So, my misanthropic tendencies flared up the other day: I was waiting for a bus to take me downtown. Right before the bus pulled up, a class of about 20 Korean ESL students showed up out of nowhere. And they all had large cardboard stand-ups, like old science-fair projects displays. Their teacher, a frazzled-looking, hippie woman with large hoop earring and a babushka, tried to herd them towards the bus, "I hope we can all fit on." And fit on we did - if by "fit" you mean I got crammed between a pole and rather large (and rather smelly) man. What fun! (this is where I’d add the smiley face with the rolly eyes, if I knew how to do that here)
The bus was, sadly, not an express. There are about 10 stops between where I caught e bus and where I usually get off. I figured I'd be stuck next to smelly for a few stops, but that people would get off.
No one got off.
Lots of people got on.
I couldn't take it anymore. I got off a few stops early and, muttering under my breath, walked the rest of the way.
Friday, March 10, 2006
Monday, March 06, 2006
Hung with pictures of our parents' Prime Ministers
Another year, another Oscar ceremony.
Having seen only 10% of all the films nominated, I don't really know if I have any business commenting on who did (or didn't) win; but than again, I DID pick more winners than my wife (who saw 90% of the films). I won. I get to do the dance of superiority. I must limber up. And I while I fully intend to do said dance, what did I really do? Guess the politics of the academy? As George Clooney said in his excellent acceptance speech, it's not they all played the same part. Luckily for me choosing the winners is less about discerning talent and more about knowing the game.
I have no idea if Reese Witherspoon was better than Dame Judi Dench (who should learn how to act happy), but I do know that Dench has won before and is nominated all the time. Witherspoon is young, learned to do things for the role (singing and playing the autoharp), and portrayed a beloved American figure. I picked Reese and it paid off.
I didn't pick Philip Seymour Hoffman, but I should have. This was a category where I had seen one of the movies and went with my reaction to that performance instead of figuring out the game. Joaquin (or however the hell you spell his name) Phoenix was incredible as Johnny Cash. He, like Reese, learned things for his role (singing and guitar), and he played a beloved real-life American figure. That should have counted for a lot, but that beloved real-life American figure wasn't a) disabled or b) gay. The Academy loves marginalized figures: handicapped, homosexuals, mentally unbalanced. Yes, Johnny Cash was a drug addict and that was portrayed in the film, but beloved and drug addicted was trumped by the also real life Capote's sexual preference and overall bizarreness (like that voice!). Not that Hoffman wasn't incredible in the role, but he had more things going for him. I figure that one year an actor will be nominated for playing a gay, handicapped alcoholic. If that happens, the other nominees might as well save themselves the cost of the tux rental.
Okay: true, Felicity Huffman played a transgendered male, but that's still a little too extreme for Hollywood. Or at least that's my way of justifying not choosing her and her not winning.
As for the actual show itself, I liked it. Hang on. Perhaps I should rephrase that. I mean: I liked what little I saw of the Oscar show. I figured, why watch the whole show when I hadn't watched all the movies that the show was about? But what I did see was good. Jon Stewart is one of my favourite TV personalities of all-time. I love the guy to death, but he seemed a little out of his element. Maybe it was the strict run time, maybe it was that he was told not to do anything too political; he seemed uncomfortable. He was funny, don't get me wrong, but he wasn't as funny as he is night after night on the Daily Show. That said, I did LOVE the "defense" of the importance of heterosexuality in cowboy films. That might be the funniest thing I've ever seen on an Oscar show.
Some random thoughts:
Are they making dresses in negative sizes now? Could some of those actresses possibly be in more need of a sandwich? Jessica Alba's a beautiful woman, but dammit, girl, eat something.
In one crowd shot, I thought, "Man, Harvey Ketiel looks scarier than usual." I then realized that it was Heath Ledger. Is he playing Keitel in an upcoming movie? There's no excuse for looking like that.
Is George Clooney the coolest guy in Hollywood? And Jon Stewart's right: how much more can he get?
Who was that weird-assed guy who wrote Brokeback Mountain? I get the feeling he doesn't get out much.
Should Will Ferrell even be allowed in to the Oscars?
Jack Nicholson sat next to Keira Knightley. Can you blame him? I would have fought Jack Nicholson to sit next to Keira Knightley.
Having seen only 10% of all the films nominated, I don't really know if I have any business commenting on who did (or didn't) win; but than again, I DID pick more winners than my wife (who saw 90% of the films). I won. I get to do the dance of superiority. I must limber up. And I while I fully intend to do said dance, what did I really do? Guess the politics of the academy? As George Clooney said in his excellent acceptance speech, it's not they all played the same part. Luckily for me choosing the winners is less about discerning talent and more about knowing the game.
I have no idea if Reese Witherspoon was better than Dame Judi Dench (who should learn how to act happy), but I do know that Dench has won before and is nominated all the time. Witherspoon is young, learned to do things for the role (singing and playing the autoharp), and portrayed a beloved American figure. I picked Reese and it paid off.
I didn't pick Philip Seymour Hoffman, but I should have. This was a category where I had seen one of the movies and went with my reaction to that performance instead of figuring out the game. Joaquin (or however the hell you spell his name) Phoenix was incredible as Johnny Cash. He, like Reese, learned things for his role (singing and guitar), and he played a beloved real-life American figure. That should have counted for a lot, but that beloved real-life American figure wasn't a) disabled or b) gay. The Academy loves marginalized figures: handicapped, homosexuals, mentally unbalanced. Yes, Johnny Cash was a drug addict and that was portrayed in the film, but beloved and drug addicted was trumped by the also real life Capote's sexual preference and overall bizarreness (like that voice!). Not that Hoffman wasn't incredible in the role, but he had more things going for him. I figure that one year an actor will be nominated for playing a gay, handicapped alcoholic. If that happens, the other nominees might as well save themselves the cost of the tux rental.
Okay: true, Felicity Huffman played a transgendered male, but that's still a little too extreme for Hollywood. Or at least that's my way of justifying not choosing her and her not winning.
As for the actual show itself, I liked it. Hang on. Perhaps I should rephrase that. I mean: I liked what little I saw of the Oscar show. I figured, why watch the whole show when I hadn't watched all the movies that the show was about? But what I did see was good. Jon Stewart is one of my favourite TV personalities of all-time. I love the guy to death, but he seemed a little out of his element. Maybe it was the strict run time, maybe it was that he was told not to do anything too political; he seemed uncomfortable. He was funny, don't get me wrong, but he wasn't as funny as he is night after night on the Daily Show. That said, I did LOVE the "defense" of the importance of heterosexuality in cowboy films. That might be the funniest thing I've ever seen on an Oscar show.
Some random thoughts:
Are they making dresses in negative sizes now? Could some of those actresses possibly be in more need of a sandwich? Jessica Alba's a beautiful woman, but dammit, girl, eat something.
In one crowd shot, I thought, "Man, Harvey Ketiel looks scarier than usual." I then realized that it was Heath Ledger. Is he playing Keitel in an upcoming movie? There's no excuse for looking like that.
Is George Clooney the coolest guy in Hollywood? And Jon Stewart's right: how much more can he get?
Who was that weird-assed guy who wrote Brokeback Mountain? I get the feeling he doesn't get out much.
Should Will Ferrell even be allowed in to the Oscars?
Jack Nicholson sat next to Keira Knightley. Can you blame him? I would have fought Jack Nicholson to sit next to Keira Knightley.
Saturday, March 04, 2006
It's memories that I'm stealing, but you're innocent when you dream
For the second week in a row the best thing on television was the Best of Monty Python on PBS. This week's episodes (3 and 4 in and series of 6) featured the Best of John Cleese and the Best of Terry Gilliam.
The premise of Cleese's episode, that he's now a senile, cantankerous old man, started off as funny, but became a little tired by the end. Still, I really liked that the show began with a fake memorial to Cleese - showing, once again, that there's not much funnier than death. Again, the focus of the show's is not (necessarily) the most popular sketches, but the personal favourites of the individual members. Cleese has always been my favourite Python. He plays straight-laced authority figures so well - trying so hard to be proper, but seething with rage just beneath the surface.
Gilliam's all animated episode worked surprisingly well. Originally, the stuff that linked the sketches together, there's more than enough substance in these pieces to warrant a full hour. While he's had the most obvious success post-Python, Gilliam always seemed the odd Python out: American, an animator, absent from most sketches. The framing narrative of Gilliam's episode is Terry exposing the secret origins of "Monty Python's Flying Circus." The show was originally supposed to be all animation and that he'd hired these unemployed "University boys" to do voices and a bit of live action filler, who later kissed butt to the bigwigs at BBC to get bigger parts. Gilliam's animation was (and is) unlike anything before. In an age when major animation studios are turning their attention the possibilities of computer-animation, there's a lost magic about the found art and unique vision of Terry Gilliam.
The premise of Cleese's episode, that he's now a senile, cantankerous old man, started off as funny, but became a little tired by the end. Still, I really liked that the show began with a fake memorial to Cleese - showing, once again, that there's not much funnier than death. Again, the focus of the show's is not (necessarily) the most popular sketches, but the personal favourites of the individual members. Cleese has always been my favourite Python. He plays straight-laced authority figures so well - trying so hard to be proper, but seething with rage just beneath the surface.
Gilliam's all animated episode worked surprisingly well. Originally, the stuff that linked the sketches together, there's more than enough substance in these pieces to warrant a full hour. While he's had the most obvious success post-Python, Gilliam always seemed the odd Python out: American, an animator, absent from most sketches. The framing narrative of Gilliam's episode is Terry exposing the secret origins of "Monty Python's Flying Circus." The show was originally supposed to be all animation and that he'd hired these unemployed "University boys" to do voices and a bit of live action filler, who later kissed butt to the bigwigs at BBC to get bigger parts. Gilliam's animation was (and is) unlike anything before. In an age when major animation studios are turning their attention the possibilities of computer-animation, there's a lost magic about the found art and unique vision of Terry Gilliam.
Thursday, March 02, 2006
The chair next to you's free
Well, March came in like the proverbial lion. We got dumped with snow Wednesday, just in time for me to drive home from Otterburne through it. Whoopity do. Blizzards make me love driving even more than I do all the other time.
A student puts up her hand today and asks me if I've heard of some poet. I say, "I don't think so; why?" She informs me that I'd like him, 'cause "he's bitter about getting old." Now where did I put that grade book?
I just finished Phillipa Gregory's The Other Boleyn Girl. As far as historical fiction goes, very interesting: I highly recommend it.
Basically, it tells the story Anne Boleyn's younger (in the novel anyway - historians aren't sure who was older) sister, Mary and the events surrounding Henry's attempt to get his first marriage annulled by the Church. Before Anne married Henry VIII, Mary likely had an affair with the King, and possibly gave birth to two children by Henry. While the history is much murkier than Gregory suggests, the description of the politics of court are fascinating and deadly accurate. The deceit and conniving of Howard family (to who the Boleyns were connected on their mother's side) would make contemporary politicians green with envy. They decide to throw both daughters at the King in order to win the crown's favour. Henry, whose reputation for womanizing is well documented, takes the bait; he first beds Mary, then becomes infatuated with Anne. Gregory suggests that this infatuation leads to Henry's descent into tyranny. He challenges the Church, English tradition, even the support of his own people to get what he wants. People who stand in his way find themselves in the Tower of London or on the block. Of course, when Anne falls out of favour, the attitude and temperament she encouraged in Henry become directed at her and her family: trumped up charges, hearsay evidence, unlawful imprisonment and finally execution.
What was one part disturbing, two parts intriguing was the way things were done, particularly in regards to the manipulation of women for political gain. In order for Mary to be the mistress of the King, she had to be married so as to avoid scandal (?!) yet live apart from her husband; in case there was a child, paternity could not be questioned. As long as she was married Mary reputation was, for the most part, secure. Unmarried Anne must deny the King sex for fear of being labeled a common whore. And all the adultery and infidelity is not only encouraged but arranged by the Howard family.
Of course this being a contemporary novel, with contemporary sensibilities, both Mary and Anne have a few speeches about the unfortunate place of women and the role Anne's only child, a daughter, might play in the shaping of England. The daughter, Queen Elizabeth, would of course go on to rule England as one of its greatest monarchs
A student puts up her hand today and asks me if I've heard of some poet. I say, "I don't think so; why?" She informs me that I'd like him, 'cause "he's bitter about getting old." Now where did I put that grade book?
I just finished Phillipa Gregory's The Other Boleyn Girl. As far as historical fiction goes, very interesting: I highly recommend it.
Basically, it tells the story Anne Boleyn's younger (in the novel anyway - historians aren't sure who was older) sister, Mary and the events surrounding Henry's attempt to get his first marriage annulled by the Church. Before Anne married Henry VIII, Mary likely had an affair with the King, and possibly gave birth to two children by Henry. While the history is much murkier than Gregory suggests, the description of the politics of court are fascinating and deadly accurate. The deceit and conniving of Howard family (to who the Boleyns were connected on their mother's side) would make contemporary politicians green with envy. They decide to throw both daughters at the King in order to win the crown's favour. Henry, whose reputation for womanizing is well documented, takes the bait; he first beds Mary, then becomes infatuated with Anne. Gregory suggests that this infatuation leads to Henry's descent into tyranny. He challenges the Church, English tradition, even the support of his own people to get what he wants. People who stand in his way find themselves in the Tower of London or on the block. Of course, when Anne falls out of favour, the attitude and temperament she encouraged in Henry become directed at her and her family: trumped up charges, hearsay evidence, unlawful imprisonment and finally execution.
What was one part disturbing, two parts intriguing was the way things were done, particularly in regards to the manipulation of women for political gain. In order for Mary to be the mistress of the King, she had to be married so as to avoid scandal (?!) yet live apart from her husband; in case there was a child, paternity could not be questioned. As long as she was married Mary reputation was, for the most part, secure. Unmarried Anne must deny the King sex for fear of being labeled a common whore. And all the adultery and infidelity is not only encouraged but arranged by the Howard family.
Of course this being a contemporary novel, with contemporary sensibilities, both Mary and Anne have a few speeches about the unfortunate place of women and the role Anne's only child, a daughter, might play in the shaping of England. The daughter, Queen Elizabeth, would of course go on to rule England as one of its greatest monarchs
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Like a hurt lost and blinded fool; Oh, no I said too much
I've discovered something profound about Winnipeg winters and my general dissatisfaction with them: it's not the cold. All right, that's not entirely true. It's partly the cold. But more than cold, it's the overwhelming grayness of the city at this time that makes winter seem so oppressive and bleak. The cold is bad, make no mistake, but the lack of colour and light are so much worse.
Today was a perfect example of this. The temperature was fine (minus 4 by mid afternoon), but the lack of sunlight combined with the dirty snow in the city seemed to have sucked all the colour, all the life, out of Winnipeg. Now there isn't much you can do about the sun. When it does, or doesn't, shine is sort of out of our hands (I think - I seem to remember a show that had some machines with weather-changing abilities, though I can't remember if it was on the Discovery Channel or Dr Snuggles). But what we can deal with is the dirt. You see, Winnipeg uses sand to spread over the icy roads instead of salt, which many other cities use to make their streets drivable. . While salt is more corrosive, sand is... well, sandy. As the winter rolls on, the snow banks on the side of the road look less and less like SNOW and more and more like hills of dirt. Cars get dirty, buildings get dirty, people get dirty... and NOT in the good way! With everything under a fine layer of sand, the city goes from a wonderful cornucopia of colours to a city of neutral tones.
Today was a perfect example of this. The temperature was fine (minus 4 by mid afternoon), but the lack of sunlight combined with the dirty snow in the city seemed to have sucked all the colour, all the life, out of Winnipeg. Now there isn't much you can do about the sun. When it does, or doesn't, shine is sort of out of our hands (I think - I seem to remember a show that had some machines with weather-changing abilities, though I can't remember if it was on the Discovery Channel or Dr Snuggles). But what we can deal with is the dirt. You see, Winnipeg uses sand to spread over the icy roads instead of salt, which many other cities use to make their streets drivable. . While salt is more corrosive, sand is... well, sandy. As the winter rolls on, the snow banks on the side of the road look less and less like SNOW and more and more like hills of dirt. Cars get dirty, buildings get dirty, people get dirty... and NOT in the good way! With everything under a fine layer of sand, the city goes from a wonderful cornucopia of colours to a city of neutral tones.
Monday, February 27, 2006
There’s straw for the donkeys and the Innocents can all sleep safely
Someone I know - and love - is dying. It's not much of a surprise, to be honest. She's been in and out of hospital for the past few weeks, and she's been in generally poor health for some time: she's weak, she's coughing up blood, and she's just plain tired.
And I can't help but wonder if that makes it all so much harder. I've lost a number of people close to me over the years; some went quickly, some went slowly. And there's something different about watching (or in this case, hearing about) someone die gradually. People talk about relief of someone dying after a long illness - "At least the suffering's over," they say. This has always struck me as overlooking (glossing over) all the conflicting emotions and feelings that come with death. Yes, their suffering's over, and that is wonderful. But what about the guilt that feeling brings: being glad someone died, even if they were in horrible pain, makes me feel guilty. Isn't fighting for life what makes us human? Should we, even in the face of insurmountable odds, rage against the dying of the light?
Dylan Thomas was often dismissed by critics as being too sentimental a poet to be taken seriously. I think there's something to be said for sentimentality. I think, deep down inside, I am a sentimentalist myself.
Shhhh, it'll be our little secret.
And I can't help but wonder if that makes it all so much harder. I've lost a number of people close to me over the years; some went quickly, some went slowly. And there's something different about watching (or in this case, hearing about) someone die gradually. People talk about relief of someone dying after a long illness - "At least the suffering's over," they say. This has always struck me as overlooking (glossing over) all the conflicting emotions and feelings that come with death. Yes, their suffering's over, and that is wonderful. But what about the guilt that feeling brings: being glad someone died, even if they were in horrible pain, makes me feel guilty. Isn't fighting for life what makes us human? Should we, even in the face of insurmountable odds, rage against the dying of the light?
Dylan Thomas was often dismissed by critics as being too sentimental a poet to be taken seriously. I think there's something to be said for sentimentality. I think, deep down inside, I am a sentimentalist myself.
Shhhh, it'll be our little secret.
Sunday, February 26, 2006
It's the same old thing as yesterday
How sad is it that the thing I'm most looking forward to this week is installment 3 and 4 in the PBS "Best of Monty Python" series airing Wednesday night? Not that these specials haven't been fantastic - I particularly loved the Graham Chapman episode, despite the absence of Cleese's brilliant eulogy - but isn't there something else I could be getting excited about? And what happens after Wednesday? Is it all downhill from there? Oh, the questions.
Regardless, these special have been excellent. If you like, even a little, Python, check them out.
Things are trucking along nicely here in thesis-world (definitely the lamest "world" of all). Lots of reading and writing done; lots more to be done. The thing is I'm starting to put myself to sleep when I try to explain what I'm attempting to do with. Is this the great burden of all Grad students? You work so hard, spend so much time on a topic on something that most people couldn't care less about. I see people's eyes glaze over when I bring up theories of British masculinity or Winnicott's theory of child development. I guess I could look at this as a gauge of true friendship: my real friends are the ones who either stay awake or don't go running, screaming from the room when I talk to them about this.
At this point, the length of this conversation is way out of proportion to my interest in it. Dan Rydell, "Sports Night"
Regardless, these special have been excellent. If you like, even a little, Python, check them out.
Things are trucking along nicely here in thesis-world (definitely the lamest "world" of all). Lots of reading and writing done; lots more to be done. The thing is I'm starting to put myself to sleep when I try to explain what I'm attempting to do with. Is this the great burden of all Grad students? You work so hard, spend so much time on a topic on something that most people couldn't care less about. I see people's eyes glaze over when I bring up theories of British masculinity or Winnicott's theory of child development. I guess I could look at this as a gauge of true friendship: my real friends are the ones who either stay awake or don't go running, screaming from the room when I talk to them about this.
At this point, the length of this conversation is way out of proportion to my interest in it. Dan Rydell, "Sports Night"
Friday, February 24, 2006
I guess I'm always hoping that you'll end this reign
1. What time did you get up this morning? um, 9:30.
2. Diamonds or pearls? For what?
3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema? Walk the Line.
4. What is your favourite TV show? Of all time: probably Night Court. I also love Buffy, Veronica Mars, Smallville, Firefly and Angel.
5. What do you usually have for breakfast? Coffee. And more coffee.
6. Favourite cuisine? Indian.
7. Middle name? Got one, thanks.
8. Food you dislike? Brussell sprouts. The devil made them.
9. Favourite CD at the moment? Tie between the Buffy musical and Wolf Parade's "With Apologies to the Queen Mary"
10. What kind of car do you drive? Mazda Protege. Zoom, zoom.
11. Favorite sandwich? The kind someone else made.
12. Characteristic you despise? Extreme moodiness/mood swings.
13. Favorite item(s) of clothing? Jeans.
14. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would it be? Back to London.
15. What colour is your bathroom? White. Very White.
16. Favorite brand of clothing? Oh, I dunno stuff liek that.
17. Where would you retire to? London.
18. What was your most memorable birthday? Turning 23, a party at this dive-ish bar in Waterloo. I don't think I've ever had as much fun.
19. Favorite sport to watch? Basketball, I guess.I'm not really a sports guy.20. Furthest place you are sending this? No place.
21. Coolest place you’ve ever been? Portage and Main. No, wait, that's the COLDEST place; the coolest? Key West or Miami.
23. Favorite saying: Don't think I have one.
24. Birthday? No, thank you.
25. Are you a morning or night person? Definately not a morning person. I am a night person but as responsibilities and adulthood force me to rise before noon, I'm less a night person and more an afternoon person.
26. Shoe size? 10.
27. Pets? Nope.
29. What did you want to be when you were little? Big. My friend Doug wanted to be a purple crayon. I think Doug ate too much paste.
30. How are you today? Same as yesterday.
31. Favourite candy? Chocolate
32. Favourite flower? Huh? You're joking, right?
33. A day on the calendar you are looking forward to: December 25... I hear there's going to be something big up that day.
2. Diamonds or pearls? For what?
3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema? Walk the Line.
4. What is your favourite TV show? Of all time: probably Night Court. I also love Buffy, Veronica Mars, Smallville, Firefly and Angel.
5. What do you usually have for breakfast? Coffee. And more coffee.
6. Favourite cuisine? Indian.
7. Middle name? Got one, thanks.
8. Food you dislike? Brussell sprouts. The devil made them.
9. Favourite CD at the moment? Tie between the Buffy musical and Wolf Parade's "With Apologies to the Queen Mary"
10. What kind of car do you drive? Mazda Protege. Zoom, zoom.
11. Favorite sandwich? The kind someone else made.
12. Characteristic you despise? Extreme moodiness/mood swings.
13. Favorite item(s) of clothing? Jeans.
14. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would it be? Back to London.
15. What colour is your bathroom? White. Very White.
16. Favorite brand of clothing? Oh, I dunno stuff liek that.
17. Where would you retire to? London.
18. What was your most memorable birthday? Turning 23, a party at this dive-ish bar in Waterloo. I don't think I've ever had as much fun.
19. Favorite sport to watch? Basketball, I guess.I'm not really a sports guy.20. Furthest place you are sending this? No place.
21. Coolest place you’ve ever been? Portage and Main. No, wait, that's the COLDEST place; the coolest? Key West or Miami.
23. Favorite saying: Don't think I have one.
24. Birthday? No, thank you.
25. Are you a morning or night person? Definately not a morning person. I am a night person but as responsibilities and adulthood force me to rise before noon, I'm less a night person and more an afternoon person.
26. Shoe size? 10.
27. Pets? Nope.
29. What did you want to be when you were little? Big. My friend Doug wanted to be a purple crayon. I think Doug ate too much paste.
30. How are you today? Same as yesterday.
31. Favourite candy? Chocolate
32. Favourite flower? Huh? You're joking, right?
33. A day on the calendar you are looking forward to: December 25... I hear there's going to be something big up that day.
But it's my destiny to be the King of Pain
My now weekly walk to the library made for an entertaining 45 minutes. People certainly are strange. There was the June Cleaver-esque woman retriving her mail. Her hair looked perfect and she was dressed pearls and an apron. I imagined that inside the world had stayed 1957: that the whole family gathered around the television Sunday nights to watch Ed Sullivan, that pot-roast was served with shocking regularity, that she and her husband slept in seperate twin beds.
Then there was camoflage guy walking his dog. The man was dressed in a full suit of proper green camoflage. He must have been military, as he was also wearing combat boots and a beret (and, really, aren't the military the only people who can get away with wearing those hats?), but I don't know who he thought he was going to hide from in the snow. I had half a mind to bump into him and claim that I didn't see him... but he didn't look like the sort of person who enjoys a laugh.
Then there was camoflage guy walking his dog. The man was dressed in a full suit of proper green camoflage. He must have been military, as he was also wearing combat boots and a beret (and, really, aren't the military the only people who can get away with wearing those hats?), but I don't know who he thought he was going to hide from in the snow. I had half a mind to bump into him and claim that I didn't see him... but he didn't look like the sort of person who enjoys a laugh.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Where I have to go begging in Beauty's disguise
Post number 200, folks. I'd like to thank the little people, because I couldn't be where I am today without the Munchkins.
So, the Winter Olympics are in full swing. Half my class skipped out of the second period to watch the hockey game (and to see Canada lose... that's God getting them back for skipping my class).
I just can't get into the Winter Olympics. I've tried, but I don't get the point. Too many of the events seem so freakin' silly. Like, how many toboggan-based events do we need? We've got the luge, the two and four person bobsled... I don't know, maybe tobogganing's now an official event. Isn't it all the same premise: slide down hill on something. They should have crazy carpet event. Now those things are hard to steer.
And then there's skating and curling and skiing, and I just can't accept those things as sports. Curling? Shuffle board on ice. Skiing? My dad skis. That disqualifies as a "sport" right there. Those are activities. Sure, they're fun, people enjoy doing them, but they're not sports. Hockey? Okay, now that's a sport, not one I particularly like, but I can accept that one. Now I realize that being Canadian and admitting that I don't like hockey is akin to high treason, but I don't care: I hate the cold. Sue me.
So, the Winter Olympics are in full swing. Half my class skipped out of the second period to watch the hockey game (and to see Canada lose... that's God getting them back for skipping my class).
I just can't get into the Winter Olympics. I've tried, but I don't get the point. Too many of the events seem so freakin' silly. Like, how many toboggan-based events do we need? We've got the luge, the two and four person bobsled... I don't know, maybe tobogganing's now an official event. Isn't it all the same premise: slide down hill on something. They should have crazy carpet event. Now those things are hard to steer.
And then there's skating and curling and skiing, and I just can't accept those things as sports. Curling? Shuffle board on ice. Skiing? My dad skis. That disqualifies as a "sport" right there. Those are activities. Sure, they're fun, people enjoy doing them, but they're not sports. Hockey? Okay, now that's a sport, not one I particularly like, but I can accept that one. Now I realize that being Canadian and admitting that I don't like hockey is akin to high treason, but I don't care: I hate the cold. Sue me.
Monday, February 20, 2006
Confusion is nothing new
I had a dentist appointment this morning. Nothing like starting the day off with sharp metal instruments and agressive gum poking. Mmmm.
Now I recognize the necessity of going to the dentist and brushing and all that, but I detest the falseness of the visit. The hygenist asking how you're doing - like she really cares, in few minutes you're going to be bleeding all over her. And she stops every few minutes to see if youre "doing all right." Like the whincing and white knuckled grip on the arm rests is confusing body language. I think the whole thing would be a lot easier if the hygenist just abandoned all sense of civlity or humanity when you walk in to the room: "So you're finally here, are you? You know, nobody likes, you're fat, and you're mother's right about you wasting your life." I think this would make the 20 minutes of oral torture a bit more bearable.
I had to walk a quarter of a kilometre from the dentist to the bustop, but that wasn't too bad. It's only minus 9 out there; almost spring (grrrrr, somebody please kill me). When i finally got to the University, I was met with a wonderful surprise: a beautiful photo/name plate for the door of my dumpy UM office. It's very cool and I spent a great deal of time showing my co-workers. Yes, it was a good way to avoid work, but I am proud of it too.
Now I recognize the necessity of going to the dentist and brushing and all that, but I detest the falseness of the visit. The hygenist asking how you're doing - like she really cares, in few minutes you're going to be bleeding all over her. And she stops every few minutes to see if youre "doing all right." Like the whincing and white knuckled grip on the arm rests is confusing body language. I think the whole thing would be a lot easier if the hygenist just abandoned all sense of civlity or humanity when you walk in to the room: "So you're finally here, are you? You know, nobody likes, you're fat, and you're mother's right about you wasting your life." I think this would make the 20 minutes of oral torture a bit more bearable.
I had to walk a quarter of a kilometre from the dentist to the bustop, but that wasn't too bad. It's only minus 9 out there; almost spring (grrrrr, somebody please kill me). When i finally got to the University, I was met with a wonderful surprise: a beautiful photo/name plate for the door of my dumpy UM office. It's very cool and I spent a great deal of time showing my co-workers. Yes, it was a good way to avoid work, but I am proud of it too.
Sunday, February 19, 2006
Sometimes fires don't go out when you're done playing with them
According to their prophets, the Blogging Gods have been appeased by the many sacrifices of comments and posts. They are now happy. We'll see.
It's still cold. And it's nice to know I've not the only one who thinks so. Author extraordinaire, Neil Gaiman has a brilliant post called "Land of Long Underwear" about the affects of the cold Minnesota winters on the mind over at his site. The temperatures are comparable, and Lords knows I wish I was wearing long underwear when I trekked over to the library on Friday. It damn near killed me. Killed me with coldness. I wonder if Neil would appreciate that I often trek to the library in these temperatures to check out his books? That said, I highly recommend his graphic novel,Marvel 1602. If all comics were even half as intelligent as this one, people would be a lot more respectful of the medium.
Anyway, it's cold and I should get a sweater. Almost time for Sunday lunch at Stella’s. Hmmmm, breakfast sandwich.
It's still cold. And it's nice to know I've not the only one who thinks so. Author extraordinaire, Neil Gaiman has a brilliant post called "Land of Long Underwear" about the affects of the cold Minnesota winters on the mind over at his site. The temperatures are comparable, and Lords knows I wish I was wearing long underwear when I trekked over to the library on Friday. It damn near killed me. Killed me with coldness. I wonder if Neil would appreciate that I often trek to the library in these temperatures to check out his books? That said, I highly recommend his graphic novel,Marvel 1602. If all comics were even half as intelligent as this one, people would be a lot more respectful of the medium.
Anyway, it's cold and I should get a sweater. Almost time for Sunday lunch at Stella’s. Hmmmm, breakfast sandwich.
The Case of the Missing Comments and Posts
What's the definition of insanity? Doing the same action over and over and OVER again and expectig different results. And to that end, I am going to try reposting this AGAIN.
For some reason I have angered the Blogging Gods and they see fit to torment me. First, they started making comments people made vanish into thin air; then, they decided to start making my update posts about the situation disappear too. I have written this same post four times, FOUR TIMES, now and it keeps disappearing. It'll stay up for a few hours, maybe a day, and then, pffttt, it's gone. Where does it go, you ask? I wish I knew.
But like the lab rat I am, I keep re-writing this post over and over again, hoping that this time will be different, that this time it'll stay put.
So, one last time for the fans, here it goes: I don't delete stuff on this blog, especially comments. If you submitted a comment and it's gone, blame the Blogging Gods. It's their fault. I have received email notification of all comments, so I have read them. Thanks.
Now, I think I'll go and stick pencils in my eyes.
For some reason I have angered the Blogging Gods and they see fit to torment me. First, they started making comments people made vanish into thin air; then, they decided to start making my update posts about the situation disappear too. I have written this same post four times, FOUR TIMES, now and it keeps disappearing. It'll stay up for a few hours, maybe a day, and then, pffttt, it's gone. Where does it go, you ask? I wish I knew.
But like the lab rat I am, I keep re-writing this post over and over again, hoping that this time will be different, that this time it'll stay put.
So, one last time for the fans, here it goes: I don't delete stuff on this blog, especially comments. If you submitted a comment and it's gone, blame the Blogging Gods. It's their fault. I have received email notification of all comments, so I have read them. Thanks.
Now, I think I'll go and stick pencils in my eyes.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Whisper in a dead man's ear doesn't make it real
With the wind chill, it was minus 42 this morning. Minus FREAKIN' FORTY-TWO.
All I had to do was run across the street to feed the cats this morning. About half way there, in the middle of the road, my fingers went numb. About a quarter of the way there I lost all feeling in my feet. And that’s when I began to question, very loudly, why I lived in a place that got this frickin' cold. Minus forty two? To quote Lewis Black, that is not weather, that's an Emergency condition. The government should be called in, trucks should roll into town with blankets, hot chocolate and fire. 'Cause you'd think that if it was that cold outside people would just light fires all over the place, trash can fires that you could warm your hands by. But no. Not here in Winnipeg. Here in Winnipeg we're proud of the cold. When it's cold like this, we feel the need to mention it, often, with awe and pride. We stop each other on the streets: "It's crisp; really gets the blood pumping." "Yes, it does. And it's brisk out here today." Let's be clear about something: minus forty two isn't "brisk". Calling minus forty two brisk is like calling World War 2 a "misunderstanding." Minus forty two is "my eyes have just frozen open."
In his Divine Comedy, Dante described the frozen, desolate waste land reserved for the worst sinners and offenders in all of human history. He called that final level of Hell the "Judecca"... what he meant was Winnipeg.
All I had to do was run across the street to feed the cats this morning. About half way there, in the middle of the road, my fingers went numb. About a quarter of the way there I lost all feeling in my feet. And that’s when I began to question, very loudly, why I lived in a place that got this frickin' cold. Minus forty two? To quote Lewis Black, that is not weather, that's an Emergency condition. The government should be called in, trucks should roll into town with blankets, hot chocolate and fire. 'Cause you'd think that if it was that cold outside people would just light fires all over the place, trash can fires that you could warm your hands by. But no. Not here in Winnipeg. Here in Winnipeg we're proud of the cold. When it's cold like this, we feel the need to mention it, often, with awe and pride. We stop each other on the streets: "It's crisp; really gets the blood pumping." "Yes, it does. And it's brisk out here today." Let's be clear about something: minus forty two isn't "brisk". Calling minus forty two brisk is like calling World War 2 a "misunderstanding." Minus forty two is "my eyes have just frozen open."
In his Divine Comedy, Dante described the frozen, desolate waste land reserved for the worst sinners and offenders in all of human history. He called that final level of Hell the "Judecca"... what he meant was Winnipeg.
I can see you're unimpressed
You know, I am a sucker for these things.
If someone did manage to penetrate my heart, wouldn't I die?
And slightly sarcastic. Sounds just like me.
I'm hot 'cause I AM hard to get? Oh dear. That's almost as comical as the whole sense-of-humour-is-the-most-attractive-thing-about-a-guy crap.
| Your Candy Heart Says "Get Real" |
 You're a bit of a cynic when it comes to love. You don't lose your head, and hardly anyone penetrates your heart. Your ideal Valentine's Day date: is all about the person you're seeing (with no mentions of v-day!) Your flirting style: honest and even slightly sarcastic What turns you off: romantic expectations and "greeting card" holidays Why you're hot: you don't just play hard to get - you are hard to get |
If someone did manage to penetrate my heart, wouldn't I die?
And slightly sarcastic. Sounds just like me.
I'm hot 'cause I AM hard to get? Oh dear. That's almost as comical as the whole sense-of-humour-is-the-most-attractive-thing-about-a-guy crap.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Wish I could slay your demons, but now that time has passed
All right, my feelings on the whole Valentine's sham are pretty much summed up in the previous post. If you really love someone you shouldn't need Hallmark dictating when to treat that person to something special. The only good thing about Valentine's Day? The romantic crap that gets dragged out every February to make us feel all warm and fuzzy about ourselves. Like I happened to flip past Much More Retro this morning while I was eating breakfast. They'd dedicated the day to, surprise surprise, love songs. And I was so blown away by the cheesiness that I almost dropped my cereal in my lap. Sure, MMR is cheesy by nature, but 80s love song videos are so wondrously crappy that they should be reveled in as pigs revel in poop.
Case in point, Chicago's "You're the Reason in My Life". The video, which I don't think I'd ever seen before, has what I assume to be Chicago sitting around a room playing the song. This is par for the course as far as 80s videos go (see the earlier post about this "band-plays-song" phenomena). There are four, count 'em four, keyboards going, which is amazing for the sheer over-kill of a bad, bad instrument. Like they're saying "You know this song sucks 'cause there's so much keyboard!" The drummer's doing this complicated high hat thing, but there's no high hat to be heard in the song just the painfully simple bass drum, snare drum, bass drum snare drum. And best of all, the lead singer's droning on about this special woman who's his "inspiration," but THERE'S NO BLOODY WOMAN AROUND. Just these coiffed losers in spandex and neon who may or may not know what they're doing.
Case in point, Chicago's "You're the Reason in My Life". The video, which I don't think I'd ever seen before, has what I assume to be Chicago sitting around a room playing the song. This is par for the course as far as 80s videos go (see the earlier post about this "band-plays-song" phenomena). There are four, count 'em four, keyboards going, which is amazing for the sheer over-kill of a bad, bad instrument. Like they're saying "You know this song sucks 'cause there's so much keyboard!" The drummer's doing this complicated high hat thing, but there's no high hat to be heard in the song just the painfully simple bass drum, snare drum, bass drum snare drum. And best of all, the lead singer's droning on about this special woman who's his "inspiration," but THERE'S NO BLOODY WOMAN AROUND. Just these coiffed losers in spandex and neon who may or may not know what they're doing.
Monday, February 13, 2006
Sunday, February 12, 2006
If my heart could beat it would break my chest
Having returned to Sunnydale after a long hiatus, it was great to get a chance to revisit one of the most inventive episodes in all of television history: the musical episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Now Joss Whedon has done other noteworthy "special" episodes (the silent Buffy, the puppet-Angel) but "Once More With Feeling" towers above those all both in terms of vision and storytelling.
This episode, the seventh in Season six, perfectly balances and utilizes the novelty of concept and the various storylines already in motion. It's not a one-off, like so many concept episodes of other shows: a dream sequence or the old "What if?" fantasy episode that ignores a show's continuity (Friends had one of these). Buffy is still depressed after being resurrected from a blissful, peaceful paradise by her friends; Willow's addiction to magic is straining her relationship with Tara; Giles is unsure of his role now that his slayer has returned from the dead. And Spike? Well, Spike broods.
The real strengths of this episode are how creator Joss Whedon both uses his universe to his advantage and uses/subverts conventions. Rather than having people sing and dance for no good reason (which is one of the reason I detest most musicals), Whedon offers an explanation -a musical demon named Sweet- and draws attention to the fact that this behaviour isn't normal, even in Sunnydale. There are references to the "fourth wall," implied audience and lines being filler which all function as meta-theatrical commentaries on the constructed (false) conventions of the musical genre. For example, one of the most moving moment of the whole show is the final group number, "Where Do We Go From Here?" The song is really a metaphysical search for an ending that doesn't come: we've done everything we're supposed to do, we've defeated the demon, but things aren't wrapping up nicely. Things are supposed to be resolved at the end of musicals, all the plots tied together nicely. But things don't wrap up nicely in this musical. Various characters have revealed secrets through their songs that will alter the group dynamic; some secrets are minor (Xander and Anya's prenuptial anxieties), some are major (Buffy's confession that she was in heaven). When the ending of the show comes, Whedon gives us the expected kiss and the expected orchestral swell, but this too is a false ending. The kiss doesn’t bring closure; it only invited more questions and more problems. This ending does not resolve plots, it only introduces new narratives. What will happen next? Where do we go from here?
I could tell you, but you should really watch for yourself.
Saturday, February 11, 2006
It’s lonely out in space
I've spent almost the whole day reading. There have been a few Buffy-breaks (Rachel and I have resumed our watching of the entire series after an almost six month hiatus) and a couple of trips across the street to check on and feed the cat; but for the most part, I've been couped up here, reading till my eyes have become the dry, stingy marbles that currently reside in my sockets. Stupid eyes.
I have a couple of movies that I got from the library that I need to watch this weekend. They're not "fun" movies, but school movies (to be read: "films I'm using in my PhD"). Not that they won't be fun to watch: I've loved all the films I've watched, and I don't think these two will be any different. One I've been trying to get my hands on for a very long time. Now that I have it in my hands, I'm a little nervous about watching it. Great expectations are hard to live up to. Maybe I'll get to them tomorrow evening. It's not like the Simpsons are worth watching these days.
I wish I had something even remotely interesting to say. But I don't.
I have a couple of movies that I got from the library that I need to watch this weekend. They're not "fun" movies, but school movies (to be read: "films I'm using in my PhD"). Not that they won't be fun to watch: I've loved all the films I've watched, and I don't think these two will be any different. One I've been trying to get my hands on for a very long time. Now that I have it in my hands, I'm a little nervous about watching it. Great expectations are hard to live up to. Maybe I'll get to them tomorrow evening. It's not like the Simpsons are worth watching these days.
I wish I had something even remotely interesting to say. But I don't.
Friday, February 10, 2006
I got values, but I don't know how or why
All right, down on your knees and pray, kiddies ‘cause Armageddon's on its way.
Pamela Anderson has recently confirmed that she'll be making a cameo in the new Baywatch movie....
Just let that sink in for a second.
Someone's actually putting up money to turn that decades old lingerie-catalogue of a show into a feature film? Something this bad surely is a sign, like a plague or boils, pointing to the end of the world.
I know David Hasselhoff was successful at sucking in his gut for the 42 minute run time of a show that ran ten years ago, but does anyone in Hollywood or anywhere else in the world honestly think that people will pay their hard earned money to see a fifty four year old Hasselhoff prance around the beach in a Speedo? Oh sure, the Germans will. But they also wear leather shorts.
Will Hollywood make any old crap these days - I thought the barrel bottom had been scraped clean after the Dukes of Hazard movie and the soon-to-be fast-tracked to video Gilligan's Island. Apparently I was wrong. Instead of having meetings with writers or optioning novels of substance, it seems that movie executives green light film versions of whatever they happen to catch on late night TBS.
How many levels of hell did Dante have in La Commedia? I think he forgot one. We're now at the bottom, past the liars and falsifiers of Level 8, past the traitors and betrayors of Level 9. A new level, Level 10 filled with the evil people who made "From Justin to Kelly," "The Flintstones," and "It's Pat: the Movie". Let's all just pray that there isn't an "A-Team" in the works.
Pamela Anderson has recently confirmed that she'll be making a cameo in the new Baywatch movie....
Just let that sink in for a second.
Someone's actually putting up money to turn that decades old lingerie-catalogue of a show into a feature film? Something this bad surely is a sign, like a plague or boils, pointing to the end of the world.
I know David Hasselhoff was successful at sucking in his gut for the 42 minute run time of a show that ran ten years ago, but does anyone in Hollywood or anywhere else in the world honestly think that people will pay their hard earned money to see a fifty four year old Hasselhoff prance around the beach in a Speedo? Oh sure, the Germans will. But they also wear leather shorts.
Will Hollywood make any old crap these days - I thought the barrel bottom had been scraped clean after the Dukes of Hazard movie and the soon-to-be fast-tracked to video Gilligan's Island. Apparently I was wrong. Instead of having meetings with writers or optioning novels of substance, it seems that movie executives green light film versions of whatever they happen to catch on late night TBS.
How many levels of hell did Dante have in La Commedia? I think he forgot one. We're now at the bottom, past the liars and falsifiers of Level 8, past the traitors and betrayors of Level 9. A new level, Level 10 filled with the evil people who made "From Justin to Kelly," "The Flintstones," and "It's Pat: the Movie". Let's all just pray that there isn't an "A-Team" in the works.
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