Oscar

It’s rare by the time the Oscar nominations are announced that I haven’t seen all the relevant movies. This year I’ve only been able to see two of the Best Picture nominations, “Sideways”, which I liked a lot and “Finding Neverland”, which I didn’t. I very badly want to see “Million Dollar Baby” and “The Aviator”, but not “Ray.”

Nothing untoward for Jamie Foxx, but I have a beef with actors who get nominations for playing real life people. They’re PROFESSIONAL ACTORS for god’s sake! - Of course they do a great job IMITATING someone else. Isn’t it much harder to CREATE a new character than to model yourself after someone else?

And isn’t there an unfair advantage when judging performances? Doesn’t the audience now have a reference point to compare to? - Philistines . . .

I feel the same way about actors who play mentally disabled characters.

God, I’m glad this stuff’s not important to me anymore. . .

Top 10 Cartoon Characters of all Time

I came across this old project the other day as I was sorting through and archiving some of my old files. We were working on this about a year ago and as lead on this project, I still feel a personal disappointment over the fact we were unable to finish. It’s a real shame - this would have been an important piece of work had we ever released it.

There were two contentious issues we could not bring to resolution, the source of which is our esteemed, but maverick colleague Scott TECHRITER. (“Picking up 24”). Not unlike other collaborations, ours deteriorated into a contest of egos with ST steadfast in his refusal to scale down his list to ten as you can plainly see. His refusal to limit his selections to ten was not because he could not make up his mind, but rather due to his eagerness to show off how much he knows about cartoons.

The more significant major obstacle was Scott TECHRITER’s outright rejection of two of the four lists. It is his staunch opinion that both Snoopy and Charlie are ineligible for consideration because they are “comic strip”, not “cartoon” characters. This called into question the proper working definition of “cartoon character”, and WEBSTER’S*, the usual arbitrator in such disputes, is not helpful.

We developed the following:

”A fictional human or non-human being, portrayed less than realistically, who embodies characteristics or traits resembling those found in human persons. Such characteristics can be realistic but may also be exaggerated for humorous effect. This fictional being must be a character in a continuing story-line presented in a visual medium.”

We believed this to be correct until someone pointed out that under this definition, Spider-man qualifies as a cartoon which is obviously incorrect.

Everyone knows Spider-man is not a cartoon.

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Slowpoke
Bugs Bunny
Bart Simpson
Snoopy
Daffy Duck
Mickey Mouse
Fred Flintstone
Charlie Brown
Wile E Coyote
Tweety Bird
Donald Duck

Bob (“Meal of the Day”)
Bugs Bunny
Fred Flintstone
Bart Simpson
Charlie Brown
Homer Simpson
Snoopy
Barney Rubble
Daffy Duck
Tweety Bird
Mickey Mouse

Chris (“The Rules of the Game”)
Mickey Mouse
Bugs Bunny
Homer Simpson
Fred Flintstone
Optimus Prime
Winnie the Pooh
Tweety Bird
Bart Simpson
Barney Rubble
George Jetson

Scott TECHRITER
Bugs Bunny
Mickey Mouse
Jonny Quest
Space Ghost
Daffy Duck
Rocky and Bullwinkle
Wiley Coyote
Road Runner
Bart Simpson
Fred Flintstone
Sylvester
Marvin the Martian
Homer Simpson
Barney Rubble
Scooby Doo
Tom and Jerry
Yogi Bear
Mighty Mouse
Donald Duck
Astroboy

------------------------------

* footnote: We disregarded OXFORD as an approved resource because we believed the British are not “progressive” enough to appreciate low-brow North American cartoons. Undoubtedly any reference of “comic” in Oxford’s will involve Shakespearean connotations referring to mood and story resolution, and happy endings etc etc etc. . .(?!)

Reading Anne Tyler

I enjoy the Christmas holidays because this is one the few times each year I can devote myself without distraction to reading. I read fiction throughout the year, but this time is particularly special. It’s time that I reserve for the old classics, books that are rich and thoughtful, but at times quite demanding on the reader. This past Christmas was the first exception to this tradition in many years. I read “The Amateur Marriage” by Anne Tyler. It’s available right now as a pocket paperback, a format usually reserved for mass market fiction intended as light entertainment, but of limited artistic value. Not the sort of fiction I normally care for. One exception to this is Anne Tyler. This latest is her sixteenth and perhaps her most mature novel. It is a subtle, unexciting, but remarkable book. It affirms her place as one of my favourite writers.

I discovered the books of Anne Tyler during my university years. My course load in English lit. had me fully immersed in dense, abstract and intellectual fiction, written by now dead writers who were more interested in the craft of writing, than in the craft of story telling. It was a refreshing, enjoyable diversion; engaging an unpretentious writer, both easy in her language, and direct in her story-telling. Deceptively simple but with an acute perception of the human condition, her novels are heartbreaking and brimming with gentle sympathy, yet written without sloppy sentiment. Literature is one of our art-forms. Artistic work should not be intellectual. It should be experienced through feeling. Anne Tyler understands this. Her books are honest.

If you’ve never read her, you may know her from the movie “The Accidental Tourist” which is based on her novel of the same name. One of my favourite movies, it perfectly captures the subtlety and intonation of her writing.

Her characters are very ordinary and the story elements are typically a string of vignettes describing rather mundane events that in themselves are actually, well quite boring. By the end of her novels you realize that almost nothing has happened, yet everything has in fact happened – these are the stories of complete lives. Significant episodes in life are downplayed, whereas in the fictions of other writers, these events are often heightened or exaggerated. They become a focal point for the dramatic tension of the story – often it is either the trigger point for an avalanche of successive events, or as the culmination of a downward spiral of events after the character has lost control. In an Anne Tyler novel, breakups, deaths, tragedies have lingering consequences, but they are just a few of the many events that fill one’s life.

My favourite Anne Tyler novel is “Saint Maybe”. It is about a seventeen year old boy making plans for college and eager for the rest of his life to happen. There is an accident and his older brother dies. He blames himself for the death, gives up on all his dreams and takes a menial job to take care of his brother’s children. Time passes, and his brother’s children grow up while he remains chaste. At the end of the novel in his forties, he meets someone he learns to love and the novel ends. That’s it, but it’s touching.

It’s been about 12 years since I’ve read “Saint Maybe”, but I remember a chapter that describes him fixing the porch of his neighbour. In the next chapter, he is again fixing the neighour’s porch - but it’s five or eight years later. Everything remains the same, yet everything is different. Change goes unnoticed.

A brother dies. It’s a big moment, but it happens and it is over, not consciously referred to again. This novel is not about “big” moments, it is about the accumulation of smaller moments. It is about duty, about growing up, awaiting redemption, and forgiving oneself when there is realization no one holds you accountable. But mostly it is about how a good person will end up in the right place no matter which path is taken.

Truth in Words

This gem from Craig who is one big, tough nasty S.O.B. . .

"Fuck, I forgot my slippers."

Meal of the Day

I’m grinning ear to ear. Or at least I was. Yesterday.

I need to get into the habit of telling you right away about all these good things that happen to me while I’m still floating through cloud nine. I had lunch at McDonald’s yesterday – I do this regularly, not as frequently as when I was younger, but often enough that I can’t be entirely honest with you.

I always order a Big Mac meal, Combo number one. Everyday there’s a different meal of the day special but because of my dietary restriction, I can rarely take advantage of this. The craving hits unexpected and always very suddenly – I will leave the office at noon often fully intent on going to Subway, only to find myself veering left through the golden arches. . .

I loathe it. I love it.

Yesterday, Combo number one was the Meal of the Day. Fully expecting to pay $5.97, just imagine my delight when told that Tuesdays it’s only $4.27 including GST! That’s a discount of 29%! There’s a one-in-seven chance, so most trips end with the sour tasting disappointment of “please try again”.

Elation.

Food always tastes better when served as a complement to a wonderful event.

I hit the one-in-seven. I imagine this feeling must be similar to the euphoria that overcomes you after winning a lottery. I don’t know because I’ve never won a lottery, but I’ve read about it, and I just feel unbelievably awesome. People find deals all the time, bigger savings and for more money, but only after a degree of research, or seeing an ad, reading about it, or shopping around a little. By the time you get to buying it, you already how you’ve gotten the best deal or a discount – there’s no surprise just waiting for you. The actual motion of buying is really anti-climatic. What a chore it is indeed.

You would think by now that I MUST know what day’s the Big Mac special, but I don’t. I can’t give you a reason – I just never remember. I know that Wednesday’s $1.69 Whopper day at Burger King. So, why does the mind always retain useless information? If you know anything about psychology, I want to speak to you.

For many years I worked in headquarters of a major chain of burger franchises. I used to fashion myself an “expert” on hamburgers. That was a passionate time in my life. Part of another company today, I can’t even pronounce the names of many of the products we sell.

But over time and inevitably, passion will wane and one will then decide to leave.

There was a period of a few years in which I abstained not just from Big Macs, but all chain burgers. When I came here (this company), my friend Bob (since departed) asked me for the nutritional content of the veggie burger offered by my ex-employer. A “veggie burger” at top of mind?! It was incidents like this that killed any passion I used to have. Salads at Harvey’s, Wendy’s and McDonalds? And deli sandwiches? That’s just meat on a bun – at least on a burger, the meat is hot. I just don’t understand the new wave.

Burger King is the last of the grandstanders. They don’t pretend to be healthy, just pure junk, sick burgers and sicker burgers – I admire them for staying true to their roots.

So why did I still walk away? I cannot embrace BK. A good burger is not a Great Burger until it comes with Great Fries. And BK has the worst fries. So unless this changes, the Whopper will always be to the Big Mac, like Pepsi to Coke.

I came back about two years ago. A new McDonald’s franchise was built a block from where I work and one day several months after it opened, I ventured in unexpectedly and had a Big Mac. Time away solves everything.

That was the best Big Mac I’ve ever had. You always come back to those things you truly love.

A few months ago before Bob left, we went to Dangerous Dan’s for lunch (www.Dangerousdansdiner.com). Four years. The journey from veggie burger to Dangerous Dan’s; we can all change if we try.

Canadian Winter

Snow day.

These are days when it's great to "work from home." Today it took me 2 hours and 5 minutes to drive 22 km to work. Sad. Years ago when I used to run, I could finish 21.1 km in 1 hour and 50 minutes.

I wonder how long it would take to run 22 km with a laptop strapped over my back. . . Hmm, never mind, that was ten years and twenty pounds ago. . .

Hmmm, now that I think about it, I guess my time day wasn't really as long as 2:05. I did stop off at Tim Horton's, but on days like today that costs no more than 12 car lengths of road. - Ok, forget everything I just said - the point is; it took a long time to get to work today.

On a positive note, I was lucky to catch both "whole lotta love" and "communication breakdown" on the radio. Two samplings of Zeppelin right after breakfast - you just know it's going to be a great day.

As I drove into the parking lot, Q107 starting playing "Bohemian Rapshody". I was tempted to sit and wait to the end of the song, I was already so damned late anyway. But I resist - it's important to set an example for others. (What others?)

Mental note to myself - listen to Queen Greatest Hits Vol. II when I get home tonight.

The Rules of the Game

The title of today’s entry is taken from the same titled movie directed by Jean Renoir. Released in 1939, it is revered as one of the greatest of all French movies, and considered must viewing for any serious cinephile. I’ve taken this title as a written reminder to myself to go rent this stupid movie already which I’ve been meaning to do since university. Obviously I’ve had no success with my other memory aids.

I’ve been giving some thought as to what exactly I should be using this blog for. I thought this would be easy, but I’m discovering that this is a question as big as life itself, which unfortunately I have no answers to either. So until I’m impassioned by nobler causes, you should regard this blog as irrelevant and strictly intended for private non-commercial home ENTERTAINMENT. Still, I do feel some sense of accountability, so I think it’s only fair to you my faithful reader(s!?) that I advise you of the Rules of Conduct I’ve mandated for myself.

- My blog will be rated PG. I hope my blog will be read by both a mature and immature audience. I promise to have a wholesome blog devoid of any controversial or potentially upsetting content.
- There will be no profanity. I remember seeing interview a few years with the great Seinfeld, and hearing him describe the way he went about his craft compared to other contemporaries and colleagues. He was referring specifically to Pryor and Murphy with disapproval to their profanity, cruelty and to their dirty crude jokes. He thought comedians resorted to this base level because they did not really master their craft, that this shock value was an easy way to hide an inadequate talent. I rarely curse in normal conversation anyway, so I’m not likely to adapt that here.
- There will be no racial or ethnic comments.
- There will no sexist comments.
- I will not make fun of professional athletes who say stupid things because they lack intelligence.
- I will not berate dishonest two-faced politicians who bless us with their ineptitude.
- There will be no editorial comments on the greed of corrupt corporate officers who have tremendous “paper” wealth but not real wealth.
- I will not ridicule untalented pop stars who lip synch.
- I will show no bitterness toward talented artists I used to admire who’ve sold out and gone commercial.
- I will not espouse my views on the environment, poverty, capital punishment, religion or war.
- I will not be critical of the naïve who don’t know any better.
- I will not complain about how much tax I have to pay.
- I will repress the giggles when I describe other peoples’ haircuts.
- I will not allow myself to be distracted by my current quest to determine which as-hole on my street owns that fu-kin’ dog that’s always taking a crapper on my front lawn.
- I will not make defecation or excrement jokes which I otherwise find very funny.

I will slowly be introducing you to the cast of characters that make up my life dramedy. I will use real first names, but CAPITALIZED absurd last names that are descriptive of how they are. I will not use real full names in the interests of protecting the guilty from embarrassment, but I will not use completely made-up names either because I think then people will not believe anything I say.

You may have guessed that I play a lot of ice hockey. Over the years I’ve played with dozens perhaps hundreds of different people. It’s a great game - the greatest of all games. Like all games, it has rules. The shinny hockey we play has many “rules” that don’t exist in hockey played at the professional level. Many are related to the game itself, but many are unspoken rules or conventions related to how players behave. Always white sweaters versus colored sweaters. Players should never hog ice-time and there is no body checking. When the goalie freezes the puck, players on the opposite team should back off and let the other team carry out the play. Goalies never pay for any share of the cost of ice-time. And players always thank the goalie for coming out to play. Players always tell the goalies they played well, even if they really didn’t. But the MOST important rule for shinny hockey is the no-rule - NEVER KEEP SCORE.

This is how shinny hockey is different from all other games. In pick-up basketball you play to twenty-one. In golf you MUST keep score. In soccer, baseball and football you keep score. In “ball” hockey you play to ten or five. Even card games; bridge – rubber game; euchre – play to ten; Crazy eights - winner and losers.

Chris from my workplace plays shinny with a group that does not abide by the no-rule. Chris and Dave are best friends and both are goalies. When they started out, goalies picked teams with Chris getting first pick one week, and Dave getting first pick the next, and back and forth. I’ve played with them a few times and this is very confusing – whites and colored players are the same team, versus the others who have tacky yellow sleeveless pullovers. (It’s so retarded the way they play, but they don’t know any better.) In theory this means teams should always be even. Now Chris is ultra-competitive, probably the most competitive person I’ve ever met. He has to win. And he always did. They keep score – this is trouble.

In the beginning they were equally skilled, but Chris quickly surpassed Dave because; Chris spends all week thinking about hockey and talking to people about how he can improve; he tries harder because he’s so competitive; he studies all guys that come out so he almost always picks the best teams; and he intimidates his best buddy with too much trash talking.

He’s writes down and logs the games; he’s that competitive. Each Friday night is a game, so after a month, it’s 4-0 Chris over Dave. This wouldn’t normally be a problem, and Dave wouldn’t care, but Chris keeps reminding everyone of the overall standing, Chris leading Dave “something” - 0, and hollering down the ice the score of the game that’s going on.

After a while this becomes an issue and one day while at work, Chris is telling me about this “real problem” they have. They’re afraid that Dave will stop playing because he keeps losing. The losing just feeds the frustration that makes him play badly which erodes his confidence and perpetuates the losing.

I suggest they stop keeping score . . .

Then they “decide” that the problem is Dave always has a weaker team because he doesn’t know how to pick players. So their creative solution is to let Dave have first pick every week. The losing continues.

Then they decide to play games up to five and switch so there’s no difference in teams. This means every Friday they’re able to play three or four “games” rather than one. So after a month, instead of 4-0 Chris over Dave, it is 13-0 Chris over Dave. In case you didn’t catch it the first time, Chris will remind you and your children again and again, 13-0 Chris over Dave.

So that didn’t work.

I suggest they stop keeping score. . .

Their next idea has Chris, Dave, Ron (regular player who runs the ice), Oliver (regular player who just plays), and Pete (regular player who tries to play but can’t skate) independently ranking all the players that have come out over the last two years. They then combined their rankings into an aggregate they will use each week to pick “fair” teams. The rankings were done secretly and with the exception of myself I believe they not shared outside that circle. The ranking was to be reviewed at the end of each month.

The problem this created is that everyone had to rank themselves, each other AND they had to share that. Of course each player’s self-ranking was higher than the ranking anyone else provided. The biggest discrepancy was Oliver who ranked himself as the 5th best player of the group of 27, versus Chris’s assessment that Oliver was only the 13th best player of the group of 27. Chris that bastard, always comes out looking good – easy for him – they’re not ranking the goalies. Anyway, I think by the end of that night everyone wanted to hurt each other pretty badly.

So I asked Chris, you know, out of curiosity, what my ranking was. And he told me.

TOTAL B.S!!!! I’m much better than half the guys ranked higher than me.

The next time I played, I tried extra hard and scored a lot, A LOT of goals on Chris. (I hope he was counting.) I haven’t played with this year so I don’t know what’s going on right now. End of story for now.

Anyway, I have a feeling I’ve already broken a few of the rules I set out for myself. Screw it!!! Maybe the point of my shinny story is that the best rule is the no-rule.

Glad I worked that out.

Picking up "24"

Previously on Hmmmm??????: Slowpoke is desperately trying to get the VCR working so he can watch 24 and go out to play ball hockey too.

Last night I made a long trip deep into the city to see my friend Scott TECHRITER. Late Monday I called for a “favor” to which he readily agreed; both because he is the oldest and most trusted friend that I have, and because as a fellow watcher of 24, he lives under the same shadow of quiet desperation.

His house is a bungalow, a block apart from the Danforth. It’s an older, quaint little neighborhood, but the unassuming quiet belies nefarious, illicit activities seething within. He had the “tape”, the coveted tape. We completed our transaction quickly and wordlessly both of us careful to avoid eye contact. Shamed faced about my inabilities and feeble for soliciting help, I accept his charity. He did not ask why I do not know how to record with a VCR, nor did I offer a reply. He did not ask because there is a quiet unspoken understanding amongst men. There will come a time when he is also less than himself, and I will be there for him.


After that we talked about movies for a whole hour.

Introduction

I have my own blog. I’m anti-technology and anti-internet so those of you who know me may find this to be a bit of a surprise, perhaps a shock even. If you’ve seen “What’s Eating Gilbert Grape”, you might remember the Johnny Depp character who very loyally works in a small family run grocery that’s struggling because a large chain “Foodland” has just opened up a short distance away. The owner, his friend is afraid the superstore will be the end of his livelihood but Johnny, the optimistic foil to the oppressive details of ordinary existence, encourages and instills the belief that people will come back to their store. There’s a sad moment later in the movie when his crestfallen employer catches Johnny in the parking lot shopping at the Foodland.

I used to keep a journal but stopped. I thought I never would again.
But here I am.
They call them blogs now? What’s that – who created that word?

I made my debut on Princess Buttercup’s blog. I’d like to believe I was such a hit that all the fans wrote in demanding I get my own blog. Regardless of what may be, here I am perhaps doomed because history has shown spin-offs to be not as successful, nor loved as dearly as the originals. Think of Happy Days/Laverne and Shirley, Buffy/Angel, more recently Friends/Joey, and Spider-man/Punisher comics. The only exception to this rule I can think of is Cheers/Frasier. – I can only hope.

Speaking of spin-offs, the Elektra movie opens this weekend. For a couple of reasons, I’m optimistic this will also be an exception to the rule; Daredevil wasn’t that great anyway, but mostly because more screen time for Jennifer Garner.

Last night we played ball hockey. I almost didn’t make it out because I was fumbling away fruitlessly with my VCR so I could record two episodes of 24. There I was in a real pickle because one of my brothers already told me he can’t record, and my other brother wasn’t home (yes, I called.) What to do? For a very brief moment I thought about asking Princess Buttercup if she could help me, but changed my mind because:

1. Despite what she says, I suspect she doesn’t know how to record either.
2. I was afraid she would laugh at me. My fears were confirmed later after I told her and she did laugh at me.

In hindsight I see that I made the mistake of trying to provide an excuse for missing hockey.

Ball hockey is fun, but not a substitute for the real thing. It’s all aggression – lacking the grace, poetry and imagination you find on ice. It’s haphazard, lots of people just whacking away with sticks. When it’s this way, sometimes you can get unlucky like I did. Getting hit by an orange ball from a slapshot by Frank can be quite unkind, especially if it gets you in the ole sweet spot between the legs. Ouch! (understatement!) In ice hockey everyone wears a jock. Playing ball hockey I never do, and of course this is when it “happens.” Figures. Must be some sort of natural law at play here. I’ll know better from now on (or at least until next Monday) never to tempt fate again.

Frank was very remorseful. I think he knew what happened, but asked again and again if my “upper thigh” was alright? I think he needs to believe this is what happened. Perhaps it will too difficult for him otherwise.

So, I let him.

If you remember me from Princess Buttercup’s blog, it should not surprise you that my blogs will only take place during the day. This means sometimes (like now) I will have to cut out early. Expect unresolved cliffhanger endings in the future. . . well, think of it that way at least.

If you think based on the above that I am a TV or pop culture junkie, believe me, I am not. Congee will attest to the fact that I know nothing and am totally uncool.