And the anchorperson on TV goes "La dee da"

It should be so easy to write George Clooney off. There were the endless sitcom appearances ("Roseanne," "Facts of Life"); there were terrible movies before he became famous (Return of the Killer Tomatoes) and after (Batman and Robin).

The guy should be a punchline.... but he's not. He's cool, self-deprecating and very astute.

While Confessions of a Dangerous Mind was a great first film, Clooney's follow up, Good Night and Good Luck, is a true work of art, and is deserving of every accolade. It's political in the best sense of the word - not pretentious or preachy- examining the war of words between the bullying Sen. Joe McCarthy and Edward R. Murrow. In an age where television news reporters have become noteworthy for the kinds of threatening and deceitful tactics employed by McCarthy in his Communist witch hunt, this film has special significance. In an era when politicians are engaging in a similar witch hunt in the name of National Security, this film challenges all people to examine critically such methods.

For all it's style and intelligence, the film really hangs on two key castings: David Strathairn as Edward R. Murrow and Joe McCarthy. Clooney's decision to use actual footage of McCarthy is inspired, giving the audience some sense of this man's presence and style. Like Murrow and his team's decision to use footage of McCarthy in their initial piece, Clooney lets the junior Senator from Wisconsin, with all his venom and hatred, speak for himself. Strathairn has a long and impressive body of work behind him, but this turn as Murrow might be his finest work.

Well, the semester is steaming rolling to an end. I have about 40 or so papers left to grade before next week, and then 45 exams that are being written next week. Spent the afternoon grading... grading and procrastinating.

With all the marking (and a few other things that I can't get into just yet), I haven't had much time to post here. If I'm honest, Facebook has quickly abosrbed a lot of my internet time. Reconnecting with people from the very distnat past has been surreal, to say the least. People I went to grade school with have suddenly popped back into my life.

I mentioned my Facebook obsession in class recently and that evening half the class had requested to be my friend. I'm waiting until the end of semester to add them. Today I got a request from some guy I don't even know. He's the friend of one guy I know. Why would he want to be my friend? Why would I want to be his?

I went to the public library to return some books. I recently discovered that I can get from Portage Place mall all the way to the library without going outside! It takes about 20 minutes, and it's a relatively nice walk. After dropping off the books I had, I picked up the next volume of A Dance to the Music of Time (which has novels 4, 5, 6, 7 of a 12 novel narrative and Neil Gaiman's Fragile Things, which only came out a month or so ago. I was going to request it but figured it wouldn't be available for a while, and there it was on the shelves! I read the first short story, "A Study in Emerald," which is described as Sherlock Holmes meets Lovecraft. I think it's the most inventive and original non-Doyle Holmes story I have ever read. Brilliant.

It's a lovely day

Stupid computer clock!

For some reason my computer clock at work has re-adjusted from the time change. I've been thinking that it's a hour later than it actually is. I thought I was getting close to home time. I was terribly wrong.

If love is a red dress, well, hang me in rags

What does Easter mean to me? Chocolate bunnies and violent movies. I spent this Easter afternoon in my local multi-plex theatre watching Grindhouse and I was NOT disappointed.

My friend Chris over at Wrap me up and Call Me Jesus recently wrote about seeing this film, saying that the trailer for Rob Zombie's "Werewolf Women of the SS" was a bit of a let down. As a "fan" of the Ilsa flicks, I was expecting something really outstanding from this trailer. The bizarre Nazi women subgenre has plenty of fodder for a 45 second spot. What I got was good - due mostly to the cameos. Personally, I thought the "Thanksgiving" trailer was pretty amazing, and my personal favourite.

Although Planet Terror and Death Proof are quite different in tone, they compliment each other really well. The over-the-top gore of Rodriquez's installment (which works like a Carpenter/Romero film) didn't diminish the impact of QT's more white-knuckled installment. I don't think I cringed as much at any point as I did with some of the stunt driving in Death Proof

Even if you're not a fan of the violence, there is so much going on in Grindhouse that it's hard not to like it. The trailers and the terrible retro animation harken back to a time when movie going was a more visceral and carnal experience.

They call me William the pleaser

I would be remiss if I did not offer my congratulations to my dear friend Jaimie and her husband who have just announced that they are expecting their first child.

After I handed the final manuscript into the Grad Studies my brain just shut off. It's only now getting back up to speed. This what I have spent the past 6 years thinking, living and breathing. Frankly I'm a little surprised that the world didn't just end when the defense was over.

Again, I want to thank everyone (even strangers) for the words of congratulation. I really, really appreciate them. People have send me emails, phone calls, blog comments, posted signs on my door at work (thanks Linda), taken me out for lunch, offered hearty handshakes, promised to toast me with chocolate milk, planned cake, my class today even applauded.... It's all pretty surreal.

And now that that's taken care of, I can resume my blogging. Except that I don't have a sweet clue what to talk about anymore.

Pretty gross about Keith Richards snorting his father's ashes. I mean, who snorts a loved one? It's disgusting. Snorting Keith Richards's ashes, on the other hand, would likely be quite the buzz.

Me, Doctor?

The defense is over.

I've passed.

Woooo.

She blew my nose and then she blew my mind

D-day: Monday April 2nd, 9:30 am.

Now I'll never see heaven or home

It's 12:31 am and I just can't sleep. So here's a ton of useless information that no one will want to read:

Name: Mike
Brothers: 0
Sisters: 1
Eye color: Brown or hazel I suppose
Shoe size: 9
Height: 5'11"
What are you wearing right now?: track pants and a t-shirt
Where do you live? Winnipeg
Best place to go for a date: Beats me.
Favorites....
Number: 1 - it's the loneliest number
Boys Name: Don't have one
Girls Name: Any name I give here could be misinterpreted.
Drink: coffee, Diet Coke/Pepsi, and I'd never say no to a good stout or Brown ale
Month: May
Breakfast: coffee... sometimes food
Have You Ever...
Smoked: yes
Bungee jumped: so
Made yourself throw-up: Probably to fake sick. Nothing says "stay home" like barf
Gone skinny dipping: Yes
Loved someone so much it made you cry: All the time
Broken a bone: Maybe my pinky. I'm not sure
Played Truth or Dare: Yes, it was stupid.
Been in a police car: Should I have been?
Been on a plane: Yes
Came close to dying: Possibly
Been in a sauna: Yes
Been in a hot tub: Yes
Swam in the ocean: Yes, it was cold.
Fallen asleep in school: No. I'm afraid to sleep in public
Broken someone's heart: Stranger things have happened
Cried when someone died: Yep.
Cried in school: Maybe when I was really young.
Fell off your chair: Not lately.
Sat by the phone all night waiting for someone to call: Nope
Saved a IM conversation: No
Saved e-mails: Yes. I save a lot of emails. Why not?
Made out with just a friend: MMmm, yes.
Been cheated on: I think so.
What's your room like: Bedroom? Well it has a bed and videotapes.
What is beside you: A chair.
What is the last thing you ate: Gunn's Bagel
What kind of shampoo do you use: The kind in the shower.
Do You...
Believe in love at first sight: Oh, hell no.
Like picnics: they're all right.
Like school: Most of the time
Questions:
Who was the last person you called: My mom... she wasn't home.
Who was the last person you emailed: The Grad studies lady
Who was the last person you danced with: Rachel
Who makes you smile most: Lots of people make me smile.
Who...
Did you last yell at: I dunno.
Did you last go to a fair with: No one. I've never been to a fair.
Did you last sing a song with: Like as a duet? Dougie and I at a coffeehouse at WLU
Do you like filling these out?: Far too much.
Do you wear contact lenses or glasses: No
Do you like yourself: I have my moments.
Do you get along with your family: I suppose.
Final Questions:
What are you listening to right now: Tom Waits's Orphans: Brawlers, Bawlers and Bastards disc 1; I also have the opera Siegfried on the go.
What did you do yesterday? Taught a class at 4... but no one had read the book
Where do you want to get married: If I have to get married again, Vegas
Good driver: Sure, why not?
Good singer: I don't know.
Diamond or pearl: I couldn't care less
Are you the oldest?: The oldest what?
Indoor or outdoor: indoor
Today did you...
Talk to someone you liked: Yes.
Buy something: Not a thing
Get sick: No
Sing: No
Talk to an ex: No
Miss someone: Yes
Last person who....
Was in your bed?: Me
Saw you cry: I'm crying now
You went to the movies with: Rachel
You went to the mall with: I have no idea.
Have you...
Been to California: No
Been to Mexico: No
Beeen to Africa: No
Random.....
Do you have a crush on someone: Probably
What books are you reading now: Name of the Rose, Possession, Dance to the music of Time
What's under your bed: Monsters
Favourite movie to watch: Casablanca
Piercing/Tattoos: 0/0
What are you most scared of right now: Cheryl
Do you have a job?: I have many.
Have you ever liked someone you didn't have a chance with?: Of course.
Has someone liked you, but didn't have a chance? if they did I didn't know about it
Have you ever played strip poker: Maybe
Random (or not so random)
Your Favorite Food: Spaghetti
Have you ever cried for no reason?: No
Are you too shy to ask someone out?: Yes
Popcorn?: Sure, thanks.
Favourite Flower?: Plastic
Have you ever fired a gun?: Yes
Do you like to travel by plane as opposed to car?: Depends on the distance.
How many pillows do you sleep with?: at least 2

I've fallen from grace for Lucinda

I'm going away this weekend. Actually, I leave tonight - right after class - so it's really more than a weekend. I need the break. I've brought my readers' reports with me so that I can process what my examiners will likely ask me in the oral defense.

Stayed late in Otterburne last night to catch the Providence full-length production, The Miracle Worker. Must say, I was quite impressed. And it was nice to have company on the long, dark drive home. Stupid night-time.

P.S. Tom Waits' Orphans: Brawlers, Bawlers and Bastards is a phenomenal, epic work.

Now it's a peaceful oasis

Not much time to post, but I thought I'd let you all know that I've finally heard back from Grad Studies. My dissertation has been accepted to procede to the oral defense. The date is still being worked out, but it will be soon (everything needs to be in by April 4). While there may still be revisions required, it's almost over!

In the cold, cold night

Today has the potential to be an absolutely crap day.

I realize that most of my days have that potential, but there are a couple of factors that could increase the crap-odds. First of all, it's bloody cold outside. After some moderate, even enjoyably warm days, Winter-peg has entered what I can only assume is a new Ice Age. All the snow that had melted on the weekend has re-frozen and it's a virtual skating rink out there today. I fully expected to see a Zamboni on the road as I made my way to work.

Went to see Music and Lyrics yesterday. We had free passes and it was the only thing we could agree on. About the best thing I can say about it is, if you grew up in the 80s, the film gets 80s music videos spot on. The films opens with such a music video and it's brillant: white jeans, bad hair and inexplicitly bizarra dance moves. Hugh Grant and Drew Barrymore have reasonably good chemistry and are both fine in their respective roles, but the plot is largely paint-by-numbers.

But if you fall you fall alone

It was 2:20 in the morning. I was lying in bed looking at my clock, knowing that I had to get up in a few short hours...

I was total and complete toast today. Seriously. I have no idea if anything I said in class any made sense. I kept talking and talking. I'm pretty sure what I said was all in English, but I might have slipped into utter gibberish at times, who knows?

At the break a student came to talk to me and I just couldn't function at all. I was distracted by my notes, the computer, an odd stain on the desk. I kept trying to end the conversation, but couldn't. When she finally left, I went to the faculty lounge and sat in a big comfy chair.

I met a girl down at the disco

Went to show last night. We almost never go to shows anymore, especially on a week night. Oh, the tolls of age. But this was a special occasion: our friend's band, The Marquis, was playing. They're really really good, sort of country-folk-rock (think Neil Young, Blue Rodeo). They play a combination of originals and covers - their banjo-infused version of The Black Eye Peas' "My Humps" must be heard to be believed.

Okay, question time for everyone (that includes lurkers!!!)

You've just found a magic mirror that knows all and will answer one question with complete honesty.

What do you ask it?

Found poem... on my door

Mike,
You smell,
I can smell
you from
here. Hee hee.
Well, I came
by to see you
and you
weren't here.
Boooo! Have
a nice day
anyway.
Roz

Now I'm not dumb, but I can't understand...

I stood next to the WORST transvestite EVER on the bus this afternoon. Now, if you're a dude and you want to dress up in women's clothing, by all means be my guest. But this guy wasn't even trying. His cheap wig was all crooked; one of his clip-on earrings was clipped really high on his lobe, the other almost off his lobe; and his lipstick looked like it had been applied by a drunken baboon. Show a little pride in your work, Ma'm.

I can't get used to this lifestyle

I wish, wish, wish that I had something interesting to write today. The truth is it was a painfully dull weekend. The only real highlight was making my friend Roz say bad words while we were playing Connect 4. That was pretty awesome.

Other than that, it was just a couple of DVDs (Flowers of St Francis and some episodes of "Freaks and Geeks"), some reading (finished the hilarious Ascent of Rum Doodle) and not much else. Now that I'm finished Rum Doodle, I'm going to start on A Question of Upbringing, the first novel in Anthony Powell's 12 novel cycle, Dance to the Music of Life. I read the first few pages this afternoon and it seems like it'll be an interesting read. It begins with the narrator reflecting on the past and memory, much like Marcel Proust begins Memories of Things Past. Powell was considered the greatest writer by several writers I think are pretty great (Evelyn Waugh for example).

EDIT:
I can't tell if my throbbing headache is from too much caffeine or not enough. Whatever the cause of this head splitting pain, the effect has been detrimental to my work this afternoon. All I want to do is shut off the florescent lights and place my head on my desk, like I was a child in school again. Regardless of this discomfort, the day's almost over. I suppose I can last a few minutes more.

Look at the stars, see how they shine for you

Blah, I went into Booth today. Originally, I had two meetings scheduled for today, but both were cancelled late last night. Unfortunately, when I left here yesterday, I didn't bring everything home with me (marking, a novel, some other stuff) so I kind of had to come in anyway.
I know I shouldn't have - should have stayed home, cleaned the house and watched the DVD of silent Lon Chaney movies I just rented - but in I came.

And since I've been here, I've had no less than 4 people say, "What are you doing here?" Clearly that's a sign I should have stayed home.

EDIT*
On the plus side, the cafeteria had poutine for lunch. That made it all worthwhile, folks. Mmmm, gravy and cheese.

Friday Ipod Random Ten
1) King of Pain: The Police
2) At Seventeen: Janis Ian - personally, I learned these truths at 12
3) Tango Til They're Sore: Tom Waits
4) Teardrop: Massive Attack
5) Place to Be: Nick Drake
6) It'll All Work Out: Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers Better off with him than here with me
7) Smells Like Teen Spirit: Nirvana
8) Waterloo Sunset: The Kinks
9)Don't You Forget about Me: Simple Minds
10)Baba O'Reilly: The Who It's only a teenaged wasteland

For it was I who chose to start

All right, hilarious class story:

So, today we were looking at one of my favourite plays, Oscar Wilde's The Importance of Being Earnest. I ask for volunteers to read a passage out loud, something from the first act. Two ladies volunteer even though one of the parts is male. I say, whatever, no big deal.

Anyway, when they finished, I made whatever point I was trying to make and moved on to another scene, Gwendolen and Cecily's first encounter. I asked for two more volunteers to read and this guy in the front row puts up his hand. Now this guy is a really good student, a little quiet, but really bright. I smiled and told him to go for it. Well, he started. He affected this very board upper-class British accent and his voice went up about three octaves. And he kept it up for the whole scene. It was hysterical. Everyone was laughing. When they finished, I had to applaud.

"That was fantastic," I said.

He smiled and said rather matter-of-factly, "You should hear my Lady Bracknell."

I immediately found a long section with Lady Bracknell in it for him to read.

The neighbours complain about the noises above

Who was accepted to give a paper at the annual meeting of the Film Studies Association of Canada's annual meeting?

Um, that would be me.

The spirits we drank are now ghosts in the room

Yeah, it's Oscar Night. Now, personally I don't care one way or the other about a bunch of plastic, Hollywood phonies giving awards to other plastic, Hollywood phonies, but my wife loves it. She's commendered the television and is happily watching.

That means I have little to do but add another entry.

Actually, that's not true. I have marking. Lots of marking. I have that novel I mentioned I was going to start working on. Haven't really written a word of it yet, though I've panned quite a bit of it. Still, this seems somehow more pressing and attainable. Can't finish the marking this evening, can't write a novel in a night, but I can write an entry.

I cut my forehead this afternoon - just a stupid accident but it bleed for hours. I tried to stop the bleeding the way my father used to stop the bleeding from shaving nicks: toilet paper. Unfortunately when Rachel saw me with a little bit of toilet paper stuck to my forehead ("the blood holds it on" ) she burst out laughing. Hard to expect sympathy that is offered through poorly suppressed giggles.

Apparently some people are incapable of clicking the "My First Film" link on the sidebar (or perhaps are unable to read the sidebar - which is it, Roz?), so I have decided to post it here.


A little history on this piece of cinematic mediocrity: I shot this one afternoon a few years ago. I did everything expect the song. That was done by Jeremy Penner and his band... whose name I forget. As two of his sisters are regular contributors I'm sure they'll chime in with the name. After figuring out all the shots (about 20 minutes), it took 2 hours to film.

Oh, and my head is no longer shaved.

Here comes the story of the Hurricane

All right: another random 10 songs from my iPod.

1) Laid - James My therapist said not to see you no more.
2) Quick One While He's Away (live) - The Who Cello, cello, cello, cello!
3) Stars Fell on Alabama - Ella and Louis
4) Head On - The Jesus and Mary Chain And the way I feel tonight, I could die I won't mind
5) Donna and Blizten - Badly Drawn Boy
6) The Soldiering Life - The Decemberists
7) Sara - Bob Dylan
8) 50 Ways to Leave your Lover - Paul Simon The problem is all inside your head, she said to me
9) The Immigrant Song - Led Zeppelin I come from the land of the ice and snow
10) Dark End of the Street - Flying Burrito Brothers

I took the Wagner off to make room for The Who, some Beatles and a pile of Bob Dylan for class Tuesday and Thursday. Wagner may return, but right now Ella and Louis have caught my fancy, as they should.

Ah, look at all the lonely people

I think today was the worse drive home ever. Once I got close the city the conditions were okay, at least manageable, but most of drive was white-out/near white out conditions. It was a day when I truly wished I'd had someone else in the car with me. Somehow things don't see as crappy when there's someone to keep you company. For some reason, the soothing pessimism of Badly Drawn Boy didn't do much for me.

Come to think of it, the whole day was kind of crappy. Not sure what was up, but people seemed busy. No one showed up for lunch so I ate alone. Oh well, it's not like I think they were purposely avoiding me ... at least I didn't until I typed that!

I taught some Victorian poetry today - Elizabeth Barrett Browing, Robert Browing and Tennyson. While I thought I had lots to say about the Brownings, that portion of the class felt awkward and disjointed. I'm pretty sure a number of them studied "My Last Duchess" last semester, yet it was hard to get the conversation going: "Okay, yes, he is a crazy and controlling Duke who killed his wife. And how do we know that?" The Tennyson ("The Lady of Shallot") went much better. I started with explaining the Victorian interest in medieval stories. I even had some of Julia Margaret Cameron incredible 1875 photographs of Tennyson's Idylls of the King, like this one, "Passing of Arthur."

I was surprised how few knew who Lancelot was. Wasn't he in that crappy King Arthur film from a few years ago for cryin' out loud? Speaking of "out loud," students even read "The Lady of Shalott" out loud without me having to "Buller? Buller?" it. Getting them to read is usually like pulling teeth, despite being the easiest form of participation known to humanity.

You better hope and pray that you wake one day in your world

Rebs' impending paper on The Tragedy of Richard the Third reminds me of a confession that I have yet to make here. It's a little embarassing, but then what good confession isn't a least somewhat embarassing. I wasn't sure if I'd ever broach this subject, but *deep breath* here it goes:

I look like an awful lot like Shakespeare.

You're not convinced? I don't blame you. Let me show you.

This is the portrait of Shakespeare, unquestionably the most widely known of the Bard, originally appeared on the cover page of the printed First Folio (1623) the first collected edition of his plays. Shakespeare died in 1616, so this portrait comes from several years after his death.

I do not look like this, and I don't think anyone should.

However ...

this is a much more recently uncovered portrait, believed to be of a young William Shakespeare. It was painted in 1603, during Shakepeare's lifetime. Many scholars over the past decade or so have argued for the authencity of this portrait as opposed to the more famous First Folio portrait.

This looks quite a bit like me. School children and students have commented on this fact.

Now, if I could only write 3 hit plays a year for the next ten or so years, I'd really be set. And unfortunately this does nothing for Rebs.

It doesn't mean you mean that much to me

So, Reading Weeke the Firste is almost over. I've spent a good chunk of time reading - which I consider to be of the utmost irony, as I never used Reading for its intended purpose when I was student. Perhaps this means I'm growing as a person.

I went to the library the other day to pick up two Stephen Fry books or, rather, what I thought were new Stephen Fry books. One, The Ode Not Taken: Unlocking the Poet Within, is definitely new, and has turned out to be an excellent and accessible guide to verse and metre, which, any teacher of English literature will tell you, is important to understanding poetry, but difficult to teach. I'm considering adding it to future syllabi, either as a required or as an optional text. It has lots of exercises if I was ever so inclined to pick up a pen and write some poetry again.

The other book, a novel, I had not heard of. It's called Revenge. It wasn't until I got it home that I discovered that I own the novel under it's original title, The Stars' Tennis Balls. It seems the Webster quotation was deemed too archaic for American readers and the less impressive title Revenge was substituted. When I discovered this, I was very disappointed. I had planned to read this apparently-new Stephen Fry novel and was rather looking forward it. Thwarted by dumbed down American titles, I turned instead to other classics, Virgil's Aeneid and Sir Thomas Mallory's Book of Sir Launcelot and Queen Guinevere. I've been toying with the idea of resuming my long neglected novel and have thought about using a little Morte d'Arthur as a running motif.

I've also watched the first series of "Touching Evil," an excellent British cop/mystery show. It stars my imaginary girlfriend from "Spooks," Nicola Walker. She's absolutely brilliant, portraying a character who is much harder edged and more authoritative than darling Ruth.

And finally, following the example of wise friend, Chris, over at "Wrap me up and Call me Jesus", here's ten random songs from my Ipod:

1) Decemberists: Crane Wife 3
2) Gorillaz: Clint Eastwood
3) Joni Mitchell: Both Sides Now (orchestral version)
4) Die Walkkure Act 2 sc 1
5) Johnny Cash: Hurt
6) Das Rheingold: Auf, Loge! Hnab mit dir:
7) Talking Heads: (Nothing but) Flowers
8) Bob Marley: Get up, Stand up!
9) Nirvana: Heart-shaped Box
10) John Cale: Hallelujah

put a little sunshine in your life ...

I'm giving you my heart for Valentine's day.

This is where the love lives.

We'd hit the bottom, I thought it was my fault

Rachel and I went to hear Guy Gavriel Kay read last night at McNally Robinson. The reading started at 7:30, so we decided to go early and have dinner before hand. It turned out to be a good choice: the place was packed. We had a table right up front (I could have thrown things and hit Mr Kay if I was so inclined), which turned out to be a very good thing as I spotted my friend Kara in the balcony and were able to invite her to sit with us. (Hi, Kara, if you're lurking).

The crowd was pretty eclectic, more so then I was expecting, but shocking regular. I guess I had thought there'd be a few males wrapped in cloaks and sporting impressive armbands. No one weilded a sword or swore an oath of fidelity to Mr. Kay in Old Finnish. We all sat quietly and listened to him read, politely applauding when he was finished. And while I've sure there were a few people there who could have asked me to "pass the salt" in Elvish, most seemed like normal, decent folk.

I don't even notice that she's gone

Today had the distinct possibility of developing into a utterly wasted day. I had little desire to do much anything, and so spent a good deal of the morning just filling time. Spent an half an hour or so doing internet research (by which, of course, I mean: reading friends' blogs and answering emails), half an hour or so reading, forty minutes or so watching obnoxious chatshows on telelvision. I suspect that if we still had a hundred or so channels I would have wasted the whole day away. Forty minutes is about all I could stand of the bare-bones basic cable chat shows, so I decided to clean the house instead. It was, obviosuly, what I should have done all along, but the idea of cleaning only seemed feasible when the boredom of television set in.

Yeah, I saw the news happens every day

Last night, while watching "Bones," I got an unexpected treat: Stephen Fry made an appearance on American television. Ever since Hugh Laurie's success on "House," I've been hoping that his regular comedy partner, Mr. Fry, would make an appearance on some mainstream American program. Fry and Laurie were great in everything they were paired in: "Blackadder," "Jeeves and Wooster," "A Bit of Fry and Laurie," even Peter's Friends.

Not only is Fry a wonderfully witty actor and talented comedian, he is a best selling author. I own every one of his books.

I was really hoping that when Stephen Fry finally decided to grace American TV with his presence it would be on "House" as a foil for his old friend, Hugh Laurie. But I was more than pleased with his appearance as a psychiatrist on "Bones."

It's tearing apart my blue, blue heart

Right. So I didn't have to wear a name tag today. I did sort of dress up, though - no tie, but fancy pants and black button down shirt. Not that anyone noticed. I suppose if I want people to comment on my clothes, I'll have to wear ties. And, since I don't want to wear ties, I'll have to be content to slip under the sartorial radar.

Today was a good day. Wednesdays typically are - good compay and really long coffee breaks. This might sound odd, but I really look forward to Wednesdays, despite the long, boring drive. Even class was pretty good today. I still think there are too many people (and far too many giggling girls), but a good number seemed to have read the material and a few new people even spoke up.

She just acts like we never have met

Not so grumpy today. Well, maybe a little bit. There's some big accreditation thing going on at one of the places I teach and, as a result, I had to "dress up" today. And wear a name tag. Frankly, if I stayed in school this long so I wouldn't have to wear a name tag to work. So here I sit with a tie and name tag on.

It's a wonder that you still know how to breathe

There's an idiot wind a' blowing.

Might as well lay my cards out on the table: I'm extremely grumpy, and have been so for several days. Even last night, surrounded by friends and supposed friends, I felt isolated and, at times, slighted. After the exuberence of Sarah's greeting, nods and waves fell flat. Not even the Wii could bring me up. Meh, I'm sure I'm just out of sorts. It'll pass. It always does.

Finally got to see Pan's Labrynith. Easily one of the most beautiful and disturbing movies I've ever seen. Not for the faint of heart, but worthwhile. I suppose such a brutal movie could have something to do with my strange mood. It's possible.

Finished series 4 of "Spooks" (aka "MI5" in the US), a brilliant British spy show. British shows typically have a much shorter "season" than American shows - usually 6-10 episodes. Now that the series is done, I have to sit and wait for series 5 (which has aired in the UK) to come to DVD. Also, I have an unabashed crush on the character Ruth.

I don't typically comment on things I see in the newspaper or hear on the news. I guess I'm reasonably content in my little bubble-world and see no point in letting the "real world" infiltrate my acre of cyber-space. But this NEWS STORY is worth commenting on.

Okay, so some mom has gone to the Ontario Human Rights Commission over the University of Ottawa expelling her twin 10-year old sons from a university class. She claims its a Human Rights violation and age discrimination. Seriously. The kids were signed up a U of O class, called the "activism course" and the University withdrew them without explanation. This boggles my post-secondary-educating mind.

Now, I realize that there are always special circumstances, and that exceptionally brilliant children have succeeded in University (Doogie Howser for one). But some how I don't think these two kids are exceptions.

Two crusading 10-year-olds can't say if they learned to be activists before they were expelled from a University of Ottawa class dubbed the activism course. "I can't answer that," said Sebastien Foster ... "I don't know what activism means."

Lotta water under the bridge, lotta other stuff too

I finally got around to watching Scorcese's No Direction Home, and I was not disappointed. Bob Dylan is a fascinating subject. The other great documentary, Pennebaker's Don't Look Back is a favourite of mine. While much of this new documentary understandably revolves around Dylan going electric, the film also traces Dylan's roots: from growing up in the Iron Belt of northen Minnesota, his discovery of country, rock and folk music, his first trip to New York. There are a number of interviews with folk singers, active in the Greenwich Village folk scene, who give their perspectives on the young Bob Dylan. The best thing about Scorcese's film is the scope: the interviews, the performance footage not only of Dylan, but other musicans. You get a real sense of the New York folk movement.

Of course, the footage of Dylan performing is the absolute highlight of the film, especially the much mythologised electric performances at the Newport and England. It is surreal to watch Dylan and what will become "The Band" play classic Bob Dylan songs to a chorus of boos and catcalls (like "Judas") from the audience. The Newport footage is punctuated with interviews with other folk musicians who were there, including Pete Seger, who apparently had an axe and was going to cut the mic cables and later locked himself in a car. So much for peace, love, and harmony, eh Pete?

The Long and Winding Road

Yeah, I'm a terrible, terrible person. I haven't been updating much lately. My bad.

This weekend has turned into a sort of "invesitgation into my ancestry." I've been watching Wagner's Ring cycle on DVD (which takes care of my German side) and, last night, I attended a Burns Dinner (appealing to my Scottish side).

Rachel calls the Wagner "that Star Trek opera," becasue she came home while the giants, who looked a lot like Klingons, were singing in Das Rheingold.

The Burns Dinner was fantastic. One of my Prov colleagues and his wife hosted it, and we followed most of the Burns litany. We toasted the haggis* (and then ate the haggis), we read poems, we used the Selkirk grace. Michael's wife, Kyla, more than out did her herself on the food: I may never have had roast lamb as good as that.

* For those of you who don't know, haggis is made with sheep's 'pluck' (heart, liver and lungs), minced with oatmeal and spices, mixed with stock. It's traditionally boiled in the animal's stomach for an hour. It looks like a big sausage and tastes MUCH better than it sounds.

So let's forget about it

I have just returned for submitting 3 copies of my dissertation to Grad Studies. The process from here? Those copies are distributed to my committee (including the external reader). They submit a form when they've read the dissertation and from there Grad Studies sets up a defense date. If everything goes according to plan, I'll get my PhD three days before my next birthday!!!

In other news: I'm becoming a serious fan of Wagner's Der Ring des Nibelungen. Das Rheingold has been on my iPod all week. Who knew German opera could be so fun?

This is the end, beautiful friend, the end

In less than one week, I shall to submitting my PhD dissertation to Graduate Studies for distribution. They will send the copies out to the members of my committee and sometime in the next few months, I will be defending it before a committee of my peers. My entire time in Winnipeg has been building up to this moment.

And when it is all over, I shall sleep.

Song instead of a kiss

One of my classes started today. I thought I was prepared. After all, it was just an introduction: "Hey, I'm Mike, etc."

Nothing too taxing.

Well, upon my arrival at the school, I tried to photocopy the syllabus. You'd think that the button that says 2->1 means that the photocopier is going to take two separate pieces of paper and doubleside them, right? Well, if you think that you'd be very, very wrong. Apparently that button means that the photocopier will take a 2 SIDED document and reproduce each side on a separate piece of paper. How many people actually use this function?

The long and the short of it: instead of cutting the number of pages of the ayllabus in half, I wound up doubling it. I photocopied a whole blank page for the back side of every piece of paper. I ended up with a stack of papers to rival my longest chapter. There's a bit more photocopy-drama as I try to get everything in order, but nothing too serious. I eventually get all the syllabi together, have lunch, and head off to class. I walked into the room ... and realize there are a lot of students in the room.

My class this semester is 37 students, almost a dozen more than last semester. So, I'm a little surprised by that. I believe started with, "Good afternoon, everyone ... My goodness, there are a lot of you."

I pass out the syllabi, and then the heat hits me. It was like a sauna in that classroom - at least 10 degrees wamrer than the hallway. The air was thick and heavy, like the air in a gym after an aerobics class. I was suddenly very sleepy. I cracked a window, but it didn't help. (Must remember: no sweaters this semester.) I tried to be hardline on a couple of things - due dates, participation, plagarism - but all I wanted to do was curl up and nap. When I finally dismissed them for the day, the collar of my shirt was soaked with sweat. Very attractive, friends.

You will resume your callow ways

Not much to report today, other than some awesome dissertation news. I'm only a few steps from handing the damned thing in. Just got word that my advisor's really happy with the last chapter I submitted (a whopping 62 page chapter on film noir). There are just some minor revisions and another chapter to submit Wednesday. Then just some copy editing, an intro, conclusion and an abstract! WOOO! Once all this craziness is through, there's going to be a party. And some of you are invited!

Oh, and games night the other day was F.U.N. Jenga? Yeah, we kicked its "block-from-the-bottom" butt.

The Ipod's rocking Brandburg Concertos this week. Run out and tell a friend.

A junk yard fool with eyes of gloom

Happy 12th Night, friends! This is it, the twelfth day of Christmas, kiddies. I hope you all get your twelve drummers drumming. I mailed them on Monday.

"The Office" continues to be the best show on American television. The past few episodes (one penned by original Office creators, Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant; another directed by Harold Ramis) have been the smartest, funniest of a very funny season. Last night's was no exception. The show is smart, funny, and, most importantly, radically different type of sitcom. The scene of Pam crying in the hall almost killed me, but crystalizes what I love so much about the show. The writers have enough faith in the audience to leave the subtext of the scene as subtext. There was no overt explanation for her crying, no talking head segment "I was sad because..."

I just found out that one of my co-workers at the UM Press has become addicted to the show. In the words of Tommy, "'come to my lair' said the spider to the fly."

Listening to: Beta Band's "Dry the Rain" on repeat. Spray on dust IS the greatest thing.

When you drunk my health in scented jasmine tea

Not much to say today, but given the overwhelming response to my return I figured I'd better post something. Can't disappoint the fans. (That's dripping with sarcasm, BTW)

Okay, what's new? Well, I really want to see Guillermo del Toror's new flick, Pan's Labyrinth. While I never bothered with Hellboy or Blade 2, I loved The Devil's Backbone. Too bad no one in Winnipeg has Pan yet, though I really don't have time to see it right now anyway.

On a darker, more embarassing note, I find myself strangely drawn to "The Facts of Life" season 3 which my wife just bought. Must be strong. I'm sure that it's only the appeal of completely mindless television and the idea of simple answers to difficult questions in a time of great mental exhaustion. Surely, nothing good that way lies.

Currently on the Ipod: Rolling Stone's Let it Bleed.

No one ever said it would be this hard

All right... the blog silence is broken, and another year of inane posting begins. Sorry for the lack of posting. I really did think I'd get a chance to post while I was in Saskatoon, but I never even bothered to check my email.

Saskatoon was nice. A week away from the dissertation was just what the doctor ordered. I didn't even watch any of the "work" movies that I brought along. Although we did see MANY movies, most of which I really, really liked.

1) Little Miss Sunshine Brilliant. Almost peed myself during the dance at the end of the movie.

2) The Good Shepherd De Niro's film about the early days of the CIA. I liked it, but felt it was a little overlong. Good acting throughout, though Matt Damon hardly seemed to age. I was also a little distracted by his son's physical appearance (ie, it was hard to imagine that Damon and Angelina Jolie had a kid so unattractive).

3) Casino Royale Best Bond film ever. A gritty and intelligent turn in a franchise that had turned to the worst of the Moore era with an abundance of ridiculous gadgets and silly names. Daniel Craig was great as a novice Bond.

4) For Your Consideration Christopher Guest's take on Hollywood lacks the sparkle of his previous films. While there are some wonderful scenes (Fred Willard's hair deserved its own credit), the film failed to build to anything. It just sort of ended.

5) An Inconvenient Truth This Al Gore documentary should be required viewing. I think if Gore had shown this much passion and personality during his Presidential campaign, the world would look a little different today.

6) Charade Yes, Cary Grant was far too old to be romantically linked with Audrey Hepburn, but who cares? This is one of the smartest, most enjoyable non-Hitchcock caper films.

7) Love Actually My in-laws asked us to bring this along, thinking they'd not seen it before. They realized almost immediately that they had, but we all watched it anyway.

8) Once Upon a Time in the West How does Sergio Leone make the perennially likable Henry Fonda so evil? Magic. Claudia Cardinale may be one of the great screen beauties of all time.

Flew home yesterday to discover that Winnipeg had been hit with 30 cm of snow. Spent a good portion of New Year's morning shovelling my car out. Stupid snow.

Now that the holidays have come to an abrupt end, I'm back at work, type, type typing away.

Let nothing you afright

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

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

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

Pax

M~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wassail! wassail! all over the town

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Boys of the NYPD choir were singing Galway Bay

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

It's best to save those to the end.

But ya' gotta shout and ya gotta swing out

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

knew of two sisters whose name it was Christmas

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

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

Do you hear what I hear?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What's the sense of hurtin' my pride?

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

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

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

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

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

They can't take that away from me

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

Put some records on while I pour

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

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

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

When the sun rose and he made to leave

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, the weather outside is frightful

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


And that would suck.

They both went down to berlin, joined the ice capades

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



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

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

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

He wore his passion for his woman like a thorny crown

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, the sweet, sweet hypocrisy!

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

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

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

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

He hands me this:

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

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

Riddle me this, Batman

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

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

Your Superhero Profile

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

What's your Superhero Name?

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

Would I could afford to buy my love a fine robe

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I was meant for the stage

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

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

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

Satellite's gone up to the skies

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

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

No day off makes Mike grumpy.

But Rankin/Bass is OUR mythology!!!

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

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

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

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

"Really?" I asked.



I weep for the future.

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

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

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

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

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

Why don't you write me

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

If you believe they put a man on the moon

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

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

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

Must be the season of the witch

Wherein our narrator muses on things television

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

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

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

And I will relate to you how our histories interweave

Got some exciting news today.

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

Whooo!

Busted flat in Baton Rouge

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

A singer must die for the lie in his voice

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

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

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

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

between thought and expression

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

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

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