Writers Craft...

So about this writers strike in Hollywood. It's making me want to cancel my cable. For a couple of reasons. First off, I hate most reality television. Not because it's debasing and morally corrupting our society, but because if I watch it, I get totally sucked in. I have to keep up with every episode and stay with it till the bitter end, and that just makes me feel dirty. Like I must make penance and cleanse my spirit of icky, whiny Bachelor contestants and horrifyingly bad Americon Idol auditioners who set themselves up for complete and total humiliation.

Second, this is the first tv season in a very long while that there have been new shows that I was excited about and looked forward to watching. Ever since Friends went off the air, (yes, I'm a cliche, I LOVE that show) I haven't cared too much about what's new or up and coming. I briefly mainlined on Lost, hung in there through the second season, way past the point where it became abundantly clear that the writers and creators of the show never anticipated it becoming as popular as it did and then had absolutely no idea how to intelligently and believably go forward.

Then the Dark Ages of Television set in, where it seemed as though no one even knew how to write a story anymore. Production costs of reality tv must be so freakishly low that the temptation is just too great. I mean really, Amish in the City for crying out loud. Although, when the Amish kids saw the ocean for the first time, I did get a little misty eyed.

Now here we are, present day, and I have not one, not two, but three new shows to look forward to. They may not be your taste, but for a brief time, they were delighting me and keeping me oh so entertained.

First off, Pushing Daisies. I haven't been this excited or this engaged in a television show since Northern Exposure, which, by my estimation alone, has been the single best television series in the last 20 years. What I like about it the most is that it is pure escapism. The show is it's own little bubble, it's own weird little world that looks different and feels different, with it's own merry little band of quirky characters. I want to go to The Pie Hole as much as I wanted to go to The Brick in Cicely, Alaska (plus I totally have a crush on Ned).

Second,Moonlight. This is not a show I expected to like, but I'm usually home on Friday evenings and as I kinda got suckered into The Ghost Whisperer, this came on right afterwards, and when you're knitting, you're less likely to take the time to flick around to find something else to watch. Surprise of surprises, I really am digging this series. Here's a brief synopsis of the premise; A private investigator, Mick St. John, also a vampire, befriends a reporter and together, the dig deep into the vampire culture of Los Angeles. Attraction and sexual tension ensue. There's much more to it than that, but there's the basic gist. Yeah, I know, it sounds cheesy and when I first started watching it, I immediately thought of the Beauty and the Beast series back in the 80's. But it's really quite good for a Friday night, need something to just chill out and watch kind of show. The action is good, the story moves along quickly but not too quickly, there's real chemistry between the two lead characters (and uh, excuse me, but Mick isn't too hard on the eyes) and who isn't a little (or a lot) intrigued by vampires? It's got everything. Especially the guy who plays Mick (who's actually Australian in real life, which only makes him sexier).

Thirdly,Samantha Who? This is just plain cute and funny. Christina Applegate has amnesia and is trying to put together the pieces of her life, only to discover that the life she had isn't really the life she wants. And she has had to move back in with her parents, her mom being Jean Smart, who is always good. Anyhow, this is a great take on the sitcom, cuz there is no audience and therefore the usual conventions of the sitcom have disappeared, leaving just good writing and the opportunity for the viewer to get the jokes without being told when and where they happen. Christina Applegate is great at comedy. She's got great timing and does that whole vulnerable yet a bit crazy thing very well. Her two best girl friends really hold their own and make the show that much better. Especially the girl who plays Dena, her friend from 7th grade. She's hilarious.

So what was my point? Right. I was really enjoying all of this until a bunch of disgruntled writers and their stick in the mud corporate demon bosses had to all go and throw a big hissy fit and ruin all my fun. The only upside is that I am watching a lot more CBC and PBS and feel somewhat smarter for having watched Frontline or The Hour. I'm catching up on some movies, 3:10 to Yuma being good enough to recommend (cuz I'll watch anything with Russell Crowe...are you also noticing a theme here in my viewing habits?). Ben Foster, who plays Charlie Prince in the movie, is awesome. If any of you were Six Feet Under fans, you may recognize him as being Claire's boyfriend. I think he's one to watch.

I hope that the writers do get some of the revenue that they're looking for with regards to DVD sales etc. because the only way I'm going to be watching my stories now I guess is to get them when the seasons come out on disc. There's really no chance of talking me into watching The Moment of Truth.

Until later...

Okay, c'mon...

Okay...I don't like to get all ranty (that's a lie, I do), but I just saw this commercial that really bugged me and the constable is at work, so I'm going to yell in y'alls general direction. If you don't mind.

It was a commercial for some Barbie interactive toy. You hook up this weird Barbie like device to your computer and you can play some sort of Sims like game, only it's all Barbified. I was in the process of taking a sip of my cab. sauv., so I neglected to get the name.

With this Barbified Sim, you can shop and look at fish in an aquarium ('Oh look! An aquarium!'...actual line from the commercial) and own a pet. I'm assuming that you could probably decorate your dwelling and do house work as well. Cuz who doesn't want to do that in your virtual world? Might make you feel like you're actually getting something accomplished, rather than just going around in perpetual circles. But I digress.

Now, I'm not really of the opinion that a girls entire self worth or self image later in life is all wrapped up in a ridiculously stiff action figure. I had Barbies when I was a kid, lots of 'em, and I loved them to death and played with them endlessly. It never occurred to me that I wanted to be like Barbie. I never had dillusions of one day looking like her. Ken was always a little too geeky for my tastes. I didn't see myself ending up with him, driving around in my Corvette one day.

The fact that my mother never let me have long hair when I was a kid is something, at the tender age of thirty, I am still extremely bitter about. Don't even get me started about being put on a liquid diet at 12. Are you catching my drift here? Dolls are dolls. Their inanimate. They exert no influence. Without imposing any outside values on them, kids are left to their own devices and more often than not I suspect, simply act out how they view the world and their own experiences with their toys.

Now...back to the commercial. I've always wondered why there was such a gender divide with regards to video games. The answer is quite simple; violence. Girls just don't get it. For the most part at least. Fantasy or role playing games, I would assume, are more likely to draw a female audience. I got hooked on Sims type games for a while, world building kind of stuff. Which is essentially what this Barbie thing is.

But I mean, c'mon!! Aren't there more interesting things to do with Barbie than go to the freakin' mall???? "Oh look! An aquarium!" Seriously??

Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe this is what all of the market research tells Mattel that young girls want. But that is, in fact, what young girls do. Can't their fantasy life be a little bit more challenging than picking out clothes and being cute?

This bugged me as much as the time I saw girl-oriented Lego's at the Lego store. Clickits I think they were called. With regular Lego's, the primary coloured ones, you can build anything. Anything your imagination can conceive of. With these pastel Clickits, you can make jewelry. And? That's it, jewelry. Granted, you can make a necklace OR a bracelet, or maybe both...perhaps some matching earrings. And the box is packaged like a purse. Really, I've forgotten what I was complaining about (note the sarcasm).

*sigh* I dunno. I don't think there is anything wrong with wanting to be a princess. I just think we can't ever stop encouraging wanting to be the knight in shining armour too.

Everyone's Gone Loonie...

Our dollar made par yesterday. For about an hour or so. I was watching CBC last night, The Hour, and the previews for The National grabbed my attention. I found myself saying, 'I wonder what that means for the Canadian economy?' and you know what? I actually cared.

I'm going to be 30 soon and while that doesn't bother me in a 'oh my god, I'm mourning my youth' kind of way, I am being reminded an awful lot, just about everywhere I turn actually, that things in my life are changing. My perspective most of all.

Like the other day when I was at the grocery store. I'm all about the bargain bin, and they had one for movies and another for CD's. So first of all, I can't even tell you the last time I bought a CD. I don't even download music, that's how culturally irrelevant I am. Anyway, I'm sifting through the bin and come across one of my favourite albums, Blue Rodeo's Five Days in July (which I still think of as their 'new' album, by the way...don't quote me, but I think it was released in '97) and it's like ten dollars. This very thing happened to me a few years ago when I was in a record store in Windsor, ON. Same kind of bin but this time it was The Smiths, Louder Than Bombs, which was the first CD I every purchased and I remember it being likely around twenty dollars at the time. I do believe the bin price was $4.99. *sigh* Twinkies have a longer shelf live.

I remember thinking when I was really quite young that I never wanted to be the type of adult who didn't 'get' stuff, like changing music styles or anything that was new or different. But it really is inevitable in certain arenas.

I had my nephew come to visit a few years ago. He was thirteen at the time. The weather was awful the weekend he stayed with us, so he spent most of the time watching tv or playing Playstation. I have a feeling that's what he would've done regardless. In any event, it was my first exposure to the Family channel for any great length of time. Endless hours of That's so Raven, some horrendous Amanda Bynes show and their ilk. Finally I came out of my subliminal Disney trance and turned to my nephew and said, 'Dude, this stuff sucks.' I was expecting a typical teenage bout of defensiveness, for attacking ones taste in anything at that age is akin to attacking ones very identity. He just lay there in an overly stimulated hump on my couch and mumbled, 'Yeah...I know.' In an effort to cleanse his palate and perhaps pique an interest in something that may actually fire some neurons, I made him watch a few episodes of South Park and I'm With Busey.

Skip ahead a few years and now he's full blown into adolescence. He's all about his clothes, his music, his computer...I can't keep up. He actually had categories for all of his jeans. I was subjected to a rather lengthy lecture on exactly where it is that I should be buying my clothing. Apparently, Old Navy is no better than a department store and I shouldn't even deign to step into the place. American Eagle, Hollister, Ambercrombie and Fitch...that's where it's at. Rather than argue with the poor lad, I took it as a compliment that he failed to notice that I am not twelve nor do I have an ass the size of a pea. My only comment on the subject was that I refuse to pay eighty dollars for a ripped up, frayed, distressed and bleached t-shirt with a logo plastered all over it. But there was a time when I would've. Lest I forget the pair of 14 hole, blue Dr. Marten's languishing in obscurity in my closet. Yea, those still come in real handy.

For now, he's bought into the hype. Heaven help him when he's old enough to get a credit card. All those ring tones and txt mssg's and DVD's and video games tend to add up after a while.

As for me, I rather like this growing up stuff. I don't care about any of that stuff that used to cause me so much anxiety. Heck, there are more days than I'd like to admit now where I can't be bothered to do my hair. I don't know if that's a sign of being well adjusted and relaxed or incredibly lazy and neglectful of self.

Meh.

My Fellow Travellers...

I have had the extreme good fortune to have done a fair bit of travelling in my rather short time on this here earth. My dad was a pilot for Air Canada for thirty some odd years, so needless to say, I've been on a trip or two. In all my travelling experience, I've witnessed the same kinds of behaviours of my fellow travellers again and again, which I can only conclude stem from nervousness or an unfamiliarity with the whole notion of air travel. In an effort to serve the public, I would like to take the opportunity to pass along a few pearls of wisdom that I have gathered, in an effort to demystify the whole experience.

Lets start with security, shall we? You've now arrived at the airport, checked in, recieved your boarding pass.* (a boarding pass gives you access to the plane. It has such pertinent information as your flight number, the gate at which you will be boarding and perhaps most importantly, your seat assignment. You cannot go through security without a boarding pass. Nor can you get on the plane. It's a handy little piece of paper). You've checked your bags through and now are heading to the gate, which requires that you pass through security (that crack team of savvy motivated personnel) once and for all. First things first. Allow your relatives to go. I know it's hard, but let them go. You can write letters and make phone calls and send pictures. Hell, get Skype if you need to. There will be other opportunites for communicating with them. You're not travelling to another dimension. That being said, it's probably sufficient that only one or two of your friends or relatives drop you off. This is not the time nor the place for a family reunion.

Due to the fact that the world has gone completely bonkers in the last seven years (roughly), going through security at the airport is now a gigantic pain in the ass. Because we as human beings need to feel in control of our destinies, and because we can't really ever get a handle on things like global terrorism, I can only assume that having people take their shoes and belts off at airport security checkpoints and having them put their 'no more than 100ml' of hand cream in a plastic baggie is an effort to condense the madness down to a controllable level. There are a few things you, as a traveller, can do to alleviate that throbbing pain in your temple
when the minimum wage summer student that they've put on security duty asks if someone else has packed your bags for you.

First, don't put anything you care about in your carry on bag. And for the love of all that is good and holy, while I'm on the subject, realize what it is we all mean by carry on. A smallish bag only meant to be filled with things to entertain you from point A to point B. You needn't travel like a nomad.

Second, be polite and cheerful. Their job sucks, travelling sucks. We're all in this together. They likely know that all of these ridiculous 'security' measures are as ridiculous as we know they are. It's nothing personal and we all have to go through it. Don't get so bunged up about it. If you really paid as much as you say you paid for that make-up which is 101ml, you should've had the forsight to put it in your checked luggage. When in doubt, pack it.

Thirdly, please do not blame any particular ethnic group out loud for you having to wait in line at security. You'll simply stun those around you and possibly make your wait that much longer.

So now you've gotten through security and are on your merry way to the gate. Whew! Now you can just relax and take in the scenery. You may even want to indulge and get a $12.00 pre-wrapped stale sandwich. (aside; when I said earlier that you weren't travelling to another dimension, I may have been a little hasty. The airport is in a class all it's own. Be prepared for airport pricing, which may require you to take out a line of credit or to re-finance your mortgage if you intend to have lunch while waiting for your flight, because lord knows bringing a bottle of water through security is aiding and abetting global terrorism, but charging nearly fifteen dollars for a sandwich, a drink and a crap-ass bag of chips is in no way criminal).

Once you find your gate, have a seat. Take out a book, or in my case, some knitting and just wait. Every gate usually has a window. If you're a nervous traveller, or if it's your first time, I would suggest sitting near the window. Check outside from time to time. Until there is a large object out there with wings vaugely resembling a bird, there is no need to stand up, continually check with the desk agent, form a line, make enquiries with other passangers or just generally fret.
At this point, I really can't stress enough about forming the line. To the very first person who decides that they can themselves hurry this whole process along by standing at or near the desk I'd like to say this; the only thing you're accomplishing is making other people think that they are missing something and supposed to be in a line. There is that saying that 'nothing attracts a crowd like a crowd.' Well, in this case, nothing attracts a line like one person with some baggage. Trust me when I say that there is absolutely, positively no need for the line until one of three things has occurred.

1) The desk agent has announced the pre-boarding call and there is enough parents with young children or old people to warrant a small line.

2) The desk agent has announced the general boarding call, starting with the rows at the back of the plane to the middle.

3) The desk agent has announced the general boarding call for the remainder of the plane.

Those with enough money to fly first class never have to wait in a line. Bastards.

While sitting at the gate, you may hear the desk agent announce some passangers names. These you can completely ignore. You do not have to worry that they will call your name if you already have a boarding pass* (remember that from earlier?) with a seat assignment. The only people they are interested in talking to are those who are travelling stand-by. Stand-by is like a promisory note saying that you may get on the plane if by the miracle of overbooking and just plain odds, people don't show up. In that case, you can have their seat. Otherwise, you can park your butt and wait for the next Airbus out of town. If they call a name and it isn't yours, remain in your seat and continue to wait. There is no need to do a pre-emptory check at the desk to see if your name is next. They're not doing roll call and checking attendance for everyone on the flight.

So, to briefly sum up at this point, you should have a few facts down pretty hard. First, know your name. Second, have a boarding pass. Have a look at it and know where you're sitting. Again, if you've never flown before, this next piece of info might be of interest. As a matter of fact, this following tidbit may be the most important thing you'll ever need to know. Lets say your boarding pass has the seat assignment of 25B. You don't need to know what kind of aircraft you are flying on to know that the higher the number, the further back in the plane you are sitting. Here is where all that I have told you begins to come together and synthesize. If you have arrived at the gate, checked your boarding pass and are patiently waiting for things to unfold as they should, (because you know you should be reasonably confident that the people running the show know a little more about how to proceed smoothly than say, I dunno, you do) then we don't have a problem.

If however you've arrived at the gate, not seen an airplane attatched to the skyway (that little piece of the building which you walk down to get into the plane), have checked with the desk agent 800 times, don't know your name and have started an unnecessary line while holding a boarding pass that says 2A, please, when the first general boarding call is announced, have the common decency to step one step to the right and allow little old 25B here with her empty carry on and baggied Vaseline Intensive Care to proceed with haste and efficiency.

Thank you for travelling with us today, and enjoy your flight!

The True North Strong and Not so Free...

Ah Canada Day. The long weekend is almost upon us. A weekend to celebrate the birth of our nation, (or rather it's half-assed attempt at distinguishing itself from the British Empire, which may or may not have happened lo these many years hence), by drinking lots of beer and gazing at campfires and guiltily eating lots of hotdogs. Some will go away for the weekend, some will go to concerts, like the Concert on the Hill in Halifax to see the likes of Daughtry, an American Idol not-winner. Has anyone heard from the chick who did win though? Didn't think so.

Yes, Canada Day is the one time of year when all Canadians seem united under the umbrella of nationalism, whereas the other 364 days seem quite schizo as to what constitutes Canadian identity. If you tune into CBC Radio One on any given week you'll undoubtedly hear the mumblings and grumblings and the hemmings and the hawings of what makes us 'Canadian'. No one seems to have come up with a decent answer so far. All that is agreed upon is that whatever makes us Canadian is either archaic, pedestrian, non-inclusive or just plain not good enough. Take the national anthem for example. I just happened to be listening to CBC radio the other day in the car while I was waiting for the constable to get his beer (while wearing his beaver pelt and lumberjack shirt and saying 'eh' a lot). Granted, I wasn't listening very carefully, but the gist of the conversation is that 'O Canada', so the one guy was saying, is perhaps out of date and we should look at alternatives for replacement. While I won't go into the whole history of the anthem, (for those of you who are dying to know, Wiki it) 'O Canada' has only been officially our anthem since, like, 1980. The English lyrics that are most widely used and accepted were written in 1908. The rest of the story is as schizo as Canadian identity itself.

The only other thing that Canadians seem to be able to agree on when it comes to self identity is that we are 'not American'. Make of that what you will. As this Canada Day approaches however, and as my heart swells with patriotic pride for my 'home and native land', I have a bit of a bone to pick with Canada about not 'being American'. I'll sum it up in a little bit of a parable so as to enhance your enjoyment.

Once upon a time there were two little girls, CANdy and UrSulA, who lived next door to one another. CANdy and UrSulA got along pretty well most of the time. Candy liked to go over to Ursulas house and watch Mr. Rogers Neighbourhood and Celebrity Fit Club and Ursula liked to get her prescription drugs at half price over at Candys place. Candys parents had no problem with her playing over in Ursulas yard, and for the longest time, it was vice versa. But then one day Ursula's parents decided that as of 2008, Candy would need a passport to come over and play.

Things went happily along with Ursula enjoying how quaint and polite Candys family was while Candy got a real kick out of how Ursulas family made such a big deal out of their distant relatives, Paris and Lindsay. The two families generally enjoyed a mutually exclusive relationship. Well, there was that one time that Ursulas parents wanted to make a tree fort out of some lumber they bought from Candys family...but we won't go into that now.

Then one day, purely out of the blue, things went sour. Candy was at home looking through one of Ursulas glossy periodicals and happened upon this:


A sailboat mould popsicle maker thingy. Candy was overcome with the need to posess this precious item. It appealed to her love of all things nautical and her equal affection for all things slightly ridiculous. Candy immediately jumped up and ran over to Ursulas window to show her the new found treasure.

"Oh yeah" Ursula said, in a casual tone, "I have one of those."
"You do?!" Candy replied in wide-eyed disbelief.
"Sure. I'll sell it to you if you want."
"Really?!"
"Yeah, why not. But it'll cost you $15.95. And that's in UrSula Dollars."
"UrSula Dollars? What does that mean?"
"Well, for every CANdy dollar that you give me, it only equals 0.924322 UrSula Dollars. That's the exchange rate I'm going with today at least. That's just how I roll."
CANdy stood there for a moment just staring at UrSulA, trying to make it look like she could do the conversion in her head.

"Well..." Candy hesitated "that doesn't sound too bad I guess. Does the sailboat mould popsicle maker thingy come with a recipe book on how to make all kinds of yummy sailboat popsicles?"

"Sure does" replied Ursula.

"Well okay then!" Candy said triumphantly. "But, if I give you $15.95 UrSula Dollars for the popsicle maker, could you at least bring it over to my house for me?"

"Absolutely!" Ursula said with a sly smile. "That'll be another $20.33 UrSula Dollars for shipping."

"What??!" Candy said incredulously. "That's ridiculous! Why, it'll cost more for you to bring it to me that it will to buy the damn thing." Candy hoped that her parents hadn't heard her swear.

"Oh yeah, and you might have to pay duty and taxes on it too. You might want to check with Old Man Customs as I'll have to go through his yard to bring it to you."

Candy sat down and pouted for a moment as she tried to come up with a vague figure for how much this stupid sailboat popsicle maker thingy was really going to cost when all was said and done. It was a difficult task for her childlike brain which, let's face it, wasn't really good with numbers.

Ursula finally broke the silence. "What's it gonna be kid?"

With a heavy heart, Candy looked at Ursula and said, "I don't think I want to buy it right now. I'm going to have to think about it for a while. Can I at least keep the magazine with the picture of the sailboat popsicle maker thingy in it?"

Ursula felt a little sorry for Candy. She was so...so...colonial. "Sure kid" she said, "consider it yours."

Candy turned to go back to her house with the head hung low and her feet dragging on the pavement. When she entered her house, her parents turned to look from where they were sitting watching Coronation Street (followed by The Nature of Things with David Suzuki), eating Smarties and drinking Canada Dry Ginger Ale .

"What's the matter sweetheart?" her parents inquired.

"Oh nothing. I just wanted to buy something from UrSulA but it's going to be too expensive when you factor in the UrSula Dollars and the shipping."

"Why do you need fancy stuff from Ursula when you've got free socialized health care and the GST has been lowered by 1% right here?" Candys father asked.

When Candys father turned back towards the television, Candy gave him a look that indicated just how much respect she had for him (which to be clear, was very little).

"Yeah, that last 12 hour wait in the emergency department only to be sent home with some Tylenol and a bleeding ulcer was real worth it Dad" she mumbled on her way to her bedroom.

Once there, she consoled herself with some maple syrup under her Hudson Bay blanket while she thumbed her way through Ursulas magazine, again and again, until the pages were dogeared and worn, dreaming of all the sailboat popsicles that might have been.

The End.

Epilogue: Last night I saw a preview of a Canada Day special on CBC. "A Concert for Diana" (yes, HRH herself, the Princess of Wales) will be airing July 1 for all you die hard Royalists out there. Looks as though we aren't alone in making a big fuss over distant relatives.