Merry Christmas, for those of you so inclined.
[tags]christmas[/tags]
Happy holidays, everybody!
A work day that was supposed to end at noon actually didn’t end until after 3:00, but that’s ok. It wasn’t exactly a tough one. I had one little errand to do in Yorkville, and it took about 15x longer than it should have, but I pretty much expected that.
.:.
Ah, the Liquor Dome. Craptacular then (by which I mean my university years), craptacular now.
.:.
R.I.P., Oscar Peterson, a true Canadian music legend.
[tags]liquor dome, oscar peterson[/tags]
"I give you Mr. Chauncy St. John of New Delhi"
Really, does any sport have more confusing vernacular than cricket? Witness this headline from the BBC:
Cricket: B’desh break NZ duck
Bangladesh beat a New Zealand XI in their Twenty20 match for their first ever win in the country.
Duck? XI? Twenty20 match? I’m so confused.
[tags]cricket, sports night[/tags]
"Oh, that name is intolerable. It suggests midgets working in a factory."
Apart from getting up very early to buy groceries (I wanted nothing to do with a grocery store on the 23rd of December) it’s been a lazy, relaxing Sunday. Gift wrapping and corporate finance will come later; we decided to spend the morning watching movies.
We actually watched Keane (imdb | rotten tomatoes) yesterday, not today. It was not an easy film to watch, I thought, but it was impressive for two reasons: the nauseating feeling you got seeing this man get hurled into and out of madness, and the performance of Damien Lewis. He was on the screen for practically every second, every scene, every shot, and to so skillfully show this man being buffeted by the forces that afflicted him must’ve taken incredible patience. Damien Lewis might just be the most underrated actor out there.
Keane represented the last of our Zip movies. When it’s returned, my account will officially be closed.
Shifting gears, we watched Who Killed The Electric Car? (imdb | rotten tomatoes), a documentary about…well, you can probably guess. Some documentaries are haphazard and jump all over the place, or seem designed only to outrage, but this one had a very clear narrative and a real quality of production that you don’t often see from the genre. Lots of background and facts, but presented clearly and concisely. The story of the GM EV1 electric car is interesting, but the story about the car’s quiet demise — which I’d not really paid attention to — is rife with intrigue and conflict. Highly recommended.
Oh wait…shifting gears…I just got that. Sorry. I hate puns. They’re lazy humour.
Finally, about an hour ago, we watched Mrs. Henderson Presents (imdb | rotten tomatoes) which was ok, but not great. Cute and clever, to be certain, and the two leads — Judi Dench and Bob Hoskins — were awfully good, but it veered too close to schmaltz (and dove nose-first into sentiment, for that matter) too often. I suspect it would’ve been labeled a good family film except that there’re naked ladies every which way you look.
[tags]keane, damien lewis, who killed the electric car, gm ev1, mrs. henderson presents, judi dench, bob hoskins, windmill theatre[/tags]
At least I still have the empty can
As I write this I’m trapped in the den, as Nellie’s wrapping gifts in the living room. Luckily I have a TV in here and there’s a Canadiens game on, but I think I might’ve had a little too much Diet Pepsi, so it could get messy in here.
.:.
Last Friday night at Smokeless Joe was so enjoyable we returned again last night, looking for more Great Lakes Winter Ale. Unfortunately they were out, but we had some very tasty alternatives (Hacker-Pschorr Dunkle Weiss for me and some kind of Belgian Tripel for Nellie which she loved). No fear about not getting another taste of the winter ale, though: we bought a few bottles today at the LCBO.
We also got some treats for ourselves (Nellie got some Tedeschi Amarone at the LCBO, and I picked up some truffles at JS Bonbons) and for the cats (especially Sonny; his favourite toy is a little red ball that his Auntie Jenny got him years ago, and we’ve had trouble finding more of…until today and we bought five. Oh, and catnip, so they’ve been trying to crawl into their stocking all day).
.:.
I’ve never been in Toronto this close to Christmas before; it’s interesting. We went to St. Lawrence Market today to pick up a few things, and it was about six different kinds of crazy in there. It wasn’t even 10:00 yet and the crowds were so thick you’d think you were at a concert. I can’t wait to go grocery shopping tomorrow.
It’ll be really weird going to work on the 24th.
[tags]smokeless joe, great lakes winter ale, dunkle weiss, tripel, st. lawrence market, toronto[/tags]
The Family Stone we are not
I’m not going home to Nova Scotia for Christmas this year, as I normally would. When I tell people this their first reaction is usually, “Oh, don’t want to deal with all the family drama, eh?”
Given how often I’ve heard it in the last month, and the number of times I’ve heard stories about such family drama, I think I must have a fairly abnormal family. There’s no drama. We don’t fight. We don’t have feuds, or get snippy, or form alliances, or try to manipulate each other. In fact, even since I grew out of the gimmetoys-gimmetoys-gimmetoys phase (if my dad were reading this he’d say, “What, you mean two years ago?”, ’cause that’s just how he rolls humour-wise) spending time with my family has been the best thing about Christmas.
I laugh more, and feel more relaxed, with my brothers and parents (especially when we’re on the farm) than I do with anyone else, except Nellie probably. That quiet time, punctuated with games of skill (read: cribbage and Trivial Pursuit), musical interludes (usually my father, brother or I fighting trying to convince my mother we should listen to delta blues instead of Christmas carols) and episodes of utter silliness (my brothers and I speak some kind of special language when we get going and occasionally fall on the floor laughing) is about as close to blissful meditation as I get.
And this isn’t just my immediate family either: our extended family on my dad’s side gets together every Boxing Day and it’s equally fun and laid back. Of course, they’re all like my dad…not a lot of high-strung people amongst the Dickinsons.
One of the reasons we could stomach the idea of not going back to NS this year is because we just spent time with my family in France (having one of the best times of our lives, I might add, so that’d be hard to top so soon after) and Nellie’ll have a family visit in about a month, so we won’t have been away from them for too long. There’s a couple of other reasons why we decided to stay in Toronto, but the idea of avoiding family drama never even crossed my mind. The only drama at all will be not seeing them.
[tags]family drama[/tags]
A morning of mild revelations
Something occurred to me yesterday: I am half my father’s age. Well, technically I was precisely half his age on Oct 10 (thanks Excel!) but in terms of years, I’m 32 and he’s 64. I remember when I was a kid I wondered how old I’d be when that happened; I didn’t have the math skills to just figure out that it was just 32 so I sat down and did the math. I wasn’t even ten years old at the time, so 32 seemed like centuries away. I couldn’t imagine being that old.
Also: I never thought I would own a brown suit, but I’m wearing one today for the first time.
Life’s full of surprises.
[tags]silly musings[/tags]
What, drag them down to neanderthal level?
From the Globe and Mail:
Bruckheimer, producer of Walt Disney Co’s wildly successful Pirates of the Caribbean film franchise among a long list of film and TV hits like CSI, said he plans to do for video games what he has done for other well-defined genres of content.
The Jerry Bruckheimer oeuvre: a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
[with apologies to the Bard]
[tags]jerry bruckheimer, pirates of the caribbean, csi[/tags]
"[B]ottled water is not a sin, but it sure is a choice"
Bottled water has always been wasteful and indulgent, but now it’s just getting ridiculous. Via Newsweek:
Holy Drinking Water, produced by a California-based company called Wayne Enterprises, is blessed in the warehouse by an Anglican or Roman Catholic priest (after a thorough background check). Like a crucifix or a rosary, a bottle of Holy Drinking Water is a daily reminder to be kind to others, says Brian Germann, Wayne’s CEO. Another company makes Liquid OM, superpurified bottled water containing vibrations that promote a positive outlook. Invented by Kenny Mazursky, a sound therapist in Chicago, the water purportedly possesses an energy field that Mazursky makes by striking a giant gong and Tibetan bowls in its vicinity. He says the good energy can be felt not just after you drink the water but before, when you’re holding the bottle.
I’d call that truly insidious marketing, but I suppose that’s redundant. At least the nuns have their heads screwed on straight:
The Franciscan Sisters, together with a community of Benedictine nuns nearby, have launched a letter-writing campaign against the largest producers of bottled water and they’ve designed coasters to encourage people to drink glasses, not bottles, of water from the tap.
Via Brijit.com, once again.
[tags]bottled water, holy drinking water, liquid om, franciscan sisters[/tags]
"Nights when hairs would stick to the blood"
This story by David Sedaris about a transatlantic flight is one of the funniest things I’ve read in weeks. Touching, too, but mainly funny.
The best thing about this particular airline is that after dinner they offer you a sundae. The vanilla ice cream is in the bowl already, but you can choose from any number of toppings. I order the caramel and chopped nuts and the flight attendant spoons them on before my eyes. “Is that enough sauce, Mr. Sedaris?” she’ll ask, and “Are you sure you don’t want whipped cream?” It would be years before I worked up the courage to ask for seconds, and, when I finally did, I felt like such a dope. “Do you think, um . . . I mean, is it possible to have another one of those?”
“Well, of course it is, Mr. Sedaris. Have a third, if you like!”
That’s Business Elite for you. Spend eight thousand dollars on a ticket and, if you want an extra thirteen cents’ worth of ice cream, all you have to do is ask. It’s like buying a golf cart and having a few tees thrown in, but it still works. “Golly,” I say. “Thanks!”
Found at Brijit.
[tags]david sedaris, brijit, new yorker[/tags]
Skirl | Dan Dickinson 