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.

All right, kiddies. Not much going on here again today, though I'm actually have fun at work today. One of the books we're publishing in the next little while is a book on Winnipeg in 1912. My boss is interested in tracking down some information on the vaudville curcuit that ran through here then. See, here's the story. Once, while here on tour, Groucho Marx was passing a theatre and heard uproarious laughter. Curious, Groucho went in and saw a young comic named Charlie Chaplin on stage. Impressed, Groucho returned later with his brothers to meet Chaplin. It's also told that the Marx invited Chaplin to their show, where he dramatically read a newspaper during their performance. At Chaplin's next show four orthodox rabbis sat in the seats he'd reserved for the Marx Brothers. The problem here is figuring what's truth and what's comedians telling stories. Regardless, I find it mindboggling that all of the great geniuses of film comedy performed here: Buster Keaton, WC Fields, Fatty Arbuckle all made their way through here on one of the vaudville tours. Crazy! Motley Crue was through here last year... so that's sort of the same, I guess. All right, it's not the same at all.


It also seems that I'm getting record (well, for me) traffic here. My short film has been viewed 20 times now. I've only heard back from a couple of people, but the overwhelming opinion is that it made them "sad". That's cool. Emotion, any emotion, is good, right?

Listening to: "Clint Eastwood" Gorillaz
"Bet you didn't think so I command you to"

Wednesday and not an interesting thing to say.

Things have been kind of slow this week in the not very exciting wrld of Mike". Truth be told I'm still sort of recovering from the weekend. Two late nights (friday and sunday), little napping and early rising (6:45am Monday) have left me groggy and grumpy (as my wife can attest). Just sort of zombie-shuffling my way through the days.

Started the second season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer yesterday. Really enjoying it... though I did swear I would never watch a show with the word "Buff" in the title.

Listening to: the constant, reassuring hum of the janitor's vaccuum cleaner

Serving up a big steamin' pile of Friday Five. On Saturday. Shut up, please.

1. What's the last song you heard?
Drowning Pool, "Let the Bodies Hit the Floor"

2. What were the last two movies you watched?
That would have to be Kevin Smith's Jersey Girl and David Lean's Brief Encounter

3. What were the last three things you purchased?
Oh, this one's easy: two coffees at work on Thursday because no one for the office remembered to bring in a new tin o'coffee and a big ol' bottle of Diet Pepsi on Wednesday to feed my aspertane addiction.

4. What four things do you have to do this weekend?
Um, let's see. I have to call my parents, email Chris and Jenn (that's one thing; they're a couple), read some books, and, seeing as my coffee cup is now empty, ake more coffee.

5. Who were the last five people you talked to?
Rachel, Jonathan, Bobby, Tommy, Edgar.

So, it's Thursday: at least that's what the calander says. My body seems to dispute all evidence to that fact. I feel like it's Friday... that I should be home, sleeping, watching movies or even studying (which I really do).

All right: I've come to a decision! Veronica Mars was the best new show last year, narrowly edging out House and blowing away Joey (for which I held low to no expections). For those of you not hip to the Mars, it's the story of a small town highschool girl who's best friend was murdered about a year before the show begins. Her father, the former sheriff and current private detective, suspects that the girl's parents are guilty, not a popular opinion. Veronica, isolated and ostracized from her former friends, works for her father, but often finds herself going into business for hereself. What I like about the show is the sense of a greater story being told: while the final episode reveals the truth about the friend's murder, clues and leads are sprinkeld throughout the entire season, which makes it seem like some thought and planning went into the show. In a medium where lack of forethought and vision are the order of the day, VM is a smart, well plotted welcome to network TV. If you haven't caught VM, check it out this summer in reruns.


I hear the secrets that you keep, when you're talking in your sleep.

1) Total number of books owned:
Oh, boy. We just bought three large bookcases (to go along with three other large bookcases) in the past few months and there are still books piled up in closets. Both Rachel and I did English degrees, so we have TONS of books. Plus, one of the main perks of teaching is the free books,so I'm always getting more.

2) The last book I bought?
Hmmm, I guess the last one I bought was a Jeeves and Wooster omnibus from Amazon.

3) The last book I read?
I'm in the middle of both Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell and Vile Bodies. The last one I finished was Handful of Dust.

4) Five books that mean a lot to me?
1) The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe - a magical book I reread often (and fondly)
2) Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man - few authors have captured how horrible it can be to be a teenager
3) Catcher in the Rye - see #2
4) High Fidelity - if I'm honest with myself, I'm far more like Rob than I would ever want to admit
5) On the Road - in another life, I wish I could be Jack Kerouac

Comic Books:
1) Maus - without question, the most powerful comic ever written
2) Dark Knight Returns - Batman in Regan's America; brillant
3) Crow - when I first read it (well before the film) it was unique
4) Ghost World - one of the first "non-superhero" comics I read and it showed me the potential of the medium.

You can't always get what you want, but if you try some time, you might find, you get what you need.

Last night I was indeed surprised. A group of friends had a little appreciation party for me and another friend, Rob. I could totally see have a party for Rob; he's leaving in a week or so, first to some camp for the summer, then to Edmonton. But me? After feeling really discouraged the past couple of weeks, an appreciation party (complete with ice cream cake) was a huge boost. Some of my friends are awesome.

Listening to: the loud jerk teaching downstairs; seriously, he's a floor away, his door's closed, my door's closed and I can still hear him.

A friend of mine was telling me about her adventures at a new kickboxing place. Seems she's been kickboxing for awhile now, but, since she recently moved, hadn't found a new place to train. And I have to admit, I was a little jealous reading about the kicking and the boxin; even the hyperextending an elbow sounded like a lot of fun. See, I always wanted to take some sort of martial art - I was a huge fan of kung-fu films (still am) and I always wanted to learn. In University I made the mistake of making a little bit of fun of someone who'd started taking Taekwon Do.... she promptly threw me across the room. And I mean threw: my feet left the ground and I hit a wall.

The problem is that I'm kind of old to be starting now. Going to a beginner's class and getting my butt served to me by a bunch of schoo children doesn't sound that appealing. Self esteem's low enoguh with being beaten up by someone 25 years younger than me. Plus, I'll never get my flexibility to a level to do those awesome jumps or high spin kicks; like David Carradine in Kung Fu the Legend Continues I'd be stuck doing lame low to mid kicks. And who wants to do those? No one, that's who.

Listening to: Dandy Warhols "We Just to be Friends"