Random Writing #6: Natural Disaster

Snow blankets the hills
and the valleys.
A gentle wind billows
the snow banks.
The spring thaw comes.
An avalanche falls
from the peaks
revealing the barren earth.
Fire breaks out in the valley.
Hurricane winds drive.
A quivering starts;
an earthquake erupts.
A tsunami crashes
against the shore
amid ripples of
sparking electricity.
Then comes the flood. The snow descends again.
We are alive.
And we hibernate.

Review: "Identity Thief"

If you're a teenage boy, you might enjoy "Identity Thief." The teenage boys behind me seemed to enjoy it. Not being a teenager, the crass jokes didn't do much for me. The story really meandered and seemed to rely heavily on its feel-good ending. I feel like I'm the one who was robbed of $12. 1.5/5

Review: "Oz: The Great and Powerful"

"Oz: The Great and Powerful" is as though Sam Raimi found a director's cut of the original Oz movie and jissomed all over it. That, oddly enough, is a good thing. The opening montage looks like Hitchcock directed a James Bond intro. The transition from black and white to colour was so quick I missed it and didn't realize it for at least a few seconds. The 3D aspect doesn't seem to have been particularly on Raimi's mind and for that I'm thankful though he did make at least two or three nice moves on that front. It doesn't pretend to be the original and I recall Raimi once saying he was hesitant to even touch the project. But I'm glad he did and that he left his fingerprints all over it while still paying homage to its genesis. The story is a little slow to get going but picks up considerably part way through. At times the landscape and use of lighting filters almost seems like Raimi took a break and let Tim Burton take over for a bit. In contrast, Danny Elfmann should stop playing with his magic wand for a bit and let someone else take over. Actually, the music isn't bad but at some point there just should have been a break from it. James Franco was decent though I found Mila Kunis' role as the fence sitting witch... odd. Beautiful but odd. Her later portrayal as the wicked witch comes with much more intensity. Bonus point: Bruce Campbell! 4.2/5

Review: "The Dictator"

"The Dictator" is horribly inappropriate. And that's why it's funny. 3/5.

Random Writing #5 - Free at Last

A wild animal
Kept in a cage for years
Doesn't know
Where to go
When the cage creaks open.

It looks hesitant,
Stretches,
Licks its wounds.
It breaks for the undergrowth,
Only to find,
It misses its cage.

It wonders where all the other wild things are,
If it can be free again.
Or will they smell the stench on him,
Shun him?
Will he die alone?

The cage creaks closed.

In Memory or Bubbles

Arthur McBride died sometime around Valentine's Day as near as anyone can guess. He wasn't found until early in March. I can only assume the landlord came looking for the rent. Seems like such a sad way to be found.

His death has been listed as "suspicious." Whatever that means. He wasn't in the best of health, fighting immense pain and sleeplessness since a car accident about a decade before. He was known to indulge in some less than legal medication. I suspect his death was due to complications in that regard. I couldn't put an age to him. I would guess somewhere around 40 but he could have been anywhere between 30 and 50, really.

I didn't know him. Not personally. But there wasn't a day that went by when I was at work that I didn't see him come in to order his usual. He'd sit in the corner by the window and read or work at his laptop and make notes or sketches or personal greeting cards or whatever he wished. He was like part of the furniture for over seven years. People would often wave and say hello to him but I never saw anyone sit with him. He seemed a very private man. I wish I had known better.

When word spread of first his disappearance and then his death, it was the talk of East City. Everyone knew him. Everyone loved him. Everyone would miss him. This is not hyperbole. He'd had no formal arrangements made. I don't think there was even a funeral. So one was improvised for him. They held a parade for him like he was some kind of martyr or war hero (though I can say with what seems like certainty that you'd never catch Arthur fighting in a war). They met at the park across town, almost two hundred people, all told and blew bubbles as they marched across the bridge to the Tim Hortons he sat in every day. Blowing bubbles was apparently one of his favourite things. I once saw him sitting outside under the tree blowing bubbles. He smiled at me and I thought "what a nut." But a harmless and likeable nut. He blew them at Jack Layton's funeral, a picture of which became his memorial photo. After the parade, a local establishment opened their doors for an open mic night in his honour, allowing people to express their love for him on stage. Another establishment held a dance for him.

The thing everyone said about him was that he had a "knowing smile." And so true that is. He looked at you like he was God and you were his child. Not in a condescending way but in a "I forgive you for you know not what you do" way, even if you weren't doing anything bad. He saw through you immediately and it made him a little sad because he felt your pain but he smiled at you anyway because he knew it would make you smile and he'd have left a tiny little footprint in this world. He left many footprints, all in all.

That's why I thought the whole thing a little odd. Two hundred friends show up to mourn you, dressed in bright colours with balloons and bells and feathers. But no one thought to look in on you for two weeks? Who were you, Arthur? What did you know that you didn't tell us? Why didn't you tell us?

I've only said this once before, but for your sake, I hope there is an afterlife for surely you will sit comfortably among angels.

I wish I could say two hundred people will march in my honour someday.

Review: "How to Steal a Million"

They don't make movies like "How to Steal a Million" anymore. Who wouldn't want to be the dashing tuxedoed art thief Peter O'Toole? It's clever, it genuinely funny and has enough twists to keep you guessing. Like all 60's films it suffers from bad sound engineering and poor colour saturation but you have to blame that on the technology of the day. My only real complaint is that the denouement runs a tad longer than it needs to. 4.8/5.

Review: "The Art of Getting By"

"The Art of Getting By" is this oddly pretentious story about trying to not be pretentious. When you start out with a well known philosophy quote, you've got to follow that up with something more than rich teenagers in love. There's really nothing new in this, it's just a rehash of lots of other romantic movies. But it does a decent job of rehashing at least with a credible cast and some excellent tracks. I wasn't a fan of the cinematography though. As a side note to that, I've noticed that romantic comedies often have a Christmas scene in them. I've always thought that just an oddity but the cinematography thing got me wondering. It's a good scene to have because you have this dull grey scenery of the before contrasting nicely with the warm lights and community feeling connotations that Christmas brings as the climax. Anyway, it's kind of a cute story if you don't mind whiny rich kids. 3.2/5.

Review: "Chronicle"

I suppose I should have been tipped off by the title of "Chronicle" that it was going to be a first person handi-cam show a la "Blair Witch" or "Cloverfield." The problem is that the use of the in story camera doesn't break the fourth wall for the viewer, rather it just provides a window into it. It's an occasional plot device but often seems wildly out of place for the story, particularly toward the end. It could have been told just as easily if the characters had been fond of using a camera but didn't rely on the first person aspect of it. For all that though, there is something darkly seething under the skin of this action/suspense film. There's quite a bit of humanity's lesser moments packed into something like 70 minutes. 3/5.

Review: "Moon"

"Moon." See this movie if only because Kevin Spacey is playing an emoticon using robot. Other good reasons: Sam Rockwell does a good job of double duty as pretty much the only characters; it has a fairly high budget for a movie I've never heard of (they saved on actors); it's kind of like "Space Odyssey: 2001" without the 2 hours of silence. The story starts out pretty well and then takes a pretty linear turn but still keeps you gripped by the moon rocks. I don't really care for the ending - it's too optimistic for what is otherwise a pretty grave story. 3.9/5

Broken Love Letter

It ended amicably enough, I suppose. We wanted different things. You wanted kids. I didn’t. You wanted an education, a career, a house. I frankly didn’t know what I wanted and still don’t. We said it was about the kids but it was more than that, wasn’t it? The magic was gone.  You’d changed. I’d changed. We’d never had much in common anyway. I wasn’t your type. “Classic,” you’d call me. You were for the tattooed and self-absorbed types before. You were my type; nothing like me, a little punkish and a little princess, a little defensive and a little defenceless.

So what was it? Was it because I’d put on weight? Certainly neither of us was happy about our own appearance. We fed off each other’s negative energy rather than nourishing the positive. Though I admit you were more positive than me. Was it because I wouldn’t pluck my eyebrows? Did I disparage your spending too much? Did neither of us have the energy anymore?

I was your first love though I didn’t believe that. I don’t know if that made it easier or harder for you.  I was bitter, jaded. You were fresh but far from innocent. You’d hated before but I wonder if love and hate are the same thing sometimes. Maybe you’d hated yourself for loving him.  I hear that’s the way it goes.

You lived in another woman’s shadow for a time. Maybe I started dating too soon. Maybe I wasn’t ready.  But I got past it in time. You never did, I don’t think, no matter what I told you. I lived in a shadow too. I hated to mention it as it could only conjure bad memories for you but it was there and many movements were censored for your approval based on that shadow. Maybe I hated to think I was anything like him. You wished you were more like her. Could either of us have been sillier?

I was stone faced when you brought it up, sitting on the couch. We didn’t say much, really. Mostly we agreed it wasn’t working and hashed out a few of the details. Inside I was a little relieved. I’d felt the same but was afraid to bring it up. But I was also sad. I wanted to cry, I wanted to go somewhere and be alone. Instead I stayed on the couch staring at the TV and trying to feel nothing at all while listening to what I believed was you faintly weeping in the bedroom. I wanted to go console you, to hold you and be your white knight again. But I suspected you wanted to distance yourself right away. I don’t know what you expected of me. You told me your mother thought that I would propose if I was put on the spot. Clearly she didn’t know me that well. I know your friends had encouraged you on their opinion that I was a douchebag. Maybe I am but they are hardly ones for picking the good ones themselves. Take care in listening to their advice. Clearly it wasn’t spur of the moment and though I’d seen this coming for some time, I was utterly unprepared for it.

In the intervening weeks we carried on as usual while things disappeared into boxes. There was underlying tension but we both knew it was for the best. I helped you move some things down to the U-Haul parked out front in the bright August sunshine. I was angry with your helpers for not moving too fast. When it was all loaded I came down to see you off. I gave you a hug but don’t know if I even said goodbye. I gave the dogs a cursory pet. I was in a hurry to have you gone but not for the reason you might suspect. I didn’t want you to see me cry. You were taking a piece of me with, you see. Five years of my life walked out the door that day. But I thought if you knew that I would just be making a bad situation worse. I made it upstairs to the open window when I heard your helper say something. I don’t remember what it was but you admonished him in a low whisper. I really can’t recall what was said but I have this paranoid feeling it was about me and that it hurt. It was the moment I cracked and finally cried. I was supposed to go to a concert that afternoon. I’d won VIP tickets and a meet and greet. But I didn’t go. I couldn’t. Instead I went to the liquor store and bought a bottle of whiskey.

We stayed loose friends for awhile. Mostly just a random picture text now and then. I didn’t want to converse too much for fear one or the other or both of us would regret it. We needed our space. But you took a little piece of me with you and I was happy to have a little piece of you in return.

I threw myself into my work and was actually happy for a little while. There was something of a promotion and I felt I had garnered some respect finally. I enjoyed living on my own. But in time I grew lonely, only conversing with one or two friends when they were online. Greater expectations were put on me at work that I couldn’t live up to and I wasn’t happy about. The tax refund I was counting on to help pay off the credit card fell through. I fell into insomnia. I wanted a hug and the gentle caress of a woman’s hand on my cheek. I felt like I was drowning in my own impotence while you were out there doing the things you want to do. I admit I felt some jealousy though I know it was hardly all rainbows and sunshine for you.

It was a bit of a shock to me when I saw on Facebook, that social bane, that you were seeing someone new. I wasn’t hurt about it. I never owned you and I don’t own you now. I wanted you to find happiness and was frankly a little surprised that you hadn’t met someone at school. It wasn’t so much a shock that you were seeing someone when I saw it as the shock of who it was. At first I thought it was a joke. It’s hardly here or there and absolutely none of my business who you date. But I hadn’t seen it coming. Maybe I should have. I knew he had the hots for you and though you’d initially been rather repulsed by him, you began spending more time with him and became friendlier. I never suspected you of cheating before but the question crossed my mind then. Some vague recollection of him quickly and awkwardly leaving the apartment when I got home from work came to mind. Then, too, that parting moment. You told me you were faithful and I believe you because you never lied about anything big like that.

 

But you did lie. You admitted to me before that you lied to me to keep yourself out of trouble. It was hard to tell sometimes whether you were lying or truly believed what you were saying. Not because you were a good liar – I think I almost always caught you even if I didn’t say anything – but because you were so adamant about what you believed. And so what hurt was that you lied to me about seeing him at all. I’d asked and you said you were still single but when this came up you had been seeing him “for awhile.” My ego demanded you had waited at least two or three months after moving out before seeing anyone. Selfish, I know, though I gave you the same respect, not looking to date for sometime afterward. You thought I knew from Facebook posts about him. I never saw a single one. You weren’t looking forward to this conversation. No doubt. Neither was I. And I suspect that was the reason you didn’t tell me. In fact, you said you didn’t want to hurt my feelings. Damned if you do and damned if you don’t. I think I’d have been less hurt with the truth. Something didn’t add up. You thought I knew but didn’t want to hurt my feelings so you didn’t say anything. I reiterate that I’m not hurt because you’re seeing someone but because as my best friend you didn’t tell me. The things that didn’t add mixed with insomnia and depression made me suspicious and jealous. If you lied to me about seeing someone, what else were you lying about? You know how I feel about that.

 

I’ve made mistakes. I can’t argue that. But you always put it aside even if you couldn’t forgive me, just as I did for you. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe we didn’t forgive enough and put too much aside. One such mistake I made was pursuing the cause of my ego. It was a stupid thing to do and I should have let it go. But I did it anyway. I was told I should have “tried harder,” apparently under the misunderstanding that I was trying to get you back. That comment from your friend seemed to come by proxy. I know you sometimes felt I didn’t give you everything and in the end I suspect that’s what drove us apart. But I want you to know that I gave you all I had and more. I gave you my love, time, money, support, energy, everything. Everything I had until it bankrupted and exhausted me, until I had nothing left to give. I gave up dreams and my youth and I gave it gladly. All I have left now is memories. If the rest of this letter is tinged with sadness, grief, remorse or regret, allow me this moment of bitterness. Bitter because I’m not sure you appreciated all that I gave. A few weeks before the end you came home from listening to your friend bitch about her boyfriend and said “I should really learn to appreciate you more.  So then maybe you did recognize that. Maybe it’s all in my head. You gave me the same things, after all. Maybe it was that recognition that I had nothing left to give you that signalled the end. I really don’t know.

 

I won’t look back and say you were a mistake. You were a red herring, luring me in one direction when I ought to have been looking in another. You thought my mother didn’t like you. Nonsense, of course. But what you picked up on I think was the fact that she probably recognized that wrong road long before either of us did. I don’t want you back. That ship has sailed. But sometimes you look over your shoulder and look back at the ship as it sails into the horizon and think wistfully of the places you went together and the places it might be sailing to without you. I hope they are happy, tropical places. Still, I hate to lose you as a friend – one of the few people in life that I like and that like me in return, the few that understand me as well as you did. Maybe it’s for the best, though. They say exes can’t be friends. I don’t believe that. For most people I’m sure it’s true but I think if both people see that the flames have died and the fuel to stoke it back up again won’t come in time, it can end in friendship and best wishes though it’s a little strained and a little distant.

 

And that’s why I don’t want to be bitter or dwell in self-pity for having lost you. I want to remember the good things and the good times and take them always with me. I loved the way you swayed while singing along with your favourite Darren Hayes song, that subtle hip movement that I found so irresistible. I loved listening to the Big Bopper on Galaxy Oldies as you made chocolate chip and banana pancakes while I nuzzled you from behind. (Did that really happen or am I just imagining it?) I loved that day we were searching for a new apartment for you and we got caught in a sudden squall. We took shelter in a bus stop, drenched and cold and made lewd postures for the passing cars. I loved the looks of strangers on the street as we walked in the rain, me dry under my umbrella and you soaking. They didn’t know you liked the rain. I loved singing you corny songs about love on the street corner making an ass of myself in front of strangers as my way of saying I love you before I ever said those exact words. I loved the look of confusion on your face when I handed you a Christmas present and the dawning joy when you realized what it was. (I could never top that). I loved that you held me that night when we dragged the mattress out into the living room so I could be with Lily through the night when I thought she was dying. I loved that you brought me cashews and Coke at work for no reason beyond the fact that I loved them. I loved that night in the garden in Stratford after the play, walking aimlessly through town in our Sunday best, hand in hand. I loved those things and will take them with me through life as some of the happiest moments I’ve ever had. I hope you too can take these memories and your own and be happy with them and not let them interfere with your life. I love you, too, and I always will. I said earlier that I was your first love and now maybe because I’m no longer the best thing in your life, you’ll see how I coped with my previous loves for now you will have to deal with one, too. Maybe I’m doing it wrong. In fact, it’s almost assured. But I’m doing it the only way that comes naturally to me.

When we split we left the door open. We gave it the possibility of reunion in time once we had done the things we wanted to do that we weren’t doing together. But we both knew that was a lie, one of those little lies we tell ourselves to make us feel better. There are a lot of those in a break-up. I knew it wouldn’t happen though I may have held on to some long forgotten artefact, something to get me through the day. When I found you were dating someone new, I let go of that. It was a hard thing to do but in a way it is good. It gives me some peace and allows me to look to the future. I guess it wasn’t until then that I knew it was really over. I’ve always been love sick in one way or another. This is the first time since my first love almost twenty years ago that I can remember not being in love with someone or another. It’s a strange feeling. If love is a sickness then out of love is a terrible disease. I suppose it’s why so many people self medicate.

I wish you well and all the happiness you desire, with or without me. And who knows? Maybe someday in fifty years we’ll meet again on a street corner and rekindle the fire and share a waffle.

But let’s just say it was about the kids.

Logical Impotence

So I came across this article yesterday and was somewhat appalled. First, for those of you who don't know, I'll make my position on marriage clear. Then I'll point out why the argument in the article is absurd.

 

I'm not for marriage. Or more appropriately, marriage is not for me. I object mostly on the grounds that the institution is religious and I am not. Therefore, me getting married would be slightly blasphemous. I can make a commitment without signing my name to a piece of paper or making promises to a god I don't believe in. Which is not to say marriage isn't for some people. If they want to, go for it. Much like sex, as long as it is consensual between the two parties, I don't care if you want to marry a yeti. That's your business and has no bearing on my life whatsoever. So that being said, I'm not exactly for gay marriage. But I sure as hell am not against it. If two people in love -regardless of sex - want to make a meaningless gesture of love between themselves and God, who am I to stop them?

 

So, on with the absurdity. The gist of the argument against gay marriage seems to be that gay people can't accidentally have children. Accidental pregnancy encourages people to marry and form a cohesive family unit, according to Robert Cordy, Massachusetts Supreme Court judge, only dissenter in the landmark 2003 case that legalized gay marriage in that state. While I'll agree that accidental pregnancy has led to more than a few unhappy marriages, I'd say many of these weren't cohesive family units and useful to society as a whole. In this day and age, it's not really even much of an incentive to wed as people often wait years before wedding regardless of whether children are involved.

 

But here's the kicker. This is what knocks that logic out of the park. Or maybe a foul ball analogy is more appropriate. Anyway, gay people must "plan ahead" to have children. Either in vitro or adoption is their only option. Now, if you're going to sound those depths in order to have a family of your own, aren't you better off as a family than a couple of 15 year old kids that accidentally get knocked up? Surely planning ahead should get you some points. And here's the thing, clearly marriage as inducement to stable family planning doesn't work. Because there are thousands and thousands of children out there who need a loving home. Apparently American kids aren't good enough for Brad and Angie, but surely they too need a home. So if there are thousands of kids who are in need of adoption, then marriage clearly doesn't protect children from needing to be adopted. And if there are gay couples who are seeking to adopt said children, why should they be denied the right on the grounds that they aren't married because the state won't allow them to marry because they can't have children? Smarten up, America.