What's he on about now?

In case the articles, essays and opinions throughtout this site just weren't enough for you, here's my online diary (a.k.a. 'blog'). It's as close as you'll come to the inside of my head, so don't say I didn't warn you
(and remember, you can always e-mail me if you love or loathe anything you're about to read)...


   Tuesday, May 31, 2005

   QUESTION OF THE DAY

With terrorists creeping around every street corner and a war raging endlessly in Iraq, why is the US Department of Homeland Security worrying about movie copyrights?

I'm just askin'.

Like roughly half the planet, I dutifully lined up this week for "Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith" but I still don't know what to think. I found the previous film frustrating in that I enjoyed parts of it but disliked parts of it. Here, the effect was the same but stronger -- I truly loved the movie in spots but outright hated much of it. I suppose a general run-down is the easiest thing to do...

These bits I loved:

-- the vertiginous opening spaceship dogfight, in which we had no idea what was happening but WOW!
-- Ian McDiarmid's sly, oily performance as Emperor Palpatine
-- the robot with four spinning lightsabers. I had no choice but to lean towards my thrilled friend and whisper, "Okay, I admit it, that's cool!"
-- the wordless scene of Anakin and Padme at their respective windows that contained more emotion than all of Episodes II and III
-- total silence from Jar Jar Binks!
-- Ewan McGregor's obvious decision to just give up and play it hammy, ironically matching the film and letting him seem less 'watered-down' than before
-- the argument between Anakin and Obi-Wan and the subsequent, climactic swordfight. McGregor seemed genuinely anguished and the fate of Anakin was shocking.
-- the final scene tying into the original "Star Wars" film gave everyone warm fuzzies and John Williams' gorgeous score finished it off in rousing style.

But these bits I hated:

-- Lucas' attention-deficit-disordered pacing and editing. Any moment that began to inspire geninue feeling (see above) was quickly extinguished by cutting back to more exploding robots. For all its action, the original trilogy had a lot of quiet moments and charm.
-- the unfortunately-NON-wordless scene between Anakin and Padme on the balcony. Painful to listen to and the audience laughed itself silly. Again, "The Empire Strikes Back" had two co-writers and that made all the difference.
-- the outrageously-busy backgrounds in every bloody scene. With millions of lights and flying cars, how does anybody sleep on Coruscant?
-- Anakin's lightning-fast "okay, I give up" conversion to the Dark Side. I half-expected the Emperor to stop and say, "Wow, that was easy!"
-- the ridiculous make-up job on Ian McDiarmid following his transformation. He was scary as a human; as a Klingon, not so much.
-- the complete character assassination of Padme. The plot-device robot said she's dying simply because she's lost the will to live. By that point, are we sure he's not talking about the audience?

It's good to have medical benefits. While the McWal-Marts of the world view them as communism, the fact is simply that a happy, healthy employee is a solid, productive employee. I'm lucky that I'm currently working for a company with a fairly progressive set of benefits, including a set amount for massage therapy.

I used to view that merely as a cute corporate perk -- enjoying two or three brief kneadings over the winter -- until my friend Ed pointed out last month that I spasmed whenever he touched certain spots on my back. "It's where I carry stress," I said, "One massage won't fix it." He just squinted at me. "Okay, okay," I said, "I'll try a longer session."

I signed up at work Wednesday with Sarah Croxall, who first asked me to fill out an exhaustive health history form (I think I recognized about eighty percent of the possible ailments listed). When we met up at the end of the day, she asked me about the series of unrelated pains and complaints I'd listed and -- quite frankly -- she looked a bit alarmed. I felt the need to reassure her.
"I don't know," I said, "I am getting older and all."
She gave me the same squinty look Ed did.
"You're 33."
"I just figured it was normal."
"This is not normal."
"Oh."

Once we were set up, she then began digging into my back and a curious thing happened. The harder she pressed, the better I felt. I'm normally sensitive to pain but what I imagined ought to hurt instead brought ripples of relief from head to toe. It got to the point where she was digging her fingers between muscle groups as the pain ebbed. "Ah," she said, "you're a 'deep tissue' guy."

When our time was up (too soon!), she left to let me get dressed but warned that I might feel woozy. I moved and dressed slowly but, as I got to my feet, I felt an endorphin rush whip through me and I laughed out loud. Really loud, for over a minute. I've never felt that good after a workout and even rarely that good after sex! It was pure, clear relief. Sarah then recommended a hot bath before bed and some ongoing 'homework' stretches. That night, I slept long and deep -- for the first time in I don't know when -- and felt like a million bucks for the next couple days.

I spent the next evening researching some of the health issues Sarah and I discussed and I didn't like what I found. This is where 'blogging' gets tricky. I don't like being vague or coy but a) even I have privacy concerns and b) talking about health problems would bore everyone senseless, no? Let's just say that this simple massage was a huge wake-up call for me. I am not treating myself as well as I need to -- never have, I suppose.

All the problems I'd chalked up to age or stress or personal weakness have a biological component I've been ignoring. Nothing serious, I figured (and reassure) but serious enough to warrant changes. I'd long ago realized that I need to relax and be gentler with myself but I now see that this is no longer a frivolous notion -- my health depends on it.

Thank you, Sarah, thank you so much!

That dratted confidentiality agreement I signed here at work prevents me from much work-a-day chatter here, but the events of yesterday morning are both banal enough and crazy enough to warrant a posting.

We've had some high-profile guests here the last couple days and I found myself placed in a position of assistant-to-their-assistant. It all went smoothly enough -- the LA people were thrilled with my help -- and it neatly coincided with my raise coming through, so I was feeling quite pleased with myself for once.

At least until the very large man with a foul glare came marching through the front door and towered over me at the desk. He was from the company that collects, shreds and recycles our paper. He'd left a cart behind in the alley on Monday and ranted at me on the telephone when I told him that I couldn't simply leave the building to collect it for him. With our guests gathered around me, he and I had a conversation that went something like this:

"I'm the guy who left the cart in the alley the other day, remember?"
"Yes, your boss came in to get it yesterday."
"Was it such a big deal to go get it and keep it here? Was it?"
"Well, since I can't leave the lobby and had to make other people interrupt their own work to go get it...yeah, it was a big deal."
"Yeah? Well you'll be glad to know he fired me because of that!"
"No he didn't. He asked me and my boss if we'd had problems with you because he'd apparently had other complaints."
"TWO!! TWO complaints!! What did you say about me?"
"I just said that you were a bit manic on the phone."
"You said I was manic on the phone?!!"
"Yeah, kind of like now, actually."

And so on and so on. He started ranting about how his boss doesn't actually recycle the paper but just "dumps it" and how "he's gonna pay" and...you get the idea. Our guests were in the lobby the entire time and were clearly horrified by the anger pouring off this guy in waves. I was racking my brain through the whole conversation over who I could call or what I should do if he got unpredictable.

I was nervous but never truly afraid, though, since I knew that this was merely your classic bully -- meek as a lamb to anyone with real power, like his boss, but abusive to any minor figure in his way, like me. I'm so tired of that. The nice part is that the witnesses were impressed by how calm I was during his yelling -- my years as a pub doorman have paid off!

I picked up a copy of the latest New Yorker (yes, for the giant Pope article, I admit it). It was a fairly light read this time out but this one bit was pure gold:

Try these fun hoaxes!

I loved the promo trailer for last year's season of "Six Feet Under" so much that I had to post it.

Now, HBO is airing a trailer for the final season that blows the earlier one out of the water. It's peculiar and sad, life-affirming and gorgeously-filmed. Sure, I'm just a sucker for road trips but man, did I love this.

Meanwhile, the DVDs for Season 3 come out on Tuesday. It's a good week for fans.

Slate's David Edelstein is my favourite film critic -- wry, sophisticated but not a snob. His reviews are always witty -- even when he makes mistakes. After an earlier review of the new child abuse drama "Mysterious Skin", he wrote:

Correction: The original version of this review incorrectly identified NAMBLA as an acronym for the "National Association of Man Boy Love" as opposed to the correct title, "The North American Man Boy Love Association." This was not intended as a slight to Canada or Mexico. Anything but. I ought to have Googled it, but the fear of S.W.A.T. teams promptly crashing through my office window forced me to take a stab. My thanks to a reader--not a NAMBLA member--for supplying me with the correct name. And my apologies to... On second thought, never mind.

He's just fantastic.

Incidentally, I read the novel years ago and it's stayed with me ever since. It's a tough read -- horrifying in spots but ultimately rewarding. Hopefully, the movie will measure up but, either way, I hope the subject matter doesn't scare people away from a powerful and haunting work of art.

From today's IMBD News:

Disney's Eisner To Go Out a Winner

Michael Eisner appeared assured of being able to make a triumphant exit as CEO of the Walt Disney Co. on Sept. 30 after the company reported a 30-percent jump in earnings for its second quarter...Much of the increase was attributed to rising ratings for the company's ABC television network, which was able to boast of two major hits this season, "Lost" and "Desperate Housewives". The company was also helped by strong DVD sales for the animated hit feature "The Incredibles". In a conference call on Wednesday, Eisner sounded especially upbeat, reminding analysts that he had predicted such a turnaround two years ago. "We're roaring back," he said.

Eisner, of course, is the guy blamed for driving Pixar Animation out the door (not very incredible!) and, as for ABC, there's this bit from an Oct. 25 "Newsweek" article:

Only a month before the network unveiled its fall lineup to advertisers, Disney swept the ABC executive suite, kicking out Lloyd Braun and Susan Lyne, the latest in a string of execs brought in to fix the network, only to be shown the door a few years later...Braun had pushed hard for "Lost" over the objections of Disney brass, and had turned out an expensive, $12 million effects-laden pilot. Lyne, meanwhile, wanted to attract more women viewers and set her sights on the quirky "Desperate Housewives" (critics of Iger and Eisner like to point out that they dispatched the very people who picked the hit shows).

Of course they do, since Eisner's now taking credit for all of it!

Spanish Prime Minister Jose Luis Rodriguez Zapatero criticized the Catholic Church's opposition to gay marriage in his "state of the nation" address to Parliament on Wednesday:

I will never understand those who proclaim love as the foundation of life, while denying so radically protection, understanding and affection to our neighbors, our friends, our relatives, our colleagues...What kind of love is this that excludes those who experience their sexuality in a different way?

Thanks to an Internet-happy, DVD-burning friend of mine, I've seen tonight's episode of "Doctor Who" and, while I can't force anyone to watch it, I have no choice but to beg everyone to tune into the CBC tonight at 8 pm (est). It is, quite possibly, the single greatest episode in the show's twenty-seven seasons. It neatly captured, in 45 minutes, everything I've ever loved about the programme.

But, if you won't take my word for it, check out the love-in from the British press:

The London Evening Standard:

This week's episode title -- Dalek -- may crush the surprise the script clearly hoped to generate around the return of the killer pepperpot, but that's the only disappointment here. ... At its best, science fiction is supposed to be a metaphor. It's not a theory that always pans out, but here, in the conflict between a murderous intergalactic dustbin and a double-hearted time traveller, we get a powerful look at the way war -- whether it's in the Balkans, Iraq or outer space -- twists even the best of people. 'If you can't kill, then what are you good for?' the Doctor hisses at the imprisioned Dalek. But by the end, you're left wondering whether it is the Dalek or the Doctor who has been damaged most by the conflict. It's heady, surprising, spiky and occasionally pretentious stuff, but I'll take this over ITV's spandex celeb-grappling any Saturday night.

The Times:

Robert Shearman's script -- and I can't believe that I'm about to say this -- is strangely moving. It concerns the last surviving Dalek, which is being held in chains in an underground museum in Utah. Daleks, as we know from the lessons of history, are programmed to hate. But, amid all the excitement, tonight's episode manages to sneak in a message about the redemptive power of human kindness and the way in which victims can turn into oppressors. This new Doctor Who is an unqualified triumph.

The Daily Express:

Seven weeks in, and Doctor Who is still the best fun on the box. The joy of the series is that it does all the things sci-fi is meant to do - using imagined worlds to look askance at our own, questioning the present by thinking about the future - while also taking the mick out of the genre.

Like I said, you don't have to watch it...

Labels: Doctor Who

It seems like every major paper this morning has carried news of this Stockholm pheromone study showing that "when confronted by a chemical from testosterone, the male hormone, portions of the brains active in sexual activity were activated in straight women and in gay men, but not in straight men." This matches the findings of a Philadelphia study on responses to sweat and body odour. Women and gay men both respond favourably to a sweaty guy.

Well, duh.

While it's nice to have factual back-up in one's beliefs, I enjoy the media's amazed reaction to studies that prove what Basil Fawlty called "the bloody obvious." Ever seen a good-looking guy fresh off a basketball court? Women and gay men alike will tell you there's few finer sights, and you don't need the Karolinska Institute in Stockholm to tell you that.

The media spin is that this study is one more step towards the proof of a natural, biological component to homosexuality. While my belief is that of some nature/nurture mix, I do welcome this latest study, though I don't believe for one second that it'll change anything. Scientists could discover an entire DNA chain for homosexuals with "I made this -- signed, God" on it and Bible-thumpers will still scream about perversion, Satan, yada yada yada. After all, they can stare right into the Grand Canyon itself and still insist the Earth is six thousand years old. Maybe if they just played a little basketball more often...

While walking down Yonge Street one evening, I watched someone casually toss a large, balled-up wad of plastic wrapping on the sidewalk behind them. Annoyed, I snatched it up and carried it half a block to the garbage can on the corner. It occurred to me that it's like there's three kinds of people in our life -- one who just throws his trash on the road behind him, another who makes the effort to put her own trash in the bin, and a third who makes that effort and picks up after the first person. I wish I could be that third person more often; many days, it's a struggle just to clean up after myself.

It's fashionable right now to say that judges are out of touch with the common people but the delightful Washington gossip Wonkette has found a court notation that shows just the opposite:

The trial transcript quotes Ms. Hayden as saying Murphy called her a snitch bitch "hoe." A "hoe," of course, is a tool used for weeding and gardening. We think the court reporter, unfamiliar with rap music (perhaps thankfully so), misunderstood Hayden's response. We have taken the liberty of changing "hoe" to "ho," a staple of rap music vernacular as, for example, when Ludacris raps "You doin' ho activities with ho tendencies."

Keep reading after that and she'll tell you more about Bruce Springsteen and his dirty filthiness!

Labels: Bruce Springsteen

Now that's eerie:

Tony Blair, May 5 2005:

"The great thing about an election is that you get out and talk to people for week upon week and I have listened and I have learned. I think I have a very clear idea of what the British people now expect from this government for a third term."

Paul Martin, June 29 2004:

"Canadians expected and expect more from us, and as a party and as a government, we must do better and we will."

Let's hope Mr. Blair has better luck than the hapless Martin, who also said, "We will work hard as a government... while demonstrating honesty, integrity and a deep respect for taxpayers' money."

Following an awkward silence, let's just say the jury's still out on that one!

Labels: Canada, England, politics

As a gay man who loves baseball, I'm sad that those two worlds don't collide more often so the story of Cincinatti Reds pitcher Joe Valentine and his two moms makes me very happy:

I don't see myself as an activist for gay rights, although I will speak up if I need to...I think people need to judge others for who they are. Not by any prejudiced ideas or thoughts. I'm a baseball player who was raised by two wonderful, loving mothers. How can anyone criticize that?

I don't want to announce the End Times or anything but is anyone else finding it bizarre that we've had numerous hailstorms this week? Usually, Toronto gets one or two in late summer and that's it. I have no info to back that up, mind you, but that's what usually seems the case.

After the latest round of ice clattering on the cobblestones late this afternoon, I walked home in what appeared to be the eye of the storm. The sky was a bright, flat grey, giving everything the look of a slightly-overexposed photograph. In the slivers of space between the Bay Street buildings, the sky at the horizon line in two directions was nearly black. It was too bright for dusk, too dark for daylight and, when I did see the sun, it was a lump of haze blending into the grey. People seemed to be walking slower somehow.

It didn't help that my music player had shuffled its way into Angelo Badalamenti territory, playing "Sleep" (with vocals from Marianne Faithfull) and "Diane and Camilla" (from "Mulholland Drive"). Spooooky!

The wind picked up, whipping my long winter coat around me as I turned down Queen Street, and I grumbled about wearing a winter coat in freakin' May. Still, I have to admit that there was something about the eerie calm that was almost soothing.

Labels: Trawna

As The Economist famously wrote two years ago, "Who needs satire when you have the social conservatives?" They're funny, they're frightening -- they fascinate me.

Others, however, find the 'Bible-thumpers' too creepy or just one-note dull so I've decided to warn everyone when I'm astonished yet again by their lunacy. I'll be giving these postings the handy umbrella title "Loonwatch"!

Let's start with my new favourite, an angry open letter from the Coalition for Traditional Values, "appalled" by last week's stand-up routine from Laura Bush at the White House Correspondent's Dinner [I've highlighted the particularly crazy bits]:

...we saw our President undermined, mocked and emasculated by his own wife on the most public of stages, and at a time when his manliness is already under attack. We saw the leader of the free world seemingly unable to lead his own family. Mr. President, as God's elected represented here on earth, you owe it to every American to live your life as an example to us. And that example extends to the behaviour of your wife, Mrs. Bush, as well.

Yes, these people are terrific entertainment but the fear creeps in when one realizes that a bunch of cranks like me are the only people paying attention to their attempts to steamroll over human rights. This was screamingly apparent last week, when CNN held a 'debate' over a proposed Texas law to ban gay men and lesbians from adopting foster children. Cathie Adams, president of the Texas Eagle Forum advocacy group, announced that "children in same-sex couple homes are 11 times more likely to be abused sexually...It is a proven fact and that was a research study done in the state of Illinois..."

Proven fact? One research study? Once again, comedian Jon Stewart was the only mainstream media figure who pointed out that the study in question was, as he ranted on-air, "bullshit" (here's the hilarious video in Quicktime or Windows MP). Only after his outburst did the Wall Street Journal point out the bogus statistics that right-wingers by now accept as fact.

These people are stomping over the rights of gay people and depriving foster children of people who'll care for them. It's only funny on the surface.

Labels: George W Bush