You sound sweet, but you don't make sense.

Ok, so I didn't get to finish my xmas movies, maybe next year. I didn't get to watch a couple essentials which, to be fair, I do like to omit for a couple years now and again so they get a little new again. Particularly, The Man Who Came to Dinner, Christmas in Connecticut and Miracle on 34th Street.

I did get to watch a couple more but didn't write them up, one of which was Rambo: First Blood. Now THAT is a classic example of desperate. Rambo is only a Christmas movie in the sense that towards the end of the movie when the fightin' moves into town, there are clearly Christmas lights and decorations in a few scenes. That's it. But still, one could argue it counts.

So now it's more about awards season and catching up on 2010 movies, be they good or just mediocre (I'm looking at you, Please Give). Maybe even a few wretched ones (I totally want to check out The Tourist).

I saw Black Swan with my mom just before Christmas and really, really liked it. It was incredibly well done, stylish and just really well executed. I'm not sure I need to see it again, it's quite intense (like all his films, I suppose) but I enjoyed it nonetheless. Great acting, too, no surprises there.

True Grit was also a really good time. It felt surprisingly mainstreamy for a Coen brothers flick, but not in an objectionable way. Pretty great acting there, too. Even Matt Damn was watchable. (It's probably safe to say I don't have a problem with Damon anymore, but I do find him distracting in that Tom Cruise sense that I often can't see JUST the character, it's still MATT DAMON.)

Most recently, I saw Blue Valentine, starring Ryan Gosling and Michelle Williams. Now THAT was incredibly well done, and jesus I do not need to see it again.



It's about a couple whose relationship is just about over, and the story has flashbacks mixed from the beginning of their relationship. The acting is fucking superb and the filmmaking is damn effective. Everything from the camera shots to the space-age-theme sex motel room has a smothering, oppressive feel to it that almost makes it hard to watch. (That motel room, jesus. It just feels like there's no ventilation, and there is no light.) I know, this isn't really a way to sell seeing it, but I think you either already want to see this one or not, there is no "maybe." My only beef was that Gosling's character went from punk to white trash in a way that made him much harder to relate to or be sympathetic for. I thought if he'd been more middle of the road it would have been a more difficult scenario.

I really wanted to see The King's Speech before tonight (Golden Globes!) but it just didn't happen. That is next on the list followed by The Fighter; naturally the Bostonians here are quite proud of their boy! This week, hopefully it'll happen.

Well, completely unrelated, I think the best thing of the year so far events-wise has to be the Sarah McLachlan concert at the Boston Opera House. Wow, that is going to be impossible to top. I was in row CC, which is apparently the third row. I couldn't see her pores, but it was really impressive how close I was. When it's an intimate show, I think it is nicer to be closer--I could see facial expressions and it was just more enjoyable.



I want her shirt, btw. It was SPARKLY.

I also felt a little old to realize that I have been listening to her sing since about 1991 and I really don't think she has any bad records, so I've really kept up with her and lots of her music really reminds me of specific events or times in my life. So it was a pretty moving show for me. Even her newest album is already tied to something--it came out when I was in Sweden and I listened to it a shit-ton, then when I was in South Africa I would usually play a particular mix for falling asleep, which started with Forgiveness, totally the best track on the album even though it wasn't the first single.



I do think it's funny that two of her uber-hits kinda bore the shit out of me. Naturally everyone flips out and goes batshit for Angel, which I have just never been big on. I am sure I liked it more at one time, but when something you like moderately gets shoved down your throat enough, you start to get Real. Tired. Of It. And Adia. Meh, I never got the Adia craze. I get that it's a huge song for her personally (her best friend broke up with her boyfriend, and that boyfriend and McLachlan then realized they were in love, AWKWARD, but yup, she did it, she dated her BFF's ex. I am not judging, I'm sure it was a terrible decision to make. They did end up getting married, so I guess it was a good decision...although they are divorced now...anyway, I think things were pretty bad with her BFF for a while. They are BFFs again, though). Anyway, my point is I get it, but I just never really liked that one much.

The best part of the show was that there was no opener, instead she included Butterfly Boucher



and Melissa McClelland



in the entire show. I'm familiar with Boucher and she's great, but I was really impressed with McClelland. Apparently she's married to Luke Doucet, who I'm familiar with because he's been McLachlan's guitarist since...well hell, since as long as I've been listening to her!



You also cannot see it here, but McClelland is wearing a very cool black dress, black tights and some spanking bright red heels that are quite bitchin'.

I saw Butterfly Boucher before when she opened for McLachlan several years ago. I've tried to keep up with her, but apparently she had a new album in late 2009 I missed the boat on. She's also Australian, so her stuff can be harder to find or it takes longer to get released over here.



But anyway, she is still awesome and it made for a really great show for all 3 of them to be playing together, no doubt an effort spawned from Lilith Fair. I'm just glad I got there on time--how many people dawdle because they don't care about the opening act? I thought Boucher was opening, so it was a surprise when the woman next to me explained how the evening was going to work. (The woman next to me who, for the record, only had her newest album, given to her with the tickets by her husband for Christmas. Uh, great present and all, but the teenager in me is still bitter about the fact that people like that are in the 3rd row and other die-hard fans who can't afford it are stuck in the nosebleeds. Shit, I can't afford it, but this is the only artist other than Simon & Garfunkel for whom I'm willing to make especially poor financial decisions.)

Ok, back to research for another couple hours til show time tonight!

Never Trust A Stranger With Your Cigarette Money

"Few people on this planet knows what it is to be truly despised. Can you blame them? I earn a living fronting an organization that kills 1200 people a day. Twelve hundred people. We're talking two jumbo jet plane loads of men, women and children. I mean, there's Attila, Genghis... and me, Nick Naylor. The face of cigarettes, the Colonel Sanders of nicotine."

One of the many quotes from a great film, Thank You For Smoking. If you haven't seen it yet, do so. You'll laugh. A lot.

I'm not a smoker, and never have been. I find it a vile habit. That said, I also find just as vile, if not more, the tactics of the anti-smoking lobby. I'm convinced that there are some in that lobby who'd love to pass a law allowing anyone seen smoking to be shot on sight. What, you think I'm kidding?

Here in Canada, they've been at it again, increasing the size of cigarette warnings on the packages. Come on. You think anyone who smokes has no idea about the danger of smoking? They know. They just don't care. And being heavy handed about it isn't going to change them. Showing pictures of rotting gums, blackened lungs, and dying people will not change a smokers' mind.

Well, I'm not actually here to talk about smoking today. At least not directly. Some years ago one evening, I was walking through my home city. I was passing by a convenience store, and two teen boys were out front. One of them asked if I'd buy him cigarettes. He had cash in his hands, a hundred dollars. He wanted it by the carton.

The fine, incidentally, for buying cigarettes for minors is in the thousands, by the way. It's considered a crime. I've had teens ask me to buy cigarettes before and since; maybe it's the fact that I look so disreputable. I looked at him, looked at the store, noticed how much of the window was covered over by banners and posters.... and got an idea. How hard would it be for them to keep an eye on what was happening inside? I took the money, walked inside, strode right up to the cashier, and asked if there was a back door.

He nodded, and asked what this was about. I simply replied that I wanted to teach the two out front a lesson. The cashier smiled; he told me they had already tried buying earlier. He told me that the back door led out to an alley, and from there, I'd be on my own.

So, off I went. Out the back, through the alley, and among a warren of back streets that I knew quite well as it was. I got onto a bus, a hundred dollars extra on me, and went downtown, caught a movie.

I wonder to this day how long it would have taken those two brats before they came into the store, looking desperate... and finding out that the guy who they'd sent in had taken their cash and left. I'd say five minutes.

It just goes to show you. Never trust a stranger with your cigarette money. Especially when they look disreputable.

Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Censor Here

By now you've all heard of the move by Twain scholar Alan Gribben and NewSouth publishing to release a copy of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn in a cleaned up, sanitized version that trades the n-word for slave and uses Indian rather then Injun. It's a move that's rightfully getting a lot of criticism. Gribben justifies it by claiming it would make the book more accessible for readers who are uncomfortable with Twain's use of the word.

Twain wrote the book at a time when reconstruction was failing, and freed slaves were facing new repression and discrimination, particularly among the South. He used the common vernacular of the time and created his masterpiece, a story of a river rat and an escaped slave. In the course of the book, Huck comes to see Jim as a fully formed human being. He unlearns everything he has ever been told about slaves. For the first time in American literature, an African-American man, a slave, is seen as a man. For this reason, among many others, the book stands tall as a classic not only in American literature, where it has no equal, but among world literature.

Among his many quotable remarks, Twain said that the difference between the right word and the almost right word was like the difference between the lightning bug and the lightning. He used the n-word over two hundred times in Huckleberry Finn, and he didn't do so because he found it amusing. He used the word to tell his readers in his own time and beyond... that it's an unpleasant word. And that the institutions of racism and discrimination are not only unpleasant, but they're wrong.

The book's been through this before. Others have tried to release sanitized versions. Library boards have debated banning the book altogether. And in trying to release a version that doesn't offend, Gribben has offended nearly everyone. In revising the language, Gribben isn't staying true to the realities of how society was in Twain's time. And in doing so, in trying to censor the word, to hide it, he's doing a great disservice to Twain's legacy, and to the children who should continue to be reminded of the stark realities of history.

Sorry. Don't mean to preach. I've always loved reading Twain, and I get annoyed by this sort of thing.

So, to get back to me being me (preaching is really out of character), in addition to the above suggestions, what other books would face the gauntlet of political correctness and come out with changes?

Several of us were talking about all of this as of late, and came up with some suggestions for new names for classic, and not so classic books.

 Shakespeare of course would be the first to face the gauntlet, and so something like Henry V would have to be retitled Henry V, Autocrat of An Outdated Monarchy. By the same token, A Midsummer's Night's Dream would inevitably be called A Delusion Of Nighttime In The Month of July.

Jane Austen would be next. Beth suggested that Pride and Prejudice would go by the ungainly Arrogance And An Assumption Made About Someone Or Something Before Having Adequate Knowledge.

Dickens certainly wouldn't be safe. Great Expectations implies that you're overstepping your bounds, so a better title under the political correctness auspices would have to be Modest Hopes and Anticipations.

Little Women? That could be seen as discriminatory to little people, and the title would have to be changed to Vertically Challenged Females.

The classic Last of the Mohicans would still go by that title, but have the additional subtitle: Thanks To The Genocidal Psychopath Columbus; Let Us Raise Him From The Dead So That We Can Kill Him All Over Again.

Even more recent books might get into trouble. The Hunt For Red October? Well, hunting is a source of annoyance for animal rights groups, so the Hunt would have to be dropped. And not everyone uses the Gregorian Calendar, so let's get rid of October. And while we're at it, Red implies communism. We don't want to offend anyone, do we? Hence the title would be changed to The Urgent Search For The Crimson Tenth Month Of The Gregorian Calendar Year. Don't forget Dan Brown. His Angels and Demons can be retitled Celestial Beings and Naughty Creatures Who May Or May Not Exist Depending On Your Theology before he gets into any more trouble.

If we take this to its logical conclusion, then how about this? Norma's books include An Army Of Angels and The Unicorns' Daughter. Political correctness would force a change of titles to A Gathering Of Military Ranks Of Celestial Beings. And since Unicorns don't exist, it would have to be The Mythological Creatures' Female Offspring.

With my own work, Heaven & Hell... that implies theology (at least I think it's supposed to, I'm not very theological). That's a big no no to the political correctness brigades. Therefore I might as well just change the title right now to A Very Pleasant Place & A Very Dangerous Place That Might Exist And Might Not Depending On Your Religious Beliefs.

Don’t call me whitey...

I feel a little inhibited about commenting on the news that Professor Alan Gribben has brought out a new edition of Huckleberry Finn with the word “nigger” removed; or that the Canadian Broadcasting Standards Council has banned the Dire Straits song ‘Money For Nothing’ because it includes the word “faggot”. I became even more reticent after the movie critic Roger Ebert was digitally roasted for expressing his opinions on the former controversy. His offence was to tweet that he’d “rather be called a nigger than a slave.” The objection, apparently, is that Ebert “would actually say which word he would rather be called when he will never be called neither [sic].” Actually, if these are the criteria, maybe I am allowed to comment, because I’ve been called a faggot more than once; and I’ve even been called a nigger, although I think my interlocutor on that occasion was trying to call me a nigger-lover, but got a bit lost half-way through an uncharacteristically polysyllabic word.

No, it’s all too sensitive. I don‘t want to get embroiled in this never-ending argument about whether particular words are good or bad or only to be used by qualified individuals with the appropriate genetic makeup. Instead, I’d just like you to consider a scenario. Imagine that a whole load of wise and wonderful scientists and medical workers had announced that they wouldn’t in fact develop and implement vaccination programmes that would save millions of lives; that instead, they’d decided that if they just stopped people from saying those nasty words “smallpox” and “polio”, then everything would turn out OK in the end.

In Character: Eden Adler

Another blog from the point of view of a character, this one taken at a point some years in the past....

***

There's a common belief that identical twins can read each others' thoughts. They're joined at the hip, seem to know exactly what the other one will do, and regularly switch places, just to annoy parents, teachers, and any other authority figure who has trouble telling them apart.

That's what it's like for Mia and I. I'm the older, by all of ten minutes. She and I have been inseperable all of our lives. And while we're physically identical, there are a few personality differences. She's more outgoing then I am. I'm a bit more of a tech geek. Still, when we want to, we get to trading places, taking each others' classes, wearing the others' clothing... and no one's the wiser.

The bond we have... I can't explain it. It's something different then how it is with siblings who aren't twins. And it's deeper then the friendships we have. In some ways, I'm closer to her then I could ever be to a lover.

And now she's dead.

I was in class... and she was in a mall in Tel Aviv. There was a suicide bomber. She was one of sixteen people murdered by a suicide bomber who decided to take as many civilians with her as she could.

Before I even heard the news, I felt that something was wrong. And I knew that something had happened to Mia. I just can't believe it's this. I can't believe she's dead.

How can I go on alone? The other half of my soul is gone. My sister... my closest, dearest friend... my Mia. She's dead. I can't go on without her. Life without her in it... is unthinkable.

Me again. When I visualize Eden, I can see her in the actress Anna Silk.

Reality Bites

In another sign of the decline of western civilization, a reality show mouth breathing bottom feeder calling itself Snooki released a novel in recent days. That is, she and her ghost writer released the book. Let's face it, she doesn't appear bright enough to even approach grade one literacy, so you know she needed help writing the book.

For those of you lucky enough not to know, Snooki is a cast member of The Jersey Shore, a so called reality show in the tradition of The Hills, yet another show about vacant headed idiots living together Once upon a time, MTV used to play music videos. Now it runs reality shows. I've only seen brief clips, but what I've seen leads me to shake my head in dismay. This dreck is what passes for entertainment?

This bubble headed moron is Snooki herself.

The other day, Ellen DeGeneres read a passage from the book on her show. Apparently the passage she read (how'd she do that without breaking out into laughter?) featured a naked guy with a strategically placed cloth... that started to move.

Well, from the brief clips I've seen, I would suggest that the reason the cloth started to move is simple: pubic hair lice. These wastes of oxygen on that show seem to fit that part.

I have, however, had the distinct pleasure of seeing the entire Jersey Shore cast mercilessly skewered. South Park did a tremendous job of that this season, writing Jerseyites as obnoxious louts, and Snooki herself as an animal in rut, shagging anything that crossed her path. I think that latter notion is spot on, by the way.

What is it about reality television that makes it infest the airwaves? For years now, we've been subjected to show after show of d-list celebrities (emphasis on d-list) in rehab or living together under one roof (Celebrity Rehab or The Surreal Life). We've seen shows like Survivor, Big Brother, and the Bachelor and Bachelorette franchise hog airtime. There are shows about large families with cameras in the faces of little children all the time while parents gradually start sniping at each other (balding Gosselin and angry Gosselin, I'm talking about you).

And it never ends. Shows about bridezillas, baby mommas, teen mothers, non celebrity interventions, bounty hunters, d-listers desperately trying to salvage their careers (Corey Haim, Corey Feldman, Hasselhoff, I'm talking about you prats, even if one of you bit the dust). Shows about people who are famous merely for being famous (the Hiltons, the Lohans, the Kardashians)... let's face it, this one is surely a plague on all humanity.

There are signs of hope. After all, Sarah Palin's reality show (who launches a presidential campaign in a reality show?) hasn't been picked up for a second season, and so much the better. She'll just have to launch Phase One of Operation Empress Sarah, Supreme Majestrix Of The Americas another way.

I even count the so called competition shows that never seem to end and clutter up the air waves. Dancing With The (Has Been) Stars. America's Got Talent. So You Think You Can Dance. And the worst of them all? American Idol and its various counterparts.

How many of these so called Idol winners can you name? Exactly. The only one who might have a lasting career is the one who went right into country music instead of sticking to the tried and true Idol formula.

Idol panders to that impulse so many people have to become famous. From my point of view though, the music acts who last, who make an impact, are the ones who do the work themselves, who pay their dues, who rise to the top based on their own talents.

Idol contestants, on the other hand, fit into the nice and neat package set up by studio producers who drop interest in them after the first album, thus resigning them to the oblivion they came from. That's not how you make a mark in the music world.

Reality shows are a pestilence. A plague. Indeed, I'll leave you with this thought. Take the story of Exodus. Had ancient Egypt been equipped with televisions, there would have been no need for plagues of locusts, bloody rivers, frogs, fires, or death. God could have inflicted a plague of reality shows on Egyptian airwaves. The Pharoah would have been summoning Moses to his palace within twenty four hours.

"Moses, buddy! Listen, you can take all of your people, leave Egypt. You're free now. Just tell that god of yours to please stop airing Goshen Idol and Giza's Got Talent and The Alexandria Shore. It's driving our people out of our minds! Come on, Moses. I did that favour for you, remember?"

M Is For Manhunt

Manhunt Continues For Muppet Supervillain In Canadian Wilderness

The search continues in the Alberta foothills for wanted fugitive Mr. Johnson, the mustached blue skinned Muppet. Johnson, who was convicted of the first degree murder of Elmo the Muppet, escaped after a plane crash across the border while en route to a federal supermax prison pending execution. As the crash site happened in Canadian jurisdiction, the Mounties are heading up the search for the dangerous fugitive, and the head of the task force is the legendary Inspector Lars Ulrich.

Johnson, also known as Fred and Big Blue, framed arch nemesis Grover for the murder, using a hit-muppet for the dastardly deed. His crimes were exposed in court by attorney Kermit the Frog, exonerating the name of Grover and condemning Johnson to pay for his sins. Johnson, of course, swore revenge.

Grover and his girlfriend have been taken into protective custody for their own safety. Authorities suspect that Johnson may intend to carry out revenge against his long time foe one way or another. Authorities in Canada have also taken into protective custody one William Kendall.

"It's a little odd," Ulrich told reporters gathered around an RCMP detachment in High River, Alberta. "Professor Waldrow of McGill University suggests that Mr. Kendall is passing back and forth between what he refers to as the Fourth Wall of Reality, and therefore may be aware of how events in the future will play out. Professor Waldrow also theorized that Mr. Kendall is, in fact, the mysterious omnipresent individual typing at a keyboard, and we're all mere characters in his head. If you ask me, Professor Waldrow has been snorting some of his own lab chemicals. At any rate, the Minister believes Mr. Kendall may be a target of Mr. Johnson, merely for writing the muppet into a position of being a supervillain, so we've had to take him into custody."

The search is ongoing in the back country. Winter has firmly settled in. No trace has been found of the supervillain, but police are certain he hasn't made his way across the border yet. Rumors have come back to the Mounties, sightings of a short blue muppet on a distant ridge, or cabins broken into late at night. Is this the mysterious supervillain? No one can know.

The reporters were anxious for more information. Ulrich seemed anxious to leave. The inspector has never been comfortable with reporters, after all. One reporter, assigned to TMZ.com, spoke up among the crowd. "Lars! Lars! Griff Jax, TMZ.com! Can we have a word?"

Ulrich shook his head and rolled his eyes, recognizing an entertainment journalist when he saw one. "You can have two. Drop dead."

"Lars! I just wanted to ask how you spent your birthday."

"My birthday?"

"Isn't it strange having a birthday on December 26th, so close to Christmas?"

"My birthday is on the first of July, you insufferable twit."

"Were you in the studio recording with the band on your birthday?"

"Listen, damn you, I'm not that Lars Ulrich!" With that, the Inspector strode forth through the ranks of the journalists, and decked Griff Jax. Finished, he walked back inside, an irritated expression clouding his features. Jax, meanwhile, burst into tears, but in the opinion of this reporter, what else would you expect from a waste of space like an entertainment reporter?

The search continues. Somewhere out in the wilds, a muppet stalks the land, seeking revenge. Either that, or he's been eaten by a grizzly bear.