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

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

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

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

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

My neighbourhood...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All in all, a mildly productive long weekend.

Listening to: the Magnetic Fields alum, i.

A holiday by any other name

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

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

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

Slicing through life like a samurai sword

So the Fringe is on.

One of the great joys of living in Winnipeg (there are a few) is the annual Fringer Festival. Hundreds of performers descend upon the city for 10 days of plays. Rachel usually takes that time as her vacation and watches plays all day for ten days. I've never been so lucky. Being a grad student and sessional instructor means you have to work when you can. I try to take in as many plays as I can, but this year, with the pressures of studying for comps, I've only seen one. But what a one.

I always catch TJ Dawe's shows at the Fringe. He's both funny and witty (not the same thing); he's more an essayist or stoy teller than a playwright. Anyway, I'm very glad I went. It was about the time Dawe worked as a bartender in England. Having been in England recently, I could relate to a lot about what he said about the differences in words and meaning. There's something SO, SO wrong with asking people where the toilet is. You say washroom, and they stare at you like you have two heads. Freaky Brits.

So I'm cat sitting... not sitting on cats, mind you, but there was that rather close call last night. Our across the street neighbours are on vacation and asked if we could watch their two cats. Not being a cat person, having never even owned a pet larger then a small rat, I, of course, said: "sure glad to." Actually they're really good cats, not aloof and uninterested like so many I have encountered over the years. They follow me around the house, sit with me while I watch tv or read... maybe they're just making sure I don't steal anything. Who knows. But, I guess as long as I remember to feed them twice a day, everything will be good.

So I rented a bunch of movies this weekend. There's Million Dollar Baby, The Avaitor and The Sea Inside. They're all critically accliamed, they're all films I want to see, but for some reason I just can't make myself watch them. The running times don't help: MDB is 138 minutes and Avaitor is a typical Scorcese 3 hour epic. Apparently somewhere over the past few years I've developed ADD or something. 80-85 minute movies are more my cup of tea. Unfortunately that pretty much only leaves Woody Allen films to watch... and I refuse to watch The Curse of the Jade Scorpion on general principle. I suppose mindless flicking through the television might be in order then

Listening to: the gentle breeze outside.

It's been almost two weeks since I returned from Newfoundland and I realized that I have told you all my final flight story: the dread tale of the Toronto to Winnipeg leg of our trip. So, sit back, kiddies. Get a nice big mug of hot chocolate, wrap yourself in your favourite blanket and enjoy...

Right, so the flight starts off smoothly enough. No screaming kids, the planes not too full. Rachel and I had another person in our row, but right before take off a stewartess told the woman that there were empty rows at the front of the plane and that she could move once the seat belt sign went off. Great, I thought. Only, once the seat belt sign went off, she didn't move. She put her headphones on and started watching television! Huh? What's up with that? Row to yourself with lots of room to stretch out or crammed in with a couple of strangers?

Eventually, after being told again she could move by the stewartess, she moved. But now the fun was beginning. The flight was a little choppy. The captain had warned us that there would be turbulence along the way, but for the first hour and a bit there was nothing too bad. Once we were kind of close to Winnipeg though, things were much worse. You see, boys and girls, Winnipeg was in the middle of a huge thunderstorm. We circled the city a few times, with our cloud-eye view of the lightening. Then the captain informs us that the plane's being diverted to Kenora Ontario to wait out the storm and to re-fuel. What's in Kenroa, you ask? Big, fat nothing! I'm surprised there was a run-way big enough to accomodate our plane. So we land, they turn the televisions back on and everything's quiet for 25-30 minutes. I look out and see the fuel truck filling up the plane. Oh good, I thought, we'll soon be on our way.

"This is your captain agin, folks. We have our new flight plan from Westjet, but it seems that the fuel truck has, well, run out of fuel. It'll be just a few more minutes here in Kenora." I'm sorry, what? The fuel truck ran out of fuel? The FUEL TRUCK?! Where does a fuel truck have to go to refuel? Where ever it went, it toook about 20 more minutes. By this time it's 10:30 or so at night. I'm tired and getting grumpy and a little hungry.

We finally take off and it's about 20 minutes to Winnipeg. And those twenty minutes felt like an hour. I have NEVER felt turbulance like that. The plane didn't shake up and down, like planes do in the movies; this plane was kind of sliding, one wing moving in front of the other. Stomach in my throat, I gripped the armrest of my seat and closed my eyes.

When we finally landed, the captain camer back on the PA to inform us that we'd be taxi-ing to the gate but, because of the storm, our bags might not be unloaded. Great. People are groaning audibly now.

When we finally deplane, a long line forms in front of the sliding glass door leading into the airport. Seems the airports closed. After a Westjet employee runs back from the plane with the keys, we can finally enter the Winnipeg airport... to the sound of the baggage carousel starting up, and our bags arriving.

After waiting 20 minutes in the pouring rain for a cab we get home by 1:00am... to a flooded bedroom. Seems someone turned our airconditioner on and it leaked all over the floor.

And now a Monday Mission...

1. Do you wear glasses/contact lenses?

No, I don't. Both my parents do and I read a LOT: I figured that glasses were inevietable. Go figure.

2. Did you ever have to wear braces? How are your teeth? (any cavities, any pulled teeth, root canals, etc.)

Groan. Yes I had braces... cut the crap out of the inside of my lip. Have also had more than my fair share of dental procedures: cavities (though none in a while), pulled teeth (four, thank you very much), wisdom teeth out, a rather painful root canal and, most recently, gun grafting. I don't get it. I brush, I floss (not as regularly as I should mind you, but still), I don't eat a lot of junk food. So what's the deal-io?

3. What (if any) recent movies have moved you emotionally? Which one and how so?

To be honest, Batman Begins moved me. That might sounds weird, but I was a huge Batman fan growing up, but everytime they tried to transfer the comic hero to television or film, it sucked. I'm in a minority here, I know, but I didn't care for Burton's Batman. It was dark, sure, but it was also very convulated and silly. Nolan's film was gritty and real. Seeing something I had been waiting for for so long moved me. Not to tears or anything; I'm not a sissy-boy.

4. Would you rather live the remainder of your golden years in a rest home, or pass away before it came to that?

I don't know. The thought of being totally taken care of appeals to me, but would I really be lucid enough to enjoy it?

5. What natural creation or phenomenon just flat-out leaves you with a sense of wonder?

Thunderstorms, hurricanes, tidal waves. Anything where Nature shows her dominace over us.

6. Have you ever been in a fist fight or a situation where you had to get physically violent with someone else? How did that come about? Any consequences?

Despite my recent airport desire to punch a whole lot of people in thier big, fat heads, I have only been in one fist fight in my life. Apparently I don't do the whole thing particularly well.

So there was this gi-normous thunderstorm here in Winnipeg Saturday night: trees toppled, basements flooded, powerlines downed, young girls carried off to magic lands. I watched it for a while. It was really beautiful, the lightening streaking the sky; almost quaint. Of course the next day, seeing the damage left behind was something else. Luckily this time our car was damaged, though a large branch fell from the tree in front of our house (hitting our neighbour's van). I got to thinking about how safe we think we are, yet Nature can, at any time, step in and kick the living crap out of us.

Got to play drums last night for a friend. Got to play more "fun" songs than I'm used to. It was a blast. Admittedly, there were times I got carried away with myself and sort of lost the beat , but que sera sera; I found it quickly enough.

Listening to: John Coltrane's "My Favourite Things"

There's no place I can be, since I found serenity

It all started with Angel.

Rachel bought season 5; I was curious/bored/whatver and watched it. Intriqued by a quirky little drama about a vampire and his demon-slaying sidekicks, I agreed to start the series over, watching from season one... but, I insisted, no Buffy. Silly me.

After about a million questions about some of the Buffy-related history of the Angel characters, I, head hung down in shame, relented: I will watch Buffy. And, know what? I like it! Shhhh, don't tell anyone.

This week we took a break from our favourite vampire slayer to watch yet another Joss Whedon show: Firefly. Learning a little bit from the past, I did not fight watching this show.

Firefly is some seriously good television, people. It's sci-fi, and I know that's not everytone's cup of tea, but this is sci-fi at it's best: no silly aliens, no techno-jargon, just solid story telling and strong, interesting characters. It's a shame that crap like Home Improvement or Everybody Loves Raymond can run for millenia, but a smart, thoughtful show like Firefly gets cancelled before a full season is up. Come on; even Joanie Loves Chaci got a season! Althoug there are many loose ends left by the show's urupt cancellation, fear not: there's a movie (rumoured to be the first of three) coming out this fall.

Listening to: the soft hum of the fan and 'Round About Midnight by the Miles Davis Quintet. There are few things in the world better than a Miles Davis solo.

All right, I'm back from an amazing vacation in St John's, Newfoundland. Seriously, one of the friendliest places on earth. Saw some whales, ate some fish and chips, and walked roughly thirty seven hundred miles. As awesome as the trip was, I came to realize soemthing about flying: I am the absolutely worst version of myself when I fly. All the stupid little things people do that I can usually shrug off drive me MENTAL when I'm strapped into a cramped, leatherette chair at 30'000 feet. If I'm ever going to commit murder, I'll be doing on the plane. Example: on the way back to Toronto we had a stop over in Moncton. This family (mom, dad and two kids) get on. The mom and the kids sit on one side of the plane, the dad sits a few rows up and on the opposite side of the plane (and directly behind me). They talked back and forth to each other the WHOLE way. Apparently the dad thought the flight needed uninformed play-by-play commentating (maybe it was the lack of inflight movie or even radio?): "Hey I think that's the St Laurence... Yeah, I think that's it. St. Laurence, maybe?" Golly, THAT was far more entertaining than the book I was trying to read. Cretin.

I loved getting to go swimming with god-daughter, Delphine. If flying turns me into the dread bastard-Mike, few things make me more benevolent and happy Mike than Del. The idea of swimming was just so exciting to her. Even though it was a little cool and her little lip was shivering, she couldn't contain her excitement at being in the water!

One of the best things we did in St. John's was the Haunted Hike. If any of you are heading to the Rock, I strongly suggest you go along for this merry, morbid and macabre tour.

I'll post more about my trip in the days to come. Til then:

Listening to: Milestones, Miles Davis.

Well, my movie's been viewed an astonishing 24 times - astonishing in that I can't imagine that I know 24 people who might come here to visit and read my ramblings. I'll just believe that a number of those viewings are repeats... but then again, even that's somewhat hard to believe.

I finally saw Batman Begins today... jaw droppingly good. I've been running hot/cold when it comes to comic book movies. For every Batman Begins, there's a Fantastic Four slouching towards Bethlehem. When done correctly, comic-films play into our natural desire for heroes - heroes who are both us and more than us.

Unlike a lot of people I know, I wasn't a huge fan of the two Tim Burton Batman films (though they were Citizen freakin' Kane compared to the rest of that series). You see, I've been a fan of Batman for as long as I can remember reading comic books. I loved the idea of the lone (or almost lone if you count Robin) figure fighting for justice in a corrupt world. But more then that, Batman is a beautiful contrast to the comic book heroes whose enemies were defeated through superhuman strength or speed; Batman, though strong and trained in various fighting styles, is a normal man. He is a detective, who uses all his mind and strength to beat his nemeses. Burton's vision was too cartoony for my tastes; dark cartoony to be sure, but cartoony nevertheless. It missed the believability so crucial to Batman's world.

Christopher Nolan's vision of Gotham (and the whole story of Batman) is far more realistic - the Wayne business, the famous toys are explained (someone has to make these things for Batman) and, most interesting for me, the psychology of the characters. Sure it's melodramatic, but, with its firm grounding in realism, it's melodrama in the very best sense of the word: sensational drama with heightened emotions. In an interview with Cinescope, my PhD advisor and brilliant screenwriter, George Toles, commented that in order to make films with fantastic subjects, the writer/director must ground that subject in the mundane and every day. So, the incredible Technicolor land of Oz in The Wizard of Oz needs to be grounded in the dull, sepia cornfields of Kansas. Nolan's Gotham is perfectly grounded.

Listening to: Miles Davis' "Kind of Blue... 'cause it's a kind of blue sort of day.

It's a reasonable 20 degrees today. No sweat... literally. The neighbourhood's a buzz with activity. People out mowing their yards, planting things in their gardens. And I'm inside, watching it all from the window.

Leaving for Newfoundland in a few days. Still have to pack and all that goodness, but I'm not worried. It'll be nice to get away for a week. First part of the trip will be occupied with Rachel's friend's wedding, but after that we can do whatever.

Looks like I'll finally be getting to Batman Begins tomorrow, so that's a good thing.


Listening to: "Black Stacey" by Saul Williams.

It's a like million degrees here in the Peg and uber-humid... gotta love the thin layer of sweat that NEVER GOES AWAY!

Shamefully stolen from my friend Jaimie at http://www.livejournal.com/~ardently/
01. Reply with your name and I will write something I like about you.
02. I will then tell what song/movie/icon reminds me of you.
03. If I were to apply an o'clock to you, I'll tell you what it would be.
04. I will try to name a single word that best describes you.
05. I'll tell you the most memorable moment I've had with you.
06. I will tell you what animal you remind me of.
07. I'll then tell you something that I've always wondered about you.

So, today was the first nice, summer-like Saturday here in Manitoba. We're talkin' sunshine and lollipops and a solid forty mile-an-hour wind. All through the neighbourhood were signs of the beginning of summer; well, actually there were signs for garage sales, but in this part of Winnipeg they’re pretty much the same signs. It was incredible; probably a dozen such sales in a 10 block radius of my house. Everyone trying to sell off the crap they inexplicably purchased at garage sales last years. Why are we so convinced that 3 legged tables and coffee mugs that boast "World's Best Fishermen" are "bargains" at any price? Sure, that waffle iron sans cord was only 35 cents, but surely that change could have been better spent elsewhere?

Of course, the only reason to go to a Garage Sale (IMHO) is the scour the used books. Mostly, you'll be seeing 30 year old Harlequin Romances, with titles like "Rogue's Reunion" and "Blind Passion" or pot boiler suspense novels by authors you've never heard of. But every one and a while you'll come across something wondrous. You just have sort through arm-fulls of Joyce's Dilemmas and Canary Affairs to find it.

Listening to: Let Me Get What I Want - the Smiths.