Let nothing you afright

Well, it's 2:00 in the afternoon on the 22nd of December. I have a busy couple of days coming up (dissertation editing, Christmas-y stuff), so I don't know when I'll be able to get on here again. Of course, saying that, I'll now manage to post a record number of entries in the next couple of days.

My bestest friend, Jaimie, sent me a link to a site that reported Santa's been cleared to fly on the 24th. Good stuff. I was worried. His health can't be good.

Anyway, I wanna wish all my readers and all my lurkers... a very Merry Christmas. Stay safe, eats lots, and watch a holiday classic with someone you love (even if that someone is yourself).

Pax

M~

PS - If you want to know what I'd like for Christmas: 10'000 hits by the New Year. Any chance you all could help me with that?

Hangin' my stockin' I can hear you knockin': Zat you, Santa Claus

After doing this blog for four years, it's hard to remember what I have and haven't written about. I'm pretty sure that in Christmases past I've listed my favourite Christmas songs; last year, I detailed Christmas in the Netherlands with St. Nicholas and Black Peter...but I don' think I've ever listed some of my favourite holiday movies. So that's what I'm going to do this year. These are, in no particular order films I try to watch every holiday season. Some will be the classics that appear on everyone's list, some will be hidden treasure that you've never heard of before.

1) Miracle of Morgan's Creek (1944) I love Preston Sturges movies and The Lady Eve might just be the best comedy ever made. Miracle is a great holiday movie because it's so wonderfully, shockingly subversive! It's about a girl, Trudy Kockenlocker (how did that name get by the censors?), who goes to a GI dance with her friend, Norval Jones. Well, Trudy has such a good time that she winds up married and pregnant... but has no idea who the father might be. Norval steps up and tries to do the right thing. It all comes to a head at Christmas ... a fitting time for a young girl who's been unexpectedly knocked up to deliver her "miracle" child.

2) It's a Wonderful Life (1946) This classic film deserves every iota of praise. A truly inspired reinterpretation of Dickens' A Christmas Carol with George Bailey, a good and honest man who has placed the interests of others ahead of himself, believing that his life has been misspent. This film reveals the fragility of life - suggesting that one person could make the difference between a whole community's happiness/success and misery. This is my advisor's favourite movie of all time, and the fact that he lost a job at a prestigious American university because he unrelentingly defended this film when someone's wife dismissed it as sentimental nonsense makes me proud.

3) Scrooge (aka A Christmas Carol) (1951) Many versions of Dickens' ghost story of Yuletide redemption have been made over the years, but this is the definitive. Anyone who tells you otherwise is an absolute moron. I feel as deeply and passionately about this film as any other. I usually watch it three or four times a year and can recite most of the dialogue from memory. One of the great joys and proudest moments of my dissertation has been working this film into a highly praised chapter on Dickens adaptations.

4 & 5) About a Boy (2002) and Love Actually (2003) I can't imagine there are many other people with two Hugh Grant films on their must-see holiday lists, but both of these films are great Christmas movies. In About a Boy Grant's character is haunted by his father's very popular, but ultimately innocuous Christmas song, "Santa's Super Sleigh". All but rejecting the holiday, he holes himself up in his apartment watching Frankenstein until he learns that family can be about a community you choose. In Love Actually Grant is one of a dozen or so actors whose intertwined stories portray the highs and lows of the holiday season.

6) Santa Claus (1954) I'm pretty sure I could only ever sit through the "Mystery Science Theatre 3000" version of this piece of Mexican yule-poo (that's for you, Kyler). I recently inflicted this on some friends... and I'm not sure they'll ever forgive me. Basic premise: Santa and his multinational child labourers battle the devil, Pitch, who tries to convince children to steal, vandalize and be naughty. You read that right. Santa fights the devil. I'm sure it's going for "quaint," but it hits "creepy" nearly every single time. Particularly disturbing are the giant toy reindeer that pull Santa's sleigh, Pitch's Busby Berkleyesque dancing, and most of Santa's facial expressions.

Wassail! wassail! all over the town

At about four thirty this morning, my eyes opened. I was wide awake, and there was nothing I could do to get back to sleep. After trying and trying, I decided, at about five o'clock, to give up and go downstairs.

I flipped on the television and scrolled through the guide to see what was on. I'm hardly ever up at five o'clock in the morning any more and was disappointed to find only cable access quality religious programming, infomercials and a rerun of "The Fresh Prince of Bel Air". I reluctantly chose to spend my early morning with Will Smith.

It was one I'd seen before: Vanessa Williams guest starred as a very pregnant sports reporter who takes Will to see the Lakers. In the limo in the gridlock of traffic, Williams goes into labour and delivers her baby while Will freaks out around her.

The episode, though, was fascinating, not as a result of the plot or the actors. It was the same old sitcom formula, with lots of pratfalls and mugging for the camera. What was fascinating was what episodes like this have done to me and what fears these types of plots have instilled in me.
I am terrified of being around pregnant women, because television has taught me that they will go off at any moment. Television has programmed me to believe that 99% of all births occur in elevators, buses, cars (often taxi cabs) and other enclosed spaces. And, more often than not, these infants are delivered by untrained, panicky men who just happened to get in the same elevator or the same car.

There's a woman at Booth who's very pregnant. She's very nice, but from now on I'm going to avoid her just in case.

Although, if I do happen to wind up in the same small space with her while she's giving birth, I should rest assure: sitcoms have also taught me a few other things about the wonderful miracle of birth.

1) "water breaking" is something women feel with no
external signs to indicate something is happening- in other words,
there isn't actually any "water"
2) children are born looking about 4-5 months old and are very clean; also,
umbilical cords are a myth, as is the placenta
and 3) while women scream a lot (and it's very funny), birth is
a relatively quick and messless process which virtually anyone can
coach a woman through it.

The Boys of the NYPD choir were singing Galway Bay

I turned in my grades for one course and have started marking the exams that my students wrote yesterday. Those will be the final grading of 2006. I wasn't planning on doing any marking last night, but decided I should at least get started. I marked five or six legible exams. There are a few more legible exams to go, then the pile of "My-goodness-did-you-write-this-with-the-pen-in-you-mouth?" exams.

It's best to save those to the end.

But ya' gotta shout and ya gotta swing out

The Swing and Big Band Christmas album I was listening to in the car today might be the toe-tappin'est Christmas Album I own. While "Fairytale of New York" is the greatest Christmas song ever written, the version of "Santa Claus is Comin' to Town" might be the most fun.

Just thought I'd share that. Don't really have much more to say on the subject.

My new favourite expression? "Oh, kitten." I can't thankmy new favourite colleague, Kara, enough for bringing it to my attention. I can't remember who uses it, but I'm taking it over. It's to be employed when someone says something stunningly naive or innocent or fabrication and you (don't) want to crush their little bubble of reality. Ideally, you'd also pat/pet the person's head while saying it. For example, a student told me today that writing my exam was "a lot of fun." On the outside, I smiled and nodded. On the inside? "Oh, kitten."

When ya' first took my hand on that cold Christmas eve, ya promised me Broadway was waitin' for me

So, I'm on the bus this morning. Good stories always take place on the bus. Where else are you going to find such a varied sampling of the ol' gene pool? Anywho, this guy, maybe 18 years old, gets on. We'll call him, "Frank." That's probably not his name, but FRANK-ly he looked rather silly, so Frank it is.

First of all, he's wearing spike bracelets. Now I know some people here (and I'm looking at you jpunk5) wear spike bracelets and look cool. You wear them with t-shirts with bands no one's ever heard of and jeans. Frank did not look cool. At all. In fact, I'd say he looked the opposite of cool....Wait, that's warm, isn't it? That's not right either.

It's winter and Frank's wearing a jacket, which is smart. It's cool out there. It's a nice enough jacket, looks like one of those high school jackets with the leather arms. You know, the kind people I hung out with in highs school would have never bought. Except he has one sleeve rolled up to the elbow. He's wearing one spike bracelet around his wrist (all right), and another around the top of his forearm holding his sleeve up (not all right at all). And they were serious spikes too, with various sizes and pointy-nesses. Frank completed his look with grey twill pants and puffy winter boots. He was so shockingly average, but with these horrible spikes on his exposed arm. I don't want to speculate too much, but he might have been coming to or from a Dungeons and Dragons party. D&D is definitely in this boy's future.

knew of two sisters whose name it was Christmas

It's quiet here today. Rachel had a speaking engagement this morning, and I've spent the morning puttering around -marking papers, watching the telly.

The fridge adventures continue, as it seems we're getting a new stove as well. Well, a new-to-us stove. The old stove matched the old fridge (a colour called Golden Rod); the new fridge, though, is white. So our wonderful landlords are switiching our stove with their almost new, white stove at their cottage sometime this week. So the house is still in a state of chaos, but the end is in sight.

Do you hear what I hear?

This is my first post with the new Beta-blogger. I'm usually terrified of change. I also have several YEARS of old posts I'm not willing to get rid of (not that I figure anyone reads them). Still, needs must. I have switched over and everything seems to have transfered.

I have to take a little break from marking to relate the wond'rous story of our new fridge.

I mentioned a little while ago that our old fridge was dying. We've spent the last week using up all perishable food items and ordering food in, because you know how swans are supposed to sing when they're about to die? Well, fridges do too, apparently. This one was singing and could have stopped at any moment. Anyway, our landlords went out that Monday to buy us a new fridge, which couldn't be delivered until yesterday. Not a problem. A couple of days eating take out? Sounds good to me. We didn't even have to be there when it was delivered as the landlords were home!

Now you have to remember that we live on the second and third story of a house, an old Wolseley house with a narrow staircase with a couple of landings. This fridge had to come up this staircase. So Thursday night Rachel and I moved everything to could hinder/get broken by people moving a large, heavy appliance: pictures came off walls, our coats and winter accessories were relocated to the study, boots and shoes moved to the basement. We also moved our kitchen table and chairs, as well as the rug we have under that table, into the living room so that there was nothing in the way in the kitchen.

When I got home yesterday I was pleased to see the old fridge in the backyard. New fridge! I thought to myself. My landlord was there to greet me as I opened the door.

"I have a story for you," she said. Uh-oh, that's never good. "The new fridge came. It's a brand-new one from Sears." So far so good. We were expecting/would have been happy with a refurbed one. "They got it up stairs and plugged it in, we signed for it and it wasn't until they left..." Wait for it, wait for it. "that we realized it's the wrong fridge."

Apparently, they'd purchased a Kenmore and the store delivered a Maytag. Anyway, the gist was this: Sears was going to get back to them about possibly exchanging it. We could use it, but shouldn't take the tape off the shelves/drawers just in case. This was 5:30. I phoned Rachel, hoping she hadn't gone to pick up a whole mess o' groceries.

We decided to move the table back into the kitchen so we could watch television, but left everything else. If they were going to come back Friday or Saturday there was no point putting everything back only to move it again. So, the large rug is folded up, the kitchen chairs are in the living room, the various hallway items are scattered around the house.

Got a call from the landlords this morning: we're keeping the Maytag. WHOOOOO!!!

What's the sense of hurtin' my pride?

Well, classes are over for another year. I have a mountain of marking, an exam to write, give and mark, and then I can enjoy the holiday season. To that end, Rachel put up one of our Christmas trees.

I say "one," because we actually have two. We have a traditional tree that's a little too big for our current apartment; we also have Tinsely. Tinsely was put up this year for the very first time.

I'm generally not crazy about aluminium Christmas trees (nightmares of the over-commerialized tree lot Charlie Brown visits), but Tinselly has sort of grown on me. This past week Rachel and I have spent the evenings watching Christmas specials on DVD and basking in Tinsely's Christmas magic. It's certainly better than no Christmas tree (which was what we decided last year).

In other news: we've also spent the last week basking in the death throes of our fridge. On Sunday the fridge started making strange noises, sometimes sounding like a whimpering puppy, other times like a car trying to turn over. Since Monday the sounds been pretty consistently on par with a kettle whistling. But tomorrow a new fridge is on its way. The benefits of renting? Broken fridge: not our problem! The landlords went out Monday and bought us a new fridge.

Finally, there's been a minor development in the plagarist story. As it's an on going thing, I'm not comfortable giving details, but I will say this: "pathetic excuse" has been re-defined. Seriously, in all the cases of this I've had in my career, I have yet to hear a convincing excuse: "I handed in the wrong paper," "I forgot a works cited," "My friend helped me, it must have been her!" How stupid do people think their professors are? I would be more willing to cut slack to someone who came to see and said something like "I screwed up. I tried to take a shortcut and got caught. I'm very sorry." Lame excuses make it so much worse. Not only did they think they duped me by passing in someone else's work, but when I call them on it they try to dupe me again.

They can't take that away from me

I think I need a new name. Mike is just so boring. I was walking past an HMV the other day and saw all kinds of new and exciting names, names like Lil Chingy, MF Doom and Todd. I don't think I'm cool enough to pull off one of those awesome names, but I thnk I could handle something more adventurous than Mike.

Put some records on while I pour

Our nine year old houseguest gave us an excellent excuse for enjoying some "young at heart" activites this weekend. On Friday night we braved the blowing snow and cold to drive through the Winter Wonderland at the Red River Ex grounds. Rachel and I have been going to these things with her family each Christmas season, but this is the first time we checked out Winnipeg's version. It was hands down the best one (better than something from Saskatchewan!?!) - it had way more light displays, a skating rink, a horse drawn sleigh and mini-doughnuts, which are what I imagine crack is like.

After a morning spent watching cartoons that I couldn't quite follow (I just didn't udnerstand what Danny Phantom was supposed to be), we headed off to the theatre to watch Flushed Away. Again, I was pretty impressed. I love the Wallace and Gromit claymation stuff and was a little skeptical about a CGI version of that style. A few lackluster reviews had moved this from a title I woulnd't mind seeing to "renter," but I really liked this film. I could have done without half the "guy gets crotched" jokes (which still would have featured as many groinings as an episode of "America's Funniest Home Videos"), but the story was enjoyable and the attention to detail was excellent.

In other news: A florist on Portage Ave has a sign on the street advertising "Bokays". It took a couple of reads to figure out what they were trying to say.

When the sun rose and he made to leave

I went to the mall today. It's December and I went to the mall. Something's rotten in the state of Denmark. Usually when December rolls around I stay as far away from retail outlets as is humanly possible. The crowds, the screaming children, the overt commercialization all combines to make for a grumpy, grumpy Michaelclaus. Today, however, my intense dislike of the mall at Christmas-time played second fiddle to my all-consuming love for Starbucks Christmas coffee.

So I trudged through the mountains of unshovelled snow, my trusty travel mug in hand, to get a mug full of cheer. Highly leaded, ultra-caffeinated cheer.

In other news: I saw the funniest thing in the world yesterday. I was passing a bus stop on my way home just as the bus was loading passengers. A woman and her kid were running for the bus. She got on, and her kid, bundled up in a thick jacket, snowpants, hat, scarf etc, was about four steps behind her. Rather than stepping up into the bus, the kid just launched himself into a belly flop, landing at the driver's feet. He didn't trip, he jumped. I laughed out loud it was so funny.

Can't control my fingers, can't control my brain

Well, I survived. (*Mike waits quietly for the applause*)

So a huge thank you for the three people (two of whom I've never even met) who hoped I didn't die. To the rest of you... um, sorry? What does it say about your sad little life when people you know won't miss you?

Sorry, I'm feeling punchy. I was marking my latest pile of essays yesterday afternoon and caught plagarist student at Prov this week. Usually I get really mad, then depressed, then annoyed, but I didn't this time. I usually look at a student trying to pass someone else's work as her own as a personal insult, like she thinks I'm too stupid to spot it. This year, after catching two students at two different schools and being told the same crappy excuse, I told my class many, MANY times a) what constitutes plagarism and b) that if they did decide to try and plagarize their I would show NO MERCY. And I didn't.

I don't even feel the standard stomach knots that typically accompany cases of plagarism. Must be getting desensitized.

We were looking at Swift's "A Modest Proposal" today in class. As a way of further illustrating satire, I decided to show clips of arguably the best working satirist we have, Sacha Baron Cohen. I used the clip from Da Ali G Show where Borat sings a country song in a bar in Texas. The song, which he says is about the troubles in his country, turns into a horrible anti-semitic song about throwing Jews down the well. We watched as Cohen (an observant Jew himself) lead the bar patrons in the chorus "Throw the Jew down the well, and then my country can be free." Oblivious to the fact that they are the butt of Cohen's satire, the patrons clap and smile and sing along.

Well, the weather outside is frightful

It's snowing here in Manitoba: a lot. In fact, just outside my window resembles the inside of a snow globe (if anyone would bother making a snowglobe with the Adult Education building in it). The snow was supposed to dissipate by the afternoon, which suited me fine. I have to drive out to Otterburne tomorrow for class. If the snow ended by the afternoon that would give road crews plenty of time to plough major routes. I'm starting to worry that the roads will be horrendous tomorrow and that I will die in a horrible car accident.


And that would suck.

They both went down to berlin, joined the ice capades

Just finished watching an excellent documentary, End of the Century: the Story of the Ramones.



Growing up I had only a marginal knowledge of the Ramones and their sound. I was busy listening to MC Hammer. I remmeber liking "I Wanna Be Sedated" and a couple of people I knew had Ramones shirts, but that was it. When I got to university, though, and I was trying to expand my musical tasts, a roommate lent me a couple of Ramones CDs. I loved the stripped down sound, the energy, the immediacy of their music. Sure, a lot of the songs sounded alike, and they probably only knew two, maybe three chords, but their music was awesome.

The documentary is especially interesting given the scope of interviews, all of the "main" Ramones - Joey, Johnny, Dee Dee, Tommy and Markie - had multiple interview segments. The artists are honest, revealing both the internal struggles that continued throughout the band's life (Dee Dee's drug addiction, Johnny's authoritarian approach to the band, Joey's shyness) and the external struggles.

The most fascinating section for me was the part about the Sex Pistols and how they changed punk. The Ramones formed before the Pistols and were a major influence on that group's sound. There's a great story about a young Johnny Rotten trying to get backstage during the Ramones first UK tour and being concerned that the band would beat him up. Of course, when the Pistols came to American, they shot their mouths off, spat on the crowd, swore and became legends. People often talk about the "Nevermind the Bullocks" album as a landmark for punk music, but the suggestion of the documentary was that the Sex Pistols themselves nearly destoryed punk. What was interesting, though, was the backlash against punk music that followed. The Ramones in particular suffered declining album sales, loss of radio airplay and concert bookings, as a result of the Sex Pistols' antics. So a band that many people believed were going to become the biggest thing in the world, were seriously hurt by the theatrics of another band. As Ramones' first manager put it: "it was easier not to book us."

He wore his passion for his woman like a thorny crown

Okay, either people aren't reveling in the irony of the Catholic Church's embarrassment over an unwed pregnant teenager (who plays Mary in the new Nativity movie) as much as I am or they're just not reading my blog.

Not to be discouraged, I have a wonderfully creepy new story about rural life that I heard only last night. This one takes place right here in Manitoba.

Okay, a lady I know (actually I lady I've met once, though my wife knows her) recently moved to rural Manitoba. She bought a large house in a small community and has enjoyed settling into small town life where she is known for a) being single and b) her large menagerie of cats.

The other night, as she was in bed, she woke up suddenly and saw a man standing over her bed. She screamed and, this part makes me laugh, covered her head with the covers. When she looked out from her blankets a few moments later there was no one in the room. Not believing in ghosts, she got up to investigate.

Sure enough there was some physical evidence that someone may have been in the house: a door which she was sure she had been locked was now open, some things had been moved from where she thought she'd put them, and the cats were acting weird. There was nothing stolen and, I suppose, nothing concretely pointing to an intruder. So she wondered if she hadn't dreamed the whole thing. She promptly went back to sleep.

The next day she told some people at work about the figure in her bedroom, stating that she may have dreamed the whole thing but wasn't sure. They convinced her that she should take this more seriously. She finally agreed to contact the local authorities about the possibility of a break-in.

When she did contact the police (or RCMP or whatever the heck thy have in the way of law enforcement out in the boonies) they didn't seem all that surprised. In fact, they said they thought they knew who it was - breaking in to people's houses and watching them sleep was something one of the locals did. They told her they'd look into it and, get this, "not to worry."

"It is my belief, Watson, founded upon my experience, that the lowest and vilest alleys in London do not present a more dreadful record of sin than does the smiling and beautiful countryside....look at these lonely houses, each in its own fields, filled for the most part with poor ignorant folk who know little of the law. Think of the deeds of hellish cruelty, the hidden wickedness which may go on, year in, year out, in such places, and none the wiser."
Sherlock Holmes, "The Copper Beeches"

Oh, the sweet, sweet hypocrisy!

Over at IMDB.com (the only place I go for my news) they're reporting that the Pope, Pope Whatshisface, will not be attending a special premiere screening of the new film, The Nativity, to be held at the Vatican: "Sixteen-year-old Whale Rider actress Keisha Castle-Hughes stars as Jesus' mother Mary, but the fact the New Zealander is pregnant and unmarried is said to have embarrassed the Catholic Church."

Riiiiight. But I suppose that 2000 year old unmarried pregnant women are all right then? Maybe she was just using method acting...
or the rhythm method?

She's gonna turn me down and say 'Can't we be friends?'

On Monday, when I was at the UM, my boss walked into my office holding a CD. "You have to listen to this," he said. "You'll love it."

He hands me this:

"Ella and Louis" is one of the best jazz albums I've ever heard (and I have a lot of jazz albums). It's been on my iPod all week.

If you have never heard Ella Fitergerald sing, you have not heard singing. She very well may have possessed the perfect voice. Armstrong's distinctive voice, while by no means perfect, is completely his own. It's that individuality which compliments Ella's oh-my-goodness-what-a-voice so perfectly. Their chemistry is something you don't typically hear in duets, especially in our own hyper-sexual world where the two people singing must sound as if they're in the throws of passion. Ella and Louis have a familiarity and comfort with each other that make these oft-recorded songs their own. You have the sense that they just really like singing together.

Riddle me this, Batman

What do you call a class of five when 3 people skip?

I can't do this all on my own, I know I'm no Superman

Your Superhero Profile

Your Superhero Name is The Phantom Torch Your Superpower is Mystic Your Weakness is Atomic Explosions Your Weapon is Your Ether Gun Your Mode of Transportation is Unicorn

What's your Superhero Name?

This is pretty cool. I like the name, The Phantom Torch. Of course with a name like that you'd expect my powers to have something to do with fire, but hey, whatever. I shouldn't complain: I could have been called the Golden Anteater, right? Now the unicorn is the big drawback; a bit too grade 8 school girl for me. I imagine people who would ride unicorns would name it something like Rainbow or Flower, and the The Frickin' Phanton Torch don't ride nothing called Rainbow. Maybe I could sell it and get an Audi or an Aston-Martin. Surely a circus or zoo would pay big bucks for a trained unicorn.

Would I could afford to buy my love a fine robe

This weekend was packed full of goodness: movies, plays, eating out and football. I got to hang out with some good people... and some not-so-good people too.
Just kidding. Everyone was lovely.

Rachel and I went to see a play at PTE, "Mum's the Word 2: Unhinged." It was good, quite funny in some parts. In a nut shell, five women take turns telling stories about being mothers and growing older so lot of the laughs were aimed at people who a) have had kids and b) are female. I was a little nervous about it turning into a 2 hour "menopause is horrible" play, but there were some really great insights and some very touching stories. And some full frontal middle-aged nudity.

This afternoon I went to enjoy the Grey Cup with some friends (some of whom are lurking here). It was great as I don't often get to see those people these days. Between working, marking, and thesising, I have had to put some friends on hold. So, a huge thank-you for welcoming me back with open arms.

While there, I got to test out the new Nintendo Wii. And while I'm still not convinced it's the gaming system I'd want for myself, the new controller design makes for some really great gaming. You move around so much, I think Nintendo has created something to combat childhood obesity. After playing a few games I was sweating and panting.

We played the Wii Sports, which included Boxing, Baseball, Tennis, Bowling and Golf. For some reason I was really good at everything. I was only beaten once in Boxing (yes, by Cheryl, but I'd just played right before and was tired), a game of bolwing (by three lousy points) and a couple games of tennis. I beat tons of people at boxing, mercied one person at Baseball (my 5 points in one inning stopped the game) and won a few rounds of tennis. I found the baseball win to be the funniest, as I was the kid who perptually put in left field, back when no one could hit the ball that far.

So, to the people I beat: BEAT YA. (It doesn't happen often, so forgive my gloating)
And to the people that beat me: I think you need to be tested for drugs.

I am a poor and wretched boy - a Chimbley, Chimbley sweep

I have a confession to make, a dirty little secret to share. My name is Mike and I am an addict.

I am completely and utterly addicted to Zwok. It's like a big snowball fight. You sign up, create a guy (my dude's handle is Tiny Pete) and the game places you on a random team with two other players somewhere in the world. You have 10 seconds to move, aim and choose what you're going to throw. If you get hit you lose lifepoints; if you hit someone you get score points. Seriously, it's great.

Try it. You'll thank me. Or hate me. Whatever.

In other news, I purchased another Decemberists Album: Her Majesty. It's great. Can't thank the lovely Jaimie enough for turning me on to them.

I was meant for the stage

There was a weird vibe all day, like something, somewhere, just wasn't right. A couple of people whom I see every week weren't around for some reason. Things like that throw me off. As much as I hate to admit it, I am a creature of habit. Still, despite the disruptions, I had a highly amusing conversation with a couple of colleagues about the student body's same-old issues and the frustrations of "essay time." Some of may colleagues believe that I'm a cynic, others see me as a realist. If students only knew...

I went to class armed with decidedly low expectations. The past two weeks I've felt like Ben Stein in Ferris Bueller's Day Off ("Bueller? Bueller?") and, because they were handing in a paper for me, I figured it would be another 3 hours of me talking to myself. Surprisingly, that was not the case. One or two students spoke for the first time. Maybe they finally clued into the 15% participation grade?

I'm reading Elizabeth Bowen's The Demon Lover and Other Stories as part of a dissertation chapter. Bowen's a fantastic writer and easily the most interesting English "Blitz" writer. I was supposed to read her Death of the Heart during a class during my undergrad degree, but I don't think I actually read it ("Students don't always read thing?" you ask). I didn't read it until a year and a half ago and it quickly became an all-time favourite. Bowen's short stories, while quite different from that novel, deal with the psychological angst of Londoners living during the German bombings of Wolrd War 2. Some stories appear to be supernatural (like the titular "The Demon Lover"), others are realistic but just plain creepy. In short, I like Elizabeth Bowen.

Satellite's gone up to the skies

Well, the weekend came and went. It was a good visit with the in-laws. Even the much maligned photo session went reasonably well. Although apparently I was a party-pooper for refusing to have a series of photos taken in a bathtub. *shrugs* I'm always told that i need to speak up more if there's something I don't want to do. Well, I spoke up. And I was a party-pooper.

I'm likely a bit of a party-pooper today too as I'm very grumpy. You see, I didn't think I had to work today. Manitoba observes Remembrance Day as a real holiday, but because Novemeber 11 fell on a Saturday, I figured the Monday was going to be the Stat and that I wouldn't have to come to the Univeristy of Manitoba (I didn't make this up either; my boss originally confirmed this). I had the day all planned out too. Relax in the morning, see my in-laws off, and then go work on my thesis. It turns out, however, that the UM closed Friday, so no day off for Mike. Mike was phoned on Saturday afternoon and told this.

No day off makes Mike grumpy.

But Rankin/Bass is OUR mythology!!!

The other day in class I made a typically off-handed reference to try to illustrate a point. We were doing Romeo and Juliet and I was talkign about how Romeo goes away after the balcony scene with a kind of lover's high. "Like 'Ruldoph the Red Nosed Reindeer': "She thinks I'm cuuuddddeee!"

My heart sunk at the confused stares that met my observation.

"Anyone of you ever watched 'Ruldoph the Red Nosed Reindeer'?"

A few people nodded, but many shook their heads, still looking confused.

"Really?" I asked.



I weep for the future.

Now I understand that in a post-modern society the very idea of a "common background" is called into question. And I have taught Milton's Paradise Lost to students completely ignorant of the story of Creation and the Fall. I don't mean lack a thorough knowledge of Scripture, mind you. I mean, had never heard of Adam or Eve. But not knowing the story of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer and his effeminate dentist friend, Hermie, is just PLAIN WRONG. It is one of the bedrocks of our understandings of solitude and isolationism and the cruelty of our contemporary world. Who among has not felt like a Misfit Toy?

And I turned my amp up loud and I began to play

I was walking to the busstop the other morning and passed two girls standing on the blvd in front of their house. The grass was recently laid sod; you could still see the distinct shape of the individual pieces. I saw the older girl, who must have been about ten, pick something off the ground and put it in her mouth. I figured it was a candy she'd dropped or something like that until she turned to her sister and proclaimed, "It's real grass. I just tasted it." She then turned to her mother, who was exiting the house, and said, "I didn't think this grass was real, but I just ate some and it's really grass."

Words can't express the expression of... pride (?) on this mother's face when her daughter announced that the lawn tasted like "real grass." I can only imagine it'll be the same face she'll make when her daughter is left back a grade, which I expect shall happen a lot.

In other news: My in-laws are coming to visit this weekend. It'll be good to see them. Unlike cliched comedies, I get along quite well with my in-laws. It's kind of a Thanksgiving make up. I've heard that there might be turkey. I'd really like turkey. I'll try not to pout if it doesn't happen, but turkey would be good. It's not exactly a meal you can just order if you're out for dinner. We are also sitting for a family photo, which I'm looking forward to as much as a trip to the dentist.

Why don't you write me

Sometimes I am woefully oversensitive. I realize this and I've come to accept it. I know that I read way too much into things people say and do. I agonize over people's often bizarre and contradictory behaviour. I re-examine conversations, trying to figure out what people were "really" trying to say to me. Like when he/she said "haven't seen you around lately" does that mean he/she actually looked for me or was just being nice? One day someone can act like my best friend and the then next time I see them hardly acknowledge I'm alive. This reeks havoc with my self esteem.

If you believe they put a man on the moon

Sometimes I LOVE living in a province with so many rural residents. It makes for good fun. Case in point, this article, which details the panic caused in certain parts of southern Manitoba by health workers doing a haz-mat test in preparation for a possible avian flu outbreak. The conclusions drawn by these rural Manitobans upon seeing people in strange bio-hazard jump suits and breathing apparati? Space invaders. That's right, moon man had landed and were apparently going to invade Steinbach. So it seems that in some parts of this fair province it is still 1953. I hope a betamax copy of Spielberg's War of the World never makes its way to their gas station/convience store/video rental hub.

My favourite part of the article is that which mentions the many calls to "local UFO expert Chris Rutkowski". I understand "local UFO expert" to be a crafty euphamism for "unemployed person with time on his/her hands."

I realize that "news" found in any of the Sun newspapers is of as relative trustworthiness as something on the wall of a public restroom, but I have seen this confirmed by several other, more realible news sources.

Must be the season of the witch

Wherein our narrator muses on things television

Thursday nights have too many good shows on now. It's like over kill. And my wife and I don't even watch/like some of the same shows, so we have to tape one channel while watching another: "Ugly Betty (Rachel)," "The Office (Mike)," "Grey's Anatomy (Rachel)," "CSI (both)," and "ER (Rachel)." Oh for the simpler times when on any given night there was only one or two shows that either of us liked.

Over on "The Office," probably my favourite show currently airing, I must say that Angela is my favourite character this year. She's so funny, like guarding her shoes for fear of someone stealing them in this week's episode. Oh, I laughed out loud at that. In fact, "The Office" is one of a very few shows that makes me actually LOL.

This week's "CSI" may have permanantly ruined "Firefly" for me, as Alan Tudyk (Wash) guest starred as a really creepy pedophile. I say that like there might be some non-creepy pedophiles, but what I mean is that he'd kind of embraced his pedophilia and tried to help the CSIs by laying out what he himself would do if he'd kidnapped some kids. Of course he was somehow involved in the actual kidnapping (though whether he was acting to harm the kids or simply making some really bad choices remained somewhat ambiguious). Tudyk is a really good actor, but I fear that whenever go back and re-watch "Firefly" or Serenity, I'll only see the CSI pedophile. I have a similar block with James Mason, whom I only see as creepy Humbert Humbert. Trying to get past that has been a constant struggle during my PhD research, which has required me to watch several earlier Mason films.

And I will relate to you how our histories interweave

Got some exciting news today.

My colleague Michael Gilmour and I have been tossing around ideas for a book that we could co-edit. He's a professor of New Testament, has written on Bob Dylan and currently working on an MA thesis on Salman Rushdie. Well, yesterday at coffee break we came up with a pretty good idea (don't want to say too much at this stage) and then he contacted someone he's had an email conversation with at an American University Press with an informal proposal. And this guy expressed interest, saying that our idea was intriguing.

Whooo!

Busted flat in Baton Rouge

Despite the magical wonder and, dare I say, romanticism of last night's post about the connectedness of snow, this morning I was forced to reexamine the phenomenon in the cold (-2 degrees to be precise) light of day. And I have come to the conclusion that snow is a terrible, terrible thing.

A singer must die for the lie in his voice

A few light taps upon the pane made him turn to the window. It had begun to snow again. He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight. The time had come for him to set out on his journey westward. Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead. James Joyce, "The Dead"

"The Dead" is one of my favourite short stories and likely the best thing Joyce ever wrote. I love this closing image: the defeated Gabriel Conroy, who has recently discovered that he never loved his wife or any one, peers out over the snow-covered streets of Dublin.

Winnipeg is covered in snow this evening, a fine white blanket of snow that covers us all, connects us all (well, we who are in Manitoba anyway)- those who wish they were better connected; those who don't wish to be connected; those trying not to be.

Watching snow softly fall from the warmth and comfort of your house, even October snow, is a fine, fine thing.

between thought and expression

So, I basically slept the whole weekend away. I'd get up, start watching television and then fall asleep. I'd wake up, eat, start a movie, and then fall asleep. I took all kinds of flu and cold medication and drank more tea than an English cricket team. I also consumed a whole loaf of bread (which I ate toasted, with either marmalade or sugar) as well as all the left over roast beef (imagining that I needed a lot of iron).

I attempted to read, but couldn't concentrate long enough to follow a sustained narrative or argument. Lewis's An Experiement in Criticism was far too complicated in my state. Instead, I turned to more familiar ground, re-reading a number of Sherlock Holmes stories. Later, after re-reading all my favourites, I turned my attention to an anthology of short fiction. That, too, was more my speed.

I'm feeling better today (I did manage to drag my sorry carcass down to the University at 7 o'clock this morning) but could definitely use a nap. I've managed to stave off doing anything too physical, which I trust shows my mental faculties are returing. This weekend I would have been too tired to bother trying to put off anything.

I've been very gloomy

I cannot seem to shake whatever this annoying health thing is - exhaustion, illness, breakdown. I've been sleeping far too much and I'm always tired, as the slightest thing wears me completely out. I have tried ingesting these super Vitiman C drinks which give you 1666% (not a typo) of your daily recommended Vit C dosage and are supposed to restore engery, but they don't appear to do anything besides taste awful.

If this is a sickness of some kind, then I wish it would manifest itself fully and get it over with. I'd much rather be "sick" than this namby-pamby "almost sick" or "sickish" crap.

I think I need a nap.

I've seen the future, brother; it is murder

So Tai Chi came and went. We learned two moves, both of which were pretty easy. One required no foot movement at all (always a good thing) and the other was basically a deep knee bend with a few extra bits. Of course, my legs now KILL from deep knee bending over and over again. The deep knee bend move is called "carrying the tiger to the mountain." I asked then, as I ask now: what kind of idiot carries a tiger any place? A guy with sore legs, that's who.

Oh, and to rebutt a popular misconception here at the (not really that) exciting world of Mike: I am not spazzy arm guy. I'm quite cool with the fact that I'm not the most coordinated cat in the land, but arm-guy is truly something else. I am completely serious when I say that this man just out and out flails his arms - up and down, side to side. I'm wondering if he'll ever just start flying.

A reasonably good day in Otterburne. Only had one class and the students wrote an inclass assignment (I've hesitating calling it a midterm, but, honestly, that's what it is) so I had to amuse myself for an hour and a half while they wrote. I spun around on my chair, found a bag of suckers under the desk, I watched the students' funny faces and I replied to various blogs. I was planning on doing some more responding/posting of my own, but the keyboard was kind of clicky. Afterwards I had a good conversation with a few people, and then came home early and voted. I ACTUALLY voted. It is a red letter day.

And finally, there will be no sexy, cute or sassy photos of Mike published on this blog or any other blog for that matter. No such pictures exist. Any reference to such photographs should be ignored.

That is all.

If there's something inside that you wanna say, Say it out loud it'll be okay

The Random and Unconnected thoughts from my Tuesday:

1) Is there a better song than The Beta Band's "Dry the Rain"? If there is, I don't wanna hear it. That song rocks!

2) Pay "mistakes" make Mike mad. Two pay mistakes in the same week?!??!! Grrrrrr, Mike smash!!!!

3) Sandwiches for lunch make me smile.

4) Take me in and dry the rain.

5) Can't concentrate for more than a few minutes. A.D.D.? Don't mind if I do!

6) Am I really as creepy as Roz seems to think I am?

7) Tai chi tonight. I really hope I'm better than Guy-Who-Just Waves-His-Arms and Girl-Who-Can't-Tell-Her-Right-From-Her-Left.

I give'r my heart but she wanted my soul

Today was a marginally productive day. I went to Booth in the late morning to work. It would have been much better if I had remembered to eat something. About 3 o'clock I was famished to point of not being able to concentrate. Couldn't find a vending machine for the life of me, so I went home. After eating and napping (for three hours), I couldn't really get back in the groove. Still, I got some good work done when I was at school.

I know I have to start eating better. I can't let myself get sick. No time. My sleep patterns are already all screwed up, and if I continue to skip meals they'll get screwed up even worse. When I don't eat, I need naps. Lots of naps. And as enjoyable as sleeping is (that's where I'm a Viking), I need to be working and writing.

My Ipod Nano is my new best friend. It loves me and I love it*.

*I thought about making it female, but I already have people thinking I'm creepy so it shall remain genderless).

And my parents will never consent to this love

Princess Leia turned 50 today.

That's just creepy. For most males my age, Carrie Fisher was our first serious crush. She was pretty, take charge, and a freakin' princess (until we found out that in George Lucas's politically advanced fantasy world princesses are voted upon, which made it far less cool and mysterious).

And don't even get me started on the gold bikini from Jedi.

and we'll all come praise the Infanta

Got my new Ipod Nano the other day. I love it like a child. It's magically wonderous. Rachel spoils me and I totally don't deserve it. She also picked up this awesome skin for it. The salesman called it the 'ugly orange,' but, I've decided, he's a moron. It's awesome orange.

As an additional bonus, I received $20 at the ITunes store, so I picked up one song (the new, haunting lute cut of Sting's "Fields of Gold" which was featured on this week's "Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip") and one album, the Decemberist's "Picaresque." My great, pixie friend, Jaimie, has been singing the praises of the Decemeberists in her professional voice for some time. I am not disappointed in the least. Jaimie never steered me wrong - from ice cream that tastes like frozen whipped cream to Veronica Mars, from directions to her work to an awesome album: Jaimie rocks!

We have to pay for the love that we stole

I was watching television this morning before I left for work. Commercials are becoming increasingly irksome. I seriously think advertisers think we're all morons as commercials seem to fall into two major categories: 1) Men are stupid and 2) Everyone's stupid. Whether it's a guy using a clicker to record all the looks the ladies give him or a woman hiding the fact that she's using Glade candles apparently we're all frickin' morons.

Of course, it's not like some of these products are all that intelligent. One of the commercials I saw this morning was for the new Gillette razor. Apparently regular razors are now battery operated! I don't know about you, but the idea of putting a real razor blade that's moving close to my face doesn't appeal to me. Call me crazy.

Lock up the streets and houses Cos there's something in the air

And there definitely seems to be something in the air today.

It's weird. People who normally don't talk to me at all have been coming up and talking about my head (I re-shaved my head on the weekend). One lady, who I haven't said more than three words to in three years, was almost giddy, "Someone got a haircut!" Another lady, who seems a little grumpy but is really very nice but shy, looked up from her book when I was talking to the person sitting beside her: "I like that look on you," she said.

"Um, thanks," I stammered out, surprised for the second time today that I was being spoken to.

Come, Mr Tally Man, Tally ME banana

Went to see "The Apple" last night, which launched the new Prairie Theatre Exchange season. It was quite good. I thought the three performers were first rate. My main problem was with Vern Thiessen's script. While some people could judge the illness metaphor as a tad "heavy handed," I objected to some of the clichéd and conventional scenes. I mean, on the whole I liked the play quite a bit, but if we could implement a moratorium on the whole "girl meets guy while sitting on a bench" scene for, say, forty or fifty years, I'd be quite content. Have you ever been sitting on a bench and started up a conversation with an attractive stranger that resulted in love or sex? If you are male then the answer is an emphatic: No! Of course you haven't. Don't be stupid. No one has. Girls? Maybe. I don't know.

I realize that in order for the plot to progress you must sometimes depict the meeting of two characters, but why Thiessen falls back to this clichéd, run of the mill way is beyond me. Whenever I see this type of scene acted out, it reeks of high school drama class. Maybe it has something to do with the fantasies of male playwrights. Guys do clutch onto the idea that somewhere out there in the world are beautiful, forward women who will come right up to sad, lonely (often middle aged) men and introduce themselves and possibly proposition them. But this is more the realm of letters to Playboy, not legit theatre. Again, while the actors are first rate, I couldn't for the life of me figure out why the beautiful young woman would fall for, let alone sleep with, the pathetic, henpecked husband. When she meets him he's depressed having lost his job and fought with his overbearing wife. My wife's assurance that "caring for a sick spouse is very attractive" didn't really satisfy this point. Even if that is the reason she eventually falls in love with him (despite not being made explicit in the play), it still does not explain why she'd start up a conversation with the guy in a park, flirt with him in the park and then guide his hand to her breasts - where? you guessed it - IN THE PARK! There might as well have been fairies and goblins.

Long time ago when we was fab

I was on my way to Booth this afternoon when I passed a man wearing a dead wolf on his head. Just let that sink in for a second. A man with a dead wolf on his head!

It was surreal. The wolf's head sat on his head, the body covered his neck and upper back, and its dead animal legs flapped in the wind. I wonder if he killed it himself or is there a Dead Animal Appearal Store somewhere in the city? But whatever you've heard, know this: pelts are back this winter, baby!

Found poem

Missing

One dolphin exclamation mark
Much loved
Small and Gray
We are offering a
reward - double underlined

you are my world you are my only love

I wish I had something interesting to write today. But I don't. Class was long, I have a bag full of papers to grade by next week and the drive home was crappy (snow squalls - which, while fun to say, are not fun to drive through) and I really want to take a bath and watch the final season 2 "Veronica Mars."

Keep coming up with love but its so slashed and torn

Are cheaters really pumpkin eaters? Cuz if so, I'm going to be cheating at everything. EVERYTHING!

I just looked out the window and realized that it is snowing here in Winnipeg. Dammit.

Blue Train

Just read that Joss Whedon has no plans to make a sequel to Serenity. Disappointed? Oh, my yes. I'd heard it was going to be a trilogy. Guess now that half my friends are done with their "Firefly" kick, that'll be it for "Firefly."
I was hoping that there'd be something new that we could all see together as I've been unable to join them due to mass thesising. Now if I could just convince them to start watching "Veronica Mars"... Actually, I can't convice them to watch anything. Tommy, the harbinger of good times can though. The power that boy has... staggering.

Speaking of Veronica, Rachel and I are almost finished the second season. It's so good -lots of witty banter, great music and red herrings. And Veronica is so, so adorable (and as Rachel drools over Logan, I feel fine saying that).

I am always the one who calls

How sad is it that I completely forgot that it's Thankgiving up here in Canada this weekend? Pathetic. Actually, it only occured to me when I was sitting in my office, trying to figure out what Yeats' poems to cover in class, and a little thought popped into my head: "I'd really like some pumpkin pie." From that simple craving it was only a hop, skip and a jump to: "Oh, yeah, it's Thanksgiving this weekend." Somebody shoot me.

Actually, it shouldn't be a big surprise that I forgot. It's not like we have anything exciting planned. Commitments in the city with Rachel's work have made going away impossible. Some of Rachel's cousins had talked about hosting Thanksgiving dinner, but we haven't heard whether that's actually happening.

Frankly, as long as I get that pumpkin pie, I don't care much one way or the other. Turkey's all fine and good, but the pie... that's where it's at, man.

you can come too....

Here are a few photos from my trip to the Zoo this summer.

Let this be the epitaph for my heart

Taught some love poetry - Sidney, Spenser - apparently I'm the most heartless of cads. *shrugs*

I don't believe in the sun...

Slept for 16 hours yesterday. Why is it that I'm happiest when asleep?

I'm still cranky, but it's more like my typical, whimsical cranky then the enraged ball of anger I was yesterday.

This weekend I was able to see a couple of people I hadn't seen in a while because of thesising. Some people seemed happy to see me... others, not so much. Pfft. Whatever.

Here comes the rain again

I wish i could account for why I'm so irritable today. Actually, irritable is too nice a word for what I am, I'm enraged. The slightest things set me off and I find myself stewing in my vile rage juices. My boss left a phone message asking me to copy out the caption of a photo in one of the St John's hallways and fax it to him... I ranted and cursed for 10 minutes. Thankfully, my one co-worker who's here today is pissy too. We've been looking out for each other.

and life goes on and on and on....

So I decided that I needed some caffine, 'cuz... well, I always need caffine. So I left the warm, safe confines of my little office at Booth College and headed across the street to the Starbucks in the mall.

So which was funnier?

1) The middle-aged Asian man dressed like Ali G?

or

2) The middle-aged man in an unflatterlingly tight shirt and a sweet curly-haired mullet?

Oh, the agony of choice.

The Cactus where your heart should be

Is that even an orange?

You are Mahogany

Stable and decisive, you lack the hyper energy of most orange colors. You're still energetic, but you tend to project a peaceful, relaxed vibe. You love to feel cozy. You often rather wrap up in a blanket than go out for the night.

What Color Orange Are You?

This is the end, beautiful friend, the end

On imdb.com they're reporting the existence of a new "celebrity" sex tape. Now I've put the word celebrity in quotation marks for a very good reason, because the celebrity in question: Screech.

Yes, that Screech. "Saved by the Bell" Screech.



Anyone else questioning the existence of any good in the world? I think I just threw up a little in my mouth.

You're one microscopic cog in his catastrophic plan

Thesising continues unabated. Finishing by the end of the month is overly optimistic, but I've decided to continue to bust my hump until its done. So, my social life will continue to be unexistant for the foreseeable future.

Unfortunately I start teaching that University Writing course (2 3hour days a week) next week. That'll wear me right the heck out. Still, short term pain, long term gain; onward and upwards and any other cliche you can think of.

I thought all I had to do was smile

Some lady at the bus stop kept looking at me. I think she was checking me out. It was creepy, because a) I'm hardly "checking out" material and b) she was dressed like my aunt (flowery cardigans and clam diggers). I figure she was insane. It's the only way to explain the long, furtive glances.

pray for rain

In an effort to do a few more things together, Rachel and I signed up for Tai Chi class at the local community centre. Frankly, Tai Chi was her idea, but I agreed without (much) grumbling. It's not that I didn't want to do anything with my wife, it's that she's, well, coordinated. She likes dancing and aerobics; she takes these complicated excerise clases with names like "Step" and "Jazz".

I am rhymically challenged. That might be a bit of an understatement. At dances or parties, when I went to such things, I was much more comfortable leaning against a wall while other people "got down." While I am a relatively intelligent young man, the idea of moving different parts of my body at different times in time to music freaks me right out. And it is in this frame of mind that I headed to Tai Chi class. Words cannot describe how utterly spastic I can be. I once made my primary librarian swear while trying to teach me to waltz for my part in The Sound of Music. My biggest fear as we walked up the street to the centre: being asked not to return the class as my uncoordinated movements are making the other students "feel bad."

Turns out I was just being over sensitive. Not that I was amazing or even good, but there were a couple of people who looked far more spazzy then I did. In fact, there were two people I was surprise even FOUND the community centre.

We only learned two real movenments ( a Tai Chi set has 190 odd moves) and a couple of warm up exercises called... I want to say Gung Ho, but I know that's not right. The first movement was fairly straightforward and I was feeling pretty good. The second movement was... not straightforward. The instructor demonstrated it once and the class just looked at each other, all except the two who I was surprised found the centre. They were looking at their shoes for some reason.

Next week will be the real test; Rachel can't go (she has a meeting) so I'll have to go and look silly all by myself. I suppose as long as I'm not put in a group with the forementioned "winners" I'll be okay.

I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more

I think I had my closest experience with parenthood this afternoon: trying to help my boss move all his files from his old computer to his beautiful new Imac. And I, with my old can't-even-burn-a-bloody-cd Imac, got to do most of the work.

Like a child, my boss has his own bizarre method of filing programs and documents. Like a parent, I had to figure it out on my own. Like a child he found something else to occupy his time while I went to work figuring out which of the 4 versions of Eudora had his current email settings. Like a parent, I came REALLY close to slapping his hands a few times when he was doing something he shouldn't have been. And once, just once, I considered putting him in time out to think about what he'd done.

I'm pretty sure this is what being a parent is all about: telling someone the same thing five or six times, fully aware that they're probably not listening to you; being interrupted every five minutes to solve a problem that seems earth shakingly complicated; the mixed emotions - frustration and amusement - when they look up at you and exclaim, "We did it!".

And this is why I don't want children.

By the way: this is my 300th post...


...and the crowd goes wild.

You used to love me truly

Stupid Justin Timberlake! Here I was all set to bring sexy back and that jerkfaced monkey-boy had to go beat me to it. DAMN my proscrastination!

Now what am I going to do with these leather pants?

I suppose I could still bring something back, though. Monotony? Boredom? Average! That's it! I'm bringing average back!

Ruby Blue

* Mike walks onto stage with a soapbox under his left arm. When he gets to centre stage, he sets the soapbox down and steps on to it. He clears his throat*

What the heck ever happened to personal accountability?

This past week in Toronto, actor Sean Penn lit a cigarette up during a press conference. The press conference was held in a Toronto hotel, the hotel is a public space, Toronto has a smoking ban in public places: ipso facto, Sean Penn broke the law. Now frankly, this isn't about smoking, in my opinion. This is about accountability. Various politicans have come out saying that Penn should be fined (the fine is $350, which I'm sure is less than Penn makes in royalties from Spicolli impressionators), but according to an article on canoe.ca, it is the hotel who faces a fine for "allowing" Penn to smoke.

Huh?

I could see the hotel being fined if the bellhops held him down while the manager stuck a lit cigarette in his mouth, but I'm pretty sure Penn bought the cigarettes he smoked, lit the cigarette he smoked and enhaled the cigarette he smoked. He alone is responsible for breaking the smoking ban. And he alone should be fined.

*Mike steps down from soap and exits stage left*

But I just sat there drinkin'

The reassuring smell of fresh pig poop let me know I was back at Prov.

Apparently there was a waiting list for my class this year. They had to move me to a bigger room. The students came to the new room too. Man, you tell a couple of embarassing stories in class (only half of which are true) and people think you're Mr. Fun-pants. *rolls eyes* There are more male students than I've ever had in a class before. There may be more males than females. I don't know what to do with this.

Today was just an introduction to the course and then to Beowulf. I forgot how much I love teaching Beowulf: monsters, knights, arms getting ripped off. Good stuff, kids.

My officemate, Wendy, asked me if I liked cake. "Absolutely," I said, excitedly. People tend not to ask such question if they don't have cake to offer. "Would you like to try this," she asked, handing me a small piece of cake in Saran wrap. "My friends just brought it back from Vietnam. The Vietnamese only make it once a year, on the autumn full moon. I guess it's a pretty big deal."

"Ooooo," I said, intrigued. Fancy, once a year cake!

"It has shark fin in it," she said as I was searching for the start/end of the plastic wrap cocoon.

"Excuse me? Did you just say 'shark fin'? As in a real fin from a real shark? It's not some cute local name for an spice that looks something like a fin?" I didn't want to appear rude by to be turning my nose up at a delicacy, or to imply that I'm an unadverturous eater. I'm not, though most of desserts have been, until now, decidedly fish free.

"No it's a real shark's fin."

"And they only make it once a year, eh?" That piece of cake-puzzle was falling into place - shark-fin cake can't be a overly popular dish. I figured it was akin to how my mother made liver once a year - more out of a sense of duty and expectancy then our desire to eat it.

I unwrapped the piece of fish cake and sniffed it suspiciously. Another reason for the cake's annual baking presented itself It smelled... unlike cake, but not unlike raw sewage.

I took a bite and tried to discern what I was eating - sesame seeds, some sort of fruit, cake... oh, shark fin. There it was, slapping my taste buds with its out of place taste.

"Wendy," I said. "This..." I struggled to find the right words, struggled not to use an expletive. "...this is the worst cake in the entire world."

She smiled. "I know."

Back in Black

I see Audrey Hepburn is whoring herself for the Gap now. I don't now what's more offense to me: the fact that she's trying to sell "skinny pants" or that the Gap replaced the Funny Face soundtrack with ACDC's "Back in Black." Don't get me wrong, I like ACDC as much as the next guy, but Audrey doesn't seem like a rockin' out metal chick.

And now the Gap has started combing the graveyards of the famous for people to sell their stupid crap. Call me crazy, but I don't think the dead should be able to endorse anything. I mean if they couldn't keep breathing together, who the heck are they to tell us to buy slacks? The only things the dead should be able to hock are coffins and urns. Period.

Until you came along

Bets overheard snippet of a conversation:

Girl 1: You know, that couple from church? The dreadlock couple?
Girl 2: Yah.
Girl 1: Well, the dreadlock girl took her dreads out. Can you believe it?

Me (in my head): Yes, I can believe it. I can believe the snot out of it.

What goes on in that place in the dark?

There's something I can't stand about people who wear "Grumpy" t-shirts. I own a Grumpy sweatshirt. It was a gift from my sister, probably a not-too inside joke. I wear it around the house sometimes, but that's it. I feel my grumpiness doesn't need to advertised.

All right, here's my favourite 100 popular songs of all time. In case the word "favourite" throws someone people, I'm not arguing about the "best" songs, just the ones that mean something to me. I've limited myself to "pop" music - so, no classical or jazz. I like classical and jazz, but rarely know the real names of songs(I still call Beethoven's Ninth Symphony "The Du Du Du Dummmm Song"). I also limited the number of time an artist could appear (to 2) otherwise Tom Waits, Bowie, VU and Leonard Cohen would be on here A LOT more.

Sometimes the reason the song is on the list is easily discernible (ie the song is obviously good); other times the reason is hidden beneath layers of personal experience, which I won't go into. The entries are in no particular order. Comments are equally random.

I make no apologies for the titles below. They could change at a moment's notice.

1. Jersey Girl - Tom Waits Not enough love songs talk about "the whores on Eighth Avenue" or any other avenue, road or blvd.
2. You Can't Always Get What you Want - The Rolling Stones If The Big Chill hadn't screwed it up, this would have played at my funeral.
3. Here Comes the Sun - Beatles This will play at my funeral. Roslyn? Mel? Cheryl? Practice up.
4. Something to Look Forward To - Spoon Hmmmm, Spoon.
5. Veronica - Elvis Costello
6. Quick One While He's Away - The Who From the Concert with the Rolling Stones is my favourite version.'Cello, cello, cello.' Almost a rock opera on its own.
7. In the Darkest Place - Costello and Burt Bacarach Pretty girls look through me too, guys.
8. Fly - Nick Drake
9. Pale Blue Eyes - Velvet Underground
10. Melody Motel - Squeeze Story of a prostitute murdering husband masquerading as a upbeat countryesque tune.
11. A Singer Must Die - Leonard Cohen
12. Once in a Lifetime - Talking Heads Same as it ever was.
13.Winner Takes it All - ABBA Shut up, it's a good song.
14.Diggin' a Hole - Big Sugar I'm feeling twice my age.
15.Tangled up in Blue - Bob Dylan Dylan wrote some of the greatest songs of all time, and this is likely my favourite.
16.Lovers in a Dangerous Time - Barenaked Ladies Cockburn's version is too electronic sounding.
17. You're so Vain - Carly Simon
18. Should I stay or should I go - The Clash The most important musical question.
19.We Used to be Friends - Dandy Warhols Thank Veronica Mars.
20. Starman - David Bowie
21. Ashes to Ashes - David Bowie I frickin' knew Major Tom was a junkie.
22. Let the Bodies Hit the Floor - Drowning Pool
23. Gimme Hope, Jo'anna - Eddy Grant Was protesting Aparteid ever so damned dancable?
24. Same Old Song - Four Tops
25. Clint Eastwood - Gorillaz My favourite walking-down-the-street song!
26. Box of Rain - Grateful Dead
27. Touch of Gray- Grateful Dead Popular Dead doesn't mean Bad Dead; this is a good song.
28. Paradise City - GNR This song is Junior High!
29. Laid - James
30. At Seventeen - Janis Ian
31. Shine a Light - Wolf Parade
32. With ot Without You - U2
33. Paris 1919 - John Cale The Fragments of a Rainy Season live version
34. Hurt - Johnny Cash
35. I Walk the Line - Johnny Cash
36. Tear Drop - Massive Attack aka the House Theme, but longer and with words.
37. Bat out of Hell - Meat Loaf Toss up between this and Paradise by the Dashboard Light, but BOOH wasn't ruined by memories of highschool dances.
38. Enter Sandman - Metallica
39. Up Jumped the Devil - Nick Cave and the Bad Seed
40. These Days - Nico
41. Shimmy Shimmy Ya - Wu Tang Clan
42. Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard - Paul Simon
43. Celica - Simon and Garfunkel
44. Whiter Shade of Pale - Procul Harum
45. Fairytale of New York - The Pogues The only song I need to play at Christmas time.
46. Like a Friend - Pulp I've had way too many relationships like this.
47. Killing Me Softly - Roberta Flack The Fugees version is good, except for the annoying "One Time," so I'll give it up to Roberta.
48. Don't You Forget about me - Simple Minds Likely here because of its association with the Breakfast Club, but so what?
49. How Soon Is Now - The Smiths
50. Begging You - Stone Roses
51. Tango Til They're Sore - Tom Waits
52. Into the Mystic - Van Morrison He rocked my gypsy soul.
53. Poor, Poor Pitiful Me - Warren Zevon
54. The Kids are Alright - The Who
55. Drive - REM
56. Poppa Was a Rodeo - Magnetic Fields
57. Christmas Time is Here - Vince Guaraldi Trio My other Christmas fav.
58. Street Hassle - Lou Reed Reed's brightest post VU moment.
59. Grace Too - Tragically Hip But the live Saturday Night Live version
60. Tale of Brave Ulysses - Cream
61. I wanna be Sedated - The Ramones All Ramones songs are basically the same, but this one makes me smile.
62. Twist and Shout - Beatles
63. Me and Bobby McGee - Janis Joplin
64. Both Sides Now - Joni Mitchell Only the later husky voiced version has the appropiate tone though.
65. I Go Blind - 54-40
66. Joy to the World - Three Dog Night
67. Paranoid - Black Sabbath
68. Walk this Way - Run DMC and Aerosmith
69. Don't Fear the Reaper - Blue Oyster Cult
70. Smells Like Teen Spirit - Nirvana
71. Search and Destroy - The Stooges
72. Crimson and Clover - Joan Jett
73. Sin City - Flying Burrito Brothers
74. The Sweater Song - Weezer
75. Rocket Man - Elton John Tiny Dancer has been ruined by miss-hearing "Hold me closer, Tony Danza" so I'll say this song.
76. Stuck in the Middle With You - Stealer's Wheels This song makes me wanna cut off an ear.
77. Sleeping Maggie - Ashley MacIssac I have no idea what the woman is singing about... but it's a hard not to TRY to sing along.
78. Bittersweet Symphony -The Verve
79. Blister in the Sun - Violent Femmes
80. Jeremy - Pearl Jam
81. Under Pressure - Queen and Bowie
82. King of Pain - The Police
83. High and Dry - Radiohead I've gotten over the torture of a Univerity acquiantance singing this song incessantly in a high falsetto.
84. I Don't Like Mondays - Boomtown Rats Another nail in Monday's coffin.
85. Runaway Train - Soul Assylum
86. Don't Marry Her - Beautiful South F%@k me... it's the lyric. Seriously.
87. It'll All Work Out - Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers
88. ABC - Jackson Five I like this even more since Clerks 2
89. November Rain - GNR
90. Proud Mary - Ike and Tina Turner/CCR Very different but equally enjoyable tracks
91. Piano Man - Billy Joel
92. Suzanne - Leonard Cohen
93. Let's Get it on - Marvin Gaye I can only imagine how powerful it must be to hear someone say this and mean it.
94. Mustang Sally - Wilson Pickett
95. Alive - Pearl Jam
96. Home for a Rest - Spirit of the West You'll have to excuse me.
97. God Save the Queen - Sex Pistols
98. Love Will Tear Us Apart - Joy Division
99. Cold BLooded Oldtimes - Smog
100. Walt Whitman's Niece - Wilco and Billy Bragg

Shakin' its fist in the air

A little more detail about my trip... not that anyone really cares.

I got to meet up with my friend Jaimie for the first time in 12 years, which was lovely. Took the subway into TO and hung out on her lunch break (and ate the bestest ice cream in the whole wide world). After I left, things got even more interesting as a suspected bomber shut down the street just half an half after I departed (all was alright... false alarm).

Had coffee with some highschool friends. I usually get together with some of these highschool people when I'm home, not always the same ones, but some. I'm usually nervous before hand (I'm a natural worrier), but it always go well. I mean, we're all very different people then we used to be, but, at least for the few hours we hang, we get together and we click. It's nice. I also got to meet my friend Sandy's daughter, who is, predicatably, very cute. She enjoyed appearing really interested in me for a time, then ignoring me for a while, then being interested in me again... which pretty much sums up my relationship with her mother. *shrug*

The Zoo with Del, my nearly 3 year old god-daughter, was fantastic. It's kind of scary how much personality she has already. When she got out of the car to say hello, she looked at me and said, "I'll say more after I go pee." I was a little taken aback by how articulate she is. The post-pee conversation was also equally interesting. After the zoo (or the pavillion and a half we went to) we headed to the Rain Forest Cafe in the Yorkdale Shopping Centre. It has these animatronic animals and looks like a rain forest. Every 20 or 30 minutes, the lights go down and rain sound effects produce the impression of a rain storm. Thankfully no actual water falls on you. Later, when we were saying out goodbyes, Del gave me a big hug and said, "I love you, Mike." It was sweet.

While killing time before I met my friend Lisa, I hung out in Oshawa Centre for about an hour, just walking back and forth. When I was younger (like 13 or 14), I used to love that mall 'cause it seemed so big. Now, whenever I return to Osahwa I find myself there, half expecting, half dreading running into people I used to know, some major player from my life - a teacher, a girl I had a crush on, a long lost friend. Today I only saw a few of my life's minor players, walk on roles really: Craig's old girlfriend (before the big closet exiting), an old co-worker, and the Bad Toupee man, who's 10 years older but his hair STILL looks the same! This trip to the mall was even more disconcerting then usual though, because of the cheerleaders.

The Oshawa Centre, as a summer feature to promote a friendly mall experience, has hired pretty young girls to dress up as cheerleaders. Let that sink in for a second: it's 2006 and a mall has cheerleaders as a promotional tool! These girls are situated throughout the mall and "will happily answer any questions you might have." That's what the sign said, though I assume that their answers are limited to things like "Where's the Gap?" and "Do you know where I can get a coffee?" and not inquires into nuclear fission. And I'd be willing to place money on the fact that this whole cheerleader idea was a guy's.

The day after I arrived home, I headed down to the UM Press, despite the fact that classes start tomorrow and I have little idea of what I'm supposed to do. I NEEDED to sign some stuff that should have been signed in June *shrugs* It's also particularly annoying (though not at all unexpected) that NOTHING has been done to clear out the store room (which will once again be my office) and that the my lovely summer office, which I "had to" get my stuff out of before I went to Ontario, is sitting there empty.

Home again, Home again, jiggity jig

My flight home from Toronto wasn't as nearly early as early as my flight to Toronto. Still, I did have to be up quite early. The second plane wasn't "full" full, but there were way more people on it. I suppose the more reasonable the time of departure, the more people will take it.

All in all, a good trip home. Maybe a bit short, but good nevertheless. Sorry to people I didn't get to see (Shawn, Dana etc). Thank you to those I did.

Now the school year starts. This year I'm going to try to use fewer embarassing personal stories to illustrate points or ideas.

Bland on the run

So, here I am at my parents home in Ontario. Actually, I'm typing this in the room that I grew up in. There's a few more stuffed sheep (I'm afraid to ask what that's about) and a few less video tapes, but there's an odd familiarity sitting here. Sort of like an awkward hug from a distant cousin.

I've seen a few people from my old life, and so far that's all been good. Went over to my old highschool and spoke an English teacher I always liked and admired (he let me read Lady Chatterly's Lover in highschool). Went out for dinner with an old friend, whose life has taken a very different path these last few months. I have lunch with another old friend tomorrow and then coffee with some highschool friends. It'll be a long day, but I'm looking forward to it.

Free love on the Free love freeway

Does the fact that my new favourite show, "The Office," won the Emmy for best Comedy series mean that the Emmys are hipping it up or that I'm getting lamer? I mean, had "Two and a Half Men" won I would have sold my TV, but surely the Emmys have finally got around to recognizing good television... right? Right?

Congrats to my "friends" at the Office.

In (slightly) related news: my friend Emmie wrote me from Japan. She's hip.

She feeds you tea and oranges that come all the way from China

I went to see Cirque de Soleil yesterday afternoon, and it was pretty damn impressive, I must admit. About half way through the show that I realized something, though. As impressive as it is, Cirque de Soleil is all about crotches: displaying crotches, girrating crotches, putting people's heads or hands on/near crotches.


Just thought I'd share that.

Way Over Yonder in a Minor Key

In shockingly insensitive news: apparently David Brent (from BBC's "The Office") has found a job preparing "So Now You're Laid Off"packages at Northwest Airlines. Read more here.

Brandy, you're a fine girl

I have over 4000 views. I should feelgood about that, and I would except for the fact that at least half of those are from me pulling up the site to see if the counter's moved. *sigh* Though I'm told that people stop by here, read my silliness and *gasp* don't comment.

All right, kiddies. Time for a list. This one is my 17 (in no particular order) greatest characters in Television history.*

* I say "television history" but I'm only going to consider shows I've watched since exiting my mother's netherparts 31 years ago. So, don't bring me the "what about Lucy?" stuff. If I watched it, even in syndication, it's game.

1. Dan Fielding - "Night Court": John Larroquette played the fine line between disgusting pig and charmer like no one else.
2. Buffy - "Buffy the Vampire Slayer": hot chick who kicks tail. Nuff said.
3. House - "House": Hugh Laurie is the freakin' man. Anyone who can convincingly play a British fop (Bertie Wooster) and an American misanthrope (House) is a friend of mine.
4. Edmund Blackadder - various Blackadder series: Rowan Atkinson as Mr. Bean makes me sad. As good as he is as the silent Bean, he is ten times better as a sarcastic sadistic Blackadder.
5. David Brent - The Office: Ricky Gervais made uncomfortable so funny in this groundbreaking series.
6. Mr. Hooper - "Sesame Street": His death was the first real loss many children experienced because Sesame Street would not recast the part. They showed that children need not be coddled or spoken down to or tricked... then they gave us Elmo and pooped all over that idea.
7. Inspector Morse - Inspector Morse: John Thaw's interpretation of the sullen, grumpy C.I.D. was wonderful. Morse was brilliant, cultured and very often wrong in his conclusions.
8. David Fisher - "Six Feet Under": In this the smartest and most well written series on television, David was the most interesting character. The "good" son, who struggles with his sexual, religious and personal identities.
9. Lou Grant - "Mary Tyler Moore Show": Ed Asner is one cool old man. Funny and scary all at the same time.
10. Wesley Wyndham Price - "Buffy" and "Angel": Wes's evolution from goof to badass was one of my favourite story arches of recent memory. The pain and self-loathing, the unrequited love... a little close to home.
11. Fonzie - "Happy Days": Before Arthur (and the show) jumped the shark, The Fonz was the man.
12. Homer - "The Simpsons": While the show's endless self referential nature has turned me off, this once great show hit its stride when it chose Homer as the focal character.
13. Keith Mars - "Veronica Mars": He maybe the greatest TV dad of all time. When lame parental figures are the norm, Keith stands out. He genuinely cares about his daughter and respects her.
14. Rube - "Dead Like Me": Mandy Patinkin's second greatest role. As the patriarchal reaper Rube, you never quite knew where he was coming from.
15. KITT - "Knight Rider": More personality and character than his human counterpart, KITT made a show starring David Hasselhoff bearable. Baywatch producers needed dozens of jiggling breasts to achieve the same thing.
16. Basil Fawlty – “Fawlty Towers”: Angry was never as funny.
17. Jack Bauer – “24”: He pulls too many all nighters for a guy his age.

See the way she walks

University: Wilfrid Laurier

When you attended, where did you live?
Year 1: 3rd Floor, Willison Hell, I mean "Hall"
Year 2-5: 413 Hazel Street apt 202

Who was your roommate?
1. Chuck... something
2. Flatmates: Brad, Doug and then...
3. Rachel

Ever get in trouble in the dorms? Nope. With people puking in garbage cans and stealing tvs, I somehow managed to stay under the radar.

Phone number? I have no idea.

First party attended? Um, probably the first or second day of Frosh Week. That was like one big party.

Favourite pizza place? Domino's

Favourite place to go out to eat? China Garden. We went there a lot in first year. And they still remember me and what I want after all this time.

Did you go to the library? Yes.

What was your favourite floor you'd always be on? I don't understand the question.

Where did you buy your books? The campus bookstore and Second Look Books.

Play any sports? Oh my no.

Ever attend a sporting event? Oh my no.

In any clubs? Not that I recall.

Ever attend a concert or comedic performance? Yup, Spirit of the West. Great Big Sea, some comedy event (can't recall anyone standing out as good), the Watchmen

Favourite professors? most of my Englis profs were great: Boire, Jewinski, Weldon, Moore

Favourite night to go out on and where? Any night to China Garden or Princess Cinema

Where did you get coffee? Rain Tree Cafe, Grabba Jabba

Favourite Year of Halloween? First year. I went as Jack Kerouac, which meant Levis, rumpled shirt and a bottle of wine.

Favourite memory? Of all of University? I don't have just one.

Ever had a job? video stores, day camps in the summers

What do you hate about your college? The focus on Business students

What do you love most about it? I learned that I could get a PhD.

Where would you believe is the best location to live in? First year: Residence for sure; I'd go with a "quiet res" though. Second year and beyond: Hazel Street was nice.

Graduated or still attending? BA (Hons) 98; MA 99.

Will you go back? I would LOVE to go back and teach there.

How many parking tickets have you got there? Not a one!

Ever gotten arrested? Nope.

They come together whom their love parted

If there's one thing more terrifying than snakes on a plane, it's Tilley Hat man on the bus. I officially gave up taking the REALLY early bus to work a couple of weeks ago and have been taking the MODERATELY early bus instead. The only trouble with the MODERATELY early bus is the dread Tilley Hat Man. Thankfully, I've been blesses with two new bus mates who share my extreme dislike of the Tilley Hat Man. All three of us exit at the same stop, turn to each other and ask, "Can you believe that man?" It's amusing how friendships can be built on a foundation of wishing someone a sever case of laryngitis.

The Tilley Hate man wasn't on the bus today... and I must say I was a little disappointed. It's like people who are mis-diagnosed with a terminal disease become depressed when they find out they aren't dying. It seems I've come to define the bus ride by my anger at how annoying he is. Without him and his loud orations, I have nothing to be angry at. And that makes me sad.

So long, Marianne

Over at Pitchfork.com, they've complied their choices for the 200 best songs of the 1960s. While I don't necessarily agree with the order they've chosen, as you flip through the list you can't help but realize that the 1960s were any incredible for music. From Bobby Darin to the roots of reggee, from the Beach Boys to the Beatles, from the Stones to the Who, from Dylan to Cohen, music mattered. I find it hard to imagine the 2060 Pitchfork equivalent sorting through Blink 182 or Jessica Simpson tracks looking for the best 200 songs of the 2010s. At a time when a singer's breasts attract more media attention than her song or when who a musician dates rates over actual talent, this list makes me pine for a time when singers sang from the heart and guts be they plain or ugly.

If you like good music, look through the list. There's probably something there you haven't heard, but should.

I just wanna bang on my drum all day

My grandma used to say."Don't be afraid of the rain, 'coz you're not made of sugar." But wouldn't it be awesome if you were made of sugar. That would be so sweet.... unless you were diabetic. Then it would still be sweet, but that sweetness would probably kill you.

All agents are still busy. Please hold and we'll answer your call in rotation

I don't know if the guy who wrote "Play that Funky Music, White boy" thought of the song as a brass band number... but he should have.

Waited on a line of feelin' blue

People get offended when you tell them they smell... when they clearly do. And no, I don't mean smell as a verb, as in they possess the ability to detect odours with their nasal abilities. I mean they are smelly. They have odour. And I can detect it with my nasal ability.

Despite the fact that that phrase - "You smell" - has no value judgement whatsoever, people tend to take it to mean "You smell bad." They get all self conscious and embarassed (or angry and violent, it depends). Yet people spend a lot of time and money trying to smell. They buy creams and lotions, cologne and perfume, soaps and body washes. People WANT to smell. And that's good. What I can't understand is why so many peopl want to smell like food. As per an earlier blog, I smell like Lime and a Cocoanut. How many fruit scented lipbalms are there? I sat behind a woman on the bus today who was wearing vanilla perfume. VANILLA! She was talking to her friend about this perfume. It was new and "didn't it smell wonderful?" Wonderful? I wanted to lick her And not in some disturbing, sexual manner. She smelled like a cake! I was hungry!

I think I may have just discovered something about our culture's bizarre relationship to food.

The future's not ours to see

There's new body wash in my shower. I assume my wife bought it; she's usually the one who buys stuff. This new body wash is called "Lime and Coconut." I used it, but now I'm concerned about smelling like a Harry Nilsson song.

Lay me down in sheets of lemon

When I read this, I smiled. A bridge in Hungary is going to be named for American karate... guy, Chuck Norris. So, is it wooden with very little support?

Hoodoo Voodoo

Holy crap, it's hard to concentrate today. Hard to concentrate, hard to care.

Heard some Man-in-the-Tilley-Hat stories the other day, but for the life of me I can't remember what they were about. Probably the usual fare: obnoxious and loud monologues. The last time I was on the bus with him he had his son with him. The kid was six, maybe seven years old. He didn't say much (how could he with his dad yammering on and on), and I couldn't help but feel bad for him. I only deal with the MITTH once or twice a week; he has to live with him EVERY DAY. Wonder if that's how those Menedez kids went bad?

You know who I am, he said

So, I spent the morning in the Manitoba Provincial Archives. And yes, it was as much fun as it sounds. I'm supposed to be doing prelim research for a book on Manitoba film, so the author wanted me to go through all the records of film holding in the archives. Now, if the archives were digital (like everything else in this crazy world) this would be no problemo. But, alas, it's not. I guess they figure "We got old crap - why have computers too?" I can't remember the last time I had to use a card catalogue.. though I suppose the fact that I did use one once upon a time means that I'm getting old.

So there I sat, with three large binders of all the film holdings in the collection a legal pad and a pencil. And are these films exciting lost-gems of cinematic wonderfulness? Maybe you're not paying attention: they really, really suck!

Most of the stuff appears to be home movies of the long deceased or industrial training films from the 1940s. It seems like every club and organization made a short film about themselves at some point. Okay, there were a couple of flicks I thought, "I wouldn't mind checking that out" (like the Bing Crosby/Alfafla short promoting Canadian Victory Bonds) but those were few and far between.

I left there feeling much ill-will towards film and movies in general, so I decided I'd better stop at the UW and glance through their collection film books in the library to cheer me up. For being such a small school, UW has a remarkably good selection of film books. I re-read Richard Dyer's BFI book on Brief Encounter (which I'm using for my thesis) and picked up a book on Star-acting (my current focus) and Christmas and the Movies - as I've figured out a way to write about my favourite holiday film of all time: Brian Desmond Hurst's Scrooge (1951).