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).

Whatever gets you through today

I'm cat sitting for my across the street neighbours for the next couple of weeks. I'm not a big cat fan (as some people know), but these cats are unlike any cats I've ever met in my life. Most cats are of the "who the hell are you and why the hell should I care" school. As long as you feed them and clean up their poop, they aren't much interested in you. These cats like attention. They crave it. They are not skittish or scaredy or anything esle I've understood cats to be.

I went over the other day to read the New York Times. I was sitting on the couch in the livingroom, reading about the amazing cornucopia of films one can see if one lived in Manhattan, and suddenly there a cat on me. Now, the cat didn't just climb into my lap, it leaped across the room and landed on the paper. I tried to shift the little fuzzball so that I could at least read while it sat on me, but to no avail. I tried to pick it up, but it just flopped over. I thought about standing up, but was afraid it would use its claws to stay up.

I'd probably still be sitting there if it hadn't needed to use the litterbox.

I can't stand the rain

over at FilmCritic.com, a few folks ahave put their heads together to come up with the 50 Greatest Movie Endings of All Time. The list isn't too bad; there are some perennial favourites (Dr. Strangelove, Chinatown, Casablanca)and some WTFs (Real Genius, Before Sunrise and Being There). I couldn't help but feel like they missed one of the greatest endings of all-time: Monty Python's Life of Brian. Not only is the all-cross rendition of "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life" the perfect note to end this bitter-sweet exploration of religion and faith, it has ellipsed the film itself. "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life" has become an anthem for second rate sports teams and even the British Navy. It's the perfect loser song.

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.