Went to a wedding yesterday afternoon. It was really nice; lovely, really. Haven't been to many weddings... there was my own (and the first one I'd ever been to, btw), the one in Newfoundland that Rachel performed, and this one. Think that's it. I must confess though that I'm a little surprised that whole "If anyone here has any objections" part has been left out of contemporary ceremonies. Isn't that hlaf the fun of the wedding? The idea that a poor woman in dishevelled clothing, infant child in arms, steps forward to reveal the groom as the father; the high school love rushing the front, waving a giant crucifix to hold off the ushers, groomsmen and priest? If movies have taught us anything, it's that the best part of the wedding, the most memorable part is going to happen when those little words are uttered...

So, I'm not sleeping well. It's the inveitable consequence of sleeping in someone else's bed. When you'r in someone else's bed the mattress is either too firm or too soft; the pillows are either too flat or too fluffy; nothing's the way you like it. Let alone the unpleasant visuals that accompany thinking about what's gone on in the bed before you slept there. And even a thinking about what's gone on in a hotel bed can't compete with what you imagine about people you know. Anyway, I wake up every hour or so, toss and turn for another half hour then fall asleep and start the whole vicious cycle over again.

I have a question for the one, maybe two people here, and I'm really interested in hearing what you think: do you think it's appropiate to tell somone, a friend, that he/she is dating someone you think is TOTALLY beneath him/her? I'm curious.

So I'm housesitting. All alone in a strange place. Just me and the dog. I'm glad there's a dog there. Talking to myself would just be crazy.

Watched Frank Miller and Robert Rodriguez's Sin City last night. Can't think of the last time I was awestruck by such a unique visual style. Absolutely beautiful, perfectly cast (except Michael Madsen, who just seemed out of place); the incredible violence will make some people uneasy (or quesy, whatever), but watch a film! And who is Jessica Alba and how did she get so beautiful? Really, it's like flawless, otherworldly beauty. It's hard to trust uber-beautiful people - they're nothing but trouble. Watch out for them. They'll only disappoint you, if you're lucky.

My neighbourhood...

I live in a small section of Winnipeg called "Wolseley," named after Garnet Joseph Wolseley, 1st Viscount, Baron Wolseley of Cairo and of Wolseley. Despite its rather assicipious namesake, Wolseley is regarded throughout the city as the "granola belt" for its Birkenstock sandals, hairylegged women and 3, count 'em 3, Organic food stores. Wolseley prides itself on being friendly, the friendliest place in the already abundantly friendly Manitoba. People greet each other on the street with warm smiles and earnest "Good mornings." "You're never alone in Wolseley," a neighbour told me, "there's always someone to talk to." Coming from Toronto, where making eye contact with someone can be akin to pouring a drink in their lap and questioning their mother's virtue, I find the whole thing just a little forced. I mean, it's a system based on lies that prevent us from actually engaging with other people. At least in Toronto you know the rules - you don't want to talk to them, they don't want to talk to you." Simple, easy, direct. Here, they seem like they might want to talk to you, but are really asking the most superficial of questions that repeal people, keep people at a distance.

"How are you?"
"Lovely morning, isn't it?"
"Are those Birkenstocks?"

People say these things EXPECTING you to answer positively. "Fine, thank you, and yourself?" Most don't even wait for a response before they start walking away. Just once I would love to answer, "Horribly! It's an awful morning. And no, these are the most environmentally antagnositic sandals in existence made out of styra-foam, old polyurothane Big Mac containers and baby seals." I wonder if there'd be even a glimmer of confusion before they grinned their Stepford grin and walked on to the one of the 3 Organic food stores.

So this afternoon I watched the Jean-Pierre Jeunet film, A Very Long Engagement. If I were to pick a single word from that title with which to sum up, surmise, or some other word that starts with "su" the film, it would have to be the third word: Long. It was very long. I'd purpose amending the already quite lengthy title to something that more accurately reflects the experience. Persoanlly I think A VERY Long Film about a Very Long Engagement covers it nicely.

It's a good film -nice story, solid acting, interesting visuals and all that- it's just so terribly LONG. unnecessarily long too. It's like the filmmakers took every pain to drag things out as long as they possible could. For example, Audrey Tautou, who's as cute as a button and you could eat up with a spoon, plays a woman suffering from polio. So any time she has to physically move from point A to point B it's A VERY LONG WALK. Seriously, if Tautou's character was healthy, the film would have run twenty, thirty minutes shorter.

Right, here's another picture; this one's from the trip to Newfoundland. This is me on one of the famous Newfoundland beaches. As you can tell, the Newfoundland beaches are famous for being crap. I could only stay there long enough for the picture to be taken, as there was a handful of sharp, pointy rocks sticking me in the kidneys.

I realize I haven't posted anything is a long while (sorry Jaimie), so I decided to finally get around to posting a picture I've been meaning to out up for a some time. This is Rachel and I and our lovely god-daughter, Delphine Marlowe Beckett. She's incredible; a lot of fun. We're reading a book we got her about a red bull who goes to the market. He's scared, the farmer reassures him: it's a fantastic read - highly recommend it to all.

Spent the long weekend (which I had, to be honest, forgotten about until a friends asked what I was doing for it) studying and watching movies. Went through whatever I have of the Marx Brothers films(from the excellent - Animal Crackers, Horse Feathers, Duck Soup; to the good-At the Circus and Day at the Races; to the forgettable and regrettable- Night in Casablanca); plus, I rented the incredible House of Flying Daggers and the I'm-not-sure-if-I-liked-it-or-not Door in the Floor.

While HFD was a visual treat, I just can't come to terms with my feelings about DitF. For those of you who don't know, DitF is the film version of the first third of John Irving's excellent novel, A Widow for a Year. I will say this, even at 50 Kim Basinger is still hot.

All in all, a mildly productive long weekend.

Listening to: the Magnetic Fields alum, i.

A holiday by any other name

So I have the day off today. In fact, a great deal of Canadians have today off. Unlike Canada Day, celebrated last month, with its clear purpose stated in the name, nobody seems sure what this day is supposed to be about. And I think that makes today a better a for better reflection of the diverse identities and spirit(s) that make up this country. Today is referred to, throughout the land, by a multipicity of names: some provinces identify it was a provincal holiday (New Brunswick day, for example); others call it the sadly generic "Civic Day", which means what exactly? for others till it's a regular old Monday. Even within provinces there can be differences and discrepancies. Most of Newfoudland celebrates "civic day" today with a day off, except the capitial city, St John's, which celebrates "Regatta Day" on Wednesday.

So what does day mean to me? A day off. But not really: I still have studying to do.

Listening to: Pink Martini's cover of "Que sera sera", which I heard in the pilot of "Dead Like Me".