Words Flow Like Chocolate

Coveting the comfy but thinking of hockey

2012-01-29T20:34:00.002-05:00

(Hockey greeting and reminder...)

My fellow Dragons:

Another Friday night. Another soccer practice for my older son. And me once again at Starbucks coveting the comfy chair.

The thing is this: I don't even like Starbucks. Oh I know that's horrible to say and I risk their free Internet service detecting the words "hate" and "Starbucks" in the same sentence and somehow doing permanent, horrible things to my iPad, but I'm honestly indifferent bordering on dismissive of Starbucks. I'd much rather go to Second Cup, but (a) it's not as convenient, (b) I'm not sure if they have free wi-fi, and (c) it doesn't have the comfy chair.

I don't know if it's a Pee-Wee's Playhouse thing or a Blue's Clues thing or a 'remember that poster from the movie 'Scandal' that was the famous image in Britain' thing, but I like the idea of the comfy chair, I covet the comfy chair, I want the comfy chair.

But I've decided in 2012 to be not only more plodding but also more patient. Like the Margaret Thatcher haters who will wait until she's dead to tramp the dirt down, I figure I can out-wait the two 20-something women who are hogging the chairs and using the word "like" an awful lot: "He said to me, like, 'You can't mean it.' And I said to him, like, 'Yeah, I do.' So he was like all upset and everything." I don't even know if they like the word, but they sure use it a lot.

And yet as I wait patiently (and wonder if I should switch chairs so I don't appear over-eager, but at the same time I don't want to risk someone scooping them up when my back is turned, but if I look anxious there's a chance they'll realize I'm observing them and -- oh my god, I just realized that the comfy chair has somehow become a symbol of my pathetic days as a young man who was perhaps uncertain, perhaps unconfident and perhaps a wee bit desperate when it came to women)...

And yet as I wait patiently, I know that my time will come. Patient and plodding -- that's me. Or maybe it is patient and *plotting* and I'm merely presenting a charade of plodditude? After all, I'm one-eighth Italian so perhaps I'm more Machiavellian than even I myself suspect. Could I be so Machiavellian that even the other seven-eighths of me does not suspect my own 0.125 percent's motives? Was Machiavelli even Italian? I don't care; I'm gonna go with it anyways.

As for HOCKEY....

Sunday night at 10:00 my friends. And as I write that I think "ten o'clock" and as I type this I think I'm writing it because "writing" sounds infinitively more creative than "typing" and I'm thinking about scoring and assisting and winning and all of those things. And if I'm thinking about all of those things as I compose this email, I simply must be *writing* because typing is just qwerty-fying to communicate while this, THIS, is oh so much more.

Oi! Does this guy got his eye on my comfy chair? Oops, he's just been told by his I-guess-it's-his mom that Starbucks doesn't have the hot chocolate that he wants, so he says "screw it". He's now trying to convince her to go to EB Games. He looks like he eats at Burger King / McDonald's / Pizza Hut for breakfast, lunch and dinner and eats his ice cream with gravy instead of chocolate sauce. I will slap his face silly if he even thinks of encroaching on the comfy chair, slap him so hard that his jowls will vibrate in such a violent fashion that a sonic boom will occur. Do not even think of looking at the comfy chair!!!

And with that he leaves to once again dwell in his mother's basement. And I quietly thank god that I'm drinking decaf or I might have got really upset.

Hockey! Sunday night against Shock. I don't know if they are collectively known as "the Shock", "the Shocks" or just "Losers" but somehow we were defeated by them back on December 11th so I think it'd be a wonderful idea to beat them this time. They were beaten by CIP two weeks ago, and we hammered those reprobates last week, so I think it's our mathematical destiny to get a wee bit of vengeance on Sunday. Or is that a wee bit of revenge? Do we 'extract vengeance' and 'get revenge'? Is that the way it works? -- Either way, victory shall be ours.

And so, just as the comfy chair has been mine for the past half hour, so too shall sweet, sweet victory be ours on Sunday.

Damn I'm glad I'm drinking decaf. Cuz can you imagine one of these emails on an espresso or two? Now THAT would be a ride.

Gentlemen! Sunday at 10:00. Send your regrets if you're unable to attend. Otherwise I look forward to seeing you there.

All the best,
Kevin.

Sent from my iPad (and the comfy chair)

No Drive, No Shame

2012-01-24T12:40:00.003-05:00

Oscars, Oscars, Oscars.

A couple of years ago my friend Tim and I came up with this test for the Academy Awards and it was beautiful in its simplicity: the question must be asked, how would Tony Curtis vote?

(Yeah-yeah, Tony Curtis passed away two years ago. But stay with me on this one.)

How would Tony Curtis vote? -- Would he nominate a movie that had a German actor playing an American in New York who sleeps with lots of women, shows off his massive schlong but should be pitied because he is emotionally cut-off from the world? --> Tony might *watch* "Shame", but he wouldn't admit to liking it.

Would Tony nominate the actor who played the chimp in the 7th version of a movie that he didn't like back in 1969? -- Hell, Tony wouldn't even watch the movie let alone realize that it was Andy Serkis in an award-worthy performance as Caesar in "Rise of the Planet of the Apes".

And as for the Ryan who was completely shut out for his performances in "The Ides of March", "Crazy, Stupid, Love" and the brilliant but oh-so violent "Drive", Tony would probably get Gosling mixed up with Reynolds, and Tony hated that "Green Lantern Hornet" movie, so who cares anyway.

To sum up...

Michael Fassbender overlooked after *his* amazing year with "A Dangerous Method", "X-Men First Class" and "Shame".

"Rise of the Planet of the Apes" not getting the acting nomination it deserved.

One of the two Ryan's will just have to be satisfied with it being the Year of the Gosling.

And Albert Brooks, so very powerful as the bad guy in "Drive", is ignored. They like him funny; don't like him psychotic.

(Oh and I thoroughly enjoyed "Moneyball", but passing over Albert Brooks or Andy Serkis for Jonah Hill is a real... well, I was going to say 'shame', but I'll just stick with 'letdown'. The guy who starred in "The Sitter" and the upcoming "21 Jump Street" was good in "Moneyball", but nowhere near as powerful as Brooks and Serkis in their movies.)

So, yep, I guess I have to watch "The Help" now.

Coffee and chairs and eyes, oh my!

2012-01-23T11:36:00.003-05:00

(the hockey reminder...)

My fellow Dragons:

I'll be honest: what slays me is the fact that he's not even drinking his friggin' tea.

I've dropped Gee off to a soccer practice and I've got some time to kill. So I've headed to Starbucks to grab a coffee and use their Internet and then wander through Chapters to look at books and potentially bump into and then heroically resist the French-accented bespectacled librarian of my childhood dreams.

And as I walk into Starbucks I see one of the comfy chairs just sitting there, waiting for me -- or is it just waiting there for me to be sitting? Regardless / Irregardless, there's a comfy chair awaiting me to be a-sitting.

"Did you throw your jacket on the chair in order to mark your territory?" I hear you ask. No, I reply. Why would I do that when karma had so generously nodded in my direction?

Alas karma (like fate, luck, destiny and my brother's girl friends one, five and eight) is a fickle bitch. And perhaps I, in my Doctor Who t-shirt, hooded sweatshirt and jeans did not seem as attractive to karma and the comfy chair as this pocket notebook writing, tweed-pant wearing, heterosexual-ish Oscar Wilde-looking dandy. He got the chair but I, according to my doctor, have good cholesterol, strong kidneys, wonderful electrolytes and a fabulous prostate!

So screw you, you not-drinking-your-tea bastard. You may have the chair, but I've got a moderately wonderful bill of health that is sure to act as an enticing and irresistibly powerful aphrodisiac for Swedish stewardesses around the world.

Oh and one more thing: did any of you hear the story on CBC radio about the Canadian artist who went to Panama to get her eye colour changed? She got some kind of implants to permanently change her eye colour from brown to green, but it turns out the operation has had the nasty side effect of effectively leaving her blind.

A couple things spring to mind: who the fuck flies to Panama for an operation? Why the fuck would an *artist* pay a doctor in Panama to mess around with her vision and thereby mess around with her livelihood? Who the fuck has eight thousand dollars for elective surgery like this and still thinks that Panama is the best place to go for the surgery? And didn't this candidate for the Darwin Awards ever hear Crystal Gayle's song and take heed of the warning: don't it make my brown eyes blue?

(Oh and as a side note -- my teammate VR said that he heard the same story, but "I didn't actually feel that bad for her though. Is that wrong?" To which I replied "Yes, it's wrong that you don't feel bad for her. But you're right not to. And by agreeing to both of those seemingly contradictory statements, we prove ourselves to be geniuses!!!")

And with that, and finally!, the 21st Century middle-aged dandy has left the Starbucks and the comfy chair is mine!! Karma delayed is still Karma received as she has smiled upon me and my magnificent prostate once more!

(Hmmmm, is Karma a woman for women, too? -- I wonder.)

Hockey! Sunday night!!

We take to the ice down at the MCC at 7:45 against CIP.

No, I don't know what "CIP" stands for, but I'm glad you asked. It could be the "Canadian Institute of Planners". It might be the "Certified Insurance Professionals". But I suspect it stands for "Certifiably Ignorant about Passionately-pleasuring-partners". In my mind they are therefore known as CIP-PP. And that of course is ridiculously close to "See my pee-pee" which is a goofy name for a hockey team (if forced, I would have chosen, CWS, which would of course would stand for "See my Wonderful Schlong") but, hey!!!, it's their bloody team name, not ours.

Sunday night we shall defeat them and silently mock them because we know their Rumpelstiskin-like hidden name and their anti-Casanova hidden shame. They deserve to lose because of their lack of partner pleasuring prowess. And they deserve to lose because I've discovered that winning is tons of gawddamn fun and I'm not about to give up on it now.

Hope to see you Sunday night. Let us know if you cannot attend. I'm now going to leave the comfy chair and tempt fate as I resist the fantastical siren call of the illusionary French librarian of my dreams.

Oh how I love coffee shops that have bookstores next door.

All the best,
Kevin.

The New Year of the Dragons

2012-01-08T12:55:00.001-05:00

(for the team...)

My Fellow Dragons:

Sixty-four from twelve equals today.

And I know Iknow IKNOW it has nothing to do with hockey, but there you are.

It's funny. As a child/teenager I was such a comic book/sci-fi geek (and oh how things have changed!) that 2001 seemed like a hugemassiveenormous year in the future. I remember reading Arthur C. Clarke's book (and reading the book well before I ever saw the film) and thinking "Holy fuck. I'm going to be 37 in 2001. Holy fuckedy-fuck-fuck that will be old." And now it's 2012 (and because of Clarke and Kubrick I still think of the year as "Two Thousand and Twelve") and 37 doesn't seem that much anymore.

Strange how the future just... happens. And then it just keeps going. And then, here we are.

Do we get older, or do we just become more like we are?

If I had a time machine, I'd go back, tell myself to buy The Killing Joke page I saw in London, buy another Vess Sandman page, buy a couple more Totleben pages, warn myself that eventually I'd go grey and hair would grow in my ears and advise myself to have as much sex as possible and never say "No" to the opportunity.

Hmmm, come to think about it, I don't think I've ever said "no". Wait -- correct that! There was a friend's wife some 17 years ago and that woman in Vegas 20 years ago. So, yes! I have standards!! Holy shit, I have standards! Yay for me!!!

But enough about all that and the additional ring around my maple trunk...

Gentlemen, welcome to the new year and the return of the most fun you can have on a Sunday that doesn't involve religion, television or farm animals. I'm speaking of course about Dragons hockey!

The Dragons take to the ice at 6:20 in #1.

The final game of last year was against the BLACK Dragons; the first game of this year is against the MAD Dragons. It's like a CFL game where the Rough Riders will win.

After a careful analysis of their past record, I've determined that the Mad Dragons suck and deserve to be defeated. I could go into more detail, but that's the undeniable conclusion of my study and I won't be bogged down with facts. Because facts are for people who refuse to dream of the fictional wonders that they can create and turn into reality. Fact are simple and facts are straight facts are lazy and facts are late, facts all come with points of view and facts don't do what I want them to. And home is where I want to be but I guess I'm already there.

So, welcome to the new year -- a year sure to be filled with all sorts of wonders and confusions and surprises and hopefully the occasional delight.

And heck here's a crazy thought, but with a 6:20 start time on Sunday, maybe we can head out for a beer afterwards. A slightly delayed seasonal celebration of good cheer. Or something like that.

I hope your holidays were the perfect balance of naughty *and* nice. And hope to see you Sunday.

Let us know if you will be unable to attend the game. Otherwise, look forward to seeing you then.

All the best. And welcome to the new year of the Dragons.

Last Dragons of 2011

2011-12-31T23:48:00.003-05:00

The last letter of the year to my team. Christmas, New Year and good cheer all around.

My Fellow Dragons:

One of the few Christmas presents I would have liked this year is, alas, not to be.

I was hoping that the fine supervisors at the Hockey Association would look at this week's game time and realize, "Hey, that Sunday start time doesn't work for Kevin Pasquino! What the fuck were we thinking? Who the hell cocked the fucking times up? Frank!! Was it you, you ignorant twat? Change the bloody game time for the Dragons you witless, clueless, fucking moron!!"

Alas, Frank's enormous error in judgement has not been caught by his supervisor and the game time remains as personally and egocentrically awful as it was a week ago.

So rather than joining you on Sunday, I'm going to be at a family Christmas gathering.

Oh what miserable pseudo-joy.

Imagine dear old Aunt Judith, still clinging on to dear life, and still as sloppy and generous as ever with her kisses. Even my boys fear going near their great-aunt.

Imagine my slightly estranged brother, Jim, who is going to be awkwardly and uncomfortably friendly, but I know that if there is a beer (or twenty) in sight that the drinking will start, followed by the flirting with every spouse he's not *immediately* related to, followed by the inevitable fight, and then finally the drunken pathetic tears of apology and embarrassment. Hopefully the afternoon lunch-gathering will impede his drinking.

And imagine my wealthy uncle's second wife, the beautiful trophy wife, Janet, who doesn't want to be there, hates everyone in her husband's family and loves nothing more that to give Jim all the alcohol he desires and thereby insuring that he'll make a pass at her so she can steal attention from everyone and leave the party in a brilliantly staged scene of scandalous indignity.

Yes. Families get-togethers can be so much fun. Can you see why I'd rather be playing hockey? --> Fucking stupid scheduling guy Frank the idgit fucking jerk-off.

(Of course, my family is nothing like that. I don't have an Aunt Judith, brother Jim or hot replacement Aunt Janet. My family and I all manage to get along fairly well. But nevertheless it would be fun to rush from the Christmas lunch to the hockey game. But a friggin' 2:10 start? -- Alas, that's friggin' impossible.)

Gentlemen!!!!

You will be playing the final game of the year against the copy-cat named Black Dragons. They're the bottom place team, but they lost 6-3 last week just as we did, so the Magic Eight Ball of Hockey Love remains cloudy with its analysis. Nevertheless, I smell a pre-Christmas victory (I also smell turkey because my wife is hosting a staff Christmas party tonight and she's already cooking -- but victory is what I smell for the team!).

Best of luck tomorrow. I wish I could be there and it honest to hell saddens me that I won't be. I detest missing the last game of the season and the final game before the holidays. But it will be nice to see my family and (let's be honest) maybe I'll even score a nice present or two. Which would be fun because lord knows I can't score a goal on the damned ice.

Have a blast tomorrow. And I'll see you all in 2012.

Merry Christmas. Seasons Greetings. And a wonderfully, terrific and joyous New Year's for everyone!

Julie Newmar's sweet candy

2011-11-05T15:03:00.002-04:00

hockey greeting...

(First off, congrats to Brent for being the top player on the "Playmakers" list, and also congrats to Dave for being #15 on the list. You men are the talented bookends to a bunch of lesser players in between. Congratulations guys.)

(Second thing, turn your clocks back an hour this weekend. This Saturday is the "Fall Back" daylight savings time thing-ee that always causes confusion as people try to figure out how to reset the digital clock on the stove, microwave, bedside table, car radio, etc. etc. ad. nauseum. The nice thing is that if you forget to re-set your clock you will actually be *early* for the game. The bad thing is it means that gremlins have an additional hour of mischievous playtime to create chaos as they loosen the bolts on the wheelchairs of the elderly and scare the crap out of William Shatner while he's flying. Me? -- I'm happy with the extra sleep.)

(Third thing: how about those Leafs? Whodathunk?)

My fellow Dragons:

Halloween candy is evil.

There, I said it.

Halloween candy is the equivalent of a time machine'd Julie Newmar coming from the past and purring at you, "Come here, little boy. I'm from the time period when you were only three years old. It's a total paradox that I'm even here talking to you. And let me tell you that a time paradox is even better than a trip to Las Vegas because what didn't happen in the past can't occur in the present and certainly doesn't count in the future. So help me out of this Catwoman costume and I'll let you tickle my pussycat."

Halloween candy is just friggin' like that!! I didn't pay for it -- therefore it doesn't count. I didn't ask for it -- therefore it doesn't count. And it's just lying around the house looking so delicious and tempting -- so it most certainly does not count!!!

Friggin' Halloween candy -- love you, want you, but don't want to go near you.

So, heck, I don't know about you but I wouldn't mind burning off all of those Kit Kats, Aero bars and teeny-tiny bags of chips this weekend.

Sunday!! 8:15 pm. Down at the MC (or it might be "across at the MC, but most certainly not "up at the MC") we're playing the Sharks. Unlike our class act of Brent and Dave, who are bookending the playmakers' list, they have Thomas Reynolds (Ryan's younger but slightly taller third cousin twice removed) who stands atop the knuckleheads' list. Shame on Thomas and shame on the Sharks for the 42 minutes in penalties that they racked up in one game. May I suggest that we show our displeasure at their conduct by thoroughly trouncing them in our game this Sunday? And afterwards we can share some tea and crumpets and then play some polo.

Sunday 8:15 MC 2.

And stay away from those candies and that time machine'd Julie Newmar. Both are wonderful but seductively and deliciously evil.

Wait

2011-11-03T14:44:00.003-04:00

No-no-no.

I looked down and thought that 207.5 (and the way I thought it was "two-oh-seven-and-a-half") was completely unacceptable. And when there was a hint of 208 I just felt like walking away in disgust and denying it ever happened.

199. One-ninety-nine. That's a worthy number. And I understand the whole mumbo-jumbo of pricing and how $399.99 just feels infinitely less that four hundred dollars. I completely get the whole consumer mentality/rationalization when it comes to Wayne Gretzky's hall of fame hockey sweater.

Nevertheless. 199. That's a number to look down on with pride.

But Halloween candy, so small and innocent and invitingly tiny, is always beckoning. So much smaller than normal chocolate and chips. And next thing y'know you've scarfed down 20 of the damn things. People without children don't have the same temptation.

Having said that, being Canadian helps. Thanksgiving is behind us. I pity people who have children and then Thanksgiving and then Christmas: snacks, turkey and then more turkey.

199. That'd be a nice number.

Gibberish, not Jibberish

2011-11-01T10:59:00.004-04:00

After placing second with her downfall being the oh-so cruel but simple sounding word 'gibberish' -- this after the success of 'homonym' and 'onomatopoeia' -- April would not stop practicing and correcting and screaming.

Three days later and much to her mother's annoyance, her daughter simply refused to stop spelling.

"April, honey, you've got to stop this. It's not cute anymore. Honestly, it wasn't that cute to begin with. But now it's just annoying."

"Ay-en-en-oh-why-eye-en-gee."

"Sweetheart, you have to stop. It's not healthy. I'm sorry you lost. I'm sorry it was with such an awful word."

"Ay-doubleyou-eff-you-elle," replied her daughter.

(At age 11 April was still slightly too young to realize that "eff-you-elle" was dangerously close to "FU all" but her mother let it slide rather than give her child even more pronunciation ammunition.)

"But it wasn't your fault. You did so very well with the other words. And they were much harder words. But that word is tricky and it isn't spelled correctly at all. Your spelling of the word was much, much better. So let's just stop this nonsense and..."

"It's all your fault, Mommy! You and Daddy helped me study and you said I'd be great and I'd win and I was smart and you were wrong! You lied to me! You said I'd make you proud and that I'd show everyone, and you lied, you lied, you lied!"

"April, how were we to know they'd use a word like that? We couldn't know. Honey, that word..."

"Don't you say it! Don't you ever say it! I never want to hear that word again. It's a dumb word, a silly word. And it should be with a 'jay', and I checked and it can begin with a 'jay' and it's not fair!"

"I know, honey. But you know the rules and they use one dictionary and..."

"You lied to me and I hate that word and I'm smart and I hate you! I'm smarter than you and Daddy and everyone and I hateyou, hateyou, hateyou."

And all her mother could think was that she would give anything to go back in time and have April as a tiny baby when it was all coos and sounds and baby talk. Back when the world was all joyous gibberish and the spelling of a word wouldn't be the cause of a tantrum.

And she found herself smiling at the word 'tantrum' even as its personification exploded in front of her and she suddenly realized that it was contagious as she found herself silently spelling in her mind: 'Tee-ay-en-tee-are-you-em.' They had thought of the name Emily for their daughter but had gone with April instead and 'Are you Emme?" spells rum and although she didn't drink liquor very often, her daughter was certainly taking her to the point were a drink wasn't a horrible idea.

But at that point she made the mistake of smiling quietly to herself while her daughter's petulant fury continued and her quiet joy at that quiet memory was noticed by the angered child.

"You're laughing at me! You're smiling! You didn't help, you lied, you promised, and now you're just laughing at me!"

"April. Stop. I'm not smiling at you. I'm not laughing at you. That's ridiculous. I was remembering a time when you were born and we were thinking of calling you 'Emily' and I remember you when you were so very tiny and..."

"I am NOT ridiculous! Ridiculous: are-eye-dee-eye-see-you-elle-oh-you-ess! That's how you spell it! You probably don't even know how to spell it! I hate you!!"

And the spelling spree continued.

Dreamt of a Lie

2011-09-24T01:02:00.003-04:00

My wife had a nightmare the other night. I was awakened because the dream was so intense that she was shaking with fright. I asked her the next day what the nightmare had been about. She told me that she didn't remember.

And it makes me wonder: why would someone lie about something like that?

Making Trouble

2011-09-12T13:47:00.004-04:00

I wanted a challenge so I thought I'd try to bite off more than I could chew and perhaps even more than I wanted to taste.

So over at the Trouble With Comics site I'm writing reviews of all 52 issues of the newly re-launched DC Comics.

(Okay, it's only 51 issues because I threw the gauntlet down after the debut of Justice League #1).

Part one is here...
with action and an animal, man.

And Part two is here...
as I attempt to figure out how to build a better bat-trap.

Yes, instead of getting beauty sleep I've been reading comic books that I usually wouldn't have bothered with and then I'm writing about them to see if I would have missed something great or my instincts would have been correct. Winners, surprises and stinkers.

And for my next trick I'm going to pull a rabbit out of my hat and then force feed it to a goldfish.

Post Labour Day thoughts

2011-09-08T15:30:00.004-04:00

Four things:

1. When I was as a teenager I remember being giddy on the Tuesday after Labor Day because I would run to the local variety store and grab the Fall Preview issue of TV Guide. I read that puppy like it was my new best friend and learned about all of the great new shows. School was fun, but the fall preview issue of TV Guide was better. And for a long time (much too long) I kept all the issues.

And now TV Guide no longer exists and the fall tv season premieres run through September, October and November, and I am therefore ever so slightly less giddy than I used to be. - sigh -

2. Years ago I knew a woman who told me that when she was a child her parents bought her new underwear for the new school year and all of the old stuff would go in the trash. She told me that she now continues the tradition and, for her, Labor Day is synonymous with new undies.

I have always thought that story was kind of cool. Labor Day becomes Lingerie Day! There's a holiday every couple could celebrate!!

3. I didn't realize the proper spelling until a couple of days ago -- so it's been a lifetime of spelling the word incorrectly in my mind...

But now it seems quite obvious that "symmetry" has two m's otherwise it would look unbalanced and untrue to itself.

4. I found myself pondering this the other day...

A man and woman are hurrying through a door as they run across a wet floor.

It's a true battle of the Titans. Which wins: ladies first or safety first?

More coffee on the Inside than Outside

2011-08-23T11:40:00.007-04:00

You ever have one of those mornings where the world feels just a wee bit blah?

It's funny, I'm hesitant to say "I'm kinda depressed" because that word now has this dazzling, scary weight to it, but I'm definitely feeling blah. Let's put it this way: was Charlie Brown ever chronically depressed? -- Probably not, but I'm sure that when the damn football was snatched away for the gazillionth time he probably wasn't feeling in the best of moods.

So, while it's not like I play football, I certainly feel like something has been snatched away from me.

And this is the silly stuff I do to make myself feel better...

First, a cup of coffee in a Tardis mug.

My lovely wife bought me a Doctor Who book for Father's Day (did I mention the Darwyn Cooke "Parker" page she got me for Christmas -- she is truly and astonishingly wonderful) and it was a great book but I already had it, so off I went to exchange it.

And as she said afterwards, had she seen the mug that I exchanged to book for, she would have got it for me. And there is nothing better than exchanging a gift and getting the stamp of approval for the new present. So although I went and got the mug, I really got it from her.

It is however more beautiful than it is functional. The mug is surprisingly difficult to drink from and I have to steer myself to the corners which is not where one instinctively goes to take a sip, but once I got over the awkwardness and found a way to make it work (which, I know, sounds stupid cuz IT'S A MUG but its beauty outshines its grace) it is a lovely thing. It and my Far Side 'Cat Fud' mug are treasures on a coffee needing morning.

So, cup of Tardis coffee and a bowl of cereal (Raisin Bran cuz I'm trying, really trying to be a bit healthier) as I read about Jack Layton's life. With regards to Jack: we all know the end is coming, but Layton knew his was imminent and that sense of an unavoidable closing chapter gave him the opportunity to leave with style. Quite remarkable.

And after breakfast the other silly thing I did was I opened Mister Miracle and Big Barda.

There is a wonderful comic shop in London Ontario named Heroes Cards and Comics (although I think they mostly go by "Heroes") and I was there last week as we visited my brother and his family. And I know I shouldn't have, but I ended up buying a fabulous Mister Miracle t-shirt (to which my lovely wife responded, "Does that mean you're going to cook dinner? -- Because *that* would be a miracle," which is, let's be honest, some funny shit) and of course it is a t-shirt that I don't need but it looks really geeky cool.

I grabbed two action figures as well. Hence their freedom this morning.

Years ago when "40 Year Old Virgin" came out my wife was amused with the similarities between me and the main character when it came to action figures. My boys, should they see the movie in years to come, will also marvel at the fact that "Hey, my dad didn't want to open his action figures either! We'd always ask him when he'd open the Doctor Who Dalek Attack set and he never did!"

But today -- What the hell, throw caution to the wind, be crazy! -- and out came Mister Miracle and Barda. If you know the character, you're not surprised that he escaped the packaging cuz of course that's what he does. And then he'd help Barda out, too cuz they are husband and wife. But you know all of that.

(Barda should be taller than her husband, but I guess they action figures are of a standard size but they look so nice together, free of their packaging. And yes they are standing in front of a giant Opus. I'm sure they will all get along.)

Cup of coffee in the tardis mug, open a couple of action figures and then the best part...

Zed came into my office as his mum phoned and as she & I were gabbing he starts using my 'no it's not Rory' gladiator figure from Doctor Who to quietly attack the stufffed dragon that's sitting on my desk. And as my eight year old later explained "The gladiator attacked Torch but then he realized that he's a good dragon, so they're friends now."

And with that, the morning seems so much brighter.

Between all of those things the world no longer seems so blah; instead, it's filled with creative wonder and enthusiasm. And somehow I doubt that Charlie Brown ever felt the wonderful silly grin that comes with that realization.

That Covers It

2011-08-15T12:55:00.006-04:00

Yesterday I'm at the supermarket with the boys and I noticed that Zed, age 8, seemed all embarrassed and flustered.

I asked him what's wrong but he wouldn't tell me. I persisted and he finally confessed that he noticed a magazine cover that was inappropriate. I then explained to him that no magazine at a supermarket is inappropriate and that it's all okay. He then said that he noticed that *I* was looking at it and he didn't think it was right that I should be staring at it.

And all I could think was "You little monkey!"

Had my wife been with us perhaps I would have been more subtle. Hell, even with her absence I thought I was being subtle!! But this apparently was not the case.

But the worst of it was this: I was among men!!! And men never comment when other men are looking!!! But one of those 'men' was an eight year old boy who obviously figured his father shouldn't even be looking at images of women. Damnit.

Here is the offending (but oh so very unoffensive) cover that my son spied me looking at. I didn't even flip through the the magazine! I looked but did not touch!!

The funny thing is this: there may have been other magazines at the checkout, but my son was right cuz this was the only one that caught my eye. All other covers sit down when Rosario Dawson is on the stands.

But I have now learned that even the supermarket isn't safe when my son is watching me to make sure I'm not looking.

Patrick and the Playoffs

2011-08-02T08:57:00.009-04:00

(A month away from the blog?!? Credit the volunteer work and two weeks of practicums (and the up until 2, 2 and 3:20 in the morning work that went with it) which all made me like Jack in "The Shining" (without the ax and the "Here's Johnny!" attitude). The playoff reminder for the team looked like this...)

- Where am I?
In the village
- What do you want?
Information.
-Whose side are you on?
That would be telling. We want information... information... information.
- You won't get it.
By hook or by crook, we will.
- Who are you?
The new Number Two.
- Who is Number One?
You are Number Six.
- I AM NOT A NUMBER. I AM A FREE MAN!

My Fellow Dragons:

Congratulations on the regular season and ending up as Patrick McGoohan in "The Prisoner" because in the end we ranked number six in our division.

But, let's be honest, the regular season results means sweet f.a. as we head into the playoffs cuz come the playoffs it's a whole new thang.

Two losses will mean a team is eliminated. Get to the end with no losses and you are not only crowned the winner, you also get an hour-long conservation debating the necessity of tax increases in the United States with Sarah Palin while wearing a two piece bikini. But to be clear: *you* will be wearing the bikini, cuz to picture Ms Palin in a bikini is disrespectful and sexist. But, yes, she will be keeping her hot librarian glasses on during the entire encounter. And you will be allowed to drink as many diet ginger ales as you'd like.

The playoffs start on Tuesday at 8:30 down at the MC Centre -- the site of our awesome and inspiring victory last week. And as Brent so eloquently said to my e-mail that read "victory rocks my little world," he replied "I like victory. It beats defeat ever time!"

And hence the new Dragons motto: "Victory Beats Defeat Every Time!" As a motto it states an absolute truth, but also conveys the passion and drive towards excellence that the entire team strives for. And thus it will replace the functional but slightly less inspiring former motto of "We could probably defeat Helen Keller, but no farm animals will be accepted as payment."

Gentlemen! The playoffs! Get your game face on! Bring you i.d.! And if it helps, go take 20 kids to The Smurfs movie this weekend and get angry about how you could have gone to see a good film by yourself and then spent the remaining money on beer!

Game face! Game Face!! GAME FACE!!!

Tuesday night 8:30 against the Penguins. We've tied them twice and have yet to beat them. So they're due for a beatin' Tuesday night.

Gentlemen, it's the playoffs: separating the men from the boys, the winners from the losers, and the debonair drinkers from the disgusting drunks for generations!

Sarah Palin and an unlimited quantity of diet ginger ale await!

Hope to see you at the first game,
Kevin.

GAME FACE!!!!

Dragons Attack Penguins

2011-07-04T23:27:00.005-04:00

(When team rep's away, the team still has to play...)

My Fellow Dragons:

So, I ain't gonna be there tomorrow night.

Therefore on someone else's shoulders will lay heavy the responsibilities of making the lines, motivating the team, risk offending the entire squad with some only moderately acceptable swearing, while keeping all of it in-check with some obscure literary reference.

As a warm-up for the game and perhaps as a cheat sheet should someone need it...

Alex will be on defence with Veeg. We're tied in points with the Penguins so there's no reason not to beat them but we have to watch #29. I want to apologize for the funny way your mom was walking after the Canada Day firework excitement (if you know what I mean!). And did anyone else catch Christopher Hitchen's analysis of David Mamet's newly discovered right-wing leanings? -- American Buffalo Gets Slapped Down!

There you go. At least that'll get you started.

9:00 in # 3 against the Penguins.

And don't think of that cute little cuddly penguin from the Bugs Bunny cartoons when you take to the ice. No-no-no!

Think instead of the vicious penguins from Garth Ennis and John McCrea's "Hitman" comic book story entitled "Zombie Night at the Gotham Aquarium". And remember: zombie penguins -- they deserve no mercy.

Have fun tomorrow night. I'll be thinking of y'all taking a spiritual and symbolic bat to those red-eyed brain-hungry fiends.

Best of luck,
Kevin.

The Smell of Stinking Palms in the Morning

2011-06-19T22:02:00.008-04:00

I had a rude awakening last Wednesday morning when my wife asked me why I smelled so foul.

“You smell bad,” she said.

“’Bad’? What do you mean ‘bad’?”

“You’ve got a stench. And you usually don’t smell. Did you shower after your hockey game?”

“Of course I did.”

“Really?!? Did you win last night?”

“No. We lost. Three-nothing.”

“Ahhhh. That must be it.”

“What? ‘That must be’ what?” I could see her immediately back away from the conversation, hesitant to say anything more. “What’s the game got to do with it?” I asked.

She at least had the decency to frown as she told me. She shrugged as she said it, as if it were no big deal. “You smell a little bit like defeat. You kind of stink of loss.”

“Oh.” I had no idea what else to say. “Oh. I see.”

“It’s okay,” she assured me. "I’m sure it will get better.”

But gone was my morning wood. And my putter and nine iron weren’t feeling much better.

Because at that moment I realized that I had become the Lady Macbeth of hockey and no matter how much I washed and cleaned and scrubbed, it was going to be damn near impossible to get out this damn spot. Something more drastic would have to be done.

Never one to admit defeat (or at least not until the friggin’ buzzer goes and the game is over) I have taken certain steps to help rid myself of the stench.

First thing I did, I went and bought myself a new sports shirt. Granted, the shirt was on special for $6.99, but I’m sure that even King Arthur must have thought he got a deal when he found the free sword that was stuck in the stone.

The shirt is ‘moisture wicking’, has ‘fabric breathability’ and ‘good looks on the go’. It is Rec Tech Performance Gear. How could I argue with all of that? And it is brand spanking new. In other words, there is no stink on this shirt. It may not have been dipped in an oasis of victory, but it most certainly has not been dunked in a stagnant cesspool of defeat.

After buying the shirt I contemplated incinerating my old shirt. But then I realized that I might accidentally inhale some of its ashes. And ingesting some of that foul, ignoble stench seems entirely counter-productive.

So I’m keeping the old shirt in the hope that the new shirt will act an inspiration, a beacon of hope, for the old shirt and help remind it of how good it once smelled. Maybe through its clean-smelling example the new shirt will help its older counterpart find its way back down the righteous path towards victory. By doing good deeds, the new shirt will help the old one correct its ways.

As for my hockey sticks – they of the 'can’t receive a pass, can only hit the goalie in the crest and can’t put the damn puck in the back of the net' – I was going to throw them out or donate them to the Vancouver Canucks where they would feel right at home with all of the other sticks.

But when I mentioned this idea to my wife and asked her what she thought the shipping costs would be out to Vancouver, she commented “You mean those super-nice, very expensive hockey sticks that I got you as Christmas and birthday presents? Do you mean those sticks?”

I love my wife. And I also love receiving presents. Not being a complete doofus, I quickly realized that throwing out the sticks would be like throwing out the baby (that’s holding a gift in its chubby little hands) with the bathwater as it bites the very hand that gave it the gift. I therefore decided to re-think my strategy and instead re-taped the sticks and then cut the old tape (which had become worn and tired due to the despairing dissatisfaction of defeat) into dozens of pieces and scattered them in garbage cans all across town.

New shirt and new tape. They were definitely steps in the right direction, but they didn’t seem like quite enough.

And so, after much thought, I have decided to go the anti-REM path. I am un-losing my religion. I am going to revert to Catholicism.

Unfortunately I personally have never actually been Catholic, but I figure for this one I can tap into my ancestral roots. Somewhere back there one of my great-great-great Italian-dwelling relatives must have been Catholic. So I figure with my last name and the fact that the church is always looking for new flockers (flockees?) to join their ranks, that they will welcome me and embrace me in their pious arms.

My hope is that, after an hour or two in the church, I will then be able to approach the priest and have him exorcise the curse off of my freshly re-taped hockey sticks.

If by some unfortunate chain of events he’s one of those non-specialty priests who has to call the Vatican in order to approve an exorcism or needs to arrange with a specialist to rid my rods of their demonic demeanour, I'm hoping that the least he can do is bless the sticks, have me say a few “Hale Maries” and then send me on my merry way. If I get some wine and some cookies out of the deal, all the better for me.

But I look at it this way: the Catholic church gets me as a member for a couple of hours; and in return I get to have some holy water tossed on my sticks which will make them great for both generating goals *and* killing vampires. I figure it’s a win-win.

All right, I'm not completely ignorant. I realize that this temporary pilgrimage towards Catholicism may earn me a non-refundable coach class ticket to Hell, but at least it should help my team's game. And if that’s what it takes, I’ll take the risk and joyously enjoy my time on this beautiful, beautiful earth and I walk in blissful ignorant denial of my eventual fate.

It'll be worth it. Because I’ll be doing it for the team.

Dragons, beer and coffee

2011-05-30T22:46:00.003-04:00

(Pity my team that gets these greetings every week. Pity them as you envy the verbacious joy they so unnecessarily receive!)

My fellow Dragons:

Listening to CBC Radio this morning, I was treated to a Bay Street businessman talking about his daily bike ride to work.

(This was after an interview with a bike store owner who basically told potential new-fangled biking-to-work cyclists to watch other cyclists in order to see how many rules of the road they should observe.

In other words: watch other cyclists to see how rude you can act and how much you can get away with.)

All of this in honour of Bike to Work Day.

So this Bay Street dude is talking about his daily two-wheeled commute and the show's host asks why he enjoys his self-propelled voyage. And this banking big-wig big shot replies, "It's good for the body, the mind and the soul."

And I thought, "You schmuck. Did you really say that? You better pray that your boss isn't listening.

"Cuz you need to make up your mind: either you're a Bay Street master of the universe or you're a car-hating hippie. You can't be a friggin' cow-killing meat-munching carnivore and an airy-fairy tree-hugging vegetarian at the same bloody time. Pick one and stick with it, you dick!"

This was my reaction without having a cup of super-caffeinated extra-large espresso coursing through my veins.

Oh, and as a side note to this side note, I also wonder this...

Has there been a study into the effects of coffee on the male libido vis-a-vis how incredibly horny my mid-afternoon coffee makes me?

And if no such study has been done, how do I go about getting a research grant so I can have electrodes attached to both my brain and to my willy so I can drink lattes and watch attractive women walk by?

Because I'm pretty sure some that at some point some Harvard grad has been given the cash to study the effects of beer on your average girl-watching guy, but what about coffee? -- Will two cups of coffee have the same shagadelic-inducing effect as a couple of beers?

Surely I'm not the only one curious about the results. Give me the money and I will find the answers to these unanswered questions! In cash there is truth!!

Hockey-hockey-hockey.

Tuesday night at 9:30 down at rink 3.

We play Very Tired who have won some and lost some but have tied none so we are tied with them in points. One could argue that because we're tied with them and they're tied with the Huskies, that they do in fact have wins, losses and ties -- but since they have more penalty minutes than we do, they are actually below us.

And below us they should stay. After last week's stunning -- I say *stunning* -- victory I figure we're on a roll upwards toward greatness...

("Can anyone 'roll upwards towards greatness'?" asks Dave. "Shhh, you know how volatile he can be," replies Darcy.)

... and I figure humiliating these Tired puppies should be a delicious cake walk.

("'Delicious cake walk'? How can he write crap like that?" inquires Dave. "I don't know," says Darcy, "but his use of punctuation is excellent!")

Tuesday night. Rink 3 at 9:30.

And now, time to do the census. I'm so cheesed that it's not the long-form format that I'm thinking of watching an old Marx Bros. movie as I do it. I shot an elephant in my pajamas! Three on a midget! Yeah, that'll show 'em!

Hope to see you Tuesday night,
Kevin.

A British Block

2011-05-26T00:50:00.006-04:00

It's always interesting seeing a film that has yet to build any buzz.

I don't mean a film that is lying there like a flopping fish that everyone has expressed dazzling disinterest in, but a movie that has yet to tickle anyone's fancy, has yet to become the twinkle in a moviegoer's eye, and has not yet started the publicity machine of the tv spots and the trailers and the appearances on Entertainment Tonight, Letterman, Leno or Oprah.

"Attack the Block" has yet to make its way to our shores in a wide multi-theatre way and is still somewhere on the horizon with its release date. It was therefore interesting seeing it last night without any major expectations or pre-conceptions.

I knew it was British, I knew it involved teenagers who battle aliens, and -- well, that was about it. The rest of it was going to be a surprise.

After seeing the movie I can tell you this without spoiling anything: if 'Shaun of the Dead' had its DNA mixed with 'Trainspotting' and 'Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels', was then transported to the original British setting of Clive Barker's 'Candyman' and was all stirred together with the deadly addition of a vicious 'Doctor Who' / 'X-Files' type monster -- it's offspring would be this film.

One challenge the film may face over here is that the British council housing accents that the young actors employ can be incredibly difficult to follow. I was often thinking "What the heck did he just say?" but you don't expect the king's speech to be roll off the tongues of these characters. And, having said that, the movie rolls along at such a quick speed that the dialogue rarely matters.

At times the pacing of the movie is a little choppy and uneven, and, like "Shaun of the Dead" I thought it occasionally went a little overboard with its gruesomeness, but the audience I was with had a great time.

It will be interesting to see if other North American audiences are as receptive to the movie's charms. Perhaps the appeal of teenagers taking on an evil extraterrestrial will prove to be international no matter where the story is set.

Dragons return!!! Mothers rejoice!!!!

2011-05-25T23:14:00.004-04:00

Oh I have been oh-so naughty in my abstinences. (Hmm, that doesn't sound right.)

Oh I have been oh-so delinquent in my do-me's. (Nope, not right either.)

I've been bad and I need to make amends (There. That'll do it.)

So, in order to return with a spurt of energy that would make a rabid rabbit revel in wacky wonder, I'm going to post the team reminder I sent out for Mother's Day. Then I can play catch-up (or, as we say in Canada, ketchup) and talk about Doctor Who, The Sex Talk, Xombi, Attack the Block, Thor's day and other all-over-the-place kind of stuff.

Here's what my teammates read the evening of Mother's Day as we started our summer season of Tuesday night hockey.

Ahh Mother's Day: a salute to the women who bring so much joy to the world, while always keeping in mind that you should never be too Norman Bates about the whole thing.

My Fellow Dragons:

I truly and sincerely hope that you've done you're best to ensure that your most beloved ones of the opposite sex have had a terrific Mother's Day. But having said that, I also hope that you've kept in mind that you're playing hockey this Tuesday night.

Preparing an extra special and supremely fancy-schmancy meal for your mom as a surprise treat so she doesn't have to cook -- that's fine.

Doing a special load of laundry for your wife in cold water and set on 'delicate' so that her naughty knickers are properly cleaned -- that's fine.

Wearing the special slave girl outfit so your honey can be the gladiator for a change -- hell, that's fine too.

But I pray to the gods of hockey that no Dragon was out there doing too much gardening and has therefore hurt his back -- because that would be truly unacceptable.

Remember remember remember and repeat after me: "Honey, you know I love you and I will do the dishes, paint your toenails and happily wear the blindfold on this most special of days -- but I gotta play me some hockey on Tuesday and you know I can't risk straining my back! So, woman, I am telling you and I am begging you -- tie me up, tie me down, flip me over and spank me like a naughty teenager from the 1950s, but do not make me overdo the gardening cuz that sweet-sweet siren named "Dragons" is calling my name and I cannot resist her gloriously beckoning song!"

Of course it would have helped if I had sent this e-mail *before* today's gorgeous and potentially hazardous gardening weather, but between my wife receiving her Canadian citizenship, having to supervise my niece as well as my two boys for the weekend and ensuring that today was memorable and relatively hassle-free for my lovely wife -- well, my plate was full to the point of overflowing.

So, I hope your back is not suffering due to this e-mail's relative tardiness.

HOCKEY!!!

Tuesday night we return at the oh so very late hour of eleven o'clock. We're playing Wolfpack 2 -- and I have to figure these guys are inferior sequels to the original Wolfpack. These guys are no Godfathers or Dark Knights; much more likely they're like Charlie's Angels, Lara Croft or, dare I say it, The Matrix and they're merely a poorly carbon copied repeat of a more glorious and awe-inspiring original concept.

I don't always hate sequels, but I already hate these guys. So let's play film critic to their tedious, tired concepts and tear them to shreds.

Hockey. Tuesday late at night.

Hope to see you there,
Kevin.

p.s. - And nary a "mother joke" in the whole e-mail. Shocking. Simply shocking.

Goodbye Bloc

2011-05-02T23:48:00.003-04:00

My favourite desperate last-minute political appeal came from Quebec.

Duceppe's question to all of the Quebecois voters was: "How could we accept putting our confidence in people who don’t even speak our language?”

And I think that statement was incredibly indicative of the whole campaign from the parties: it's us versus them, us versus the feared outsider, us versus anyone who doesn't agree with us.

Because for Mr. Duceppe it seems that only French-speaking people should vote in Quebec. Other votes do not, or at least *should not*, count.

And perhaps he's paying the price for that attitude as he resigns after today's election's results.

Harper the Anti Super Warrior

2011-04-18T07:17:00.009-04:00

So, like many a fine Canadians, I was watching hockey last night when Stephen Harper invaded my living room.

(Which is not to suggest that watching hockey is what makes us Canadian -- it's not like a citizenship test or a proof of nationality -- but it is something that a lot of Canadians do)

During the game there was a minute long commercial for the Conservative party. Not a short, snippy & snarky ad, but instead an epic 60 second montage that describes the character of our glorious nation.

So this was not the usual "Oh that Michael Ignatieff is a rotten guy, he's not here for you and he's going to raise taxes" ad. No, the purpose of this long advertisement was to inform all the fine hockey-watching folk of what it means to be Canadian.

During the sixty seconds there are many beautiful and supposedly inspirational images of both Canada and Stephen Harper -- all accompanied with some very serious narration by Mr. Harper himself. It starts with the statement "Canada is, and always has been, our country" (and, no, I'm not sure what that statement is supposed to suggest to all of the voting immigrants that the party wants to woo, but let's not get ahead of ourselves) and the commercial then continues like this...

I've watched the video a handful of times since that initial viewing and tugging & unraveling its structure has been a fascinating exercise.

For instance, it's interesting to note that Stephen Harper doesn't make an appearance until the 21 second mark, which is approximately one-third of the way into the ad. Until that point it's only his narration that indicates who and what the commercial is about. Up until that point it's merely been images of Canada, its people and its countryside. It could be a beer ad or a car commercial were it not for the voice of Mr. Harper.

Preceding Stephen Harper's arrival there are images of a hockey game, a Canadian Olympic athlete carrying a torch, and a vintage video of Canadian soldiers -- all of them being employed as a montage immediately before Mr. Harper makes his debut.

(And please note that while most of the commercial is in glorious high-def quality, the hockey teams are kept purposely grainy -- that way there is no risk of insulting any potential voters who might favour a certain hometown team or, be it an international game, risk offending anyone who had a previous native land before their current Native Land.)

Hockey players, olympic athletes, soldiers, Stephen Harper: All accompanied by our current Prime Minister intoning "That's why we're here, that's why we strive, that's why we serve."

It's during the "That's why we serve" statement that we see Harper walk down a hallway and figuratively walk into the video.

And, just in case the viewer wasn't hit over the head strongly enough with his first appearance and the juxtaposition of images, at the 36 second mark he again walks into the video, with his self-narration stating "By turns, a courageous warrior and a compassionate neighbour."

Oh, of course the phrase "By turns, a courageous warrior and a compassionate neighbour" is supposedly part of the on-going narration that is being used to describe Canada -- but at that point any semblance of credibility goes out the window, is kicked to the curb and is then beaten to a pulp.

As I was watched this ad during the hockey game, it was the fact that Harper associated himself with the phrase "courageous warrior" that made me lose it.

I expect arrogance in politicians, but it is always in their best interest to maintain a sense of humility, a pretense of modesty and the illusion that they are just 'one of the guys'.

Harper tosses aside all of that pandering Average Joe mumbo-jumbo with this commercial. Instead, he is a warrior! He is a politician of blinding brilliance and amazing abilities! He is an inspirational action star spurring his troops into battle! He is Superman, Batman and The Mighty Thor all rolled into one! If south of the border they have Captain America, we have Stephen Harper!

He's not a politician. He is our savior.

And at that point and with that realization, the commercial then became something more then a mere political endorsement. At that point, it became propaganda of an uncomfortable and disconcerting nature.

Had I been drinking a beer, I would have hurled the bottle at the television set.

Except that would have meant wasting beer -- which is something that no Canadian should ever do. And it is our love of beer, maple syrup and, most important of all, humility that are among the few things the advertisement does not display.

Stuck In My Head

2011-04-04T10:02:00.002-04:00

There must be some reason, some scientific explanation, as to why it happens. Last week it was Paul Simon's "Something So Right" and not even "Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap" by AC/DC could knock it down. And today it's "Que Sera Sera". It might even be sung by Doris Day. In my head -- somehow I've got Doris Day stuck in my head. Because once it worms its way into my mind it seems to really, really be stuck in their. One would think that AC/DC blaring from a bar as I walked by would be enough to kick the shit out of Paul Simon. It wasn't even as if I'd been listening to Rhymin' Simon that morning -- but somehow he won when put up against the much more anthematic band from down under. I've had "Que Sera Sera" stuck in my head before. It's not a bad thing. But it is kind of strange considering I don't own the song (honest I don't!!!!). Yet, somehow, there it is firmly wedged in for the duration. I wonder if AC/DC could kick the crap out of Doris Day. They couldn't win against Paul Simon. I wonder if they even want to try because I imagine that defeat would be very, very humiliating.

Beating a bully

2011-04-03T21:58:00.005-04:00

So Zed told this story and came up with a great idea as we were wandering through the supermarket.

His story went like this...

Imagine that a bully is bothering you, but he's lactose intolerant, so you stop him from being mean by using a can of spray cheese!

"Keep that can of spray cheese away from me!" screams the bully.

"Heh-heh-heh," replies my son.

Such is the mind of my eight year old boy.

Victory. Sweet, Sweet Victory

2011-03-29T10:19:00.004-04:00

I've decided: winning is fun.

And it was a week ago tonight that I came to that realization.

Oh part of the fun is definitely just playing the game, especially if you're fortunate enough to be playing with a bunch of people who are a pleasure to spend time with (because I've heard many a horror stories about teams that are driven to madness due to the poisonous actions of a couple players).

But winning is the cherry on top of the ice cream on top of the brownie on top of the Baked Alaska on top of the delicious glass of ice wine on top of the dvd of the best movie you're ever seen being held by your favorite person in the whole wide world who says, "I've never seen this film before, but I know you really love it, so let's watch it together."

That's how good victory feels. And it's even better when you've had to slush through a year of ups and downs and too many losses and yet somehow made it to the finals and then miraculously managed a victory.

Okay, "miraculously" is perhaps over-stating the matter, but part way through the 2nd period I don't think any of us were expecting to pull off the win.

But with minutes to spare in the game we tied it all up. And then with less than 2 minutes to go in the game, we took the lead for the first time.

And even when they pulled their goalie and had the extra attacker, it wasn't even close.

At the end I think we were shocked that we had won. After being behind the whole game and tying it up only to have them take the lead again and again, the go-ahead goal was astonishing. And the victory goal and then to keep the lead until the final buzzer -- friggin' astounding.

Because it had been a pretty bad season for us. A lot (and I mean A LOT) of losses. But after getting shifted from division to division and finally finding (or falling to) the right level, it started to go in the right direction.

And now, a week later, I'm still kind of amazed and thrilled and proud.

I'm fortunate enough to play hockey with a great group of guys. Winning simply adds to the pleasure.

And while it's only been a week, I'm already missing playing alongside them.

Thank god summer hockey, simply the most decadent kind of hockey, starts in a just a matter of weeks. Cuz what's summer -- with the heat, humidity and patios -- without a little bit of hockey thrown in?

See what I mean -- it's a wee bit decadent.

Final Dragons Battle of the Season

2011-03-27T18:53:00.004-04:00

(Below is the team reminder/greeting/inspiration/ramblings. We made it to the finals. Joy or disappointment in the next couple of hours. I lean towards joy.)

My fellow Dragons:

The Big One. For All the Marbles. The Winner is Victorious. The Loser is a Loser. The Battle for The Golden Fleece Hidden Inside the Plutonium Piggy Bank in The Library with Mrs Robinson.

All down to this game.

The ups and downs (and down and downs) and the big ups in our last games have all led to this final battle on Sunday night.

And what a journey it's been. Take a look at who came along for the trip: Oprah, Nana Mouskouri, The Kids in the Hall, Debbie Harry, a DiPasquale and a DiPasqua, Sarah Palin, welterweight champ Pacquaio, Yoda, Douglas Adams, Airplane, Dodgeball, The Thick of It, more Kids in the Hall, and Wood Nymphs, Wood Nymphs, Wood Nymphs.

It's been salsa dancing, turkey, a nail in the foot, circumcision discussions, baby seal sweaters, the flu and weight loss, sun tan lotion, humiliation delivered in time for Valentine's, The Big Bang Theory, The Brave & the Bold and the oh so delicious Nectar of the Gods.

Perseverance, enthusiasm and comraderie -- all those helped, too. (And, man, doesn't 'perseverance' have a lot of e's in it!)

So...

The final game of the season. The Division championship.

We're up against the Beer Raiders. We have to watch #16, 4 and 2 and especially #5 who is a cherry picker with a helluva shot -- mark my words, he could cause problems. We've played these guys only once but we beat them like eggs in a souffle. So let's beat them again. And that way, y'know, we then get all the marbles and we can drink our beers with massive joy as we rowdily (but with great dignity) toast to our amazing victory.

Rink 3 at 8:45. Last game of the season. I know that Stan can't be there and that Mike is in New York. Hopefully everyone else is good to go.

"Beer Raiders" . Let's be honest: that is a truly fucking stupid name. Let's take 'em out in Dragons playoff style (and, like whoa, we have actually had style during these playoffs!!) and make them bawl in their beers like a child who just saw their balloon float into the sky, like a child who had their favorite toy stolen by harpies, like a child who has been told that all his bath toys were destroyed in a freak microwave accident -- that is how harsh their humiliating defeat shall be, that is how sad and pathetic their tears shall flow.

"Beer Raiders". Just a dumb name. They deserve to be beaten.

But before I go, for your funny bone, here is a clip of SCTV greatness. The quality is retched, but oh how I loved this one when I saw it more than 30 friggin' years ago. It's especially funny because I too use a hockey stick.

Sunday. 8:45. Rink 3. Get your game-face on, starting... NOW!

See you there,
Kevin.

Of Course You Can't Force a Horse with Water, But You Can Lead Him Down the Path

2011-03-21T19:42:00.006-04:00

(This was last week's greeting. We did manage to emerge victorious. Now it is onwards to the Championship game.

This was the team's inspiration / distraction / reminder for the game...)

My Fellow Dragons:

This Sunday we do battle in the semi-finals.

So think not of the Maple Leafs and their semi-feeble and certainly frustrating attempts to move towards the playoffs.

And think not of Charlie Sheen and his self-centred ramblings and self-inflected ruin.

Instead think only of victory. Sweet, sweet victory. Victory that tastes like the delicious nectar of the gods that is poured by wood nymphs who never say "No" and instead say only "Yes, we could try that."

Because the team we will be beating know not of Olympus or nectar or wood nymphs or sweet, sweet victory. The lone time they gained points against us was on October 31st when we chose to graciously cancel the game. And, because they did not show the same class and aplomb, the league saw fit to penalize us and give them two undeserved points.

These were not points earned: these were points unjustly bestowed upon an unworthy adversary.

And for that reason, we shall beat them this Sunday. We shall reflect upon their unearned advantage and then proceed to remind them on the battlefield (or, if you prefer, the 'icefield') that victory cannot be granted; victory can only be achieved through passion, sweat and honour. Their shame shall be their downfall.

(Oh, and we'll also win because their top two playmakers are also their two top penalized players and, on top of that, their goalie is a total hot-head. And somehow I'm somewhat certain that someone on our team might ever so slyly and and with smooth subtlety convince the nutty netminder into taking a humiliating but hilarious penalty that will contribute to their team's defeat. Not that I would ever suggest hassling a goalie -- no-no-no! But their goalie is so quick-tempered that I imagine that he will create problems for himself.

Truly, there is no need to antagonize the goalie; instead, we will merely present him the opportunity to display his over-the-top instability. We will show him the path and he will then willingly and merrily skip along the path and knock on the door of Grandma's House of Stupid Penalties. He will then recklessly race through her home as he strips off his clothes and casts aside his suit of sanity, he will dash into her backyard, and then with complete and total abandon he will joyfully leap into the awaiting quicksand of cwaziness. Cuz that's just the kind of guy their goalie is.)

So, Sunday. Semi-finals. Do or die. Let's have some fun and beat these guys.

Let us know if you can't make it. Otherwise, I look forward to seeing you there.

Game face on,
Kevin.

The Thuggery Continues (but this time, it's corporate)

2011-03-16T12:06:00.014-04:00

I've resisted writing about the Zdeno Chara - Max Pacioretty incident for a multitude of reasons.

First of all, I wrote about the thuggery between these two teams a month ago and didn't feel the need to add to this latest bandwagon's weight.

After all, given the fights, penalties and savagery of the Bruins-Canadiens game of February 9, it could not have been a surprise to anyone that the re-match between the two teams was going to be incredibly physical. Having said that, I don't think anyone could have expected the severity of the physical damage caused to one of the players. It was an ugly incident and I simply cannot imagine anyone not being shocked and repulsed upon seeing the replay of the encounter.

But the thing is this: I don't think Chara intended to injure Pacioretty. He meant to hit him, he even meant to *nail him* but there doesn't seem to be enough history between the two players to suggest that he meant to do serious physical harm.

It was, to all extents, an accident.

But having said that...

If a player accidentally clears the puck over the glass out of his own end, he gets a penalty. If he accidentally high sticks an opponent, he gets a penalty. And if he knocks a player unconscious and gives him a serious concussion and fractures his opponent's vertebrae, he also gets a penalty.

But should the penalty be made more severe because of the resulting injuries? Even if those results are unintended? In short, should the penalty fit the crime?

According to the NHL the answer is a firm and definitive "No". The league spoke to Chara and he said that he did not mean to cause harm. The NHL looked at his record and determined that he does not have a history of being unnecessarily rough and is neither an enforcer or a thug.

Regardless of the injury, the NHL stood behind its standards and regulations and, in effect, protected Chara because players know the risks involved in the game. It was an accident and, while it's unfortunate, these things happen.

And with that decision the NHL wanted the whole thing to go away.

In hindsight one could argue that the refs made a bad call that night. But one certainly cannot argue that the NHL made a horrible call by declaring the case closed as quickly as it did.

For some reason the league refused to see or, worse yet, was unable to see that it had a political and public relations nightmare on its hands. And rather that dealing with it like managers or like professionals, the league went into Tough Guy mode.

Air Canada warned the league that they might pull sponsorship unless changes are made to prevent occurrences "involving career-threatening and life-threatening head shots".

They wrote, "From a corporate social responsibility standpoint, it is becoming increasingly difficult to associate our brand with sports events which could lead to serious and irresponsible accidents; action must be taken by the NHL before we are encountered with a fatality. Unless the NHL takes immediate action with serious suspension to the players in question to curtail these life-threatening injuries, Air Canada will withdraw its sponsorship of hockey."

NHL commissioner Gary Bettman responded by saying the league takes on-ice incidents very seriously, that he and many team representatives feel that the incident was handled properly and that the NHL will find other means of transport if necessary. Basically he says, don't try to bully us.

That Saturday on Hockey Night In Canada Don Cherry explained that the solution to the problem is to change the physical configuration of the stanchions. Which, in typical Don Cherry style, completely ignores the opinion that this was one incident in a major, collective problem. He shows how to extinguish one single burning tree and is smugly satisfied with the result while the forest continues to rage in flames behind him.

Cherry then went on to attack Canadiens owner Geoff Molson for the layout of the rink in Montreal (as if it was Molson not Chara who caused the injury to Pacioretty) and then said "You should be ashamed of yourself" to both Air Canada and Via Rail (and he also implied that the only reason that the two corporations are voicing their opinions is because their head offices are in Montreal). Like Bettman, Don Cherry basically says, don't try to bully us.

It is both amusing and sad to watch both Bettman and Cherry dismiss anyone who has a differing opinion by humiliating them and ridiculing them under an accusatory cloak of "You're trying to bully us. Shame on you."

But the icing on the cake and the moment when the collective emperors were revealed to have no clothes occurred last night in Montreal when Washington Capitals coach Bruce Boudreau rolled into town with his team and told the Montreal fans who were protesting the growing violence in the sport, "If you don't like it, don't come to the games."

Yes, he actually said that. "If you don't like it, don't come to the games."

In other words, why should we in the NHL listen to your concerns? -- If you were *real fans* you would understand that this is part of the game.

He then went on to say, "I don't want to get into a controversy, but what if that was Hal Gill that hit David Krejci? I don't think there would be a protest going on here today."

First of all: if you don't want to get into a controversy, it's always a good idea to keep your mouth shut and avoid saying things such as "I don't want to get into a controversy" because if you say anything after that statement... well, then it's already too late.

Secondly, of course it's unlikely there would be a protest in Montreal if a Boston player had been injured, but hopefully there would be the same sort of outrage back in Boston. It would be the same thing if one of the Capitals was injured in the game, then of course Bourdreau would be more concerned than the Montreal coach. To state otherwise is ludicrous.

But, more important, all of this dismisses the fact that a player was severely injured and people are worried that the worst is yet to come.

Max Pacioretty was taken from the ice on a stretcher in front of an arena filled with shocked fans. It is unlikely he will ever play professional hockey again. Many other players have also suffered head traumas this season. The perception is that this is a dangerous trend that must be stopped. And as the general managers are meeting in Florida to try to figure out the correct response, the fans are left waiting for their decisions, wanting to know what changes are going to be made to make the game safer, and wondering what has happened to the sport they love.

Corporate sponsors are concerned. Politicians are concerned. Fans are concerned. What does it take for the league to also get concerned or, at the very least, convey the notion that there is a problem and they are taking all of this seriously?

Gary Bettman, Don Cherry and Bruce Boudreau have now become the three poster boys for the league's refusal to take any thoughtful action as they thumb their nose at anyone who dares to speak against them. All they seem capable of doing is repeating the drunken parrot mantra of "Integrity of the game. Integrity of the game" over and over again.

Hopefully the league can rise above these attitudes and start to make some serious decisions. Because right now Rome is burning and these Three Stooges are telling the peasants to shut up and just eat cake.

Dragons greetings: time off

2011-03-16T11:59:00.003-04:00

(Here is the team's greeting of a non-greeting nature from last week. Due to our playoff schedule, we actually had the week off. Oh what to do on a hockey-free weekend...?)

Dragons this Sunday...

... are not playing.

We've got the weekend off before we do battle *next weekend* Sunday, March 20 at 2:30 against a team to be determined.

I will, of course, send you a reminder about the game next week. I might even mention antelopes in the e-mail; we'll have to see how it goes.

Until then, enjoy your Dragons-free Sunday. And, hey, here's an idea: don't tell your partner that there is no game -- make it sound like it's *your idea* to make the day hockey-free!

She'll say, "You want to spend the whole day with me? You're willing to miss hockey so we can have all this time together? You are so sweet!"

And you can reply "Yes. Yes I am. And you're worth it, my little love pillow."

And later, that night, as she's wearing her especially functional evening gear and climbs into bed, you'll be able to roll over, fall asleep and snore with the satisfaction of knowing that calling her 'love pillow' is something no man has ever dared do before and you will never, ever be able to do again, but by missing hockey you were allowed this one time to get away with something that sounded oh so very stupid.

Isn't that a great idea? -- Enjoy your week off. See you next Sunday.

Two and a Half vs. The Fighter

2011-03-01T23:26:00.008-05:00

Match the quotation to the person who said it...

Who said "Right, right, right! I mean Sugar Ray was too much too soon. You know, I...I...I needed to build up slow. You know, right?"

And who said "When you've got tiger blood and Adonis DNA, man it's like phuuuew, get with the program dude, you've been given magic, you've been given gold"?

In one corner is Christian Bale's portrayal of Dicky Eklund -- crack addict, washed-out boxer, and a man who is trying to redeem himself and help his brother achieve fame.

And in the other corner is Charlie Sheen -- father of four children, patron of many, many prostitutes and pornstars, superstar actor and a man who is going through the fastest and most public celebrity meltdown since Lindsay Lohan.

Which sounds more delusional, the fictional ravings of a former drug addict or the self-promoting testimonies of a former drug addict?

And if we have sympathy for Dicky (and the portrayal of him earns Christian Bale an Academy Award), is it not time to have sympathy for Charlie Sheen? Or is the car wreck of his recent escapades too recent, too on-going and too spectacular for any kind of empathy?

Watching Charlie Sheen's interview on 20/20 was like peering through a window and finally seeing a world where all the delusions and excesses of stardom are exposed for everyone to see.

And it is a very, very scary sight. Because even though we may have always suspected that these multi-millionaires are incredibly messed up and completely out of touch with reality, it is still shocking to see that the magical wizard is just a bizarre, little man hiding behind a curtain who is not only wearing no pants, but who also thinks that everyone should jump in the pool of craziness with him.

Poor happy rich Jen

2011-03-01T15:05:00.009-05:00

It must really, really suck to be Jennifer Aniston.

After all she was one of the stars of one of the most successful tv sitcoms ever ("Friends"), she was married to one of the sexiest guys alive (Brad Pitt) and her hairstyles used to be salon sensations back when Justin Bieber was only in diapers.

(Yes, it's true! Justin Bieber was born in March of 1994 and "Friends" debuted in September 1994. Jennifer Aniston came to success because of the show and the haircut that became known as "The Rachel". One can almost imagine that young Justin, nursing on a baby bottle, caught a glimpse of the tv show and it imprinted on him the way a gosling imprints on a stylish tennis ball as the infant Justin exclaimed "Someday I will have a hairstyle that will cause a world-wide sensation and create international news when I later cut my trend-setting locks." That and the fact that he probably listened to Baby Mozart combined to make him the star he is today.)

Back to Ms. Aniston...

She had it all superstar fame, an Adonis-like husband, status as a fashion icon...

And now all she has is success and lots and lots of money.

So thank god for People magazine and its cover story on Jennifer Aniston!

In "Jen's Most Revealing Interview Ever!" she talks about dating, babies and exes. Her exes include Gerard Butler, John Mayer, Vince Vaughn and of course, Mr. Big X, Brad Pitt so she has quite a bit to talk about in that category.

But the thing that made me laugh is the small print on the cover. "Over cocktails and girl talk, the world's most misunderstood star sets the record straight: 'I'm happy! Really!'"

First of all: I don't think a person can do anything "over girl talk" -- one might say "Over beer and nachos" or "Over wine and cocktails", but you can't say "Over cocktails and girl talk". Being a guy, I'm not 100% sure what constitutes 'girl talk' but it probably involves two or more girls, at least a little bit of alcohol and a complete lack of recording devices. So I don't think an interview is ever honest-to-goodness 'girl talk'.

But the magazine loses all grasp on reality when it calls her "The world's most misunderstood star".

Tom Cruise would have taken that crown as he jumped the couch on Oprah back in 2005, but then he would have had to battle Mel Gibson in 2006 after the former Mad Max star's infamous arrest and his dazzling "What are you looking at, Sugar Tits?" comment.

Christian Bale was heir apparent to the throne due to his meltdown on the set of "Terminator Salvation" that became public in 2009, but he has obviously redeemed himself in Hollywood's eyes because he won an Academy Award this week and the Oscar never goes to someone who is despised.

So the crown of Most Misunderstood Star has to go to Mel Gibson who managed to one up himself with last year's incredibly shocking tirade against his ex-wife and the mother of his daughter (one of eight children he has sired) when he called her a whore and threatened to bury her in a rose garden.

Tom Cruise, Christian Bale and Mel Gibson: if there was a cover interview with any of them, surely they would deserve the title of Most Misunderstood Star.

And considering all the crazy press interviews that he is doing and his years of drug-assisted sexual shenanigans, Mr. Charlie Sheen deserves the title more than any of them (but I doubt Charlie Sheen cares because he is so messed up that he actually believes that everyone wants to be like him).

Ahhh People Magazine: Jennifer Aniston's life is a story of success and loss and then getting over that loss with the help of friends and lots and lots of money. But couldn't the editors, at the very least, have ensured that the crown title of Most Misunderstood Star was securely hers before Charlie Sheen came and ripped it from her grasp? Because now she has one more thing to add to the list of things she's lost.

But at least she's happy. Really!

Oscar, oscar, oscar

2011-02-28T00:41:00.008-05:00

It's strange how dull the Academy Awards were.

There weren't any major surprises, just disappointments and embarrasments.

Melissa Leo, winning the Best Supporting Actress, did surprise everyone by saying the F word (as in "When I watched Kate two years ago it looked so fucking easy") but beyond that the show was a yawn.

Embarrassments:

1) the head of the Academy coming on-stage with the head of ABC/Disney to inform a billion people that the contract has been renewed and ABC will continue to broadcast the ceremony. Why would they waste precious airtime for this non-news that no one at home cares about?

2) Halle Berry being allowed to praise the late Lena Horne as if her career and death was more important and noteworthy than anyone else's last year. Which is not to say that Horne's role in Hollywood history is unimportant, but to focus on her passing and not give other actors the same tribute was questionable to say the least.

3) Jeff Bridges and Sandra Bullock having to give their mini and pseudo-sincere introductions to this year's nominated actresses and actors was painful to watch. Last year the Academy had people who had worked with the nominees give the introductions; this year, perhaps to save time, they just had last year's winners do the speeches. It felt forced and very phony.

4) the final montage of the best picture nominees being shown as the King's speech from the film of the same title was disrespectful to all of the nominees. While the montage was well edited, the decision to use the King's narration allowed one film to overshadowing all of the other nominees.

I said everything I wanted to say about "The King's Speech" back on February 10th
http://wordsflowlikechocolate.blogspot.com/2011/02/speechless.html

But even setting aside my disappointment that "The Social Network" didn't win best picture and David Fincher didn't win director, this year's program was the dullest event in years. It lacked energy and enthusiasm. The show, as star studded as it was, lacked any sort of spark.

But even setting aside my disappointment that "The Social Network" didn't win best picture and David Fincher didn't win director, this year's program was the dullest event in years. It lacked energy and enthusiasm. The show, as star studded as it was, lacked spark.

Dragons greetings: Playoffs begin!

2011-02-25T15:40:00.005-05:00

(Here's the weekly team greeting. I am tempted to embed the videos but I'll leave the links as is. But oh my are they foul-mouthed fun.)

My Fellow Dragons:

Playoffs my friends. The playoffs. And it's not "thuh" playoffs -- it is "Thee" Friggin' Playoffs!!

Statistically the Toronto Maple Leafs might make it, but we are already there!

"I think you're the greatest, but my dad says you don't work hard enough on defense. And he says that lots of times, you don't even run down court. And that you don't really try... except during the playoffs."

This is when we separate the men from the boys, the wheat from the chaff, and the carpets from the drapes.

"If you want to have victory, you have to grab it by its haunches and you gotta hump it into submission!"

This is the "Do or Die" of the playoffs. There is no room for doubt, uncertainty or hair tinting products because it is time to show our true colours. Time to get down, get dirty and get funky!

Ahhhh DAMNIT! Blew it. Had it right there, in my sights, within my grasp and I friggin' blew it. We should not get "funky". We should get down, dirty and DANGEROUS. See? -- That would have worked. DamnitAllToHell. It was right friggin' there! "Funky"?!? Like what the hell!?! Wrong damn word.

(Oh!! I gotta tell you this...

On the plane ride back from Mexico I watched three episodes of "The Thick of It". I don't know if you're familiar with the show but it's British and political and just really, really good. Oh and it is ear bleedingly vulgar with its language.

And, yeah-okay, as we all know I have a fairly loud and incredibly unselfconscious laugh. Now, multiply that howling King of the Banshees laugh by a factor of "Oh my god he's wearing really good noise reduction headphones!" Okay, got it...?

Now, picture the looks of horror and shock I glimpsed as I was DYING with laughter as I watched the show and other passengers are watching "The Social Network" and "The Kids Are Alright" so they can vote in their Academy Awards office pool and claim they saw the film but didn't think it was all that great and oh yeah You Saw It On A Friggin' Airplane So It Really Doesn't Count As A True Film Experience Does It Now and while they're doing that I'm watching the most funniest most rudest most vulgarest tv show in history, a show that makes "Deadwood" and Quentin Tarantino look like "Gone with the Wind" and Jane Austen in comparison.

So I'm watching "The Thick of It" but I'm noticing my fellow passengers staring at me and so I decide to be somewhat courteous and resolve that I should try to perhaps maybe kinda hold in my laughter a tiny bit.

And so I try, honest to god, I try not to laugh aloud, but as I do so I find myself shaking so hard with the laughter that I'm trying to self-contain that it's almost like I'm having a seizure. I am laughing so hard and trying so hard to keep it On The Inside that it must look like I'm having convulsions. And at this point I'm expecting the stewardess to come running down the aisle and give me a stick to put between my teeth so I don't bite my tongue off as she cuts into my leg and sucks out the snake venom that is obviously causing these convulsions -- that is how hard I'm laughing.

And I would love, simply luv, to share some of the bits from the show with you, but I realize some of you might be reading this at work, so for a taste go here for Tucker's Law...

http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=malcolm%20tucker

And, yes, if you dare you can go here too...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ULrsPgAToBU&feature=related

But let me once again warn you that it is foul. And not like 'Daffy Duck fowl' but foul like 'George Carlin is sitting up in his grave and applauding cuz it's so foul' foul. There is a tremendous use of the "c-word" and I do not mean Christmas or Chlamydia.

You have been warned.)

DRAGONS!

We are up against the Bulls who you guys friggin' Ka-Rushed on February 13th. I have it on good authority that they then spent the entirety of the next day searching through Facebook for old girlfriends who they would then desperately attempt to contact in order to find out if they ever thought of them, if they still thought they were special, to just kinda ask what went wrong and maybe just maybe they'd like to get together for a drink so they could, yknow, just talk.

Gentlemen, you friggin' massacred their Valentine's Day and made each and every one of them courier teddy bears across the country to each and every woman they had ever hurt, offended or led astray and you made them BEG for their forgiveness. It was a 12 Step Program of romantic atonement and emotional devastation that you forced upon them!

And because of that, this Sunday they are going to be very dangerous.

So, be prepared for a game where these guys are gonna be pissed and angry and are going to be looking for a 50% discount on their post-Valentine's Day candybox of revenge. Therefore allow us to frustrate #11, 13 and especially #33 and grant them the opportunity to make stupid mistakes and take dumb penalties. Let us give them the opportunity to turn against one another like rabid guinea pigs as they fight over the table scraps of vegetable produce that we cast down to them. Let us watch as they squeal and bicker and, ultimately, lose.

Let us, in short, take them down to Funkytown.

I look forward to seeing you on Sunday.

Get ready for the playoffs,
Kevin.

Summer Dragons invite

2011-02-14T23:04:00.003-05:00

(It's only February but my team is already prepping for summer hockey. And my invitation / reminder even had a Feb 14 theme. After reading this, wouldn't you want to play...?)

Yeah-yeah-yeah, I know...

It's cold outside and it's mid-February and you just realized that it's that it's February 14th on Monday and you're in a friggin' panic trying to figure out what the hell you can get your sweetie/significant other/hot co-worker/imaginary partner for Valentine's Day.

May I make this suggestion...

Give her the gift of Dragons summer hockey.

With this gift you will be able to say, "Honey, I love/adore/admire/kind of like you so much that I'm willing to give you the night off. For the entire summer. One night a week I will get out of your hair and let you have the place all to yourself. I won't bother you. I won't be underfoot. It will all be your own personal time. This is how much I love/adore/admire/kind of like you: I will even show you how to operate the remote control so you can use it all on your own to watch whatever you want on your night off. One night a week. Every Tuesday. It's my gift to you. Happy Valentine's Day. I love/adore/admire/kind of like you."

There you go. Problem solved. Happy friggin' Valentine's Day.

GENTLEMEN!!!

This summer! Tuesday night! Dragons hockey!Yes or no?

Are you willing to take to the ice when everyone else is requesting ice for their drinks? Are you willing to wear shoulder pads, knee pads and woolen socks while everyone else is skimping down to summer skimpiness? Are you friggin' man enough to say "Hell yes! I play hockey in the winter AND I play it in the summer! I play the sport I love every gawddamn season of the friggin' year. Cuz that's what being a gawddamn Canadian means! Americans can have their guns and their limp-wristed beer and their hot former governors from Alaska who scare the beejeezuz out of me and kind of turn me on at the same time. I would rather take my powerful, tasty, knock you on your knees after six of them Canadian beer, my minority federal government, my homegrown (from every country in the world) friggin' beautiful women and my year 'round, every season, hot-cold-raining-snowing gawddamn hockey any day!!"

So, yes or no?

Let me know asap. Which kind of means "now".

Much thanks. Enjoy your weekend. Be kind to people. Especially people who are bigger than you and have been drinking.

Speechless

2011-02-10T17:27:00.007-05:00

I don't know if this has ever happened to you...

You go to a nice restaurant with a friend. You've never been there before. It's perhaps a little pricey, and you notice something strange and out of place on the menu: a comfort food like mom never made and at a price that she never would have charged. Something like a $25 piece of meatloaf.

Picture the scene in "Pulp Fiction" where John Travolta talks to Uma Thurman about the $5 milkshake, but multiply that scene by whatever factor that makes it ridiculous.

Now. Hold that thought but push it ever so gently to the side.

Cleanse the palate and clear the mind. Think of a waterfall. Now, read on...

I finally made it to see "The King's Speech". I realize that I'm incredibly late to the party on this one. It wasn't that I didn't want to see it, but it was just not that high on my "Gotta see this film" list. "True Grit", "Black Swan", heck even "Tron" were all higher on my list.

I have heard nothing but wonderful things about the movie, from Colin Firth's terrific performance through to the powerful and emotional script. Truly, I have only heard good things. There was no reason not to see it when everyone is saying how good it is.

But I didn't feel the need to see it. Because I honestly feel that I've seen it before.

"The Queen", "The Madness of King George", "Elizabeth" and "Shakespeare in Love". Stir them all together and then mix with "Awakenings", "Rain Man" and "A Beautiful Mind". Add just a hint of "My Left Foot". Stir well. Bake for half an hour. And out comes "The King's Speech".

None of this is to take away from the film's performances. Colin Firth is equal parts regal and sympathetic as the Man Who Does Not Want to Be King. Guy Pearce is terrific as the regal and somewhat bullying brother who abdicates. Helena Bonham Carter is strong as the regal and yet sympathetic and loving wife. And Geoffrey Rush is captivating as the common man who must assist the king to become more king-ly.

All are regal and common and very, very human in the correct measures.

But as good as they are, the film itself feels like it's a made for tv, paint by numbers production. Everything in the film seems to be shot in close-up with the actors filling up half the screen. Nothing ever occurs in the background, everything happens right up front.

There is also no sense of suspense, uncertainty or risk in the movie -- everything runs its course, the king will become regal but won't forget the commoner who helped him, everyone is basically good and everything will turn out okay at the end.

But the thing is this: while it's almost impossible to dislike the film, at the same time I found it difficult to admire or even come close to loving.

All of this indifference towards a film that has been nominated for 12 Academy Awards and has more nominations than any other film this year.

I love "Inception". I adore and am dazzled by "The Social Network". "Let Me In" and "Never Let Me Go" are two of my favorite movies from last year. Heck, I even enjoyed "No Strings Attached". So it's not that I'm bitter, burned out, tired or jaded. A great film can still wrap me in its arms and transport me to a place of wonder.

But "The King's Speech" is like very expensive mac and cheese on a high class menu: it has all the ingredients, it's carefully prepared, but in the end it's just comfort food posing as a high class meal. Nothing surprising, nothing daring, and all very cozy in its presentation.

And while there's nothing wrong with that, it is certainly not a film that deserves to be recognized as the Best Picture of the year.

Bruins Canadiens thuggery

2011-02-10T14:28:00.007-05:00

I'll state this right up front: I think fighting in NHL hockey games is stupid.

Stupid, unnecessary and the absolute lowest aspect of a terrific sport.

I've had debates with people about it. One guy even explained to me that obviously I just don't understand the game (he hasn't seen me play every week with my team and see how well we play -- or perhaps he's saying that because he *has* seen me play. I guess that's an 'either-or' kind of thing.)

I understand the rough physical nature of the sport. A good solid body check is a beautiful thing to behold. And because of that physical aspect of the game, the NHL is hesitant to take action against head shots and the concussions that can be the result. They seem to collectively shrug their shoulders and say "It's part of the game."

And heaven forbid the NHL ever do anything to stop the fights that occur on ice. No other professional sport has fights the way hockey does and fans seem to eat it up; therefore, once again, the league doesn't want to do anything to keep it controlled. After all, it's the fights that allow clips of the game to play on sports networks. It goes like this on the sports clips shows: "Here's a tiny bit of hockey, here's a nice play, here's a nice goal and WOW look at the fight that broke out during the game! Let's take a good long look at that fight!! WOW!!"

Last night's game between the Bruins and the Canadiens is sure to have all the sports shows buzzing, not because it was an exceptionally good game, but because it had 192 minutes in penalties.

A regulation game lasts 60 minutes. This game had 192 minutes in penalties between the two teams. Any way you do the math, that's a lot of penalties.

But the worst of the night came from Boston player Gregory Campbell. In his fight against Canadien Tom Pyatt, Campbell is seen taking his elbow pad and swinging into Pyatt's face. (I honestly don't feel like embedding the video, but it occurs at the 4:14 mark here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KEz0khSQtk0 if you're inclined to take a look.)

Pyatt gets a punch in, Campbell yanks Pyatt's helmet off and he then starts whaling at him with his elbow pad. It's difficult to see if Campbell even made contact with his fist or even tried -- he just gives Pyatt uppercut after uppercut with the elbow pad.

And make no mistake: elbow pads are not soft and they are not foamy -- they're like bumpers on a car. So, imagine someone ramming your face into a car bumper over and over again. That's what Campbell did to Pyatt.

I don't know the history between the two players and I don't care. What Campbell did was disgusting and thuggish and criminal.

If fighting is a necessary part of the game (and it's not, because if it was, there would be more fights during the play-offs) then let the players fight and break their hands and ruin their careers. But when a player uses a piece of his equipment to attack an opponent, it's like using a weapon.

It's a deplorable and sad part of the game when something like this happens.

And as you may notice, no one will take note of it. Because it will make the sports channels. And that's all the NHL cares about.

After the universe's sneeze

2011-02-07T18:12:00.013-05:00

(Here's the team greeting. My lovely wife and I actually did manage to have our First! Ever! evening alone in our own house, but then...)

My Fellow Dragons:

I've got some good news and some bad news.

The good news: I'm now below 200 pounds! I hopped on the scale this morning and I was 199.5 pounds! And it's been so easy to do! I simply haven't eaten since Tuesday!

The bad news: I've had the flu. I've had no appetite. And one of the after effects of the flu has been a facial infection that has me on antibiotics with the doctor's warning "If it gets worse by Saturday or there's no improvement by Sunday you need to go to the hospital for an i.v. of antibiotics."

It has been a week of "Typhoid Mary Meets Piotr the Plague Master" at the household: I had to do a quick bail on Sunday's post-game victory drinks because my lovely wife was sick and, as it turned out, I had to rush her to the local clinic because she came down with horrendous strep throat. Geel, who had a fever Saturday night when he was off skiing with friends, had to go to the doctor on Monday because he also developed strep throat. And Zed still has the cold he came down with last Friday, but last night it came with an ear infection.

As for me, I was feeling like a million bucks until Monday night around nine o'clock when I began feeling chilled, I started shivering and my teeth started chattering. I then spent the whole sleepless night sweating through t-shirt after t-shirt and pissing like a race horse. That was Monday. Tuesday was sleeping all day. And Thursday was yet another trip to the doctor because my glans were swollen and my cheek and the upper bridge of my nose were sensitive to the touch. Hence the antibiotics and the "get to the hospital if it doesn't get better" suggestion.

The only cool thing about all this is that I have no appetite whatsoever and my usual "I'm hungry therefore cranky" state of being has been eliminated. I am completely and utterly indifferent to food. Today is the first day I'm kind of hungry, but up until now it's been lots of liquids, the occasional banana and piece of toast and tons of Gatorade. The last full meal I had was Monday night's leftover steak and garlic mashed potatoes from Saturday's evening out.

All of which is a long-winded explanation of why it's damned unlikely I will be playing Sunday. It would be foolish to even contemplate playing but (a) we're off to Mexico and if I miss this game I won't be playing for three weeks, and (b) I'm too dedicated/stubborn/stupid to take a stand today and say I cannot play on Sunday.

Unless of course I'm in the hospital with an i.v. in my arm. I guess that would be a pretty good excuse for not playing. Oh if only there was a doctor reading this e-mail who could give me some guidance!

This Sunday is a re-match against the Zulu's. They skunked us 4-0 in our last outing, but they were recently beaten by the Beer Raider 6-2 and we just beat them last week, and last Sunday they lost to the Tiger Sharks 5-2 who we also demolished a couple of weeks ago. They are on a three game losing streak; we are on a three game winning streak. Momentum is in our favour.

In other words: revenge will be ours and tears they shall cry into their collective losers' beer!

I'd like to say I'll be joining you, but as you can see it is most unlikely. I'm hoping a bunch of you still have the team roster I forwarded a couple of weeks ago. Please make sure the names and numbers are all correct.

And that is all. Please let us know if you are unable attend -- and hopefully your reasons are healthier than mine.

Stay well,
Kevin.

Universe smiles and sneezes

2011-02-04T12:14:00.006-05:00

(Last week's Dragons greetings. It's ironic how things later played out. But that's another tale. But on Sunday we won the game 4-3.)

My Dragons:

Sometimes the planets move into perfect alignment and the universe smiles.

This weekend Gee is heading skiing with friends of ours. The little monkey likes to ski and we've got friends who (a) have only one son who happens to be the same age as our boy who, (b) enjoys Gee's company and (c) they happen to be really, really nice people. They took him skiing with them for a couple of days during the Christmas break, they all had a great time, and so they've invited him again this weekend. It's very, very kind of them.

And, on this exact same weekend, a friend of Zed's (who came up from our old neigborhood for his birthday party) has invited him for a sleepover. We're dropping the boy off Saturday afternoon.

None of it was planned. None of it was organized. It just happened. It just clicked together. Therefore, look if you will at this equation... Geel away for the weekend + Zed away for the evening = parents at home on their own for the first time EVER!!!

An evening that will perhaps consist of a delicious restaurant meal, perhaps to be followed by an Academy Award nominated movie, and then perhaps to be followed by... well, we'll see how if goes; if nothing else, at the very least we will be able to sleep-in Sunday morning.

An all-adult, child-free evening! No looking at the clock and worrying about the babysitter, no need to concern ourselves about what the boys are doing, no need to answer the youthful question "What are we going to do today?" First! Time! Ever!

But, as so often happens, the universe, after aligning the planets perfectly, smiles, then giggles, then laughs, and then emits a guffaw of potentially teasing cruelty.

Because it was then that the sneezing began.

Last night Zed starting sniffling. And his nose started running. And he woke us up at two in the morning because he was so congested that he couldn't sleep. And today it's kleenex after kleenex after kleenex.

He is drinking lots of water and he looks pretty good. He is in good spirits as he sits and watches tv. He is close to being on the mend after a quick and moderate cold. But is our weekend of wonder and joy now shot to absolute and total craptitude? -- I guess tomorrow will tell the tale.

So, come Sunday if I'm smiling it might be for a multitude of reasons. It might be because he got healthy enough to visit his friend; it might be because my lovely wife & I had our first in-house child-free night EVER; or it may simply be in account of victory...

That's right, Dragons victory is yet again on the horizon.

This Sunday at 5:15 down at the MasterCard #3 we play the Toronto Beer Raiders. Their name suggests that they don't pay for their own drinks. When means they're cheap Scottish basterds who must be destroyed. (Of course I derive my knowledge of the Scottish people from a Kids in the Hall sketch
and if the Kids in the Hall can't be trusted, who can? It's because of KitH that I hate the Swiss and know the answer to the movie title you can't remember is "Citizen Kane! Citizen Kane!! It was CITIZEN KANE!!!"

So, a weekend of potential child-free pleasure followed by potential victory. How big will the grin on my face be at the end of the day on Sunday? -- Well, we'll see if the universe smiles or just laughs its teasing, tantalizing butt off. Time will tell.

So if I'm grinning before the game on Sunday, you'll know why. And if I'm grinning after the game, we'll all have reason to be grinning together.

A Double Date with Natalie

2011-01-28T15:16:00.015-05:00

Last week I was channel hopping and I noticed that "Full Metal Jacket" was on tv. And I thought to myself, "Wouldn't it be fun to flick from something like 'Two and a Half Men' to 'Full Metal Jacket' and see if my head exploded in confusion?" And then I put the movie on and, sure enough, it was the chilling scene in the film where Vincent D'Onforio's Private Pyle has his complete and incredibly violent breakdown. And I thought "Wow. What are the odds?"

This week I purposely put my brain through the same extreme transition as I sampled not one but two Natalie Portman movies. Two films could not be more different from one another. One film managed to be charming and frivolous while the other is simply daring and amazing.

Let's do brains before charm: "Black Swan" is an incredible film. Not to everyone's taste (after its conclusion, I heard one woman say to her partner, "I don't want to talk about the movie. I have nothing to say.") the film is brilliant, twisted and dazzling.

Natalie Portman plays a young, cowering ballerina who is technically brilliant but completely lacking in passion. When she is given the opportunity to assume the centre stage role, she must somehow find within herself an intensity and confidence that she has never shown before. But such passion comes at a horrendous price.

As the movie progresses it moves into a strange dream world where reality starts to crumble and it here that Portman shows how strong she is in the role. Her transformation from quivering and uncertain to confident and dangerous is amazing to watch. The movie is an incredible showcase for an actress who has never before been given an opportunity to show such range.

Imagine David Cronenberg directing a ballet and that measuring stick will give you an idea of your comfort level with a film that offers one of the best performances of the year.

At the other end of the scale (and literally down the hall at the theatre) is Natalie Portman in a fluffy romantic comedy that manages to be charming and easy-going while not being annoyingly predictable.

It's rare that a movie even attempts to do something different with the basic romantic comedy formula (boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl) but "No Strings Attached" manages to play with the recipe while avoiding the potential for it to fall flat.

The twist in the usual story is that it's Ashton Kutcher who plays the traditional girl friend-type role: his heart has been broken and he would like a long-term romance, but she's afraid of commitment, is not looking for anything serious and basically likes the sin but doesn't want the serious.

The movie takes the usual journey down the romantic road and Kutcher even has a very Andie MacDowell "Four Weddings and a Funeral" moment at the film's end (the only stumble in an otherwise fun script) but the two stars managed to make the trip an enjoyable time.

The film's biggest suprise is how appealing Kutcher is in the role. Kutcher's on-screen characters are usually obnoxious in a charming kind of way (or vice versa to varying degrees and success) but in this movie he manages to be funny, romantic and attractive in a fun, needy manner. If the traditional roles in the film have been reversed, he seems to be in on the joke as he plays the part of the female lead in a story that has the woman playing the usual hard-to-get male role.

The film isn't in the pantheon of romantic comedy greats (which would include "Notting Hill", "The Princess Bride" and "Groundhog Day") but it never stumbles in its confidence and charm.

If anyone thought Natalie Portman would hurt her chance of winning an Oscar by having this film released before the votes are in, "No Strings Attached" only adds to her acting credibility because it is through her performance that Ashton Kutcher looks so believable in the movie. And anyone who can make Kutcher look credible deserves an Academy Award.

Education of a Young Man

2011-01-21T11:39:00.007-05:00

(Please enjoy the weekly hockey reminder that I send to my team. One of the guys suggested "Monty Python's The Meaning of Life". My team is brilliant.)

My Fellow Dragons:

So, last night my wife and I are watching "The Big Bang Theory" with our boys. Gee, soon to be 11, loves the show and Zed, now 8, likes it but usually laughs because we laugh and then asks "Why's that funny?"

The show is on at eight o'clock. They deal is they watch it and then head straight to bed.

Usually the show is okay, but last night's was ruder than most. A lot ruder.

The episode had the four guys and three of their lady friends heading out of town for a conference. So far so good. But when they get there, one of the character's girl friend bumps into her old boy friend, so of course the issue of penis size is alluded to; and there is a discussion that occurs because one of the guys has to sleep with his old girl friend, and she warns him that nothing is going to happen below the waist and he then replies that there's lots of fun they can have above the waist; and this then wakes up one of the other characters and he asks if the others are going to engage in "coitus".

All of this on a friggin' show that is on at 8:00.

I'm no prude (at least, "velvet-covered vibrating spanners of tantric delight" I don't think I am), but damnit at eight o'clock I'd like to watch a comedy without having to explain why it's funny when one of the male characters smiles happily when he gets into his hotel bed with a box of kleenex beside him -- and then the joke is revealed that he is going to have a good cry while watching "Bridget Jones' Diary".

And the kicker is my wife then says to me after we've tucked the boys into bed, "Have you had a sex talk with Gee yet? Because you should. He's going to be eleven soon. Or I could do it if you'd like." This coming from my lovely wife who always says "I could do it if you'd like" when there's a dead mouse in a trap or a clogged toilet to be fixed and later tells me "Oh thank god you did it. I could have done it, but I would have thrown up."

(Which is not to say that my wife would throw up having the 'Sex Talk' with my son. I'm sure it would be a lovely and inspiring mother/son discussion. But I know when I hear "I could do it if you'd like" it really and truly means, "I could do it, but please be the man and step up to the plate on this one.")

And I don't mind the idea of having THE TALK with the boy. I've already had THE WARM-UP TALK a couple of years ago when I explained how I was previously married and divorced many years ago. So I think THE TALK will be fine.

But the thing is this: I want to explain the *logistics* of the whole thing (Tab A goes into Slot B) and all of the *emotions* that go with it and the *physical responsibilities* because of STDs, potential pregnancy and other stuff, but I really, really want to somehow convey the fact that the *whole thing is just so just so much damn fun*. And, as a distant relative once kindly pointed out, if you play your cards right sometimes you don't even have to pay the woman!

I think, what I'll do, is explain it as if it's hockey. I will use our favorite sport as an analogy for the challenges and pleasures of sex. I will try to bring my passion and fumbling understanding of the game to the forefront as I try to explain the passion and fumbling complications of sex. For instance...

This Sunday! 3:25!! Rinx 2!!! Congrats on last week's victory and ending our long dry spell. Please make sure your equipment is fine tuned and ready for use (i.e. logistics). We're going to get into it with the V's. We've played with this bunch of girls before (physical responsibilities) and they're coming off a 8-3 bruising last week so they're going to be feeling fragile and on the rebound and therefore will have to be handled with care (i.e. responsibilities and emotions). Let's treat these little girlies with respect, but give them a thorough and satisfying pounding and I'm sure we'll come out of there grinning from ear to ear (i.e. whole thing is damn fun). Oh and please remember that they're all a bunch of whiny bastards who enjoy flying to Newfoundland so they can personally harvest their own baby seal pelts and then wear handmade fur t-shirts under their hockey sweaters SO THEY MUST BE DESTROYED!!!

Ah crapdamnitccrap. I'm gonna have to work on that. Baby seals and sex rarely go well together. I'll have to find another approach. Or maybe I'll just do what my distant relative suggests and let Gee watch "Sleepless in Seattle" and "Showgirls" and then he can figure it out on his own. That still has gotta be better than having his mother explain it to him; she'd do a great job, but I'm sure Freud would have a field day with that one. Damnitcrapdamnit.

Sunday afternoon!!! Hope to see you there. And get angry over the slaughter of those seals.

Kevin.

With Envy, But Little Sting

2011-01-20T09:53:00.011-05:00

Super-hero movies are big business in Hollywood. Big, ultra mega business. Put it this way: last year Disney bought Marvel comics for four BILLION dollars. That's a lot of money to ensure that the company has one of the key spots in the super-hero game.

Batman, Iron Man and Spider-Man are all worth millions at the box office. And when merchandise, action figures, animated series and other by-products are factored in to the equation, the value of the characters is phenomenal.

And the amazing thing is that Iron Man proved that the character doesn't have to be a household name with built-in brand recognition. Tony Stark was an unknown commodity for most moviegoers, but through the strong casting of Robert Downey, Jr. and a powerful introductory film, Iron Man is now a major box office figure. And like his other super-hero cohorts and the pinnacle of success that is the James Bond series, there is no reason that the Iron Man movies cannot continue for a long, profitable time.

But for every Iron Man there is a Jonah Hex, for every Ghost Rider there is a Scott Pilgrim and for every Daredevil there is an Elektra. Making a big budget comic book movie does not guarantee that an audience is going to pay their money for the show. Director Zach Snyder learned that painful lesson when he followed up the surprise hit 300 with the disappointing Watchmen.

Which brings us to The Green Hornet, a character that has a most unusual pedigree.

The Green Hornet is not truly a "comic book hero" because he didn't debut in comic books. He started as a radio show character more than 70 years ago. Like his contemporaries, The Lone Ranger and The Shadow, The Green Hornet then made the journey from one medium to another. Movies and comic books came after the character was established in radio.

The premise for the original radio series was simple but brilliant: Britt Reid, who by day is a wealthy newspaper publisher, fights crime (with his trusty sidekick Kato) as he pretends to be a mysterious criminal mastermind. He works outside the law by posing as a villain and then turn the tables on the true criminals. He was the ultimate one-man 'good cop, bad cop' crime fighter.

For almost 20 years this big budget adaptation of the character has been slowly making its way to the silver screen. Creators attached to the project in the past two decades have included Mark Wahlberg, Nicholas Cage, Jet Li, Kevin Smith, Stephen Chow and (once upon a time) George Clooney.

But the film never came together. That is, until Seth Rogen arrived.

Rogen is a most unusual choice for the main character. Best known for his comic roles as the rude man-child in 40 Year Old Virgin and Knocked Up, the chunky, curly-haired actor is not the usual muscular, spandex-clad, strong-chinned choice for a super-hero.

But Rogen slimmed down for the role (or perhaps merely because his box office success allowed him to hire a chef, personal trainer and wardrobe consultant) and became the project's savior after many others had let it languish.

Rogen is not only the star of The Green Hornet, he is also the one of the film's executive producers and its co-writer. And it's because of his involvement with the writing that the movie has such a strange tone.

Most comic book movies have a heavy, almost melodramatic weight to the character. Bruce Wayne's parents are murdered so he becomes Batman; Peter Parker's uncle is murdered so he becomes Spider-Man; Bruce Banner is injured in an experiment and turns into The Hulk. The heroes have their background in basic childhood fears of loss and abandonment and this is one of the reasons why the characters resonate so strongly with all ages.

As a child at the beginning of The Green Hornet young Britt Reid is intimidated and bullied by his father who is the publisher of a major newspaper. As an adult Britt is a rich slacker who defies his father by wasting his days away.

But all of that changes when his father is killed and Britt decides to change his life. But he doesn't do it to avenge his father or because he wants to make his city safer. He does it because he gets drunk and decides to mock his father and, more to the point, because it would be kind of a cool thing to do because his man servant Kato is really good at creating really amazing gadgets. Hence the Green Hornet is drunkenly born.

It is a rather feeble reason to become a hero. It's like a parody of a secret origin but it's supposed to be taken seriously. This strange mish-mash of comedy, parody and drama makes for an awkward hero. Unfortunately the problems don't end there.

Every good comic book movie needs a good comic book villain and this film is truly lacking in that department. Christoph Waltz, who was brilliant in Inglorious Basterds and won an Academy Award for his performance, is wasted as he attempts to find the right tone in a film that is not truly an action movie, but not a comedy either.

Cameron Diaz is also at a loss in her role as Britt Reid's secretary. She is supposed to be smart and have insights to both the city's crime situation and the challenges that a modern newspaper faces, but she is mostly there so Rogen's character can hit on her and say wildly inappropriate things, and then get jealous when Kato takes her on a date. It's not that Diaz can't play the role, it's that the part merely seems to be "sexy but smart secretary who plays hard to get".

The only character who emerges unscathed from this mess is Kato. Taiwanese actor Jay Chou brings a quiet, steady charm to the character and seems to be operating on a different level than the rest of the film. His calm, grounded nature is essential next to the crazed, unfocused Green Hornet but there is the sense that the film could have been great had Kato's character been used as its inspiration.

Watching the film it becomes apparent that the filmmakers are very uncomfortable with the idea of nobility and making a sacrifice for the good of society. Unlike Bruce Wayne who puts on a show as a drunken playboy to mask his crime fighting identity, Britt Reid never develops beyond his frat boy persona. He is always swearing, constantly hitting on his co-workers and never seems to realize that people are in danger. For Seth Rogen's version of The Green Hornet, it's all a big drunken joke.

There film has a handful of strong action sequences and at times some of the humour works. Early in the film there is an action scene with Kato that is spectacular in all its 3D glory, but the film peaks too early and simply goes on too long. Seth Rogen overstays his welcome in the role and the film grows tiresome because of it.

If the movie is successful enough to spawn a sequel, Seth Rogen will hopefully allow the character to develop and grow. A comic book movie doesn't have to be deadly serious, but if this series continues to be the adventures of a frat boy dressing up in a costume, it's a sequel no one will want to see.

Catty Remarks

2011-01-19T15:37:00.010-05:00

So, today the announcement came that Anne Hathaway is going to play Selina Kyle (aka Catwoman) in the next Batman movie.

And, I must confess that I'm skeptical.

This skepticism isn't solely based on bias. Julie Newmar was the greatest Catwoman of all time. No one else can compare. She's like Sean Connery as James Bond: other actor can portray 007, but he will always be the measuring stick for every agent with a licence to kill.

And it will always be Newmar that all other comic book femme fatales will be measured against.

But, setting aside that agreed upon fact / bias...

The big question: can Anne Hathaway play dangerous, deadly and sexy?

No one is sure what kind of part Selina will play in the movie, but considering that director Christopher Nolan has said that this will be his final Batman movie, it's unlikely that the character is merely being established for a future film (like Black Widow was set up in Iron Man 2.) She ain't gonna be window dressing. She is going to have to be menacing and exciting and captivating.

Hathaway is usually cast as the romantic lead or as the safe and somewhat bland girl friend type character (for instance, Agent 99 in the Get Smart movie). I could see Emma Stone in the role or Susan Sarandon, but neither of them would look age appropriate opposite Christian Bale's Batman. But using those two actresses as a start point, it still makes Hathaway an unlikely choice.

But points have to be awarded to Nolan for not going with the obvious choice: the dangerous, deadly and sexy Angelina Jolie. Her recent resume of Wanted, Salt and the semi-nude, semi-animated monster mother in Beowulf made her the ideal candidate but it would have been a very, very expected choice. It's almost as if the past five years, from Mr. and Mrs. Smith to The Tourist, have been an on-going audition for the part of Catwoman. But Selina Kyle is a role that Jolie could have sleepwalked (catwalked?) through. She would have been the safe choice; for Hathaway, it will be a role that she will have to stretch into.

Many years ago the casting of Michael Keaton as Batman was a source of much derision (can you imagine the thunderous noise that would have erupted had Keaton been cast in an age when the internet existed?) and he turned out to be an excellent choice for Tim Burton's take on the character. Perhaps Hathaway will prove to be the same for Nolan. But she has her work cut out for her.

And the news that almost gets eclipsed by the casting of Hathway: Bane as the other villain. A villain who is best known for being muscular and breaking Batman's back in the comic book.

Wow.

People were expecting The Riddler or Hugo Strange. Bane might prove to be an interesting choice because Nolan can create a rich background for him, but nevertheless... Bane? -- Wow.

Between Bane and the casting of Hathaway, this is not going to be the film that anyone was expecting. And who knows, that might turn out to be a very, very good thing.

To Box or Not to Box, That is the Purchase

2011-01-18T17:12:00.010-05:00

My oldest boy, Gee, is going to turn 11 in a month and a half. And all he really wants for his birthday is "Futurama: The Complete Collection" box set.

And as much as I try, I am having a devil of a time justifying the purchase.

Part of it is money: at one hundred and fifty dollars, it is one incredibly expensive present. As I explained to the young avid reader, that single present would be the same as five really great hardcover books. (As a matter of fact, that was *before* I looked at the price. The books are the equivalent of $100; this boxed set is even more.)

Another part of my problem is the cost of the enjoyment: I can pvr a bunch of episodes for free and he can watch them to his heart's content. It's not as if there are a bunch of special features on the discs that he's dying to watch (Aaron Sorkin and David Fincher are unlikely to be doing commentaries on the discs), so it's not like there is any additional enjoyment coming from the box set.

He understands my reasons and yet he really wants the set. He said he'd even put some of his own money towards it.

And because of his commitment, I know my lovely wife is wavering.

But I said to her that it is a lot of money just so he can get some fancy packaging. I suggested that I try to find some used dvds of the season sets. But he isn't interested in the individual seasons.

My wife then revealed the sad reality of the situation to me: "Kevin," she said, "of course he wants the packaging. He's your son."

And as I look at my shelves and I see my yuppie Opus with his tags still attached and the Mini RC Dalek Battle Pack (with David Tennant as the Doctor) still in its original packaging, I realize that of course she is correct. If there is a little collectible monster gnawing at his heart, I created that monster and made sure it was hermetically sealed and wrapped in mylar for additional protection.

Nevertheless, I still want him to resist the packaging, to not buy something just because it's a special edition, to see the value in resisting the bells & whistles and perhaps realize the satisfaction that can be obtained in showing some self-restraint.

Y'know, all the stuff that I'm lousy at doing myself. (Stupid tempting, beautiful, fun, sparkly packaging.)

Because I would like him to be better than me.

Life, Hockey and Ice Cubes

2011-01-17T10:03:00.005-05:00

(As team rep for my hockey team it is my responsibility to send them a weekly e-mail which gives the details of where and when our game takes place. It could be a brief two-line reminder; it rarely is.

Below is what my team got to read last week...)

Dragons!

As I'm glancing at the Globe & Mail's web site this morning, I noticed the five most popular stories in their Life section...

MOST POPULAR STORIES

And I can't help but think that a lot more women must read this section compared to men. Because while the article on a man's penis and the article on the relationship said penis has with his girlfriend's past should be the *top two* stories, somehow the article about sharing your bed with pets is numero uno. Also included in the top 5 are two articles on horoscopes: most men care about horoscopes as much as they care about Sears having a sale this weekend.

Nowhere to be found are articles on breast implants, hangover cures or how long you have to stay awake after you've done your honest-to-god very, very best to care for your partner's sexual needs. Somehow men's priorities and concerns are not being properly addressed. I can understand how the on-going and neverending debate on circumcision can be an issue for men but isn't it more important that our penis is happy no matter its shape, size or posture?

After all, a happy penis makes for a happy man.

Allow me to illustrate: Picture, if you will, an ice cube: alone, untouched, unloved. And now, picture a beautiful woman taking that ice cube, gently cupping it in her hands and then slowly putting it into her mouth. She swirls her tongue around and smiles as she feels the chill turn to warmth. Her eyes sparkle with satisfaction and knowledge at what she's done.

Phew. I don't know about you, but I'm already feeling better at the thought.

And yes, obviously, that ice cube represents the now-growing value of your RRSPs. Congratulations on those long-term investments finally paying off.

It's that simple. More articles like that in The Globe and Mail and more men would read their friggin' Life section.

And not one mention of hockey in their Top Five!!! How wrong is that?!?

This Sunday you will be beating the TS. Envision your victory and their humiliating defeat (you can come back to that ice cube imagery later). At this very moment, picture yourself thrilled as you triumphantly leave the rink. Now, hold onto that image and treasure it until you exit the game Sunday afternoon.

And the arithmetic is simple: the TS played the Voy last week and lost 5-1; we've played the Voy and lost 1-nothing and tied 3-3; ipso facto, statistically we are the TS's superiors not only on the ice and spiritually, but also in the bedroom because they are the sexual equivalent of a pot of limp, overcooked linguini in a cold and frustrated clam sauce compared to ourselves who are, of course, velvet-covered vibrating spanners of tantric delight. And, as I always say, you can't argue with math.

Alas, with heavy heart, I will not be joining you in victory this Sunday. Yes, in the 21st Century version of Rock/Paper/Scissors, eight year old's birthday party trumps Dragons. Laser Quest and chocolate cake awaits for me on Sunday afternoon; but at that exact same time Victory shall have her arms open wide as she awaits for your glorious return. Who knows, she may even have an ice cube in her mouth.

Best of luck on Sunday,
Kevin.

Birthday pity party for me and the boy

2011-01-09T10:22:00.011-05:00

Zed (who is now 10 days into being eight years old) has been sick for a couple of days and he woke me up at 4:22 a.m. Eventually he fell back asleep, but I haven't been quite so lucky.

Two nights ago he did the same thing and my lovely wife stayed up with him, tried to get him to drift back to sleep, and generally had her night's sleep ruined. Last night was my turn at the wheel of slumber-less mayhem.

After he drifted off and I miserably failed to do the same, I got up and puttered and cleaned and tidied and computer-ed and did my very, very best not to disturb anyone.

It's now been four hours since that rude awakening and Zed is once again out of bed while his mum and brother sleep in a little bit.

He's beside me now, playing on his DS as I take a bit of a break from my attempts to conquer the tiny chaos of messes that are constantly threatening to encroach and overwhelm my life.

And as he is battling whatever he battles as he plays Pokemon, my mind wanders and I look at him and I see myself and I think of how much I dislike my birth date and how I hope it works better for Zed.

January the sixth is a wretched date for a birthday. And for all my life, it's been mine.

In years past I've quite melodramatically referred to it as "The Unholy Trinity", composed of three parts, being Christmas, New Year's and then my birthday. I'm an epiphany baby, born on the 12th day of Christmas and unlike in the song, what I often get is not a partridge in a pear tree but instead I get a little down, a little depressed, a little morose.

My brother's birthday is 14 days *before* Christmas and years ago he and I made a vow that we would never give each other combined Christmas-birthday presents. The combined Christmas-birthday present is the most cruel of perennial pranks played on people born at this time of year -- our theory is that if we had been born in May we would have scored that present at Christmas time and then got something new and exciting for our birthday. No one has ever received a bigger and better present for be born close to Christmas. The birth date is the ultimate annual booby prize.

But while it must suck for my brother in similar ways, at least his birthday isn't an after-thought or a supposed day of personal celebration after everyone is all celebrated out. So, in typical Philip Roth sibling rivalry, I feel that my brother has it bad, but I've got it worse.

12 days after Christmas and six days into the New Year, my birthday is an annoyance like a tax return that has to be rushed to be filed or a tooth that you finally go see the doctor about. It is the sad footnote to the question "How was your Christmas and New Year's?" with my response being "Oh they were great. And it's my birthday on Thursday." The look on a person's face upon hearing the news is a mixture of pity and contempt, as if to say, "Jeez buddy, I just got over two important dates, and you expect me to care that it's your birthday? -- I'm all happy-ed and merry-ed out. Too bad for you."

And poor, poor Zed is facing a similar situation.

My son was unfortunately born on December 30th.

Oh it could be much, much worse. He could have been born on New Year's Eve, New Year's Day or Christmas itself.

Many, many years ago I knew a guy who was born on December 25. He grew to dislike Christmas and hate his birthday: everyone else got a celebration and a party for their birthday; he had family get-togethers that had everything to do with the season and nothing to with him. That joyous feeling that a birthday can bring because, for 24 hours, you are unique and special, was never his to enjoy. You could see the bitterness grow in him as the years went on.

Like all good fathers I'm hoping that the Zed's future is better than mine. This year he had birthday with his immediate family and in mid-January he's having a party with his friends. Maybe that will work for him, having two kicks at the birthday can -- one by birth, one by choice. That could be nice.

A little while ago Zed's brother awakened and he is sitting beside him right now. Both of them are playing on their DS, and I'm looking at them and silently smiling to myself.

Gee's birthday is March 3. He will be eleven. He will never received anything remotely like a combined birthday/Christmas present or have his birthday semi-forgotten in the rush of the season. He has no idea how fortunate he is.

But Zed at least has this going for him: years ago my wife and I decided that we didn't want him to be the youngest at home and the youngest at school. For the want of two days, it didn't make sense for him to face a scholarly lifetime of being the youngest and the smallest. So we registered him a year later than needed and he's now the oldest in his class. He loves school, he's empathetic and he's oh so very bright. (A couple of years later, Malcolm Gladwell published his book and suggested we were correct in our reasoning.)

My wife and I were smart enough to give him that opportunity. And hopefully that's a present that will work for him all of his life.

The rest he'll have to work through on his own.

An Amazon Who Doesn't Know Me

2011-01-09T08:02:00.006-05:00

So, this morning when I went to Amazon Canada, on their friendly home page where they tell me about all the stuff that *should* interest me, a damn picture of the Star Wars blu-ray set shows up.

And I can't help but think that, even with all their customer recognition programming, Amazon doesn't know me as well as they think they do.

Or a much more scary thought is that they know me better than I know myself.

Damnit.

(And I know I should probably put up a picture of Han Solo shooting first in order to show my politically geeky stance or an image of Jar Jar Banks to show my mocking hatred, but instead I'm posting a picture that looks like the dog I had when I was a kid. Cuz I'm not going to let friggin' Star Wars overshadow my day. I would much rather think about puppies.)

The Arrival and Return of Flex

2011-01-04T12:15:00.005-05:00

The bad timing of birthdays (a 'woe is me' post of infinite pity party sadness) will come later as will a tale of sandwiches and father/son moments. But for now, the inner geek (who, let's be honest, isn't really and truly all that *inner* and is more like the traumatized lover who wears his crushed and bleeding heart on his sleeve)...

Okay, the *outer and very much alive* geek takes over.

"Flex Mentallo" is finally going to be collected by Vertigo Comics this fall! The classic Grant Morrison/Frank Quitely collaboration is finally going to be available for everyone to enjoy and discuss and love.

To express the news in film terms, this is like "The African Queen" finally being released on dvd, the ultimate "Blade Runner" blu-ray collection announcement and the found footage of "Metropolis" -- all rolled into one!

(Okay-okay, the news is not on the level of a completely restored "The Magnificent Ambersons" finally seeing the light of day, but since that is never likely to happen, that's like evoking Godwin's Law in terms of collecting.)

The only news that could possibly be better would be Marvel finally announcing that they're bringing Alan Moore and then Neil Gaiman's "Miracleman" (aka Marvelman) back in print. I wouldn't be surprised to see that announcement sometime in the near future, but the Flex news is a dazzling way to start the new year.

For a history of all of Flex's mis-adventures, Johanna Carlson at "Comics Worth Reading" has a history of the character's legal problems. It's strange to think in our current world of Batporn parody that this character's satire of Charles Atlas has prevented the story from being in-print. I'm not sure if this upcoming collection says something about DC Comics overcoming their legal timidity or a seismic shift in attitudes regarding parody laws.

Whatever the reason, I'm thrilled to have the line "I got six chambers of semi-jacketed realism aimed right at your Sea of Tranquility. Drop the rock" soon to arrive in a collected and easily available form.

Bring on the Flex.

A Galaxy Gone, Gone Away

2010-12-17T13:53:00.011-05:00

I was tempted to write this whole thing in Yoda-voice. The idea just tickled me -- doing the whole thing like an ancient Jedi master.

As a matter of fact, somewhere in the house I have a McDonald's Happy Meal that explains exactly how to speak like Yoda. A couple of years ago I bought the McNuggets and fries, got the toys for the boys and then saved the box in order to send it as a gift to a friend. Because he, for some unfathomable reason, even after the travesty that is the prequels, remains unwavering in his joy for the Star Wars series.

Unfortunately I do not feel the same way.

In many ways the series is dead to me the same way Al Pacino's brother was dead to him in The Godfather Part II. Sometimes my boys ask me if I like Star Wars and I have tried to explain to them how much I loved the first three movies when they first came out, but I don't like what's been done to them since. I think I have actually used the phrase "They're dead to me" as I tried to describe the frustration, sadness and incredible sense of betrayal which I now feel towards the series.

My poor boys -- having to hear their dad go on about a movie series as if it was like someone sat down and told me all at once that there is no Santa Claus, I'm adopted, and my dog never liked me when I was a kid. That is what George Lucas has done to me.

And Yoda as a CGI pseudo-Mexican jumping bean in that last film? -- Please, just shoot me now. My rule is simple: just because it can be done with special effects, doesn't mean it should be done. Just because it's now possible to CGI Lucille Ball into a threesome with Fred Astaire and Judy Garland doesn't make it a good idea; and it's the same thing with a ninja Yoda.

It is such a drag, having something you love transform into something that is devastatingly disappointing. I've heard the Clone Wars tv show is fun, but the setting is right in the middle of the very prequels that I loathe. So the show could be a dazzling mish-mash of Buffy, The West Wing and Lost -- and I'd still wouldn't be able to watch it.

And yet for some reason I cannot let go of my ever-simmering hatred for it all. Like a reformed alcoholic who can't stop preaching about the evils of booze, I am always dumbfounded when people claim to enjoy the prequels. "They're really popular with kids" someone said to me the other day. And I then preached and babbled and foamed as I explained why they're horrible and of course kids like them because they are being manipulated into enjoying mediocrity in order for the sales of the merchandise to remain strong and...

And I could slowly see the fear in the person's eyes as they were forced to listen to the ramblings of a crazy person. And they slowly, ever so slowly, attempted to move away.

Be it the Clone Wars, the "Han Shot First" special editions or the upcoming Robot Chicken-produced tv show (really? I mean, really?!?) I've given up on the whole thing.

Oh, and the icing on this cake of craptitude was a book I saw the other day: Star Wars - Death Troopers. It's got Star Wars and zombies -- in the same story!!

It's as if some old-time movie mogul was sitting in his office smoking a cigar the size of Texas and screamed at his quivering lackeys, "Kids still like Star Wars but we've got to keep it fresh! What's hot out there that will keep kids interested?"

And one minion pipes up, "Wizards and magicians are popular, sir! Or hobbits! What about hobbits!"

"Jesus Crossover Christ!" explodes the mogul, "I'm not going to help make some other studio's goddamn franchise more popular by putting it in Star Wars. Hobbits can lick the fur from my unwashed ass-kicking feet! We've got the goddamn Ewoks, why the crap would we need hobbits! And if one of you bastards mention Predators, Batman or Iron Man, I will choke you to death with my cigar, hide your body in the sewers and then crap on your dead useless decaying corpse every day for the rest of my life. What am I paying you brainless geniuses for? What else have you got?"

"Zombies, sir. Zombies are popular," squeeks out one of the other cowering underlings.

"Zombies? Zombies!" says the mogul, savoring the word like an expensive wine. "No copyright infringements. No royalties to pay to some know-it-all creator who wants script and casting approval. Everything in the public domain but still more popular than that long-haired Justin Bieber girl. I like it! Get on it! Do it! And see if you can get Princess Leia in a bikini again. Those ancient basement-dwelling old time original horny friggin' fanboys eat that shit up."

Yep. Star Wars and zombies -- together!! Cuz if it works for Jane Austen, it can work for Star Wars.

As I said Star Wars is dead to me. And zombies are eating its brains. And its heart.

Gone is wonder and originality. Picked over the corpse has become. Bite my ass George Lucas must, he must.

I can't even do Yoda-talk anymore. Sad it is.

The Doctor Visits Craig

2010-12-02T10:25:00.003-05:00

I like Craig Ferguson.

I love "Doctor Who".

And when Matt Smith was on the Craig Ferguson show it was very entertaining. But at the beginning of the show Craig talked about the opening having to be scrapped because the producers failed to clear the legal rights for the Doctor Who theme.

It was a strange opening to the show because it was impossible to tell if Craig was just pretending that they had done a song and dance number and was pretending to be royally pissed off, or if they had really done all that work, it had been unexpectedly cancelled and he was really and truly royally pissed off.

Well, youtube finally has the opening song and dance number.

"The triumph of intellect and romance over brute force and cynicism."

The opening scene is brilliant. And y'can see why Craig was so very, very angry.

But don't take my word for it...

Enjoy.

Jerry Meets George

2010-11-25T20:53:00.010-05:00

Fourteen years ago, back in the winter of 1996, Tom Cruise starred and was then nominated for an Oscar in "Jerry Maguire".

That role has become a major touchstone in his career both as box office superstar and as a romantic lead. And with the guidance of writer/director Cameron Crowe, Cruise made the phrase "Show me the money" a pathetic, pleading scream of greed, accomplishment, friendship and pride.

And now, in the winter of 2010, actor Paul Rudd is starring in the movie "How Do You Know". Written and directed by James L. Brooks, the movie has Rudd playing a man named George who is tangled in a romantic love triangle with Reese Witherspoon.

Now, ignoring the fact that it is also a romantic comedy with a beautiful blonde and it is also created by an Academy Award winning screenwriter, isn't it freaky and (because both films are from Columbia Pictures) kind of interesting to note that the movie poster has an image of Rudd that is hauntingly familiar? Because you can sense from the picture of Rudd's character on the telephone that he isn't just ordering pizza; he is going through a Jerry Maguire-like hangin' by a thread, about to freak out quasi-breakdown.

Jerry Maguire tagline: "Everybody loved him. Everybody disappeared."

George's tagline: "He's In Trouble."

Although the image of Jerry Maguire screaming on the telephone wasn't used in the original poster, it is instantly recognizable from the film.

Fourteen years later, that image finally makes its way onto a one-sheet, but without Cruise's presence.

As Jerry would say, "You complete me."

Cosmo secrets

2010-11-18T10:31:00.009-05:00

Oh those unfortunate cashiers in supermarket check-out lines. Having to deal with people like me who all of a sudden are howling with laughter for no apparent reason.

It goes like this...

I'm grabbing some groceries, minding my own business as I wait patiently for the woman in front of me to pay for her items, bag them all and somehow keep her two-year-old in the buggy entertained as she does all of this, when my eyes wander over the covers of the magazines displayed at the check-out.

And I suddenly start laughing. And I must be laughing quite loudly because the cashier looks at me with surprise. And so I tell her what has made me cackle with amusement.

The cover of the latest issue of Cosmopolitan features the article "Secrets of Male Arousal".

And I said to the cashier, "The secret of male arousal? -- If you express interest, he's aroused. If he's had a beer, he's aroused. If you smile at him or laugh at one of his jokes, he's aroused. The secret? - If he's a guy, he's gonna be aroused."

And the cashier gives me a smile, as if I've just confirmed what she has always suspected.

Men are so easy, they make a game of checkers seem like brain surgery.

Oops. Now I've revealed the secret.

I would therefore suggest completely skipping this month's issue.

That is, if it wasn't for the article "What Even Experienced Chicks Forget to Do in Bed". Cuz that looks pretty mind-blowing.

Disco Barbie

2010-11-04T00:09:00.006-04:00

I'm late to this one, but in my defense, I don't often find myself looking at dolls in toy stores.

Nevertheless, I took my boys to Toys 'R Us and we were looking at action figures and there, across the aisle and on the end display, were Twilight Barbies -- as in Barbie dolls which are made with the licensed features of the main characters from Twilight.

Which I thought was strange, but I sorta kinda get it. Teenage girls might want to own Bella Barbie so they can have a re-enactment between her and Edward (Ken) or her and Jacob (Ken). Or maybe a fight scene between Edward (Ken) and Jacob (Ken). Or maybe a scene with all three of them. Or some sort of scene just between the two guys. Some sort of fan fiction fun.

I dunno. I guess. Whatever.

But the really strange thing was that further down the aisle they had Cyndi Lauper Barbie, Joan Jett Barbie and (my personal fave) Debbie Harry Barbie.

And I wondered that if I could go back to New York City in my time machine and visit Debbie Harry in the '70s at her peak at Studio 54 and show her what the 21st Century held for her, whether she'd be thrilled or whether she'd just throw up all over Andy Warhol and blame it all on him.

You Need to Want to Win

2010-11-03T23:58:00.005-04:00

I stumbled across this on twitter today. It's from Mark Gatiss (he of "Sherlock" fame) and he wrote...

"Why wasn't there a massively energized, angry reaction when there was a mindless prick in the White House for eight years?"

Which I thought was brilliant.

But it's because the Democrats didn't get their message out and they act as if they should be able to work with the other side; the Republicans, on the other hand, just want to win and don't care how it gets done.

You can't negotiate with someone if all they want is to get rid of you.

"There's a frood who really knows where his towel is"

2010-11-02T23:35:00.007-04:00

A little while ago I bought my lovely wife a towel. And, yes, it's a much more thoughtful gift than it sounds.

I ordered it from ebay in the uk and had it sent all the way over here. Because, you see, my wife is from England and I thought it would be perfect for her. It couldn't be used by myself or the boys -- we're much too Canadian and it is very much "Mummy's".

Tonight, after she went swimming, I saw it hanging downstairs to dry.

It is, if I may say, a lovely present. Very British and perfect for holidays.

But then, when I saw it, the pun struck me.

It's to be used by the beach or by the pool when you want to ensure that no one steals the perfect spot and the perfect view that you've found for yourself.

But I then twigged to the fact that it describes that calm, cool British attitude. It quietly suggests that this is the towel of not a crazy person looking for a wild time, but instead, it is the towel of someone dignified, calm and at peace with themselves.

"Reserved".

Indeed.

Countdown begins

2010-11-01T14:00:00.003-04:00

It's November the first. The day after Hallowe'en. But according to a couple of retail home pages, it may as well be Christmas.

On the Amazon home page there are doves, Christmas bells, holly and french horns being employed to convey the festive season and all of its shopping pleasures and pressures. If I go to the American site, I can even click on the holiday toy list.

And over on ebay they're kind enough to tell me it's "54 DAYS". They don't even say it's 54 days to Christmas; just "54 DAYS" with a huge bright red ribbon beside the words.

Come to think of it, it may as well be the Christmas shopping season but neither site actually usually the word "Christmas". Amazon conveys it through images and ebay does it with a countdown, but neither uses the word itself.

So, if I understand this correctly, they'll use the holiday to hawk items and even pressure shoppers with the Dec 25 deadline, but they won't use the word in case they offend people of other faiths. It is the season that retailers love, but for these two mega-sites it's a seasonal love that dare not speak its name.

In other words: "Ho-ho-ho, Merry Shopping!"

Hallowe'en memory

2010-10-31T23:22:00.004-04:00

The strongest memory I have of Hallowe'en has nothing to do with my family, friends or myself.

Years ago I was driving to work on Hallowe'en morning. The weather was miserable the way the last day of October can sometimes be: cold, damp, and with the threat of rain to ruin the upcoming evening of trick or treat-ery.

And as I was driving, I noticed a young kid, maybe six or so, standing at a bus stop. For some reason he seemed to be crying.

But he was in costume. Wearing a bright, red, full-sized crayon outfit.

So there he was, on that cold Hallowe'en morning, a Crying Crayon.

He looked terrific in his costume and he should have been happy, but instead he looked utterly despondent as he stood alone, crying at the bus stop.

At that moment I felt like I was looking at the saddest little boy in the world.

I've never forgotten him. He haunts my Hallowe'en every year. The Crying Crayon.

The F@*#-ERY Has Ended

2010-09-13T10:35:00.006-04:00

The sense of relief is incredible.

When it has just been a case of...

(as my wife so delicately put it)

... seemingly endless fuckery.

With no sign of quitting. No end in sight. Knowing it will go away but not knowing when it will leave.

And then it finally

Stops.

The sense of relief is almost physical in nature. It's honestly and truly like a huge weight has been lifted from your shoulders. As if someone says, "Here, let me take that away for you" and suddenly you can sit up straight and not feel as if something is pushing you down.

It's as if you realize, "Oh hell yeah. This is what it feels like to be normal again. To not be stressed and worried and not know when it's going to end. To not be in a state of fuckery. This is what relief feels like."

And it's not that there wasn't a light at the end of the tunnel; we knew it was going to be okay. But it was not knowing how long the journey through goddamn tunnel was going to take. That was the incredible awfulness of the situation.

But the fuckery has ended. The fuckery is gone. Fuckery no more.

Farewell fuckery, may we avoid being re-united for a long, long time.

NEWSFLASH: Headlines are Never Wrong, But They Can Mislead

2010-09-13T08:44:00.014-04:00

The headline in the newspaper says "Slow Release Schedule Benefits Resident Evil".

And it drives me crazy when I read things like that because it's so misleading that it's darn close to being Wrong, Wrong, Wrong.

I read another one on-line that says "Resident Evil Dominates By Default". And, again, I'm dazzled by the dopiness of the statement.

"Resident Evil: Afterlife 3-D" managed to grab $27.7 million in its first weekend.

(It is the 4th film in the series, but the movies have never been numbered -- which suggests to me that the filmmakers must think the audience for these movies has some intelligence and doesn't need the hand-holding and guidance that titles such as "Rocky III", "Rambo: First Blood Part II", and "Friday the 13th - The Final Chapter" seem to imply. Or perhaps that's just me being too charitable to the "Evil" series.)

But the thing is this: the previous "Resident Evil" movie ("Extinction") opened to $23.7 million in its first weekend. So it's not like the box office for the most recent film is a surprise. As a matter of fact, given that the current entry is in 3-D and thereby gets a bump in its average ticket price, the most recent film's box office could be said to be expected.

So why have a headline that says the slow schedule *benefits* the movie? -- Well, the headline is negative and in news it's always better to be negative than blah and average. And it also conveys the fact that the industry box office wasn't, as a whole, on fire this weekend. But the box office for the latest "Resident Evil" movie is exactly what it should be.

Now, admittedly, the release date didn't *hurt* the movie. Being the only major new film in the marketplace doesn't hurt a film. That's pretty obvious.

But it's not like your average moviegoer *must* go see a movie. It's not like the cash in their pocket was suddenly going to expire or combust and they had to rush out to see a film because of it.

Or to put it another way: movies such as "Piranha 3D" and "Scott Pilgrim" only open to $10 million because people didn't think the films deserved their money. If the movies had opened on a slower weekend, they might have done moderately more business, but it's not like they would have turned into better films or created more interest solely because of the release date.

Even when a film has killer mutant fish, a movie that is a dog is going to stay a dog. And even when a film has a terrific story and is incredibly creative, some pilgrims are gonna cause a lot of trouble and simply fail to grab their intended audience.

Opening "Resident Evil" on the same weekend as the latest "Harry Potter" or "Batman" movie would hurt its business because those movies create a black hole/ vacuum / perfect storm where every moviegoer's money is going to be pulled towards the huge mega-hit. That's why nothing (and certainly not another sci-fi/fantasy movie) gets in the path of those films.

So, yes, the release date of a film can help it or it can hurt it. But a bad film isn't going to turn into a huge hit just simply because of when it hits the market.

Or, as John Hiatt says, ugly ducklings don't turn into swans and guide down the lake.

Box office flops won't sprout wings and soar simply because the release schedule is a little less crowded.

People go to see a movie because they want to see it. They can always choose *not* to see a movie.

The latest film in a series that has seen its previous two installments open in September to $20+ million is probably going to open in the same ballpark. It's likely not going to fly much higher, but it's not a shock to see it be consistent.

Stress to the power of a gazillion

2010-08-08T09:03:00.005-04:00

My lovely wife is tired of the word "stress".

As in: "You guys must be under a lot of stress right now, with the move and everything."

Buying a house, selling the house, keeping the house constantly clean and immaculately show-worthy, packing, moving, her starting a new job, searching for the same, boys at a new school, new town, leaving the neighborhood we love, hoping it's the right decision, changing magazine addresses, doing battle with companies for phone and internet, and having to figure out how to transport the guinea pigs and goldfish without killing them.

(Damn, hadn't thought of the last one until just now.)

Yep, that's a lot of burning hot coals to keep juggling.

The other day, at our lawyer's office, as we were signing all the paperwork for the new house, the lawyer said, "You guys must be under a lot of stress" and my wife commented to me after our lawyer had left the room...

"I'm tired of people saying that. 'You must be under a lot of stress.' This is beyond stress. 'Stress' is a word that people use too often. This isn't stress anymore. This is... This is... This is just Fuckery."

And I agreed. It was the perfect word for our situation.

I shared her turn of phrase with some people. And they thought it was perfect. It's beyond stress. It's moved onto a new level of decrepit crapitude.

So we are no longer under stress; we are in a state of Fuckery.

And that is not a place we want to be.

It can end soon.

Please.

If I Were the Man You Wanted

2010-08-08T07:40:00.015-04:00

There was absolutely no friggin' reason for me *not* to sleep-in this morning.

The past week has consisted of hockey Tuesday night, coaching soccer Wednesday and Thursday night, playing soccer for the first time in (grade thirteen = 19, grade eight therefore = 14, subtracted from 46 =) thirty-four years on Friday night in a 'Refs vs. Coaches' match.

All of that plus packing, packing and more friggin' packing. And, surprise-surprise, there is a whole lot o' books in this house! And not them new-fangled ipad electronic books; nope, it's the good ole-fashioned "Damn, is this box heavy" kind of books.

And Saturday was renting a guy with a truck so we could load and then unload a bunch of stuff (including, of course, *more books*) that were at my stepmother's place and take them up the new house.

So, sleeping-in this morning would have been lovely.

But it simply was not meant to be.

Instead I was awakened because my sleeping thoughts had drifted towards fate, chance, and the decisions we make.

Do we get to where we are because of some guiding hand? Do we get here by choosing Door Number Two when we could have (and perhaps *should have*) chosen Door Number Three Hundred and Fifty-Two? Is there a master plan or just a perpetual motion of lottery ticket draws with some tickets being winners, others being losers but another draw just a decision away.

If I had taken a writing course that had been offered to me when I was a teenager and made the trips from Kitchener to Toronto, would my life be vastly different from what it is now? And would that be better or worse or just different?

And had I taken that road, would I lose everything I have right now?

Or is this where I was supposed to be? Right now. In this moment. In this instant. This is exactly the right place.

Lyle Lovett wrote, "If I were the man you wanted, I would not be the man that I am."

"Home is where I want to be. But I guess I'm already there" sang David Byrne and the Talking Heads.

Alice gave Smoky her childhood and in exchange she lost the certainty that there was a guiding hand in her life and that she had been fated to meet the man she loved. And while that realization made everything more fragile, it also made everything much more precious because she now realized that there was no master plan and she had to enjoy every moment she had. (That's me paraphrasing John Crowley's book "Little, Big".)

And if Schrödinger had ever opened the damn lid, would the cat be alive, dead or would it have got tired of waiting and decided to find its own way out?

Yes, yes: the last four occurred to me as I was writing this. And trying to make some sense of it all.

But the rest woke me up.

I wanted to sleep-in. I probably *needed* to sleep in. Zed is still asleep. My lovely wife is still asleep. I'm doing my best to quietly tip-toe around the house and not wake them. The day is going to be more packing.

And packing is like having a root canal: it must get done, it's very painful, and after it's finished there's still more pain, but in time it fades and everything turns out okay.

But this is the thing, and maybe if I had thought of all this I could have eased myself back to sleep: I'm not a piece of fluff in the wind being blown from place to place. I have roots that are strong and are being transplanted by choice. I'm Popeye with his sweet potatoes because I yam what I yam. And it's all fragile and delicate and precious but not to be feared. There's no grand scheme, but things do have a tendency to work out. It is a royal pain in the ass not knowing when the good times are going to start.

But perhaps worse is not realizing that the good times might be Right Now.

Superman's weakness

2010-07-18T13:19:00.010-04:00

So, the other day Gee asked me if kryptonite can be formed.

"What do you mean 'formed'?" I asked him. "Do you mean can it be shaped? Or carved?"

"Yes. Can you form it into something else?"

"Well, kryptonite isn't real. You know that, right?"

"Yes, I know. But could it be formed?"

"Well, it's a rock, but they've changed it in recent years so that it's radioactive." And as I spoke, I started to get my geek on. "It used to be only harmful to Superman and other Kryptonians, but now it's radioactive to people from Earth, too. So it's deadly."

"Okay," Gee said, ignoring but I'm certain nevertheless *dazzled* by his father's embarrassingly rich geeky insight, "but could you form it into something else?"

"I guess you could," I replied. "Like what?"

"Well, why doesn't someone just shape it into a bullet and kill Superman using a kryptonite bullet? Wouldn't a bullet kill him?"

And in my mind I'm thinking of a fanboy response: it would take two bullets, a gold kryptonite bullet to temporarily rob him of his powers, and then a green bullet to kill him. But it might take some time for the gold bullet to take effect, and in that time Superman could spot the shooter and melt the rifle with his heat vision. And it would have to be a very powerful gun because there's the chance that the gold kryptonite would slowly rob him of his invulnerability and his skin might be only slightly weakened. Superman can heal after being attacked by green kryptonite, therefore the assassin would have to ensure that it was a kill shot and make sure not to just wound him. But it probably could be done -- use two different kinds of bullets and go for the kill shot with an incredibly powerful gun.

This is all the stuff I thought.

But what I said was different.

I replied, "You can't kill Superman with a gun. He'd figure out a way to protect himself. He's Superman."

Gee reflected on my response and said "Okay."

And this is why I resisted sharing my fanboy thoughts and answered the way I did: at age ten he no longer believes in Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny or the Tooth Fairy. As he gets older, he loses so many of the things that are wondrous, magical and magnificent as the everyday realities of the world gather around him. That's part of growing older and there's not much I can do to protect him from it.

But he should always have Superman.

Fort of Feathers

2010-06-30T10:37:00.003-04:00

So the boys, on their first day of summer, are enjoying a morning of quiet chaos.

Zed just came up to inform me that they've built a diving fort in the basement. "It's really cool. We put all the pillows on the floor and we're diving on them.

"Can we keep playing?" asks Zed.

I can imagine that it includes one of them being *in* the fort as the other one dives on top. Which of course could lead to bruises, nose bleeds, broken bones and all sorts of other fun stuff.

But I remember my brother and I building forts out of cushions, having pillow fights as we were bouncing up-and-down on our parents' bed like a trampoline, and (in a display of incredible stupidity and showing how completely oblivious we were to physical harm) having pencil crayons wars -- which consisted of hiding behind furniture and throwing pencil crayons at one another, the goal being to to hit the other person, because, y'know, we were geniuses.

"Go ahead," I told Zed. "Just make sure you clean up afterwards. And be careful!"

Running back downstairs, he called out, "We will!"

Yes, my brother and I used to throw pencil crayons at each other for fun. My boys could say they're building forts out of kitchen plates or trying to trap raccoons using rancid hamburger and it would still be less dangerous than what I did when I was a kid.

"Have a good time! Don't be as stupid as I was!" should be the rallying cry for all parents.

Last Day at School

2010-06-29T23:57:00.006-04:00

It's funny: both of the boys found the last day of school less emotional than I did.

And because they're both heading to a new school next year, I thought there would be some sadness, tension or tears.

Nope. School's out. "It's the summer!" And they ain't looking back.

As for me, I found myself getting choked up talking to their teachers.

I spoke to Zed's current teacher, Mrs. Chapman, who taught both of the boys (she also taught Gee three years earlier) and she told me that she was sad because she would have had Zed again next year because she was going to be teaching a different grade. But she was very kind and said that the new school was going to be getting two great students.

And I also spoke to the boys' former kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Reiart. She also taught both of the boys but she had them for both Junior *and* Senior kindergarten. She therefore had them for four years in total. I was incredibly pleased that I had the opportunity to thank her for helping make the boys into excellent students. I told her that they're both doing exceptionally well in school and a large part of that is because of her teaching. She was kind enough to say that it was very likely that my wife and I also had a hand in the matter; true as that may be, for the first two years of their schooling, she was the person who showed them how to behave, interact and learn in a classroom. They learned and grew because of her.

In many ways teachers in our province have a great gig (summer holidays, a guaranteed job assuming they don't totally mess up, solid pension, etc.) but it's an incredible responsibility and a bad teacher is a horrible, dreadful, awful thing to behold. An uninspiring teacher can poison the well, salt the earth and rain on the parade that is a child's educational future.

But a good teacher -- worth their weight in friggin' gold.

Both of my boys have been oh so incredibly fortunate because many of their teachers had been blessed with a Midas touch.

Here's hoping their new school also has great teachers. And that the boys will continue to enjoy education, even as they're thrilled when they can leave it behind.

Shopping at the Deity-tessen

2010-06-25T13:39:00.007-04:00

At one point the main character in the book I'm reading ("The Suspect" by Michael Robotham) asks the question "What sort of God would you like -- a vengeful God or a forgiving one?"

The book is about a British psychologist who gets pulled into a murder investigation, and he asks that question to one of his patients.

And it made me wonder: do we get to choose what type of god we get? -- Isn't S/He passed down on a generational level until we decide to take our shopping cart to another section in the Deity-tessen?

As a teenager I read a lot of Robert E. Howard's stories and I remember thinking that his description of one of the gods was perfect: He gives us life. What more can one ask of a god?

(Or, according to the internet, "But he gave a man courage at birth, and the will and might to kill his enemies, which, in the Cimmerian's mind, was all any god should be expected to do." --> obviously Conan's god, over the years and in my paraphrasing, editing mind, has become a bit more gentle.)

If I had a choice, I guess I'd go with a forgiving god. But I don't expect a lot from Him/Her. I am not a huge fan of the Book of Job because I don't like how God comes off as all-knowing and all-arrogant at the end of the story. Especially after God put Job through the ringer, I would think there would be a bit more respect and perhaps even an apology of some sort: "Hey, Job, sorry about the disease and the death of all your kids; I don't expect you to understand, but here's what happened..."

But if my god is forgiving and your god is vengeful, does that mean we're worshiping the same god? -- Is it possible for god to be both? Sure-sure, god is all-powerful, all-knowing, all etc, but isn't being both forgiving *and* vengeful a huge contradiction?

I guess I see my God as a gentle watchmaker: things are set in motion, and it's my job to do my best and see it through. Do unto others; Karma will be a paybacking bitch; don't trump your partners Ace; and never spit into the wind.

Bottom line: I don't think S/He is going to step in to help.

We're all on our own. Together.

Six months today

2010-06-25T10:20:00.006-04:00

The weirdest dang thing...

This morning I got the most infectious of holiday tunes stuck in my head: it has a slow intro of a couple of lines that mention famous characters, but it all acts as a prelude as the actual song kicks into speed and the title character makes his appearance...

"You know Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Vixen,
Comet and Cupid and Donner and Blitzen.
But do you know
The most famous reindeer of all..."

Stuck. In. My. Head.

And it wasn't even the big bang part of the song that made its way into my head (the screaming "RUDOLPH THE RED-NOSED REINDEER!" part that children love). Instead, what got stuck in my noggin was the quiet, slow introduction of the other characters who barely make a re-appearance in the song. Once they are all listed one-by-one in the song's opening lines, the are relegated to minor parts and become barely worth mentioning as they become "all of the other reindeer".

Nevertheless...

Stuck. In. My. Head.

And later, after the song's lyrics had wormed their way into my head, I saw the date, and it hit me: Today is June 25 and it's six months to Christmas.

Perhaps it was mentioned on the radio as I was half-awake this morning and the date staggered its way into my not very alert subconscious. But even if that is the case and someone on the radio mentioned the festivities that are exactly half a year away, it's bizarre that my brain then made the leap to those lyrics.

On top of that, I'd say that it is "Jingle Bells" that's my favorite holiday song. "Rudolph" is more of a kids' tune where a youngster is recognized as having great potential and hidden talents; "Jingle Bells" has a hint of romance and adventure mixed with its holiday joy.

Nevertheless, for this morning, it was Rudolph who ruled. Six months early exactly to the day.

Weirdest dang thing.

Mulroney and Schrodinger

2010-06-07T21:42:00.018-04:00

I finally realized why Brian Mulroney was so confused about all the money that he received in those envelopes!

It was because it didn't come with any sort of T4! There was no sort of tax receipt!! Therefore it wasn't really and truly a payment. It was like a gift! And when you receive a gift, it's, well, a gift! And since it didn't come with a gift receipt, it's not like he could return it or anything!

Oh sure he was supposedly supposed to do something of some sort or some kind for the money, but he didn't actually have anything in writing or anything, so it wasn't like he had an actual mandate -- he didn't have one of those so-called SMART objectives. And what could he do to earn the money without a specific, measurable, achievable, realistic and timely objective? He didn't have anything in writing or any means of indicating whether or not he had completed his task -- so, it wasn't really a job then, was it?

And if someone gave him cash with no receipt or any true expectation of the work actually being done... well, that must have been mighty confusing. But the envelopes kept on coming!

These two guys, Brian and Karl, can't even agree how much money there was because it was just a friendly little informal exchange. It was like going out with a bud for a coffee at Tim Horton's: "Oh, let me buy this week. You can get it next time. Want a honey cruller? No-no, it's my treat. Oh, and here's an envelope stuffed with cash."

And it's not like you can open the money while you're sitting at Tim's eating your cruller cuz that would just be crass. And it would have been equally rude to count the money or keep a record of it because (do you see now?) it was like a gift!

Sure, sure, there are rules regarding declaring gifts when one is a member of parliament, but that's if it's like an expensive vase or an African totem of fertility or something like that. How do you put a value on money when you haven't even counted it?

He just put it away for a rainy day. Imagine his surprise when he saw how much it was! That must have been a shocker: "He gave me this much money for doing nothing?!? Wow! What a gift!"

Poor, rich Brian. Given so much money that he to put it in a safety deposit box and then had to sue the government because it was rumoured that he had done something wrong. Over a simple misunderstanding that could have been corrected if he'd been given a T4 or a gift receipt!

When you look at it that way, it was like a political twist on the theory of Schrodinger's Cat: not really a gift, not really a payment, more like a cat that is whisked into non-existence until someone asks the right question to magically make the safety deposit box, the cat and the envelopes re-appear!

It can all make so much sense when it's examined from a quantum physics-like Alice in Wonderland perspective. "I make the rules! Nothing to see here! There is no cat. There are no envelopes. And off with their heads!!"

Dead words on the dirty ground

2010-06-07T13:12:00.003-04:00

I was listening to the White Stripes the other day and it got me thinking about words that fall out of fashion.

I don't mean names that fall out of fashion (although I do find it interesting to note that 'Ralph' was in the top 25 and 'Florence' was in the top 10 in the year 1900) or objects (like the Walkman and Edsel) that become obsolete, but words that we just don't use that often and have a tinge of age about them.

The song is "Death Letter" and it goes...

"I got a letter this morning
What do you reckon it read?
It said the gal you love is dead"

And I thought 'reckon' is a great word but it's rarely used. Perhaps it sounds a little too southern and too cowboy to be using it up here in Canada. I can imagine Lyle Lovett using it in a conversation, but it would not sound as smooth coming from my mouth.

(Oh, and the internet was kind enough to teach me about the history of "Death Letter Blues" and its composer Son House. And the fact that song is 70 years old.)

The other word I enjoy in the same way is 'wont'. That word, and its meaning, is largely lost. Most people would now read that word as a misspelling of the 'will not' contraction.

Doesn't this sound like a great sentence: "As is his wont, I reckon." I can imagine Sam Elliot uttering it in "The Big Lebowski". I just can't see a business man on Wall Street saying the same thing.

Lost, in translation

2010-05-24T22:05:00.007-04:00

The argument could be made that by setting my expectations so high there was an incredible likelihood of disappointment.

And that very well might be the case.

Nevertheless, the last 10 minutes of the series finale of Lost simply did not work for me. And because of those last 10 minutes there is a certain stink coming from the entire season.

This final season has had the characters in the Sideways World meeting, touching and eventually realizing that they have all shared an adventure that, for some reason, they've forgotten. As the season progressed, the characters are made aware of their ignorance and they begin not only to recognize one another but also remember everything they've done.

It was if someone had forced them to forget and they are slowly awakening. But what forced them to forget? Who has created these alternate lives? And for what reason?

And in the end, that final answer, that looked liked it was going to explode in excitement, instead just fizzled like a firecracker that had incredible potential but turned out just to be a dud.

I like Jack, but I simply do not accept that the the ending had to focus on him. Is his redemption the only one that mattered? -- Or am I to assume that the Sideways World was a series of interlocking redemptive rings that were all connected to one another and that everyone has now left their old lives and is ready to move to the next step? Really, am I supposed to make that assumption? Because the show certainly seems to expects me to fill in a bunch of blank spots that it seemed too lazy or too hurried to resolve itself.

The only scene that worked for me in the last 10 minutes was between Hurley and Ben, when Ben admitted that, even though he would be welcomed by the people in the church, he still had some work to do. And in that scene Hurley acknowledged Ben's contribution and the work they did together. It was only in that scene that I got a true sense that the Sideways World existed outside of linear time and was in fact *all time*.

But for the concluding minutes to be all Jack-Jack-Jack was the biggest disappointment. I had invested too much time with all of the characters to give the final moments only to Jack.

Speaking of Jack, his son, David, served no purpose this season other than to be a teenage red herring. I had expected there would be some sort of decision by Jack to choose between the Sideways World and his son or to leave it behind for the greater good of his friends. Instead, David's character was conveniently forgotten and shuffled away. There was no need for David to be in the season. He served no purpose except to distract the audience.

And Desmond, who is so important in both worlds, is also pushed aside in the final minutes of the show. I can't even remember what happened to him after he was pulled out of the glowing cave. And in the Sideways World he just becomes one of the gang in the church wishing farewell to Jack. He deserved more than that.

Oh, and while I didn't expect answers to all of the big questions, I didn't expect the show to just disregard them. Why were the children so important? Why couldn't the women on the island get pregnant? Why could Hurley see dead people? And what was the big deal behind those numbers? The finale addressed none of those questions. It was as if the time for answers was behind them and the creators were saying: You are all so hooked on the show, we can ignore those questions and just get to the important part, which is obviously all about Jack.

For the first 2 hours and 20 minutes I found the episode to be beautifully emotional: Sawyer and Juliet's reunion, the birth of Claire's baby, Sun and Jin remembering their life and death. Scene upon scene stacked upon one another to the point that I found myself caring less and less about the Island and just wanting the mystery of the Sideways World to be revealed.

And then to find out that it wasn't a Sideways World at all but instead it was a Jack-centric universe with everyone there to get a little bit of enlightenment and to give Jack a lot of hugs and smiles. To paraphrase The Beatles and the final minutes of The Prisoner, "All You Need is Jack".

Those final minutes made me feel like I had been manipulated throughout the whole episode, suckered into believing that it would be something more than purgatory and cheated because it became all about Jack.

I have to ignore those last 10 minutes in order to appreciate everything that came before it.

And that's why the finale failed for me.

Breakfast of Champions

2010-05-23T22:32:00.001-04:00

Part way through watching the finale of Lost and I realized it might be the end of a Kurt Vonnegut novel.

Or the end of Grant Morrison's "Animal Man".

And that would be just fine.

Lost predictions

2010-05-23T20:27:00.003-04:00

It's half an hour to the Lost finale.

I say that Jin & Sun's baby is important.

And there will be a "Last Temptation of Jack" moment that echoes "For the Man Who Has Everything".

But, hey, I won't mind being wrong. I just want to have a good time. Even a good time like "The Prisoner". But no "Newhart", "St. Elsewhere" or Bobby in the shower.

Lordy, I'm gonna miss this show.

Fringe Cringe

2010-05-23T09:42:00.014-04:00

I like the TV show Fringe, I truly do. But I confess that I really, really want to love it.

And I realize that this is largely due to the separation anxiety/grief that is going to hit me after the series finale of Lost.

It’s a sad and lonely thing, hoping to find love with another before the first relationship is over, but when something is ending it’s not unnatural to start to look to the future. It is perhaps cold and calculating, not waiting until the credits have rolled and the television corpse is cold, but there will soon be a cathode ray void to be filled.

Having said that, it does however put a lot of pressure on the next best thing.

While Lost has hit a handful of rocky patches during its run, it has remained captivating for six seasons. My faith in the show is so strong that at this point the finale is a journey worthy of a televised Icarus: I may worry whether the wings will work, but the only way to find out is to take that final leap of faith and hope that it soars into the sky, but not so high that it causes everything to come crashing to the earth. In other words, I hope it doesn’t try so hard that it loses sight of The Island and all the people that inhabit it.

Over the years the masterminds behind Lost have convinced me to make that leap. The show has been captivating and confusing but I never felt that it pandered to its audience. It showed how strong network television can still be. It was worthy of a leap of faith because even when it occasionally went down the wrong path it was always a journey worth taking.

However, because of the season finale of Fringe, I am now concerned that I will never be able to trust a show in quite the same way.

The two part finale of Fringe, which had the main characters fighting to escape from an alternate universe and get back home, was going fine until the very end of the final episode when it had a moment of such cringe-worthy stupidity that I found myself grinding my teeth and thinking “Ah c’mon, they can’t really be doing that.”

Because I hate it when smart characters do dumb things just to advance the story. Stupid people doing stupid things is fine and can lead to great tragedy and comedy, but when smart people do dumb things the result is a mess of epic Humpty Dumpty proportions. I don’t mean doing stupid things like trusting the wrong person or falling in love and it leads to disaster; I mean doing something they’ve learned was a mistake and doing it again as if they never had the first experience.

Here’s something I learned from television…

The classic television series The Prisoner is a show that has a smart main character doing smart things. Things rarely worked out in his favor (and even when he wins, it’s uncertain whether he won anything at all), but he is always consistent in his actions.

There is an episode entitled “The Schizoid Man” (and, as an aside, I always thought there was a ‘t’ in the word ‘schizoid’ – I'm glad that never came up in Spilling Bea) that is particularly relevant when discussing the finale of Fringe.

In that episode the main character, Number Six, has to protect himself when another agent is brought to The Village in order to impersonate him and then psychologically break him. Of course, as is always the case with The Prisoner, there is much more going on as well – betrayal, the on-going battle against authority, the right to privacy and secrets, and what it means to be an individual. There is always a lot of stuff going on in The Prisoner.

What I learned from that episode many years ago was this: always, always, always have a password that only you and a handful of your most-trusted friends know. That way if you and your team ever get split up, kidnapped or sucked into an alternate universe where everyone has a doppelgang-ing duplicate, there will always be a sure fire way to ensure the real you comes back home.

A secret handshake, the punch line to a favorite joke, the answer to a simple question (Q: Who’s your favorite superhero? A: Swamp Thing) would all be examples of identity checks. They’re not perfect and I’m sure they could be tricked, teased or tortured out of someone, but at least an effort has been made to protect everyone. Because if body snatching aliens are coming from outer space, there better be some kind of test in place to check if your best bud is now a pod person.

And it’s not as if the characters in Fringe are new to this stuff. Even if they’ve never watched an episode of The Prisoner they have seen a lot of weird stuff including (most friggin’ important of all!) shape-shifting alternate universe invaders. And once you’ve seen your best friend killed and then impersonated by some bad guys, you would think that some sort of safety protocols would be put in place. Cuz, y’know, you probably don’t want something like that to happen twice.

Simple questions like “Who was the first girl that ever slapped you” or “What color is your underwear on a Sunday” or “That was no ladle, that was my knife!” would elicit a response that no alien shape-shifting body snatcher from another universe could ever hope to duplicate.

And it drives me up the wall when smart characters do dumb things or don’t act as smart as I think they should. Put it this way: if I can think of it, they should have thought of it, too.

I’m still going to tune into Fringe next season, but the show is going to have to try a little bit harder. I like it, but I’m not sure if it’s ever going to be true love.

Oh the loss of Lost. Will I ever feel the same way about a television show once you’re gone?

(By the way, my super-secret password question and answer: “Q: Who was the greatest baseball player of all time? A: Frank Mahovlich!” Go ahead, let some shape-shifting alien figure that one out.)

The Worst and the Best

2010-05-18T12:37:00.002-04:00

I just realized that the worst thing that's happened to me in the past six months was when a pick-up truck rammed into my car as he ran a red light.

The best thing that happened to me was a couple minutes later when I had the realization that I had been driving alone, my family was not with me, and it could have been much, much worse.

Sometimes the bad helps the good look really, really spectacular.

The Sound of Sustenance

2010-05-18T10:11:00.003-04:00

"Lunch sounds nice," I said to a friend. "But beer sounds like a symphony of beautiful women playing wind instruments."

Badges of Honour

2010-05-17T10:27:00.006-04:00

While waiting with Zed to walk into school, I overhead one of the older boys. And it reminded me of how cool is it to get injured when you're a boy.

"Look at this scab," the boy said to one of the other kids in line. "It looks like a pepperoni pizza."

And he was right. The injury was the slightly larger than a quarter in size, and had two sharp red dots within the scab. It looked like an angry, hot out of the oven mini-pizza with two pepperoni slices on top.

"Go ahead! Touch the scab!! Touch the pizza scab!" he said to his friend. I'm not sure if his friend touched it; I would like to think he was brave enough that he did.

I don't think most girls would express the injury with such joy and enthusiasm. And I'm willing to bet that the boy wasn't quite so thrilled when he hurt himself.

Had it been one of our boys who had suffered the injury, we would have held him, consoled him and carefully patched him up.

But maybe, just maybe, if one of my boys went to school with just such an injury he would have proudly displayed his wound -- as if it was a major accomplishment and something to be proud of.

I never broke my arm as a kid or did anything that required a cast. And I sure as hell wouldn't want to break a bone now. But I remember that I always felt a tiny bit of envy whenever I saw other kids getting their cast signed. It was like we all had to acknowledge their pain and pay tribute to their bravery. As if by accidentally hurting themselves they proved to be smarter and more daring than anyone else.

It's the attainment of popularity and fame through injury. Pity can come from adults; from other kids, it's awe.

May the Fourth Go Away

2010-05-07T21:46:00.004-04:00

Star Wars has saddened me.

Because it was Star Wars that made me bitter and feel that things had got worse.

While I was out with friends the other night, someone at the table said, "It's not like the old days," and I replied, "It's never like the old days."

And I remember the first time I ever felt that way: Star Wars, the most recent crap-fest trilogy, made me feel that way.

Because those movies are shit and the originals are better. And only old people say stuff like "It's not as good as the original" or "It's not like the old days."

And that, my friends, is why Star Wars can bite me.

Because they made me feel old.

The Book of Love

2010-05-03T00:11:00.003-04:00

Back when I was a teenager, a friend told me that my parents were unusual because he could see that romance existed between them.

Now, granted, this was my mother's second marriage, but he was one hundred percent correct: we were surrounded by parents who rarely displayed any affection towards their partner or even showed enthusiasm for one another. Life had taken its toll on the relationships of most parents. And perhaps that was what had happened for my mom and dad, but in their second marriages both of my parents found partners who gave them a new outlook and a new zest for life.

Yes, I know: most teenagers see their parents as dried out old husks of wasted space who don't realize that their ancient ways are going the way of the dinosaur and that there are new exciting things in the world that they can't begin to understand and why don't you just let me do what I want and why can't you just leave me alone!!!!

... Ahem.

In some ways my parents and their new parents were inspiring. It was sad that divorce had been necessary, but it was amazing to see that there could still be energy, fun and romance when you get older. Through them we could see that romance wasn't something only young people could enjoy.

And I've been fortunate that I have inspiration in other people, too.

Our friends in Montreal, A & D, are wonderful people and a terrific couple. Oh I'm sure they have challenges and most certainly have their ups and down, but they admire and respect one another. They are far from being two peas in a pod and I can't ever remember them finishing one another's sentences or thoughts.

But they like each other. They tease each other. And they laugh together.

For those reasons (and many, many others) I always enjoy spending time with them. Because seeing the best in them gives me hope that my wife and I can be the same way in years to come.

"She's So Funky Now" [sic]

2010-05-02T23:21:00.009-04:00

I was grabbing some lunch the day before our trip to Montreal (which, of course, was the day before my wife and I were going to see Peter Gabriel in concert) when I heard "Games Without Frontiers" playing on the radio.

And when I did the math in my head I suddenly felt very, very old.

Because when I heard the song it brought back the memory of when I was young and how I thought the chorus to the song was "She's so funky now". It wasn't until I read the liner notes that I realized the chorus actually was "Jeux sans frontieres" and I was struck by the fact of how wrong I had been and how cool Peter Gabriel was: he was saying the title in French and I had misheard it in English. (Years later I learned that Peter Gabriel took the title and the chorus from a French game show. Which didn't make it any less cool. As a matter of fact, it managed to make the song and its title even more relevant once I read the premise of the television show.)

(Oh, and I still think that "She's so funky now" is a rather interesting mishear-ment of a song. Perhaps it's not as interesting as the classic and horribly incorrect "Excuse me while I kiss this guy", but it's still pretty good.

And my other great mishear-ance was from Randy Newman's "Sail Away": Rand sings "We will cross the mighty ocean into Charleston Bay". But I heard "We will cross the mighty ocean in just one day." The true lyric has historical context, but my lyric is perfectly acceptable within the cruel salesmanship of the song.)

Back to jeux sans frontieres: I remember doodling the words on a French test in high school because I thought they were cool and because I wanted to show my French teacher that I knew something besides the verb conjugation I had learned so very inadequately in his class. Because of all that I'm able to place the song at a certain time in my life.

But then, after all that flashed through my mind, I did a wee bit of quick math and I realized -- ahh crap! -- that if I scribbled the song's chorus in high school, it means that the song is now more than 30 years old! Which makes me -- well, much older than I usually think I am.

(As an aside, Wikipedia informs me that the song came out in 1980 which indeedly-deedly-doo confirms that the song is 30 years old. But it also goes to prove a point: I don't need wikipedia as long as I can rely on simple math skills and the continued kindness of women who continue to wear sandals so I can count on their beautiful painted toes when I've run out of fingers and toes of my own.)

(Oh, and did I mention that Peter Gabriel recorded an Oscar-nominated Randy Newman song for the soundtrack of "Babe, Pig in the City"? Randy Newman finally won an Academy Award a couple of years later. Peter Gabriel was nominated for a song in "Wall-E" but hasn't taken the trophy home yet.

Having said that here's a clip with Peter Gabriel singing "That'll Do" with Rand on the piano...)

http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xan3b7_peter-gabriel-randy-newman-thatll-d_music

As for the concert in Montreal...

The Rhythm of the Heat

2010-05-02T21:28:00.008-04:00

It can be a terrifying experience when you dare to see an artist who you've admired and enjoyed for many, many years.

Will they still have the magical charisma of their youth or will they merely be coasting on past accomplishments? Do they still have something to say, or are their best days behind them?

The scene in the movie 'Trainspotting' captured it perfectly when two of the characters talk about the career trajectory of Sean Connery. Their conclusion: "So we all get old and then we can't hack it anymore. Is that it?" Musical examples would be Bob Dylan, The Who and The Rolling Stones -- do they have anything new to contribute or are all artists doomed to follow the path of Sean Connery?

After seeing Peter Gabriel in concert, it is a huge relief to report that he is the exception to the Trainspotting rule.

Before writing about the concert, I have to confess that I am not a huge fan of Peter Gabriel's new album, "Scratch My Back". It has an interesting and challenging concept as he does interpretations of classic songs without the safety net of guitars or drums and instead relies on orchestral arrangement for the material. David Bowie's "Heroes", Paul Simon's "The Boy in the Bubble" and Randy Newman's "I Think It's Going to Rain" are among the songs that he re-works under his self-imposed restraints.

But as a complete work the album sounds monotone and dull because it lack any shifts in mood or passion. It can be enjoy in tiny morsels, but listening to the whole thing in one sitting is somewhat trying. And coming from an artist as energetic and thrilling as Gabriel, the album feels especially dry.

Having said that, when I heard that he was touring and making a stop in Montreal, there was no way I was going to pass on the event.

As a bit of an aside: years ago I had to learn the difference between a play and the production of a play: Shakespeare's "Hamlet" exists on the page; the production is what I might go see in Stratford. The work continues to exist on the page while the production is an interpretation of the work -- sometimes the interpretation is a success, sometimes it's a failure. Books and films can have the same relationship -- the adventures of Sherlock Holmes, Tarzan and Harry Potter continue to live on the page no matter how good or bad the screen interpretations may be.

And in the same vein, while the album doesn't work for me, the concert presentation of "Scratch My Back" was a marvel to hear. While there are still challenges with what the orchestral arrangements can and cannot do, the concert setting and atmosphere makes the music powerful and captivating in a way that the album never does.

The concert was broken into two parts: the first had Gabriel perform the new album in its entirety. He then returned after a a short break to present re-workings of some of his own songs including "Digging in the Dirt", "Mercy Street" and "San Jacinto". The tribal-like of drums were sorely missed in "The Rhythm of the Heat", but "In Your Eyes" and "Solsbury Hill" were exhilarating with the orchestra.

Peter Gabriel's voice sounded somewhat challenged at times but considering the man is now 60 years old, it's not surprising that some of the notes that he hit some 30 years ago are no longer within his range.

But what is surprising is that he continues to challenge himself. It would have been easy for him to coast and merely give the fans what they want. Instead, he continues to challenge himself and his listeners to try something completely different.

The album doesn't work for me and I still can't listen to the entire cd at one time. But I do appreciate it more after seeing the show. Peter Gabriel's latest endeavor could have easily seen him fall on his face, but instead he soared.

Back from Montreal (Part 2)

2010-04-29T13:10:00.005-04:00

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)

2010-04-29T12:24:00.003-04:00

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)

2010-04-28T14:14:00.002-04:00

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)

2010-04-28T13:06:00.006-04:00

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)

2010-04-28T12:41:00.002-04:00

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)

2010-04-28T09:34:00.007-04:00

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, I would die with a nurse on top of me.

The perfect movie death.

Describing a movie to a ten and seven year-old

2010-04-23T10:47:00.009-04:00

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

2010-04-19T21:47:00.016-04:00

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?

2010-04-08T14:01:00.008-04:00

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.

Image and Brand

2010-03-23T20:08:00.010-04:00

I have to wonder if John Malkovich and Sarah Palin sat down for a cup of coffee together and both decided to say “Screw it. Let’s just go for it.”

Because once upon a time it used to be that people had an image to protect.

For instance, many years ago, a movie star would never consider appearing in a tv show because movies were up here!!!

While television was down here ,,,

To some extent that hierarchy still exists today because it’s unlikely you’ll see recently crowned Academy Award winners Sandra Bullock or Jeff Bridges starring in their own television show next year.

To be blunt, when you were a movie star, you were on the top of the entertainment food chain.

Appearances on talk shows didn’t count because the stars only came out late at night in order to hawk their latest movies. And hosting Saturday Night Live has become the same thing, with the host appearing because of a new album/movie/major project to promote.

Some actors manage to make the transition from the small screen to the big screen – Bruce Willis, Bill Murray and Clint Eastwood for example – and these days there are people such as Steve Carrell and Tina Fey who are incredibly successful with their tv shows and are also being welcomed to motion pictures.

Brad Pitt, Robin Williams, Jennifer Lopez, Julia Roberts – all have been willing to make guests appearances on hot television shows, but it’s usually as they poke fun at themselves or stretch their acting range in a dramatic cameo.

Because it used to be that celebrities would do their one thing and do it well: a singer would sing, a dramatic actor would do dramas, a comedian would remain funny. Sometimes there would be an attempt to dip a toe into the other pond (Meryl Streep in the comedy “She-Devil” with Roseanne Barr; Bill Murray in the drama “The Razor’s Edge”, Madonna in “Castaway”) but the results were often painful and the audiences would usually stay away in droves.

The transition from drama to comedy can happen, but if the shift from tears to laughter is too successful, sometimes there’s no turning back. Rare is the actor like Tom Hanks who can do drama and comedy (although recently Meryl Streep has managed to overcome the previously mentioned Roseanne Barr travesty and added comedies *and* musicals to her list of accomplishments. But she is the exception. After all, she is Meryl Streep.)

After years of dramatic work, the “Airplane” and “The Naked Gun” movies completely re-wrote the career of Leslie Nielsen.

It could be said that the same has happened to Robert DeNiro. The success of “Analyze This” and the “Meet the Parents” series (and the disasters that were “Showtime” and “The Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle”) have re-invented and re-invigorated his career as he parodies and parlays his tough guy image into comedy. But the cost of that success is that DeNiro’s funny side has overshadowed his dramatic stature. It’s now difficult to see him in a drama without finding him a little bit funny.

Elvis Presley hurt his music career with movies. Eddie Murphy bruised his comedy career with music. And Jim Carrey seems intent on sabotaging his career with drama. There is a huge risk involved with going to the other side.

Which brings us to John Malkovich.

Best known for “In the Line of Fire” opposite Clint Eastwood and for his work in “Burn After Reading”, “Empire of the Sun” and “Dangerous Liaisons”, Malkovich has built a career on playing strange yet captivating characters.

His image is so strong that an entire film was built around his quirky and powerful persona: “Being John Malkovich” showed how everyone would love to live someone else’s life, especially if it was the life of John Malkovich.

So perhaps the last thing anyone would have expected was for Malkovich to accept a role in the next “Transformers” movie.

While Malkovich has lent his talents to comedies and special effects-oriented films in the past (“Eragon”, “Johnny English”, “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy”) the decision to join the next Michael Bay rumpus is a stunning move towards a motion picture genre that barely makes room for an actor to appear on-screen unless they’re filling time until the next robot attack. Once the robots arrive, the actors (often quite literally) get shoved off the screen.

Perhaps the reasoning is that if John Turturro can do it, why can’t John Malkovich do the same? The money is presumably good and worth the calculated risk.

Perhaps “Transformers” won’t tarnish his image. Perhaps he can take the role, play the part, and then walk away richer and with his head still held high. More people will probably see him in “Transformers” than his last five films combined. And maybe the additional exposure will help him when he gets back the roles for which he is best known.

It is, however, a huge role of the dice: a career built upon risky and powerful performances could be destroyed with the slap of a giant robot’s mechanical hand.

This is why I have to wonder if John Malkovich and Sarah Palin have the same agent.

Palin is shopping around a reality show and rumour has it that the U.S. based Discovery Channel has won a bidding war to get the show.

At a cost of $1.5 million an episode.

Palin has a bestselling book.

Palin is a commentator on Fox News.

And now she’s going to star in a nature program about Alaska.

Palin obviously feels she can expand from politician to writer to commentator and now to tv star without The Sarah Palin Brand being damaged. One can imagine that there must have been family members, advisors and committees that would analyze, discuss and examine every aspect of every move she wants to make.

Or maybe she does it all by gut.

Being a politician isn’t enough for Sarah Palin. Not when she can be everything she wants to be and the public will follow her any and every where.

Because it must have been determined that all things Palin is all things wonderful to the world.

The brand will survive. And maybe that’s what it is now: a brand. It’s no longer just an image to protect; it’s a brand to expand.

Years ago, it used to be that it was either dramas or comedies. That a movie star was a movie star. That a tv star was a tv star. That a singer was a singer.
And that a politician was a politician.

I hope that John Malkovich can move from the big bang, special effects extravaganza of a “Transformers” movie back to the sort of roles that he does so well. I hope that “Transformers” is just a tiny step off the path in order to grab a big paycheck. And I hope that his journey to robot land is a short visit and not a plan to stay there for a long time.

And I hope that Palin has now decided that her role in life, that her one true calling, is to be a celebrity. She will be well paid for a bunch of years. And eventually her star will dim as her lack of talent becomes more apparent and people tire of her egocentric bizarrities. And eventually she will make the unavoidable journey to “Celebrity Apprentice”.

So while I hope that Malkovich’s trip into the land of robots is a short visit and that he does not plan to stay their for a long time, I’m also hoping that Palin’s journey into the wilderness is the first step of a permanent voyage away from here.

Because, while I don’t expect it from politicians, I guess I do expect it from actors: I want just a little bit of integrity.

Foghorn hockey

2010-03-19T08:52:00.003-04:00

(the weekly greeting to my hockey team...)

Sunday 7:35 in rinx 3.

That's the time we're playing the game that doesn't count.

It's a freebie. A throw-away. A bootie call of an icy nature.

Allow me to explain...

Because we beat the Screaming Eagles and then the Icemen beat the Screaming Eagles (both games by a score of 4-2) the Screaming Eagles are OUT and we advance to the semi-finals.

And, in the words of Foghorn Leghorn, "That's math, son! Simple math, I say!! You can argue until the sun sets in the east and rises in the west, but ya can't argue with math! Arithmetic!! Sums and figures!! Pluses and minuses!! Tables that are for multiplyin', not for eatin'!! Add it up, son! You can stand on your head and shake your legs until you're blue in the face and red in the bottom, but it's math and ya can't argue with numbers, son! (Kid's got as much sense as a chicken in a horse race.)"

Okay, Foghorn never said *exactly* that, but you get the idea.

So, Sunday night is a play-off game against the Icemen. It ain't a "Do or Die" situation, which is strange for a play-off game, but there you are.

But for gawd's sake don't take that statement as an "Oh, heck, I can skip the game. They'll be fine without me" kind of rallying call. Oh no-no-no. If you miss the game, you might miss the opportunity to ummm, bbbb, win a free pizza coupon. That's right!! A free pizza coupon might be given away at this Sunday's game!!

Sunday, 7:35 rinx 3. Dragons hockey!! Playoff hockey!! Maybe perhaps not likely a free pizza coupon!!

What more could ya ask for?

The smell of napalm and the mourning

2010-03-17T18:35:00.005-04:00

I read an article today that said that Jessica Simpson is *still* ticked off at John Mayer and his comments about her in a Playboy interview.

Yes, his comments were amazingly tactless, but at the same time she, of course, can't stop talking about the interview herself.

Busy promoting her new reality show "The Price of Beauty" she confessed that she hasn't spoken to Mayer but "he'll never have this napalm again."

And then poor, sad Jessica complains, "I'll walk into a restaurant or something, and I notice that more men are looking at me, but I feel like they're undressing me."

Now, does she mean that more men than the number before the interview are looking at her? Or is it that more men are *undressing* her than before? Do these men undress her in their minds, or do they rush forward to volunteer to undress her? Does she therefore have more volunteers than she used to?

And how can someone who allowed cameras to film her life for a reality tv show then complain that people look at her?

Clean up. Clean up. Everybody do your part.

2010-03-16T15:19:00.003-04:00

There is something to be said about going back to the basics.

As an example...

While camping for an extended period of time holds no appeal for me whatsoever, I can appreciate the beauty of a single night out in a tent: fresh air, the sounds of nature, stars glittering in the night sky. Much like the sport of golf, I can see the appeal, but I just don't want to do it for an extended period of time.

Which brings me to the joys of dishwashing.

Now, I'm sure there were better and more significant moments between my mother and I when I was a teenager, but I remember our best talks -- our best casual chats, if you will -- occurring as we were doing the dishes together. For my mom and me, it was an opportunity to do something together without the outside world (girls, school, work, relationships, 'what are you going to do with your life?') getting in the way.

Maybe it's because the task is so simple and so very achievable that it allows people to work and relax at the same time. The task of finishing a stack of hideously dirty dishes can look enormous and daunting; the sense of achievement some fifteen minutes later can be immense.

The realization I had yesterday was this: my boys, now age 7 and 10, have no idea how to do the dishes.

Somehow they've managed / we've allowed them to completely dodge the dishwashing bullet.

But, when your dishwasher catches fire, all of a sudden the basics become necessities. And all of a sudden the boys get to pitch in.

It wasn't as if they jumped for joy at the chance. There was some surprise and a bit of moaning as they were told to assist in the task. And I know Gee was none too impressed as I attempted to show him how to dry a plate without touching it with his hands. And Zed was surprised to hear that once the spoon hit the floor it had to be washed again and therefore he'd have to dry it again. But the dishes got done and for me there was some pleasure in the fact that the men of the house had cleaned up the kitchen together.

I'm not saying that the boys should help do the dishes all the time. And I certainly do not mean to imply that we won't replace our old automatic dishwasher -- delivery of the new shiny machine takes place on Thursday. (And it's strange to realize that when a person says "dishwasher" we now think of a machine. The term "automatic dishwasher" is almost archaic.)

There is, however, a kind of peaceful charm and quiet smile that comes to me as I think about the boys as they muddled and stumbled as they tried to dry the dishes last night. If I didn't think it would end up with my wife never speaking to me again, I am almost tempted to make one night a week the "Human Dishwasher Night". We would give the machine a break and clean up the old-fashioned way.

I could even ask my mother if she has any dishtowels she could pass down to her grandsons.