to ask what was going on. Initially she just shook her head. I again asked her what was wrong. And then she told me.

The man sitting next to her had told her to shut the fuck up. He said that she had screamed and it hurt his ear and she better shut the fuck up or there would be problems.

I didn't know what to say. I was completely taken aback. Shocked. I had heard her cheer at the end of the song, but everyone had cheered. She was no louder than anyone else around her.

What was worse was the look on her face. She was pale. With shock. With anger. And she looked very tiny, as if his words had drained her and diminished her. And I think she was hurt that her whole wonderful day and the concert itself had just been shattered by what this big, bulky Australian hat wearing man had said to her.

I asked her to switch seats with me. She refused. Said said she was fine.

We sat in silence for a minute. I then asked her again. I said, "Please, do me the courtesy of switching seats with me. I do not want you sitting next to that man." She looked fragile as she nodded her agreement. I could sense that moving seats would mean that in some tiny way that the man would have won, but it just did not make any sense for her to continue to sit next to him.

We waited until the song was finished. And then we switched seats.

My heart was been beating so hard that I thought that it was going to rip out of my chest. As I had been waiting for the song to finish I was studying where we were seating and I was trying to figure out what I would do if this guy started a fight: where I would move, how I would attempt to throw/drag/grab him, how to handle the guy in such a way to humiliate him and cause him pain without hurting anyone around us.

I then sat beside him. I leaned then over to him. And I said, "Did you actually say what my wife said you did?"

He looked at me and told me to watch the show.

So I repeated myself. A little more forcefully this time. I asked, "Did you say what my wife said you did, you Fuck? Because if you did, you owe her an apology. You Fuck."

He looked at me, asked me if I paid for the concert and then said that I should be quiet and watch the show.

Again I said, "You don't get it -- did you say that shit to my wife? You Fuck."

He tried to be cute. "Sorry, I can't hear you in this ear because of your wife's screaming."

Oh my god I was simply not in the mood for that sort of shit. But I kept my fire simmering. I did not boil over. I did not lose my cool. I did not scream at him or grab him.

"Fine," I replied. "Let me try your other ear." And I leaned across his fat, sweaty chest and said into his other ear, "Did you say what my wife said you did, you FUCK?"

He looked at me and said, "If you keep this up, you are going to end up in the police station."

At this point I looked over at the woman who was with him at the concert. Leaning across him, blocking his view of the concert, I said to her, "Is he always this rude to people? Does he always talk to women like this at concerts?"

She looked tired. Either she was used to this sort of behavior or she was shocked at what he had said and did not want to have any more problems. She asked me to please just let it go.

He looked at me and said, "You don't talk to her."

And with that, I finally had his attention.

So I said to him, "I *am* talking to her. You talked to *my* wife and now *I'm* talking to yours. And now I'm telling you what you are going to do. At the end of the concert you are going to apologize to my wife. You are going to say to her, 'I'm very sorry for being an asshole.'

"No, you know what -- you don't even have to say it like that. You can just say, 'I apologize for what I said. I was out of line. And I hope I didn't ruin the concert for you.' You are going to apologize to my wife. You FUCK. Do you hear me? Do you understand me?"

He looked at me. He must have been sizing me up. Thinking about his options.

And I did not know which way it was going to go. What he was going to do.

And finally he said, "I can do that."

"Good," I said.

And with that I sat back and watched the concert with my wife. I was tense. I was jumpy. And I still wasn't sure what he might do. But my wife then took hold of my hand and I relaxed. And then we did our best to enjoy the show.

Peter Gabriel performed the entire "Scratch My Back" album and there was an intermission as he said they'd be back in 15 minutes.

We all stood up. The guy's wife walked past us. And he was standing beside me.

He then leaned ever so carefully past me and extended his hand to my wife. And he said, "I want to give you my heartfelt apology. What I said was rude and completely uncalled for. I'm on the wrong side of three time zones, but that is no excuse for what I said. I was wrong and I completely apologize for my earlier actions. And I can only hope that it hasn't ruined the concert for you."

And my wife shook his hand and accepted his apology. It was, to be honest, the most sincere and polite apology I had ever heard. And this coming from a man who had been so very, very rude.

My wife and I then turned to our friends and she explained what had happened and why the man had apologized. The four of us then walked down the stairs to stretch our legs and get a drink.

But before we went too far I turned around and walked back to him.

I extended him my hand to him and said, "Thank you for doing that. I appreciate it."

And we shook hands and he again apologized for his actions.

And that was that. It was finished. Nothing more needed to be said.

I walked down and re-joined my wife. We went and bought a ridiculously over-priced bottle of water. She commented on his apology and asked me what I had said to him.

And I told her all of the details of the foul-mouthed in-his-face conversation. All of it. Every little bit. I was not kind to myself in its depiction.

My wife was shocked at what I had said to him. And probably more than a little surprised that the guy had apologized as earnestly as he did after the conversation/confrontation that he and I had shared.

She said that she hadn't wanted me to sit next to him because she had been worried I was going to say something to him. I told her that it didn't make any sense for her to keep sitting next to him. I said that it was the right thing for me to do when I sat next to him. And she told me that she appreciated what I had done. And that it was good of me to defend her honour.

We went back. The concert continued. It was a wonderful evening. It had had just that one little hiccup. But it worked out fine.

Because I am not a violent person. I am not hot-tempered.

But no one talks to my wife like that.

Back from Montreal (Part 1)

The used cd stores in Montreal did not disappoint.

Purchased items...

David Byrne and Fatboy Slim's "Here Lies Love"

Rickie Lee Jones "Sermon on Exposition Blvd."

Juliet Letters by Kerry-Anne Kutz (which is a huge blind buy based on my love of Elvis).

And a real surprise find was "Ovo" by Peter Gabriel. Somehow I utterly missed this release that is now 10 years old. One would think with all the knowledge of wikipedia at my fingertips that I would have known of the cd, but such are the wonders of used cd stores: discovering music that you didn't know you wanted.

And it was a terrifically timely discovery because that evening when we saw Peter Gabriel in concert the show finished with "The Nest That Sailed the Sky" -- a song that I'm unfamiliar with but now look forward to hearing.

En route to Montreal (part 4)

Without seeming too much like a hypocrite in my post below, I confess that there is great joy in having gathered 272 favorite songs and then hitting the shuffle function to see what comes forth. I get to make sure that the dj's next pick is sure to be something that I will enjoy.

This train ride has allowed me to enjoy Elvis Costello, John Hiatt, Aimee Mann, Dave Matthews, Annie Lennox, Aimee Mann singing Carly Simon, The Del Fuegos, Peter Gabriel, James Brown's "Sex Machine" followed by Lyle Lovett's "Old Friends", then a Rainy Night in Soho followed by a plead to Finish What You Started. Some Joe Jackson "Shape in a Drape", Peter Gabriel again asking to "Lay Your Hands on Me"

And now it's Warren Zevon singing "Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum, hoist the main sail, here I come. Ain't no room on board for the insincere. You're my witness, I'm your mutineer".

The ipod: it can be used for good as well as evil.

En route to Montreal (part 3)

There was an interesting article in the LA Times about ipods and the overwhelming simplicity of buying music.

http://www.latimes.com/news/opinion/commentary/la-oe-almond26-2010mar26,0,5330405.story

Entitled "The Trouble With Easy Listening", writer Steve Almond praised the convenience of the ipod but lamented the utter absence of that sense of joy that came with the thrill of hunting for music.

It makes me wonder if, as consumers, we are moving from a hunter-gatherer structure to something much less rewarding.

As an example: years ago I told a girl friend about an old magazine that I wanted. 'The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction' had dedicated an entire issue to writer Harlan Ellison. I had never seen a copy of the magazine, but every time I popped into a used bookstore I would scour through their racks to see if they had a copy.

And somehow, my girl friend found me a copy. I can't remember if we were together when she found it or if she found it on her own and gave it to me as a present. But the important thing is that she *remembered* and somehow she turned my quest into her own and discovered it for me.

Flash forward to some 20 years later: I just typed 'harlan ellison fantasy and science fiction magazine' into my search engine and *presto* the issue from 1977 is there for purchase at $33.50 plus shipping. Just that simple. All just a click away.

There is something to be said for the search and for the hunt. And it's not just thrill of the pursuit -- it's the intense enjoyment and sense of satisfaction you get after you've got it in your hot little hands. Almond's article discusses the effect this has on the enjoyment of music: if everything is instantly available, is it ever truly savored?

He also touches on the quaint antiquity of the mixed tape. Years ago I made a tape for the woman who would become my future wife. I remember the thought and care and planning that went into the tape: finding the right songs, figuring out what order they should be played, recording some snips of dialogue from Bull Durham (I believe in long, slow, deep kisses that last three days) and Bugs Bunny ("Ah-ha! Pronoun trouble!"), finishing the tape and then mailing it to her, waiting to see her reaction

I look back and sometimes think that the mixed tape I gave her was me at my very best.

Today someone could use itunes and make a playlist that could be cobbled together in two minutes. The gesture is the same, but it's so effortless in its creation that I can't help but think that something gets lost in the ease of its creation.

A credit card and a google search will get you just about anything. Itunes can find songs both old and new with a mere click. The internet has made it all so very, very easy. And that's not necessarily a bad thing, it's just that a bit of the thrill is gone.

As for me, I'm hoping that when I'm in Montreal that I will have a chance to walk up the road from my friends' apartment and visit a used cd store I found on my last trip to the city. The store may not have anything that I can't get on ebay, but there's a chance that I might discover something that I hadn't realized I was looking for.

En route to Montreal (part 2)

A guy just walked into the bathroom here on the train carrying his laptop.

Okay, I can see taking something in to read, but that's going too far.

And it makes me wonder if he would ever take an Ipad into the washroom.

En route to Montreal (part 1)

We're heading to Montreal by train to visit friends and see Peter Gabriel in concert. And getting there will be a fabulous, relaxing 5 hour trip of reading, writing and listening to some music.

And I can scribble here a bit. For instance...

Yesterday I met a friend for lunch and we got talking about death, cuz isn't that what everyone talks about over lunch?

We talked about making amends with friends and family before you die.

And I said that I want to have a heart attack but linger in the hospital for a week -- just enough time so everyone can come visit and I can make peace with everyone.

"It would be a hollywood death," my friend responded. "Heart attack, but healthy on your death bed."

That was it exactly. I'd tell my brother that I was sorry I made him drink tabasco when we were kids. He'd say he forgives me. Stuff like that.

And then, a week later, with my family gathered around, I would quietly, beautifully and peacefully shuffle off this mortal coil.  There'd be tears (oh, let's make it "countless tears"), but there would be some sense of relief that everyone got to say good-bye one last time.

The perfect movie death.

Describing a movie to a ten and seven year-old

The other night I took Gee to see "Avatar".

It was still playing at the fine Scotiabank Theatre here in Toronto (even though it's now out on dvd, they're still playing it!) and I wanted my son to experience it in 3-D and in a cinema.

It seemed like a Good Dad thing to do -- although he hadn't expressed a lot of interest in seeing "Avatar", I thought it was important for him to see The Biggest Movie of All Time.

(In a deep announcer's voice lecturing like in the warnings on a Viagara tv ad, you now have to imagine someone saying, "Please consult your local movie expert regarding actual statistics of the biggest movie of all time, these figures are not adjusted for inflation or the 3-D ticket surcharge, saying that it's the biggest movie of all time may cause film geeks to get angry and lecture you on ticket prices for Gone With the Wind, biggest does not mean best and all movies are relative to the period they were made.")

It was my second time seeing "Avatar" and I enjoyed it more this time out. I could just sit back and enjoy the visuals and just let if flow over me. The first time I saw it, the story bugged me and the long, extended, never seeming to end battle sequence at the film's conclusion seemed self-indulgent. But second time out, I could just enjoy the ride.

As for Gee, he told me that he liked the film, but he certainly didn't love it quite as much as I thought he would. I thought he would be blown away by the special effects and the sheer beauty of the film's images. But while he liked it, he found it too violent -- almost disturbingly so.

Nevertheless, it must have been on his mind because the next day as I was walking the two boys back from school, they asked me what *my* favorite movie was.

And I paused. And thought. And puzzled. And thought some more. And finally replied.

"That's really tough. I mean, I have a bunch of favorite movies. It's tough to pick just one."

But that of course is not much of an answer for two boys. "Okay, but if you had to pick one, what's your favorite?"

It is all in terms of absolutes when you're young. The notion of composing an entire list of great films is not quite there. The reasons why a film might be a Top 10 and why the list might shift and change depending on one's mood -- the concept is not quite there for a 7 and 10 year old. It's either the BEST or it's really not worth mentioning.

So I replied, "Probably 'Casablanca'. Sometimes 'The Matrix'. But probably 'Casablanca'."

(With more thought it could also be 'Blazing Saddles', 'Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory', 'Monty Python and the Holy Grail', 'Ed Wood', 'The Big Lebowski', 'Citizen Kane', 'Invasion of the Body Snatchers', 'The Usual Suspects', 'Punch Drunk Love', 'Bull Durham', 'Singin' in the Rain', 'A Clockwork Orange', 'Fight Club' and of course 'Young Frankenstein'.

And that list would be completely different in half an hour. And none of it is carved in stone. But it's almost impossible to explain a list like that to children.)

"What's Casablanca about?" asked seven year-old Zed.

And again, I'm at a loss. How can I summarize 'Casablanca'?

"Well, it's set during a war. And this guy owns a bar, a restaurant kind of thing. And he was in love with a woman. But she disappeared. And then one night she comes back. And he had been haunted by her memory. And the story goes from there."

(Which of course isn't a great description of 'Casablanca' because it doesn't deal with the World War II setting or Rick's role in the war or Sam at the piano being asked to play it or the fact that she's married to the head of the resistance and Rick was betrayed and heartbroken and at the end he gives her up because of a hill of beans... or any of the stuff that makes the movie amazing.)

Zed, trying to make sense of my brief description and put it within his own frame of reference, asks, "Was she a ghost?"

I'm a little surprised. "No, she's not a ghost."

"Was she a vampire?"

"No, she wasn't a vampire. Why would she be a vampire?"

"Because she came back at night. And you said she haunted him."

And then it all clicked for me. I explained, "It's not important that she came back at night. She left him and then she returned. He was haunted by her memory, not because she was a ghost."

"Ohhhhh," said Zed in reply. And the conversation then moved on.

Then I realized: for my boys, with their love of monsters, aliens, Scooby-Doo and Doctor Who, each and every story is more enjoyable if it has a ghost or a vampire.

The Most Fun I've Had

The most fun I've had in a long time was when I gave a presentation to my son's class.

He's in a grade 4-5 split and the whole class was doing a unit on comic books. Everyone had to review a graphic novel and answer a whole bunch of questions about the book (what kind of reader is it targeted towards? what does the cover say about the book? can you write a different ending for the book? etc. etc.)

Because I know an embarrassing amount of stuff about comic books, I asked his teacher if it would be possible for me to do a presentation to her students. She thought it was a great idea.

And then, wanting to do something informative and yet creative, I let the ideas percolate. I stewed them over. I let it all simmer and gently boil.

Eventually I came up with a framework that I liked, mapped it out in my mind, did some research, scribbled it out on paper and eventually pulled it all together.

I had my beginning. I had my conclusion. And I even had a great title for the whole thing. Most important of all, I liked what I was going to say.

On the day of the actual presentation I had the opportunity to write on the chalkboard and highlight every point I wanted to hit. I also took in samples of comic books -- a modern comic, a copy of a comic I read when I was a kid, some graphic novels, a copy of the script for the first issue of 'The Walking Dead' and even an original page of artwork from "Sandman". Oh, and to impress the kids I took in a copy of "The Art of Bone" that was signed by Jeff Smith -- it's always important to remember who your audience is.

When doing any sort of presentation I think there is always a risk that one might rely too heavily on a script -- if there is a complete sentence written on a note in front of a lecturer, it is guaranteed that they will stumble over the words as they try to read them. It's best to know what needs to be said and then allow the words to reveal themselves.

I wanted to make sure that my presentation flowed like a gentle stream in the quiet days of spring. (Repeat that simile quietly. Say it gently. Whisper it to yourself. That's what the presentation was to be like.) I had no notes other than those words that I had written on the board. I wanted to be able to move from point to point without feeling that I was trapped by structure.

Zen and the art of speech making -- the word will fall like the water drops from a dove's wing. And, if it helps, try to imagine that everyone is wearing frilly underwear.

My son introduced me to his class saying with a cheeky smile "This is my dad, Kevin", and that I had some things to say about graphic novels.

And then I started talking.

I told the class that I was going to talk about comic books. That I had been reading them for years and years, and that while I didn't know a lot about comic books from Japan or Europe, I would try to tell them about the history of comics in North America.

The first thing I did was ask them about the first word on the chalk board. I asked them if they knew what the word "geocentric" meant.

(Thankfully no one knew the exact definition of the word. In hindsight, had one little brainiac given me the answer it probably would have thrown off my just-getting-started rhythm.)

I explained that the word 'geocentric' is from 'geo' meaning 'earth' (as in geography) and 'centric' had to do with being in the center. The geocentric model of the universe had Earth at the center of the universe and the sun, the moon and all the planets revolving around us. And I explained how the model became more and more complicated as more planets were discovered and their moons were discovered and how eventually the whole model broke down.

And then I told to remember all of that because I was going to come back to it later.

And then I moved on.

I therefore started a presentation about comic books without talking about comic books. I started by talking about science. And I refused to tell them why it was important but that it was important and that we would come back to it later on.

And then I really got rolling.

From Sherlock Holmes and an audience demanding that a fictional character be brought back to life, to newspaper wars and immigrants learning to read, to Superman and the arrival of caped heroes, to funny animals and horror comics, to the crackdown because all teenagers are delinquents, the arrival of Spider-Man and the Fantastic Four and Jack Kirby, and McFarlane learning from the tragedy of early creators, and the arrival of Alan Moore, and servicing the trademark versus owning the creation, and of course there was a mention of Bone.

And I watched for any shuffling of feet or roaming of eyes but I never noticed anyone being blatantly bored. I'm not suggesting that each and every one of them found it fascinating, but at no time did anyone yawn or start talking with a neighbor or try to interrupt me.

I kept it moving. I went from point to point and tried to make everything tie together.

How Arthur Conan Doyle's greatest creation out-lasted his creator and now everyone knows who Sherlock Holmes is but most have forgotten his author. And the way that Sherlock Holmes is therefore a precursor for modern comic book heroes.

How Siegel and Shuster created the greatest hero the world has ever known, inspired an entire legion of imitators and made billions of dollars for the corporation that bought their character. And the way that Siegel and Shuster's fiscal error in judgment haunts comic creators to this day.

How after World War II comics started to mature with the readers who came back from the war and millions of comics were sold of all different genres -- westerns, funny animals, romance comics. And the way that the popularity of comics became their downfall when the violence and horror of some stories caused people to use them as a scapegoat.

And it all flowed from there. Bits and pieces from early in the presentation became more important as I talked. Sometimes I would think of something like the arrival and legally enforced departure of Captain Marvel and tie it into a certain point in history and use it to illustrate the power of a corporation protecting its copyright.

Siegel and Shuster would come back to the presentation as I spoke about Todd McFarlane and Alan Moore.

And Sherlock Holmes would return as I spoke about the never-ending, on-going nature of the stories and their heroes. How writer Grant Morrison would create his own characters but also create brilliant stories with Superman and Batman because he knew those characters, like Sherlock Holmes, would outlast us all.

I spoke with a little bit of knowledge and a little bit of insight and, most important of all, with enthusiasm.

At the end of the presentation I answered their questions as best I could and one of the students was kind enough to ask why I had written on the chalk board "Why Can't Johnny ______ Superman?"

And I thanked him because I had forgotten one thing that I had wanted to discuss and it was an economic and marketing problem for the entire comic book industry: Why Can't Johnny Buy Superman? And that led to a discussion about comic book distribution and graphic novels versus comic collections and why a local variety store doesn't carry comic books anymore.

I wrapped things up. The bell rang. Some students headed for the exit. But most of them came up to look at what I had brought to class and ask me questions.

Afterward I asked the teacher what she thought of the presentation. She said that with her class they would let you know when they were bored and that when the bell rang they got out of there as quick as they could. But they had been quiet during the presentation and they stuck around to ask additional questions. She felt it had gone really well.

The highest praise I received was from Gee. We talked about the presentation and I asked him how he thought it had gone, he said that it had gone "really good" and that some of his friends had said to him that I was cool.

And I told him that it was nice that they had said that. And very quietly I smiled to myself.

After more than forty years of collecting, comics are finally cool. And at that moment, for my son, perhaps I was cool, too.

What's a hero?

I don't care about Tiger Woods. I don't follow golf. I don't care if he wins or loses. Really, I don't.

But like everyone else I still know who he is. I don't care about the game. I don't care about the man. And yet I'm bombarded with information about him.

Which is the power of advertising, branding and the media. Even though I don't follow the sport, I still know that he is the superstar of the game. Because of Tiger Woods, the game is now recognized and acknowledged by people who never used to care. And at the same time he has, if you will, evolved beyond that which created him. He's not just a *golf* superstar -- He's Tiger Woods!!

And because of this he endorses and endorses and endorses -- and is paid millions and millions and millions -- everything from cars, running shoes, watches, cereals, sports drinks and other fun stuff that was willing to give him cash in order to hang onto his coattails and ride the gravy train of love.

But then it turns out that Tiger was more naughty than nice and the golf world and the advertising world was shocked!

As the news broke and the tabloids had a feeding frenzy, he took a sabbatical from the game he revolutionized, some companies finished their dealings with him and the public now has to decide to re-embrace him (a la Hugh Grant and Rob Lowe) or turn them back on him (a la Woody Allen).

My favorite part of the whole mess came yesterday.

Billy Payne, who is some bigwig in the game (and who obviously thinks he's a better person than Tiger Woods), said...

“It is simply not the degree of his conduct that is so egregious here. It is the fact that he disappointed all of us and more importantly, our kids and our grandkids. Our hero did not live up to the expectations of the role model we saw for our children.”

So, my question is this...

Why would anyone ever refer to Tiger Woods as "our hero" for our children and grandchildren?

He's changed the sport of golf for a lot of people and is a champion of the game, but should that make him a hero?

Isn't the very definition of a hero someone who has made a sacrifice or, at the very least, acted in the service of others?

If nothing else, it takes a major accomplishment in sports to be a hero. An argument could be made that Sidney Crosby is a national hero in Canada because of the winning goal he scored in the Winter Olympics. Crosby is a brilliant player, but it's because of the circumstances of his accomplishment and the timing of the goal that earns him Hero Status. Otherwise, he's just a genius on the ice and one of the best players of our time -- but not really a hero.

Tiger Woods is a brilliant golfer and, like Crosby, also one of the best players of our time, but has he ever done something for anyone besides himself? Has he ever said anything controversial or politically challenging?

Or put it this way... Did he ever face court action for his beliefs? Was he ever stripped of his title and barred from the sport? Did he ever take a stand on anything that wasn't based on a product endorsement?

Golf needed Tiger Woods the same way that baseball needed Barry Bonds and Mark McGwire: both men served their sport and made people care about it in a way they hadn't before.

They were in it for the sport and they were in it for the money. They made the sport greater than it was, and, in turn, the sport made them richer than they could have dreamed.

But as for accomplishments they would inspire anyone... Well, I'm drawing a blank.

At least they made a ton of money in the process. And perhaps that's why they're seen as role models and heroes.