Last NS update: we’re now sitting at our gate, waiting for our plane. Everything *appears* to be on schedule. Fingers crossed.

Right now I’m drinking hot chocolate to soothe my sore throat. It seems the sickness has spread from our mother to my brother and now to me. At least it didn’t ruin my fun for the rest of the weekend.

More tomorrow.

I’ll post more detail later, but for now let me summarize by saying that I am very full, relaxed, fly-bitten and sunburned.

What is it about some people that makes them think it’s ok to cut your fingernails in public?

Anyway…

We’ve arrived, but my brother’s bags have not. I checked for him, but the bags just didn’t make the connection. That is a suck.

I like Pearson terminal 1 so much more than terminal 3. We breezed through (in so much time, in fact, that we now have nearly an hour of post-dinner sitting around before our flight boards); with any luck the rest of our trip will go as smoothly.

S’been an interesting day so far: packing, running errands, sending emails, readying blog posts, checking the news, cursing the fact that I’ll miss the NHL draft lottery, etc. And then there was the crazy man.

This morning my boss and I were walking along Bloor to a meeting, when some guy standing in the middle of the street started yelling at me. Not someone near me; he was very obviously yelling at me. I had no idea who he was, but he was angry at what I was saying…which is weird, ’cause we were discussing what might be the most boring topic you could conceive of: RSS feed auto-discover tags. Obviously he was drunk or stoned or batshit crazy or something, so we didn’t pay him much mind, but he was yelling some pretty nasty stuff. I think he wanted to engage in fisticuffs! I also don’t think it helped that my boss and I were laughing about it. Anyway, he disappeared (presumably to the other side of the street, but it’s possible he jumped down a manhole to escape the voices) and we strolled on to our meeting.

Gotta say, though, it’s not often I get yelled at by a crazy person before 9 AM.

Anyhoo, I’m off for a few days. I’ll be back Tuesday. Be good.

PS: according to a fortune cookie I just ate, my “emotional nature is strong and emotional.” Hooray!

I’m off for the weekend, but should be faithfully posting again by Tuesday. And wouldn’t you know it, the song that’s stuck in my head as I prepare to head for the airport: the underwear gnome song from South Park. Dag.

Take care, kids.

He wrote a what?

Jesus. I’m kind of glad my brother’s leaving London for a week today. Maybe the nuttiness will die down…

Here’s what the Vatican can do: the Vatican can kiss my pale maritimer ass.

From CNN: Vatican paper denounces gay marriage in Canada.

A couple of weeks ago, while waiting in Gatwick to fly home, I picked up two magazines for the flight: an Economist and a UK version of GQ. One of most the interesting articles in that GQ was about which movies make men — 50 of whom they interviewed — cry. Though I myself haven’t cried since I was 12, it got me thinking about which movies get me choked up. Warning: spoilers. If you haven’t watched the movies listed, don’t read this. I give away too much.

• Hotel Rwanda. As I wrote about last year, seeing this at the film festival — and seeing who was there — just about put me over the edge. Closest I’ve come to crying since my kitten died in 1987.
• The Godfather Part III. This film, unfairly maligned in my opinion, culminates in one of the greatest cinematic expressions of pain I’ve ever seen. Only Pacino could get away with something as groan-inducing as a silent scream followed by a hair-raising wail as his daughter lies limp in his arms. And really, while we’re on the topic, had the daughter — played by Sofia Coppola, the weakest part of the movie — been played with any sort of proficiency at all, this might’ve gone down as an all-time classic cinema moment. But even as it is, with Michael Corleone’s mind racing past all the women he’d danced with and loved, all of whom were now dead or despised him, when you the realization that his whole life had been leading to the death of his daughter, he just implodes on the screen. It’s hard to watch.
• Braveheart. I know, I know. Cheese. But the moment where, as he’s being drawn & quartered, he yells “Freedom”, it still produces a lump.
• 61*. The scene at the end, where Mark McGuire gets choked up when he talks about Roger Maris.
• In The Name Of The Father. When his father dies. Duh.
• Lord Of The Rings: Return Of The King. “My friends…you bow to no one.”
• Dead Poets Society. The doozy. It’s certainly one of my favourite movies of all time, so every time I watch it I’m completely into it. The scene that gets me is, of course, the scene at the end where they all stand on their desks and say “Oh captain my captain!”; probably the only thing that keeps me from losing it every time is the horrible synthesizer soundtrack. It’s truly dreadful, and it’s the one thing that ruins the moment. But it still takes a minute to collect myself afterwards.