And what becomes of you, my love?

All right. The game is called 'Desert Island.' You have to give me your top 5, must-have-if-I-were-stranded-on-a-desert-island of the following:
1) Books
2) DVDS (accepting for the sake of the game that this desert island has electricity and is Projector-DVD ready)*
3) Albums

*I've checked with the judges and "Seasons of tv on DVD" will be accepted for DVD answers, however one season equals one choice.

Ready?

GO!

Wrong way down a one way track

On the bus ride home from the University last night, a pleasant looking young lady took the seat in front of me. This is slightly unusual, as most (sane and reasonably clean) people tend to want to sit as far away from me as possible. I was reading and, subsequently, not paying that much attention. When I read on the bus, forget about it. I'm in my own little world, a world I planned to stay in until my stop. However, my lovely little world came crashing down when I glanced up as this lady was raising her arm to remove her backpack and I caught a glimpse of the hairiest armpit I have ever seen in my life. We're talking Buckwheat in a headlock hairy. I thought my father had hairy armpits, but they were nothing compared to the sheer volume of hiar this girl had. She could have braided it.

Needless to say, my concentration was shot to pieces. Try as I might to get back into the story. Any attempt to return to my beloved fiction world was thwarted. All I could think about was that nasty, nasty pit.

Now I know some people will read this and think, "What's the big deal? It's European." To these people, I say fat dudes in g-strings are also "European" - doesn't make it right.

Still others will vehemently defend this woman's right not to shave with evocations of nature and the mythical “natural state.” They’ll say stupid things like, "That's the way God made us" and "Women weren't meant to shave their armpits or their legs" (I checked afterwards and this chick had some hairy-assed gams too). Know what? Crap. It's a big deal 'cause it's nasty. Freakin' gross. Know what else isn't natural? Brushing one's teeth. Know what else isn't natural? Bathing. Yet we still feel the need to do those things. You can't make the "natural state" argument when you wash your clothes, use soap, and rely on that new fangled invention, toothpaste. Leaving aside things like Ipods and cell phones, both of which armpit girl had, using everyday modernizations like skin cream, makeup, even eye glasses, makes the natural state argument null and void.

Maybe we should all start ignoring dental hygiene - stop brushing, stop flossing, stop seeing the dentist. Now THAT's European! Well, at the very least British.

I won't say which building

There's entirely too much "Saved by the Bell" on television.

Ever since we shuffled around our MTS cable package (which is a frighteningly easy thing to do), there is an average of 5 hours of the cancelled teenybopper show on a day. A day, folks! TBS runs a solid 2-hour block in the morning, another hour in the early, post-lunch afternoon and Omni (a channel that must be Canadian because of the crappy programming) runs yet another hour mid afternoon. That's five hours of Zak's schemes, Screech's mis-matched clothes, Kelly's whining and Slater's mullet.

I have to admit that I've found myself watching a few minutes during the morning marathon. Not much on at 6:45 besides news and cable-access quality religious shows. Here's the thing I can't figure out: who was this show aimed at? The characters are in high school, yet nothing even remotely recognizable as "high school experience" happens to them. The school itself seems to consist of a student body of about 17 kids, a principal and 3, maybe 4, teachers. The misfit students are labeled "nerds" and all have names that have doomed them to that identity: "Eugene” and "Nerdlinger" being my personal favourites. It’s actually kind of amusing to see how rough the nerds are treated and how ostracized they are from the lives of the main characters, despite the umpteen lessons of tolerance and acceptance those main characters learn. It’s also amusing to watch Jessi pontificate about the objectification of women, knowing she went on to star in the peeler masterpiece, Showgirls. Ah, sweet, sweet irony!

Now I know why I watch 10-15 minutes of this show every few days, but who watched it in its original run? How did this fluffy, bubblegum show last when shows like Degrassi and even 90210, however sensational, were more accurately reflecting the real anguish of high school? Did high school students watch this show? Mentally challenged adults? Who?

I miss the honky tonks, Dairy Queens, and 7-Elevens

I have to admit I was a little disappointed when I heard Kevin Smith was making a sequel to his 1994 breakout film, Clerks. Let me explain.

I first saw Clerks at an art-house theatre in Waterloo in my first year of university. I had been working clerk-ish jobs for about 5 years, and I could relate to everything that I saw on screen: the annoying customers, the surly co-workers, the getting screwed into working way more than you should. In an age when "American Indy" film was plagued by people making Hollywood-seque narratives with no-name actors, Clerks truly was different, edgy and in your face. People talked like people I knew and talked about things my friends (mostly) talked about. In a film (the only one up until then and possibly since) given the kiss-of-death NC-17 rating solely for dialogue- no guns, no sex, no (discernible) nudity- I found charatcers I knew. I went tohighschool with a number of Randalls, guys who would say literally anything in order to shock people and then claim not to understand why other people found it offensive.

Since Clerks Smith has had his share of hits and misses, most of which take place in Smith's fictional world (or "Askewniverse). His next flick, Mallrats was trashed by critics, flopped at the box office but has found its niche on home video and DVD. Chasing Amy, Smith's "apology film", was a return to the edgier content of Clerks, this time with professional actors and a more competent Smith at the helm. Independently financed, Chasing Amy is my personal favourite of Smith's work, a postmodern love story about a boy in love with a girl who likes girls. Then there were the Jay and Silent Bob driven Dogma and Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back, the former a (mostly) thoughtful examination of religion and faith, the later a masturbatory fluff piece replete with star cameos, none-to-subtle references to previous films, and lots of fourth wall breaking *wink-wink* glances to the audience. 2004's Jersey Girl marked a directional shift in Smith. This was the first of his films to exist outside the Askewniverse, a world Smith claimed to be putting to bed. With an enviable cast, including the frequently used Affleck and George Carlin, Liv Tyler, Jason Biggs (that pie-f#*$er) and Jennifer Lopez. The film is solid, but ultimately weak: a romantic comedy with a cute child. Its poor performance at the box-office can be blamed as much on the media's overexposure of "Bennifer" as anything else. Jersey Girl is no Gigli, but after that steaming pile of horse crap, people avoided anything that had those two sharing screen time. But the film, inspired by Smith's new role as father, showed maturity and promise. There was talk of a Smith-helmed Fletch movie (which sounded great but feel through) and he seemed to be turning his attention new stories. But then he announced his next film would be a sequel to his first film, then titled "Passion of the Clerks." And I wondered if Smith, like Dante and Randall, is doomed to a repetive existence, stuck in the same deadend role, film after film.

So, what make Smith return to the Askewniverse that established him as a creative force after claiming it had run its course? Was it the failure of the Jersey Girl> Was it the promise to the recovering Jason Mewes that if he stayed clean he could play Jay one more time? Was it, as Smith said, that he simply fell in love with the Clerks characters all over again while putting together the Tenth Anniversary DVD? Whatever the reason, Clerks II was made. And, for the most part, I'm glad that it was.

The real stand out in this film is Rosario Dawson. She's absolutely perfect. So incredibly beautiful, yet so down to earth. A non-made up beauty you really can find in the real world. You can see her working in a dead-end job and you can totally see Dante falling for her. While Brian O'Hallaran and Jeff Anderson are very good in their roles, Rosario has a lot of different things to convey in her scenes. She does it every time, from dancing on the rooftop, to trying to act tough, to fragility. I've heard that Ms Dawson doesn't think of herself as a sex-symbol. While to limit her to that role would be gravely short-sighted, she is very sexy.

Clerks II is not Clerks, but then it shouldn't be. You can't go home. Or, you can, but you'll find that your mom's thrown out your comic books and Reservoir Dogs posters and turned your room into a sewing room. If you go expecting things to be different, and allow for those changes you might be surprised. Make no mistake, the dialogue is as raw and disgusting as ever, but there's sweetness and gentleness beneath the bestiality jokes here that I'm afraid will go unseen by the Mallrats-loving potheads or the uppity conservative filmgoers who will avoid this film all together. But that's always been Smith's major limitations: he's hardly ever recognized for the sum of his talents. His capital-P Potty mouth often alienates people who would appreciate the intelligence and subtly of his work. Where else are you going to get an extended donkey sex scene in the same movie that gives you a whimsical dance number?

This is the celebration of Smith's world that Jay and Silent Bob Strikes Back should have been: no crass mugging for the camera, no celebrity whoring (except for that Affleck cat, but given his importance to the Askewniverse he deserves to be there). In the final scene, a touching nod to Clerks with Smith's friend, "the Lon Chaney of the 90s," Walt Flanagan orders a pack of smokes from Dante. The colour fades. We're back in the world of Black and White, customers and clerks. People know what they want here, unlike at Moobey’s where everything has to be contemplated about and translated. The camera pulls back down the aisle of the Quickie Mart, leaving the clerks at the counter. Things are well in the world.

We can leave the store now.

Let's start a company and make misery

It's Fringe time here in Winnipeg. Happens every year about this time. I usually make it to a few plays, ones that my wife has scoped out ahead of time. After one year's "Canterbury Tales" horror, (sometimes I wake up screaming because it was so bad) I don't trust myself to pick my own plays. Maybe I should bad about this. I don't, but maybe I should. It's not like most other Fringe-goers are that different. Last night I watched as couple after couple wandered around the Exchange with the Free Press review held aloft, ever before them, trying to rush to see whatever thing some newspaper critic gave 5 stars. At least my wife knows me and knows what I'll like. People who select a play simply because some random reviewer gave it 5 stars deserve to be disappointed - like the sour faced guy coming out of the much-heralded Flamenco show who was heard to say, "That piece of crap got 5 stars?". Well, if you don't like to watch people dancing, what does it matter if someone gave the show 5 stars or a hundred: YOU'RE NOT GOING TO DIG IT, FRIEND!

Case in point: Free Press ubermensch, Morley "Ohh What a Big Pen I Got" Walker criticized one show for being too American and for using, and I quote, "too many four-syllable words." Let's leave the ridiculousness of thinking that the American content would go over Canadians' (who get between 80-95% of their media from the US) head, let's concentrate on that pesky problem of big words. You see, Walker describes the performer as "Bill Maher overdosed on amphetamines" and quips, "Nothing escapes van Hest’s bitter, acerbic and vulgar gaze, though he sounds like he has memorized a PhD thesis deconstructing American social mores. Maybe I'm wrong, but aren't there a whole bunch of big, freakin' words in that review? I can only assume from this that the only big words Walker objects to are the ones other people use. Reviewers need to remember that their job entails more than merely giving your own personal opinion of something You're supposed to be guiding a potential audience towards things THEY will like and away from things THEY won't.

I overheard two people talking before one of the plays. Guy #1 recommended a certain play to Guy #2. Guy #2 crinkled his nose, "Didn't that get a bad review in the Fress Press?" Guy #1 rolls his eyes, "I know that reviewer and I was at the show that guy was at. Everyone else in the audience loved the play. They were howling with laughter. Everyone except the reviewer." Guy #2 furrows his brow, "He didn't mention that in the review." Of course he wouldn't. But again, if people solely rely on the word of one person, one person you don't know, you're going to miss some really good stuff.

That said, here's what I saw, all of which I'd recommend:
1) Canned Hamlet. Fun, energetic comedy. What Fringe comedy should be, prepared but with enough room for some improv.
2) Zombies. One man show written and performed by some English dude. Once i got over the disappointment of there being no actual zombies on stage, I rather enjoyed this play.
3) Shock Corridor. Take a B-film from the 60s about a newspaper reporter trying to win the Pulitzer Prize by going undercover in an insane asylum and solving a murder. He convinces his girlfriend to pose as his sister, there are nymphs, and crazies and, of course, shock therapy. Wild, incredibly bizarre play adapted and directed by George Toles. Brilliant!

I'll write more about these plays later on, as well as my two cents on Kevin Smith's Clerks II, which I saw this afternoon at a matinee with 5 other people, sitting spread out, avoiding making eye contact with each other. I can only imagine that this is what going to a 70s porn theatre was like.

There's no telling where the money went

Amusing morning incident: well, I was waiting for my magic 36 bus early this morning and a car stops at the red light right beside me. The guy driving was wearing a bandana on his head, the windows of the car were rolled down and he was blaring his stereo. And he was leaning. You know what I mean. Pretty cool, no? Well, it might have been if his car wasn't 98 Chrysler LeBaron and if the music wasn't Robert Palmer. Simply irresistible.

I want to be adored

Right. It was a stupid day at work. When my boss showed up with his 8 year old daughter and said, "Mike, you get to entertain her today" I couldn't tell if he was kidding or not (he was, it turns out, though I did have to install her Arthur on one of the work computers to keep her busy).

I also had to go into one of our author's office to try to find some file he supposedly emailed us back in January. His office is only a few doors down, and he's been sick for months. I'm sure I was the first person in that room since May. And clearly he had no premonition of his illness - there was a used syringe lying on the desk, the coffee pot was filled with moldy coffee (which I know from experience takes a long time for regular coffee without cream to go). Then my boss handed the cell phone to me so that this 400 year old author could talk me through his computer, which, let me tell you, is not a good way to spend your time. He kept describing things that weren't there (some other explorer icon on the desktop? - I found two, neither of which did what he said it would do). In the end I did I search for all word documents and went through them, one by freakin’ one. Good times.

Deliver Col. Sanders down to Davy Jones' Locker

After picking up my wife at the airport on Saturday morning we decided to go and see the new Pirates of the Caribbean movie. Really, it was more an attempt to escape the blistering heat than any deep desire to see Johnny Depp, but I remember liking the first movie. Well, I remember seeing the first movie anyway. At least I thought I did. When this new movie started, characters kept appearing and other characters would say things like "I see you're back"... and I realized something: I haven't the foggiest idea what happened in the first Pirates movie. Other than the three main stars (Depp, Orlando Bloom, and the adorable Kiera Knightley) and Geoffrey Rush, I couldn't a single other character. As I watched I realized I couldn't remember much of what had happened either - the Black Pearl, prison escapes, engagements... they're all referred to, and I'm sure they happened, but I don't remember. This realization has caused me great anxiety. If I can't remember film plots, I really don't know what good I am to anybody.

As to what I thought of this second Pirates of the Caribbean movie, generally I was unhappy with it. Yes, the sets were cool, the actors good, and the effects were top-notch. But the story left me feeling like this was just an appetizer, not the main meal you expect of a feature length film. Actually that's a good way to describe what I felt like leaving the theatre: still quite hungry; not full, not satisfied. It was like someone invited you over for dinner, promised you a huge feast and gave you crackers with cheese, nicely dressed up crackers and fancy cheese, but crackers and cheese nonetheless.

I'd heard the day before that it ends with a bit of a cliffhanger, obviously setting up for the third installment. However, about half way through the film, I realized that they weren't going to resolve much of the plot of this film. Sure enough, almost everything is left up in the air. It felt a little like watching a pilot for a television, much of the material was setting up things to come in the next film. Which, frankly, is a bit of a rip-off as there really wasn't enough plot to cover this film. Much of the action sequences felt like filler material and like we were going over the same ground again and again. How many times can someone else grab the object everyone's been searching for to prolong the swordfights?

While I have long been down on the whole Star Wars franchise, I think the best second of a trilogy has to be Empire Strikes Back. And naturally my tendency is to compare second parts of trilogies to it. Empire leaves just enough unresolved storylines (what happens to Han) to make you want to go back to see what happens, but resolves the major plots of that particular film. You don't leave Empire feeling like you've watched a 2 hour introduction for Return of the Jedi.

Wondering where the lions are

I'm discovering that I have an exceptionally low tolerance for bad commercials these days. Many's a time I find myself yelling at the television, "Who came up with this crap?"

I'm not quite sure what's at root of this anger. Maybe it's knowing that someone, somewhere, was paid an incredible amount of money for coming up with concept I know I could've come up with drunk, bouncing on a trampoline and trying to recite all the provinces of Canada in alphabetical order. For example, the government of Manitoba recently spent $5 million for the slogan "Manitoba: Spirited Energy", which has got to be the most nonsensical thing I've ever heard in my life. What is "spirited" energy? How exactly does "spirited energy" differ from regular old, run-of-the-mill energy? I mean it's ENERGY - isn't it already spirited by the fact that it's energy? Have you ever heard of lackadaisical energy? No, of course not. I think the slogan should have been more in keeping with the attitude of the people who live here. I propose they re-consider my suggestion Manitoba: we don't really suck that bad.

And all this leads me to the wonder that is modern advertising. There are two commercials, in particular, which, I believe, have given me a slight brain aneurysm. The first is for the new Burger King stacked burgers (Mmmm, more processed meat). The premise of the commercial is that these burgers are manufactured by little people… you know, dwarves. Maybe they’re supposed to be elves, like Santa’s workshop, I’m not really sure and I don’t think it matters. Whatever they are, they’re the butt of the joke. The one fellow gets a burger dropped on him. Are we supposed to think to ourselves, watching this at home, “Oh, look! That little guy was crushed by a hamburger… And that's made me a bit peckish. I could go for one of those.” You see, I’m not really sure how Burger King thinks that ridiculing little people is going to sell their stupid burgers. I’m sure that there’s not a lot of work for little actors – there was that one episode of CSI and there are probably a few Wizard of Oz revivals here and there – but was this job really worth it?

The second one is older one that I thought had run its course, but seems to have reared its ugle head once more. It's for Bailey's Irish Cream. A group of ridiculously attractive people are sitting around a campfire, sipping elegant glasses of Baileys and roasting marshmallows, when all of a sudden one of their marshmallows catches on fire. Panic-stricken, which of course is always a good thing when fire is involved, the poor, thoughtless girl sticks her flaming marshmallow into the drink of the man sitting next to her. Another guy, obviously some sort of rocket scientist who has come along on the camping, sees this and decided to purposely ignite his marshmallow in order to put it in some other girl's drink. As the commercial ends everyone is having a wonderful time with this new discovering, setting their marshmallows ablaze and dunking them in glasses of ALCOHOL. Now, was I the only person in the world who paid attention when the Fire Department came to visit schools? Isn't alcohol an accelerant? So, is advocating of the mixing alcohol and fire really the most responsible thing that the Bailey’s company could be doing?

Here she comes now

It took some effort on my part, but I managed to track down this film (and if you don't think going into a store and asking people for a film called "A Cock and Bull Story" is effort, you're just wrong). I've loved Winterbottom's previous films (Jude, 24 Hour Party People) and I love this cast, but wasn't able to catch it when it played Winnipeg for three minutes.
Simply, this is a adaptation of an unfilmable novel. I know the term "unfilmable" has been used to describe a number of movies that have been sucessively filmed - Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and Mrs Dalloway spring to mind - but I can't think of more complicated, cyclical narrative than Laurence Sterne's Tristram Shandy .

The film is absolutely brilliant, creating another layer to the narrative by including a behind the scenes plot. Some people play themselves, some people play characters. I wish I could write more about this, but, frankly, it's too damned hot here, I'm sticking to my chair and sweating on my keyboard. I don't wanna electrocute myself.

I saw my head laughing, rollin' on the ground

I can honestly say that this is a question I have given absolutely NO thought to before.

You Are Duck

Exotic and unusual, you are a bit of a rare bird - literally. You're known for being soft and succulent, though at times you can be a bit greasy.

What Kind of Meat Are You?

Someday, everything is gonna be smooth like a rhapsody

Well, it's been a completely, crazy jam packed weekend within adventures and in-laws and butter chicken. So, I thought I'd stop by and drop some notes and let people know what's what in the (not really that) exciting world of Mike.

Rachel's parents arrived on Friday afternoon some time Rachel and I had a wedding to go to, so we all ate supper together then went our separate ways. Let's be honest here: I like weddings a lot more than funerals - I'm tired of funerals. And this wedding was very nice and a lot of fun. The bridesmaids weren't dressed hideously, the bride sang a surprise song, and the reception was relaxed and social. Saw some people I hadn't seen in a while, which was nice; ate, chatted... and left before the dancing, but that's probably the best thing for everyone as I likely would have injured myself or someone else.

On Sunday we drove up to Bird's Hill Park to enjoy the wonder that is Folk Festival. After returning to the house a few times to pick up extra sweaters (it was a bit chilly in the morning) we finally made it to the park by 11 or so. The first thing we caught was a workshop of Celtic Franco-phone bands - a little odd a combination, but the two bands were great and played together with gusto. I was a little surprised to learn to one of the bands is from Regina. Didn't realize that Regina had any French people... maybe they keep them hidden away with the Aboriginals?

Next, we caught a set with Doug Frechette, the Wailing Jennies and the Doug and Jess Band. I wanted to see this set, as the "Doug" of "the Doug and Jess Band" was the first professor I TA'd for here at the University of Manitoba. He's retired now and has devoted himself to playing and performing music, mainly bluegrass. This was a brilliant set, with a steady mix of alt-country, bluegrass and folk. The only problem was the workshop was called "Getting Hairy on the Prairie" (seriously, who thinks up shit like that?), which host Frechette repeated every time he took the mic. Note to future hosts: if your workshop name is stupid, you are not obligated to repeat it over and over. In fact, it's best to just never mention it.

Luckily, it had warmed up considerably by this point. My mother-in-law, however, remained wrapped in a blanket for most of the day. Cue menopause jokes.

After this we headed over to a spoken word workshop with Ridley Brent, Belieze dub-poet Leroy Young, the aptly named Tons of Fun University (T.O.F.U.) and the incredible, must-be-seen-to-be-believed That 1 Guy. This might have been my favourite workshop, even though I'm not a huge poetry slam-fan. The groups mixed well, helped each other out. Young's poetry was lyrical and more obvious serious, Brent's more narrative driven. One of the guys from T.O.F.U. brought the house down with an angry, ironic, and topical poem - the line "Oh say, can you see... who fuckin' jacked me" got a loud cheer and the poem itself got a 3 minute standing ovation. That 1 Guy closed the show with a demonstration of the incredible range of his "wacky instrument, the 7-foot-high Magic Pipe (a homemade, two string contraption that serves both rhythmic and melodic duties)." As his closer he played something akin to Stomp-y techno, with beat-box backing and odd percussive sounds that you might hear on a club-mix. All of a sudden he breaks into a rocking cover of "Smoke on the Water." The audience went nuts. After playing "Smoke" for a while (during which the Magic Pipe started spewing smoke) he switched seamlessly to twangy bluegrass. Incredible.

After an informative workshop on "Appalachian Education" by Tony Trischka and Mike Seeger (Pete's younger brother), which was noteworthy because of a song about a horse race and the copious amount of pot smoked by the group next to us, I went to check out the shops while listening to Afrodizz play a few dozen yards away. Afrodizz is a fun band, reminiscent of the old Shuffledemons, but thankfully without the gimmicky wardrobe. Were I prone to dance, this would have been the band I danced to.

The Main Stage concert that evening was Richard Thompson, Ferron, Rickie Lee Jones, Mike Seeger and Bruce Cockburn. Thompson was great, an incredible musician and lyricist; Jones was solid (except when she spoke - she sounded like an airhead, which I know she's not), but Bruce Cockburn was incredible live. His set was worth the price of admission alone. I think I've dismissed most of Cockburn's material because of his heavy-handed use of synthesizers on his studio albums. I knew "Lovers in a Dangerous Time" was an important song, I appreciated the politics of "If I Had a Rocket launcher"... but, I haven't paid attention to most of his work. Last night, with the songs stripped down to acoustic guitar and voice, I heard them for what they are.

Of course, the best and worst part of Folk Festival is the audience. How such an eclectic group of people manages to get along for so long is beyond me. Why so many people feel the need to sit down next to you and talk all the way through an act, usually telling the person they’re talking to how much they love music and how they’ve been coming to Folk Fest for so many years….

And then there are the freaks. The neo-hippies, the throwback hippies, the dudes in kilts, the women showing way too much skin, the guys showing even more skin… I am a little curious to know how some of those people operate in the real world. I mean, you know some/most of them are playing the weird up for the weekend, because Folk Fest is one of the accepting places in the world: the young guys likely only wear their sarongs for this one weekend; older guys drag out their beads and walking sticks for Folk Fest... but not all of them can be playing. There was one older guy in all tie-dye dancing away. I don't know if he was on something, but he was feeling the music. He didn't look like this was an act. So where does he go the rest of the year?

It's a wonder we can even feed ourselves

All right - stole this off someone else. Bolding the books I've read. Why? Because one of my gentle readers may, one day think to herself, "I wonder if Mike's read Lord of the Flies. Now you know. For the sake of my own nerdiocity, I have noted (*) titles I have read multiple times. To protect my nerdiocity, I have not indicated how many times.


The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
The Catcher in the Rye - J.D. Salinger *
The Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy - Douglas Adams
The Great Gatsby - F.Scott Fitzgerald *
To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
The Time Traveler’s Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (Harry Potter 6) - J.K. Rowling
Life of Pi - Yann Martel
Animal Farm: A Fairy Story - George Orwell
Catch-22 - Joseph Heller
The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon
Lord of the Flies - William Golding - and I never intend to!
Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen *
1984 - George Orwell
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (Book 3) - J.K. Rowling
One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (Book 4) - J.K. Rowling
The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini
The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold
Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter 5) - J.K. Rowling
Slaughterhouse 5 - Kurt Vonnegut
Angels and Demons - Dan Brown
Fight Club - Chuck Palahniuk
Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone (Book 1) - J.K. Rowling
Neuromancer - William Gibson
Cryptonomicon - Neal Stephenson
The Secret History - Donna Tartt
A Clockwork Orange - Anthony Burgess
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (Book 2) - J.K. Rowling
Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte *
Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
American Gods - Neil Gaiman
Ender’s Game (The Ender Saga) - Orson Scott Card
Snow Crash - Neal Stephenson
A Prayer for Owen Meany - John Irving *
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe - C.S. Lewis *
Middlesex - Jeffrey Eugenides
Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien *
Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte *
Good Omens - Terry Pratchett, Neil Gaiman
Atonement - Ian McEwan
The Shadow Of The Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon
The Old Man and the Sea - Ernest Hemingway
The Handmaid’s Tale - Margaret Atwood *
The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
Dune - Frank Herbert
The Unberable Lightness of Being - Milan Kundera
Hey Nostradamus! - Douglas Coupland
The Nature of Blood - Caryl Phillips
Children Playing Before a Statue of Hercules -Ed. David Sedaris
I Know This Much is True - Wally Lamb
Empire Falls - Richard Russo
American Pharaoh: Mayor Richard J. Daley - Adam Cohen & Elizabeth Taylor
Devil in the White City - Erik Larson
Seeing - Jose Saramango
White Teeth - Zadie Smith
Sophie's World - Jostein Gaardner
Ursula Under - ingrid Hill
Mountains Beyond Mountains - Tracy Kidder
In the Time of the Butterflies - Julia Alvarez
God of Small Things - Arundhati Roy
The World According to Garp - John Irving *
Great Expectations - Charles Dickens *
The Sword of Shannara - Terry Brooks
Metamorphosis- Franz Kafka *
Gone With the Wind - Margaret Mitchell
The Stainless Steel Rat - Harry Harrison
The Key to Rebecca - Ken Follett
How to Practice - the Dalai Lama
Pillars of the Earth - Ken Follett

Made from Annie's depair

It's about 2:30 on a Thursday afternoon and I'm tired of working. Today's a thesis day, so it's a lot of reading and writing about child neglect in post-war England (in other words: "fun, fun, fun").

It's so incredibly cold in my office today. It's like 31 degrees outside and here I sit in jeans and a sweater! Now I'm all for air-conditioning, but, like so many good things in this life, it needs to enjoyed in moderation. If you can safely store milk in your office, chances are it's just too damn cold.

I would venture outside to warm up (it's a lovely, sunny day here in Winnipeg) but unfortunately mini-University started up this week. Mini-U, as it's called by people in the know, is the U of M's summer day camp program for children. Kids can partake in any number of different programs, many revolving around a particular faculty or department. I know there used to a little Lawyers camp... thankfully that was disbanded.

What mini-U REALLY means is that the campus is overrun by thousands of obnoxious twerp-campers and the way-too-happy-to-be-working-with-children instructors. It's hard to walk anywhere without stepping on four or five kids and their backpacks, lunchbags, swimming clothes or whatever their SUV driving parents have sent along... and despite what some of my gentle readers might imagine, I don't actually enjoy hurting children; I just don't like them that much.

The children are dragged all around the school in the hopes of doing something fun. I can't imagine that they ever get to do anything fun - all the children look bored and surly. Come to think of it, I'm bored and surly. Maybe I'm actually at mini-U and I don't realize it.

Got one note to last all week I'll carry on regardless

I can't believe that it's July already. Man, where does the time go? If I could keep time in a bottle, I think I use it to get back some of that wasted Maury Povich time.

It was Canada Day weekend here in the great white north. We didn't really get up to anything special. Typically Canada Day celebrations are marked with folks dressing up in red and white, setting off fireworks and drinking beer. Only one of those remotely appeals to me. I'll let you guess which.

I did, however, get a chance to check out Superman Returns on Friday afternoon. I must say, I've had low expectations for this movie. My brother-in-law saw it earlier in the week and dubbed it "flawless." My expectations spiked just enough that when Rachel asked if I wanted to go, I said yes.

After some of the world's WORST previews (who gives the Wayans Brothers money to make movies?) the film began with the familiar rift of John Williams' "Superman theme" and employed the same credit sequence of the previous Christopher Reeve films. And I felt somewhat at ease. Unlike Christopher Nolan's Batman Begins, which essentially rebooted the Batman story, this Superman film is presented as a sequel to the Christopher Reeve films (well, at least Superman and Superman 2... there was no mention of either Richard Pryor or questing for peace). However, I couldn't help but feel the film was more a remake-cum-sequel: while back story had Superman saving the world before going away, his reintroduction to Metropolis was strangely reminiscent of the events of the 1978 film.

HERE BE SPOILERS!!!

We begin on the Kent farm; Superman crashes back to earth and is found by Martha Kent (in the 1978 film Jonathan Kent dies of a heart attack when Clark was a teenager). He goes from the farm to Metropolis and the Daily Planet. Though this time he is returning from a leave of absence, there's the same fumbling, bumbling Clark trying to figure out his surroundings. The first appearance of Superman is to safe Lois. In the original he saved her from a helicopter accident, this time from a plane/rocket malfunction. There's even a recreation of the famous Superman/Lois flight over the city scene. Lex Luthor's plan is almost identical to his plot from the first movie, involving destroying a large part of the continental United States, this time the East Coast as opposed to the West. He has a sympathetic moll (Kitty as opposed to Miss Teschmacher). There are differences, to be sure, the main one being Lois's fiancé and child. This creates the allusion that you're watching another movie, that things are different, but how different are they? Yes, the special effects allow for more spectacular things to happen, but the plot, like Superman himself, is solid and familiar. We know where it's going to go; we trust it because we've seen it save the day before. Unlike Batman, who has varying shades of grey and black, Superman is straightforward red, yellow and blue. He's simply good, simply honest, simply true.