"I'd say I'm a pretty darn good father. My father tried to eat me, I don't remember trying to eat Timmy."

I forgot to blog about some movies we cleared off the PVR lately. Here they are, from worst to best:

The Notorious Bettie Page (imdb | rotten tomatoes) was a pretty by-the-numbers biopic. Traumatic childhood? Check. Rapid-fire sequence of life events? Check. Great performance by a single actor who’s on the screen for every second of the film? Check. The cinematography was pretty slick, and Gretchen Mol was undeniably hot, but yeah…the same thing we’ve seen many times, if done a little better perhaps.

Fido (imdb | rotten tomatoes) was silly, grisly fun. Here’s the gist: Billy Connolly plays a zombie living with an uptight family in the 50s. The mother of the family is Trinity from The Matrix. The Zombies are always a hair’s breadth away from murdering the humans. Hilarity ensues.

Into The Wild (imdb | rotten tomatoes) was spectacular to look at and, while I thought I would hate the main character (from what I read about Christopher McCandless he seemed annoying, and for some reason I strongly dislike Emile Hirsch, the actor who played him) but I actually got to like the character as he was portrayed, and the supporting actors were all good. But the film just looks incredible in HD…that was reason enough to watch it.

Risen, like a turkey from the ashes

A final thought on yesterday’s topic, Bush’s legacy: as the clarity of distance seeps into the memory of the Bush43 years, it will be curious to observe the phases through which his reputation will pass. My prediction is as follows:

He’ll fade from the limelight by the spring, and generally avoid interviews from all but the most sympathetic questioners. After about a year information will begin appearing in books and magazine articles about how one or two high-ranking members of Bush’s administration — my money’s on Rumsfeld or Ashcroft, unless Cheney dies, making him the prime candidate — were pure evil, bent on starting wars, desecrating the constitution, etc. After these stories have had time to make the talk show and book trip rounds, opinions will begin to appear portraying Bush as a well-intentioned everyman fighting valiantly to keep the country intact in the face of these unreasonable forces, but powerless to stop them and, thus, to prevent the various disasters we today attribute to him and his administration…Iraq, the economy, the Katrina debacle, and so on.

The American public will be asked to forgive him, to label him some sort of put-upon Johnny Lunchpail hero who fought the good fight, a Willy Loman of the White House, truly a guy you’d want to have a beer with. The Republican party will need their everyman hero back in time to help campaign in 2012, so after a year of laying low while his reputation is healed through gentle reverse-swiftboating, he’ll make a triumphant appearance on the 2012 campaign trail and his resurrection will be complete.

That, or he’ll clear brush in Texas for the next twenty-five years like a good little cowpoke. Whichever.

"Both the country and, ultimately, the Republican Party are left the worse for it."

With America’s eyes (and the eyes of others here in Canada and around the world) focused squarely on Washington for Barack Obama’s inauguration, some have taken a break to wonder about outgoing President Bush’s legacy. By the way, I hereby declare “outgoing President Bush” to be the finest three-word combination in the English language.

Ahem.

Anyway, The Economist‘s take on the Bush years — entitled The Frat Boy Ships Out — is probably the best and most comprehensive yet.

Other facets of Mr Bush’s personality mixed with his vaulting ambition to undermine his presidency. Mr Bush is what the British call an inverted snob. A scion of one of America’s most powerful families, he is a devotee of sunbelt populism; a product of Yale and Harvard Business School, he is a scourge of eggheads. Mr Bush is a convert to an evangelical Christianity that emphasises emotion—particularly the intensely emotional experience of being born again—over ratiocination. He also styled himself, much like Reagan, as a decider rather than a details man; many people who met him were astonished by what they described as his “lack of inquisitiveness” and his general “passivity”.

This take in the Globe and Mail is hard to take seriously, as it asks the question ‘Has Bush been judged too soon?’ and turns for an answer to David Frum, Bush’s former speech writer, who may be just the tiniest bit biased — though no more so than the two quoted counterpoints: an historian at the James Baker Institute for Public Policy, and Jimmy Carter.

A failed presidency, two unfinished wars, an economic mess unmatched in decades, America’s reputation sullied and most of his party, the nation and the world glad to see the back of him. When George W. Bush boards the big blue-and-white Boeing 747 that will fly him back to Texas tomorrow, the conventional wisdom will deem him among the worst of presidents.

Yet history tends to soften the harshest of early judgments. Even Richard Nixon, who after the Watergate scandal became the only president ever to resign in disgrace, has been partially rehabilitated by the passage of time and sober second thought.

Could it happen to Mr. Bush?

His admirers think so. Former Bush speechwriter David Frum expects the “assessment of history will be surprisingly positive.”

It all turns on Iraq, which far more than the economy, hurricane Katrina or anything else defines the Bush presidency.

I think that to hang Bush’s legacy solely on Iraq is wishful thinking, a hope I’ve heard repeated elsewhere among Republicans and conservative commentators. This seems less about logic than it does about pinning all hope for Bush’s reputation on his one endeavour that may have a fighting chance at turning out well. I actually think that, over time, Bush’s handling of Katrina will become even more damaging to his legacy…that he ineptly presided over the worst natural disaster in his country’s history will haunt him for decades.

However, what Bush may eventually be best known for bungling is the economy, and the infallible reputation of capitalism he inherited from past presidents like his father and, most especially, his hero Ronald Reagan. As The Economist puts it:

Finally, Mr Bush also demonstrated the limits of capitalist triumphalism. The Bush administration was as business-friendly as any in American history: Mr Bush was the first president with an MBA (from Harvard) and he appointed four CEOs to his cabinet, more than any previous president. The administration was also wedded to the fundamental tenets of Reaganomics: cut taxes and free the supply side and everything else will take care of itself. Mr Cheney even argued explicitly that “Reagan taught us that deficits don’t matter.”

Mr Bush now leaves behind a tax system in some ways less efficient than the one he inherited, in need of annual patches, and unable to fund the government even in good times. He also leaves behind a broken budget process. Any economic triumphalism is long gone. Many of the CEOs, most notably Donald Rumsfeld and Paul O’Neill, proved to be dismal administrators. Reaganomics helped to produce a giant deficit. The financial crisis has made re-regulation rather than deregulation the mantra in Washington, while government has acquired a much bigger role in the economy through its backing of banks and car companies.

“I inherited a recession, I’m ending on a recession,” he noted at his press conference on January 12th. He wasn’t asking for pity, only to be judged on what happened in between. Unfortunately, that economic legacy is littered with wasted opportunity, bad judgments and politicised policy. The budget surplus he inherited is now a deficit, the fiscal hole in America’s retiree programmes is bigger than ever, the tax system is an unstable, patched-up mess.

All that to say, he was a rubbish president. Good riddance. To put a soundtrack on this trip down memory lane, here’s my favourite story so far about Bush’s legacy: Eight Years Gone, in which blogger (and rock god) Carrie Brownstein lists

the music that arose during the last eight years — the bands and songs that wrestled with the fear, uncertainty, disenchantment and frustration that for many people defined the Bush era and the events that unfolded during his tenure.

My favourite song from her list was Bright Eyes‘ performance of “When The President Talks To God” on the Tonight Show, a sharp and caustic swing at the man Conor Oberst could scarely believe was leading his country, in the Dylan-est moment of his somewhat Dylan-ish career. If you haven’t heard it, you can hear it over at YouTube. Listen to it. Listen, and heave a sigh of relief.

The 33 best songs of 2008

As my brother did (we were both supposed to do it the same day…or so he thought…it’s a long story) back in December, I’ve narrowed my list of favourite songs from 2008 down to 33. The number’s part of the long story, don’t ask.

I actually took a rough stab at ranking them too, though I’ll no doubt change my mind next week.

  1. Constantines . “Million Star Hotel”
  2. Frightened Rabbit . “Keep Yourself Warm”
  3. MGMT . “Time To Pretend”
  4. TV On The Radio . “Halfway Home”
  5. Santogold . “LES Artistes”
  6. Frightened Rabbit . “Floating in the Forth”
  7. Ladyhawk . “Ghost Blues”
  8. Walkmen . “In The New Year”
  9. Mates Of State . “Now”
  10. We Are Scientists . “After Hours”
  11. Death Cab For Cutie . “I Will Possess Your Heart”
  12. Rogue Wave . “Electro-Socket Blues”
  13. And You Will Know Us By The Trail Of Dead . “Festival Thyme”
  14. Rural Alberta Advantage . “Frank, AB”
  15. Cold War Kids . “Something Is Not Right WIth Me”
  16. Wolf Parade . “Soldier’s Grin”
  17. Fembots . “My Hands Are a City”
  18. Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds . “We Call Upon The Author”
  19. This Will Destroy You . “The Mighty Rio Grande”
  20. Devotchka . “Along The Way”
  21. Vampire Weekend . “Ottoman”
  22. Wye Oak . “Warning”
  23. Lightspeed Champion . “Devil Tricks For A Bitch”
  24. Tricky . “Council Estate”
  25. Duke Spirit . “Send A Little Love Token”
  26. Fucked Up . “Son The Father”
  27. Ladytron . “I’m Not Scared”
  28. Kings Of Leon . “Notion”
  29. Marnie Stern . “Ruler”
  30. Bowerbirds . “Hooves”
  31. Raveonettes . “The Thief”
  32. Deus . “Oh Your God”
  33. Black Keys . “All You Ever Wanted”

The first time I heard that Constantines song I pulled it out of the playlist and listened to it on repeat. I couldn’t stop listening. It was never not my favourite song of the year.

My favourite albums of 2008

OK, I think I’ve now listened to all the music I need to make the call. Here are my ten favourite albums from 2008, in alphabetical order:

  • the constantines . kensington heights
  • dodos . visiter
  • frightened rabbit . the midnight organ fight
  • fucked up . the chemistry of common life
  • the kills . midnight boom
  • kings of leon . only by the night
  • mates of state . re-arrange us
  • marnie stern . this is it and i am it and you are it and so is that and he is it and she is it and it is it and that is that
  • this will destroy you . this will destroy you
  • the walkmen . you and me

If I had to pick a favourite from that pile I’d probably say either Mates of State or The Constantines, but nothing really stood out.

By the way, even though Vampire Weekend‘s album technically dropped in 2008, I heard all their stuff in 2007 so I didn’t include it here.

At least it wasn't "Falling Slowly"

There are few things as jarring as your elevator going wonky partway through your descent from a high floor. Yesterday Nellie and I — and no one else, thankfully — were heading downstairs in one of our building’s elevators when, just passed the fifth floor, we felt a wicked shimmy. Immediately the elevator ground to a halt and a loud buzzer went off. Alrighty then. I’ve been stuck in elevators before, and I understand enough about elevator safety features to know we weren’t going to plummet to our doom or anything, so after a few wary seconds of making sure we weren’t moving any further, I pressed the call button.

The person who answered told us she was notifying our security guard and calling the elevator company, who should be there in about ten minutes. Great. We chatted while we waited, wondering which floor we were on. Our security guard came up and yelled to us through the door to sit tight. Which we did. For thirty minutes. Security guy came back to check on us once in a while, and told us he’d been calling the elevator tech to get a move on, and he should be here soon. By this point I was getting kind of annoyed, and maybe a little hungry (I’d been on my way down for a croissant) so I hit the call button again. I explained that it’d been half an hour, and where the ass was this technician anyway, Hamilton? This guy put me on hold — I’ll get back to that in a second — and came back on to tell me the tech was fifteen minutes away, blah blah blah, whatever. I asked him if he could do anything to speed things up and he just gave me a party line scripted answer that no, wait for the tech, he’ll be there shortly, wank wank wank. He was being so dismissive that I think I called him a jerk-off.

After about ten minutes (not fifteen! under-promise/over-deliver works hurrah!) security guy yells through the door that the tech has arrived, he’s gone to fix something, all should be well soon. Moments later the elevator starts moving. Up. Goddammit, I just want a croissant! Whatever. It goes to the 22nd floor…kind of random, sez I, since this is neither our destination nor the floor we came from. We get off to find a crowd of people, not knowing this is an accursed elevator, about to get on. We warn them that this elevator might not really be in fighting trim right now, and to send it away. They do, and we walk home to have pancakes instead. All’s well, we call security guy to thank him, and burn a tiny effigy of ThyssenKrupp‘s headquarters. After all, it’s not as if this is the first problem we’ve had with our elevators…they’ve ranged from quirky (doors don’t open for 60 seconds sometimes) to completely inoperative (leading to massive lineups, delays and kvetching) ever since we moved in. It’s probably been the biggest common complaint I’ve heard from other owners, and it sounds as if we’re not the first people to be trapped like this…security guy knew the drill well enough to ask for our suite number because he figured the chairman of the condo board would probably want to give us a call.

Anyway, back to the hold music: this might have been the worst part. I should point out that I don’t think Thyssen-Krupp owns the call centre where my elevator call terminated…it sounded like a security company who then contacts the elevator tech, but the operators certainly know the calls are coming from people trapped in elevators. I know the ins and outs of call centre mechanics well enough to know that putting people on hold is unavoidable, so I don’t mind it like some people do, but here’s the thing: there are times when hold music doesn’t make sense. I wasn’t calling to ask about your store hours, I was calling because I was trapped in a steel box suspended 60 feet off the ground. In such a situation I do not need to hear — and I am not making this up — a tinkly Muzak version of “Love Lifts Us Up Where We Belong”. I would like to hear beeping, or an occasional voice telling me someone would be right with me, or something else that suggests urgency on the part of the people tasked with getting me out of said dangling box, not the instrumental dreck I’d expect if I called Sears to buy an ottoman.

Now, about that croissant…

"We believed, after being told that if we didn't, we would die."

I don’t think Esquire gets enough respect. For a magazine that too often gets lumped in to the “Men’s Interest” section of the magazine rack with Details and GQ, it strikes a good mix of fun, hotness and (relative) intellectual stimulation. For examples of the first look no further than {dreamy sigh} their most recent winner of the Hottest Woman Alive award. For examples of the last, I submit the following:

1. A Little Counterintuitive Thinking on Gays, Guns, and Dead Babies, in which John H. Richardson turns the dogma of three standard conservative planks on their ears.

In this country, ten states supply fifty-seven percent of the guns that police recover from criminals in all other states. When compared to the ten states that supplied the fewest firearms, a recent nationwide analysis found that those ten gun-toting states also had nearly sixty-percent more homicides and three times as many cops dead from gunfire.

The difference between the states with all those cops shot dead and the others boils down to two obvious realities: gun-show regulations and gun-permit requirements. (I’ll leave you to decide which states have strict rules and which don’t). It’s another symbol with a body count, another political football with terrible consequences in the world as it actually exists. In the name of absolute firearm freedom without any restrictions — which will never be anything but a symbol until private citizens can buy working tanks and fighter planes — all those real cops are really dead.

2. What the Hell Just Happened? A Look Back at the Last Eight Years, a remarkable short piece of work by Tom Junod which carries more heft than the title suggests.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. The irony of 9/11 and the wars that followed was that they were supposed to disestablish irony as a reigning sensibility; instead, they wound up exposing us to ironies of the bitterest and darkest and cruelest kind. That is, not McSweeney’s — style irony, the irony of bright minds roaming free in increasingly confined spaces; but ironies contrived by the brutal hand of history itself. The ironies of the Bush Years were ironies that exposed the consequences of our assent, guided — missile ironies that were unerringly aimed at point after point of the American creed, which began 2001 as the foundation of our belief and ended 2008 as the scaffolding of our credulity. America does not attack countries that have not attacked us. America does not torture. America takes care of its own. America follows the rule of law. America’s laws are built upon the principle of habeas corpus. America’s distinction is its system of checks and balances. American democracy is the inspiration of the world, and American capitalism the envy. America is better than that, no matter what “that” might be. These are not political statements; these are articles of faith, and yet in the Bush Years they suffered a political fate, as they became yoked to an administration that endured the irony of being the most image-conscious in American history at the precise historical moment when any control over how images were either promulgated or consumed was completely lost.

I encourage you to read both; the former is very short; the latter is worth every word of its three pages. And the next time you’re in a store, think about picking up an issue of Esquire.

Paging Jack Byrnes.

Sonny pinning Michael for the 3-count

I like cats. A lot of people don’t. I feel sorry for those people.

See, cats by and large are introverts. They’re quiet, they keep to themselves and they don’t shower people with attention the way that dogs (extroverts, to be sure) do. They have a few people for whom they feel genuine affection; the rest are looked on with more or less genial indifference. Extroverts look at introverts, whether in human or cat form, and think they’re broken. They misread introversion as shyness, antisocial behaviour or rudeness. In my experience extroverts have a hard time recognizing affection or happiness if it’s not delivered in an extroverted (read: obvious) way. That’s why people think that cats (and, um, me a lot of the time) are cranky or stuck-up.

Don’t get me wrong, I like extroverts just fine. Especially dogs…if I had the space for one to live with me, and I could just let it outside to shit, I’d have one…but I don’t have it, and I can’t do that, so no puppy. It’s just that as an introvert I can identify with cats a little better, and a lifetime of chuckling at perplexed extroverts has given me some insight on why cats get a bad rap.

Now if I could just toilet-train them…

Six short years to listen to their scattered, rambling memories

I don’t know why the following fascinates me so, but it does: in about six years, give or take, there will be no one left alive who was born in the 1800s.

Based on the birth dates of the people officially recognized as the world’s oldest, and assuming top-end outlier lifespans remains roughly constant, some time in 2014 we should see the death of the last person whose life spans three centuries.  I know that doesn’t really mean anything; it’s just a random distribution of regularly-occurring events around arbitrary milestones, but still…it seems weird. Or rather, it seems wonderful that someone alive today saw the death and birth of two centuries, and also seems vaguely sad that after they pass on we won’t see another of their kind for 86 years.

OK, that’s enough of that, I need to lighten the mood in here a little. Who’s up for some Tequila and a round of Yahtzee? We can call it Yahtzila. Or Tequizee, that’s fine…I’m not married to either.

Tilt

A week and a half ago 21-year-old Don Sanderson died in a Hamilton hospital.

Sanderson, a defenceman with the Whitby Dunlops, died early yesterday in Hamilton General Hospital. He had been in a coma and on life support since his head struck the ice during a fight in a AAA senior league game Dec. 12 in Brantford.

I’d held back on posting until the shock of the death had passed and the debate turned, as it naturally would, to whether fighting would be banned. I’ve been waiting, but the debate has not come. The lone discussion I’ve heard so far is whether the rules governing the tightness of helmet chin straps (which might have held Sanderson’s helmet on when he fell to the ice) should be more strictly enforced. This seems akin to enforcing seat belt laws for street racers, rather than trying to stop street racing itself.

Anyone calling for an end to fighting in hockey is met with ridicule (even Serge Savard), even deemed unpatriotic or lacking understanding of the game. Horseshit. Fighting proponents quote some circular argument about ‘the unwritten code’ of hockey, that fighters are there to ‘take care’ of a guy who breaks the rules, and respect each other, presumably as they punch one another in the face. Meanwhile referees, old hockey guys themselves, give out penalties for some infractions but look the other way for others if they think a team’s fighter will take care of things, thus perpetuating this myth of fighters being necessary for the game. This mutually supportive argument spins itself in a spiral, but in the face of logic eventually defaults to the tired plea that “it’s always been this way”, surely the silliest rule for why anything should continue.

The other argument, say fight fans, is that without fighting hockey won’t be entertaining. This is an easy one to dispel, as anyone who’s watched even a few minutes of a World Junior game, or any international tournament, can see.

It’s a difficult position to justify that hockey alone is the one league that requires fighting, or at the very least does not punish it (beyond a meaningless 5-minute penalty). In every other major sport, fighting is strongly discouraged (not tacitly allowed) and results in automatic suspensions. The only other sport where fighting is part of some kind of protective ‘code’ is baseball, surely the pussiest of the major sports. Football, on the other hand — which by any measure is as tough, smash-mouth and brutal as hockey, and almost certainly more so — does not allow fighting.

Staying with the NFL for a moment, imagine the absurdity of a scene where an offensive linesman, unhappy at the fact that his quarterback was tackled (clean though it might have been) grabs the opposing player by the jersey, rips off his helmet and starts punching him in the face. The other player starts punching back. No teammates try to break them up, and linesman (understandably) wait until they tire themselves out before interfering. The referee, knowing a teammate would come to the defense of the downed quarterback because of the unwritten code of football, doesn’t bother throwing the penalty flag. He knows these guys just need to let off a little steam. He also knows that if he doesn’t let these guys duke it out at midfield like this, that the other nasty penalties like clipping or face-masking will just happen more often. So goes the common wisdom, without much evidence to back it up.

Back to reality, and to hockey: there’s simply no logical argument for allowing fighting in the NHL, but as long as troglodytes like Don Cherry advocate for it, it’ll be around. If Gary Bettman wants to leave a legacy of actually improving the game, he should ban fighting and watch the rest of the world take his sport more seriously. So long as players in the world’s premier hockey league are allowed to beat each other bloody in the middle of the ice, and then do it again the following night (or even minutes later!), precious few outside of Canada will associate the game with skill, grit or speed. They’ll associate it with thuggish brutality.

Finally, I submit that fighting should be banned if only to prevent pathetic displays like this from ever again occurring: