So.
The economy is in the crapper. My 'savings' account actually laughed at me this morning when I peered into its dark and dingy hole to see if I had any money left.
Short answer? No.
Sounds like the perfect time for a vacation right? What, three months after taking two weeks to explore the Italian countryside?
Yep, we're going to Oz. We got tickets on the cheap, friends to stay with and, more importantly, if we don't do it RIGHT NOW chances are we never will.
So when you put it like that, what's 20 hours plus in a plane? (Answer: Terrifying)
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Monday, September 29, 2008
Poli-ticky
There are a handful of people in this world that I can talk politics with, and on a really good day that number includes my wife. Which isn’t to say she’s not interested and informed in politics, she is, it’s just that given an opportunity to talk politics I’m likely to dominate the conversation with it until a) I get hungry or b) sleepy.
So, unless a particular issue is really sticking in her craw she’s liable to leave that topic of conversation alone, to preserve her sanity if nothing else.
But I tell you, with what passes for informed discourse these days I’m becoming more and more disgusted with the whole process.
It’s a point of pride with me that no one knows how I vote. Although my father likes to take the piss out of me by pretending that I’m some hard core left wing socialist I’ve never told anyone, ever, how I’ve voted in any given election. Part of that is because I don’t want to be pigeon holed as some sort of one party sycophant. Once someone identifies you politically in their mind, that’s who you’ll be to them forever more, despite how your political needs and opinions might change over time.
But I’ve wandered off topic here.
What spurred this post was my growing annoyance with the Toronto Star’s recent decision to allow comments on all their online new stories. Now every time a political story is run the comments section heats up almost instantaneously with idiots hiding under the guise of electronic anonymity, blasting writers and political parties simply for being ideologically different than they are.
Even the most objective information is blasted with partisan vitriol and hostility.
What the hell happened to mature debate? I’m old enough and mature enough to look at all the political parties out there and see something in each platform that appeals to me.
Green Party – Environmentalism
NDP – Urban Issues
Conservatives – Smaller Government
Liberal Party – Um. Environmentalism
I can respect a different point of a view from own, as long as it’s presented to me in a mature and grown up manner. It’s called life. Someone is always going to disagree with you, that doesn’t automatically make them the anti-christ.
And yet the bashing continues as if anyone who thinks differently is a criminal of the worst sort. If you identify online with one political party, then a free for all dog pile of hate, scorn and public shaming begins. It’s impossible for anyone to engage you like a human being. It’s not just the anonymous yahoos either. Or political leaders, our so-called role models, routinely bash each other or any special interest group they deem unlikely to support them.
Take a look at the sustained Conservative attack on Ontario. Feeling unlikely to win many seats in the province the Tories feel like its open season on our politicians, our policies and our province. The only way they can make themselves look big is by knocking around someone else who can’t compete with them at the same level.
I’m not naïve. I know that politics is a blood sport, built more around political parties staying in power, as opposed to a nobler calling. It takes a strong stomach to wade into the mess and separate the wheat from the chaff, finding parties and policies that work for you, rather then just picking one party and sticking with it – cause, you know, it’s easier to do that than put any real thought into what’s happening around you.
I just can’t help but feel like this sustained e-bashing is designed to make the whole experience even more exclusionary, driving the moderates and the mature into the shadows, unwilling to take on the ravenous partisan appetites of those who troll the internet looking to make a point. And that’s a shame, because democracy is about hearing from all voices, espeically the ones you don’t like.
So, unless a particular issue is really sticking in her craw she’s liable to leave that topic of conversation alone, to preserve her sanity if nothing else.
But I tell you, with what passes for informed discourse these days I’m becoming more and more disgusted with the whole process.
It’s a point of pride with me that no one knows how I vote. Although my father likes to take the piss out of me by pretending that I’m some hard core left wing socialist I’ve never told anyone, ever, how I’ve voted in any given election. Part of that is because I don’t want to be pigeon holed as some sort of one party sycophant. Once someone identifies you politically in their mind, that’s who you’ll be to them forever more, despite how your political needs and opinions might change over time.
But I’ve wandered off topic here.
What spurred this post was my growing annoyance with the Toronto Star’s recent decision to allow comments on all their online new stories. Now every time a political story is run the comments section heats up almost instantaneously with idiots hiding under the guise of electronic anonymity, blasting writers and political parties simply for being ideologically different than they are.
Even the most objective information is blasted with partisan vitriol and hostility.
What the hell happened to mature debate? I’m old enough and mature enough to look at all the political parties out there and see something in each platform that appeals to me.
Green Party – Environmentalism
NDP – Urban Issues
Conservatives – Smaller Government
Liberal Party – Um. Environmentalism
I can respect a different point of a view from own, as long as it’s presented to me in a mature and grown up manner. It’s called life. Someone is always going to disagree with you, that doesn’t automatically make them the anti-christ.
And yet the bashing continues as if anyone who thinks differently is a criminal of the worst sort. If you identify online with one political party, then a free for all dog pile of hate, scorn and public shaming begins. It’s impossible for anyone to engage you like a human being. It’s not just the anonymous yahoos either. Or political leaders, our so-called role models, routinely bash each other or any special interest group they deem unlikely to support them.
Take a look at the sustained Conservative attack on Ontario. Feeling unlikely to win many seats in the province the Tories feel like its open season on our politicians, our policies and our province. The only way they can make themselves look big is by knocking around someone else who can’t compete with them at the same level.
I’m not naïve. I know that politics is a blood sport, built more around political parties staying in power, as opposed to a nobler calling. It takes a strong stomach to wade into the mess and separate the wheat from the chaff, finding parties and policies that work for you, rather then just picking one party and sticking with it – cause, you know, it’s easier to do that than put any real thought into what’s happening around you.
I just can’t help but feel like this sustained e-bashing is designed to make the whole experience even more exclusionary, driving the moderates and the mature into the shadows, unwilling to take on the ravenous partisan appetites of those who troll the internet looking to make a point. And that’s a shame, because democracy is about hearing from all voices, espeically the ones you don’t like.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Paul Newman 1925 - 2008
Ahhhhh son of a bitch. Paul Newman is dead. Of cancer no less.
One of the last remaining vestiges of Hollywood's Golden Era. He hailed from a time when the blockbuster had, thankfully, yet to be perfected, films were about educating and enlightening the audience and gritty character roles were more valuable then running around with a gun in your hand and your shirt torn off.
What always appealed to me about Newman is that despite his pretty boy looks he wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty to take on a role. He wasn't the world's greatest actor, but he was a very honest one. He was very much a working, blue collar type of performer.
I hope that in the weeks ahead that some of the specialty channels get their think on and feature some of his better films, (I've been wanting to watch Butch Cassisdy and the Sundance Kid again for awhile now).
So long Paul. You will be missed.
One of the last remaining vestiges of Hollywood's Golden Era. He hailed from a time when the blockbuster had, thankfully, yet to be perfected, films were about educating and enlightening the audience and gritty character roles were more valuable then running around with a gun in your hand and your shirt torn off.
What always appealed to me about Newman is that despite his pretty boy looks he wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty to take on a role. He wasn't the world's greatest actor, but he was a very honest one. He was very much a working, blue collar type of performer.
I hope that in the weeks ahead that some of the specialty channels get their think on and feature some of his better films, (I've been wanting to watch Butch Cassisdy and the Sundance Kid again for awhile now).
So long Paul. You will be missed.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Ch-ch-ch changes...
Trust and confidence are sticky widgets.
I’ve played on enough Frisbee teams where everybody studiously avoids throwing to the newbie because they don’t know the skill level of the new person. And let me tell you, when that new person is you, it sucks. In most cases these new fish have the skills, but when they’re never given an opportunity to showcase them it weakens the team (unable to make proper use of all players on the field) and it’s fairly insulting to odd wo\man out. And sometimes the situation gets proportionally worse, the longer you don’t pass to person X, the more the habit of avoiding them altogether gets reinforced.
S has frequently run into another problem, co-ed teams that don’t throw to their women. You want to piss my wife off? Charge her a hundred bucks to your join your team, then imply she’s not good enough to play on it. I recommend you duck and cover or find a good burn unit. Sexism is alive and well my friends.
Unfortunately I’ve run into a situation at work that has shaken up my neat little kingdom. Recently my office hired another person, with the same job title as me. It’s a move that was long overdue. The department was originally staffed by three people, but for the last 4-6 months the only person holding down the fort was me. I’m competent, not Superman. I needed the assist.
During that solo time period what I did was build up a system that worked really well for me. Now someone else has been added to the mix, the system is being disrupted…and I’m not handling it all that well.
I don’t loathe change. I just loathe it when its not on my own terms.
Part of the problem is she’s really smart and good at her job. So part of me feels threatened. She also knows my manager socially. So they have a bond there that excludes me. As such, he tends to trust her and rely on her. A couple times now I’ve attempted to tell my manager why something, that was poorly worded, needed to be fixed. He resisted my suggestion until, independently, new staffer brought the same issues to his attention, which he then fixed. So, in my eye he either trusts her more, or trusts me less. (A third option, more nuanced, but less satisfying, is that he simply recognized the need to make the change after two separate people brought the issue to his attention)
To me there’s a loss of prestige (king of the hill!) and a suggestion that my opinions\abilities aren’t quite as valuable as I thought they were. It’s been difficult to part with some of my responsibilities and have to include another opinion in something where I’ve had much more independent discretion.
Honestly, I don’t like it. (Forehead. Hand. Duh!) It’s much easier to be a team player when there’s always been a team. It’s a lot harder to willingly accept a forced partnership when you’ve traditionally been the lone wolf. (Think Will Ferrell in Anchorman)
I don’t know what the future will hold for me and how I will deal with the evolving nature of my job. But it continues to kindle the need in me to be my own boss and work under my own terms. Only, until I finish my PR certificate, there’s a great case for staying where I am just a little longer.
I’ve played on enough Frisbee teams where everybody studiously avoids throwing to the newbie because they don’t know the skill level of the new person. And let me tell you, when that new person is you, it sucks. In most cases these new fish have the skills, but when they’re never given an opportunity to showcase them it weakens the team (unable to make proper use of all players on the field) and it’s fairly insulting to odd wo\man out. And sometimes the situation gets proportionally worse, the longer you don’t pass to person X, the more the habit of avoiding them altogether gets reinforced.
S has frequently run into another problem, co-ed teams that don’t throw to their women. You want to piss my wife off? Charge her a hundred bucks to your join your team, then imply she’s not good enough to play on it. I recommend you duck and cover or find a good burn unit. Sexism is alive and well my friends.
Unfortunately I’ve run into a situation at work that has shaken up my neat little kingdom. Recently my office hired another person, with the same job title as me. It’s a move that was long overdue. The department was originally staffed by three people, but for the last 4-6 months the only person holding down the fort was me. I’m competent, not Superman. I needed the assist.
During that solo time period what I did was build up a system that worked really well for me. Now someone else has been added to the mix, the system is being disrupted…and I’m not handling it all that well.
I don’t loathe change. I just loathe it when its not on my own terms.
Part of the problem is she’s really smart and good at her job. So part of me feels threatened. She also knows my manager socially. So they have a bond there that excludes me. As such, he tends to trust her and rely on her. A couple times now I’ve attempted to tell my manager why something, that was poorly worded, needed to be fixed. He resisted my suggestion until, independently, new staffer brought the same issues to his attention, which he then fixed. So, in my eye he either trusts her more, or trusts me less. (A third option, more nuanced, but less satisfying, is that he simply recognized the need to make the change after two separate people brought the issue to his attention)
To me there’s a loss of prestige (king of the hill!) and a suggestion that my opinions\abilities aren’t quite as valuable as I thought they were. It’s been difficult to part with some of my responsibilities and have to include another opinion in something where I’ve had much more independent discretion.
Honestly, I don’t like it. (Forehead. Hand. Duh!) It’s much easier to be a team player when there’s always been a team. It’s a lot harder to willingly accept a forced partnership when you’ve traditionally been the lone wolf. (Think Will Ferrell in Anchorman)
I don’t know what the future will hold for me and how I will deal with the evolving nature of my job. But it continues to kindle the need in me to be my own boss and work under my own terms. Only, until I finish my PR certificate, there’s a great case for staying where I am just a little longer.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Chris does TIFF: Miracle at St. Anna edition
Miracle at St. Anna
Saturday, Saturday, September 13th, 8:30pm
Ryerson Theatre
A week late, and hardly insightful and indepth. But the following review encapsulates about all I have to say regarding this film.
Spike Lee’s greatest strength as a director is his uncompromising vision. Artistically I’ve always found him to be fairly hit or miss, but sometimes, through sheer strength of will alone, he’s able to elevate the quality of his films to a level they would otherwise not be able to achieve. Sadly, that vision is lacking in his latest outing, Miracle at St. Anna.
The film follows the lives of four black soldiers, of the 92nd infantry division, colloquially known as the Buffalo soldiers, after they get trapped in a small Italian village during the second World War. The film is based on a book by James McBride and for some strange reason Spike allows multiple subplots, backstorys and flashbacks to clutter up the main narrative of the film. Instead of dealing with the situation at hand, (how the fuck do we get out of Dodge), we find ourselves sitting through convoluted love triangles, the discovery of a long lost cultural treasure, the subterfuge and deception of the Italian Resistance and a handful of other plotlines that work against the film’s natural rhythm. Perhaps that’s why the film feels so bloated at just over three hours long.
Seeing as how the film’s screenwriter, McBride, also wrote the book it shouldn’t come as a surprise that all these unnecessary subplots were carried over when he adapted his own source material. I’m guessing, as a writer, he was loath to edit his babies. If McBride didn’t have the strength to cut down the length of his screenplay then Spike should have made the tough calls when he was in the editing room and chucked some of the dead weight overboard, turning this lumbering frigate of a film into a streamlined powerboat.
It’s not a bad film, or even a dull film. It’s a long, rambling, unnecessarily meandering film that you can’t help but want to be over just so you can step out to the washroom and relieve the pressure on your kidneys.
This film is destined to fall into Spike’s ‘nearly ran’ file folder, denied the honour of standing alongside his greater masterpieces. It’s a clear example of being slavishly held to the whims of the original source material and not making the proper allowances to the conventions of its newly adopted medium.
Saturday, Saturday, September 13th, 8:30pm
Ryerson Theatre
A week late, and hardly insightful and indepth. But the following review encapsulates about all I have to say regarding this film.
Spike Lee’s greatest strength as a director is his uncompromising vision. Artistically I’ve always found him to be fairly hit or miss, but sometimes, through sheer strength of will alone, he’s able to elevate the quality of his films to a level they would otherwise not be able to achieve. Sadly, that vision is lacking in his latest outing, Miracle at St. Anna.
The film follows the lives of four black soldiers, of the 92nd infantry division, colloquially known as the Buffalo soldiers, after they get trapped in a small Italian village during the second World War. The film is based on a book by James McBride and for some strange reason Spike allows multiple subplots, backstorys and flashbacks to clutter up the main narrative of the film. Instead of dealing with the situation at hand, (how the fuck do we get out of Dodge), we find ourselves sitting through convoluted love triangles, the discovery of a long lost cultural treasure, the subterfuge and deception of the Italian Resistance and a handful of other plotlines that work against the film’s natural rhythm. Perhaps that’s why the film feels so bloated at just over three hours long.
Seeing as how the film’s screenwriter, McBride, also wrote the book it shouldn’t come as a surprise that all these unnecessary subplots were carried over when he adapted his own source material. I’m guessing, as a writer, he was loath to edit his babies. If McBride didn’t have the strength to cut down the length of his screenplay then Spike should have made the tough calls when he was in the editing room and chucked some of the dead weight overboard, turning this lumbering frigate of a film into a streamlined powerboat.
It’s not a bad film, or even a dull film. It’s a long, rambling, unnecessarily meandering film that you can’t help but want to be over just so you can step out to the washroom and relieve the pressure on your kidneys.
This film is destined to fall into Spike’s ‘nearly ran’ file folder, denied the honour of standing alongside his greater masterpieces. It’s a clear example of being slavishly held to the whims of the original source material and not making the proper allowances to the conventions of its newly adopted medium.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Chris does TIFF: RocknRolla edition
RocknRolla
Saturday, September 13, 2:30pm
Ryerson Theatre
Guy Ritchie is back doing gangster films and, sadly, that’s not a good thing. You couldn’t have a more wildly misleading opening to a movie review then that last sentence.
Ritchie’s last film, Revolver, was sadly denied a movie screen experience for North American audiences and we are all the poorer for it. An inspiring analysis of the human mind the film only recently showed up in bargain bins where it quietly went unnoticed except by the most dedicated film buffs. So perhaps that’s why Ritchie has chosen to retreat to more familiar subject matter, as an attempt to regain the buzz and counter-culture sensibilities of his earlier efforts.
Enter RocknRolla.
The film stars a veritable hodge podge of quirky personalities, played by everyone from A-list types on their way up the celebrity ladder (Gerard Butler), to venerable character actors (Tom Wilkinson) and attractive femme fatales (Thandie Newton). Trying to summarize the plot of this labyrinthine story in a few short sentences is a masochistic job meant for those with bigger brains then I posses. To call it a gangster film about the changing nature of organized crime is like saying War and Peace is a book about some ‘stuff that went down in Russia.’
RocknRolla deals with the fallout of London’s skyrocketing property values. Europe’s nouveau riche has descended on the city and the only way they can get permission to erect their new building is by linking arm’s with the local wheeler dealer types, led by big fish Wilkinson, to help grease the wheels of an intransigent bureaucracy. Butler leads a group of little fish, affectionately named the Wild Bunch, that get caught up in Wilkinson’s shady deals and unknowingly complicate matters by pinching some money that doesn’t belong to them. In the end, almost everyone involved is trying to track down an oft referenced, but never seen, ‘lucky’ painting, in a homage cribbed directly from Quentin Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction playbook.
RocknRolla lacks the punch of Ritchie’s previous gangster films, the modern classic Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrells and Snatch, not because RR is a bad film or even a weaker film. Rather, it’s been eight years since a Ritchie gangster film last graced the big screen and since that time a genre of filmmaking he’d help reinvigorate has become so popular that his work seems less original and groundbreaking as a result. Nothing succeeds like success.
Ritchie continues to push the genre as far as he can, with his top drawer writing, editing and direction. And even though you’ll leave the theatre impressed with the results, you can’t help but think that you’ve seen it all before.
Apparently he’s written a sequel to this film, The Real RocknRolla or some such nonsense, which he alludes to in the end credits with a James Bondian-like flourish. I think the biggest vote of confidence that I can offer RocknRolla, is that I’d be very interested in checking out what comes after.
Saturday, September 13, 2:30pm
Ryerson Theatre
Guy Ritchie is back doing gangster films and, sadly, that’s not a good thing. You couldn’t have a more wildly misleading opening to a movie review then that last sentence.
Ritchie’s last film, Revolver, was sadly denied a movie screen experience for North American audiences and we are all the poorer for it. An inspiring analysis of the human mind the film only recently showed up in bargain bins where it quietly went unnoticed except by the most dedicated film buffs. So perhaps that’s why Ritchie has chosen to retreat to more familiar subject matter, as an attempt to regain the buzz and counter-culture sensibilities of his earlier efforts.
Enter RocknRolla.
The film stars a veritable hodge podge of quirky personalities, played by everyone from A-list types on their way up the celebrity ladder (Gerard Butler), to venerable character actors (Tom Wilkinson) and attractive femme fatales (Thandie Newton). Trying to summarize the plot of this labyrinthine story in a few short sentences is a masochistic job meant for those with bigger brains then I posses. To call it a gangster film about the changing nature of organized crime is like saying War and Peace is a book about some ‘stuff that went down in Russia.’
RocknRolla deals with the fallout of London’s skyrocketing property values. Europe’s nouveau riche has descended on the city and the only way they can get permission to erect their new building is by linking arm’s with the local wheeler dealer types, led by big fish Wilkinson, to help grease the wheels of an intransigent bureaucracy. Butler leads a group of little fish, affectionately named the Wild Bunch, that get caught up in Wilkinson’s shady deals and unknowingly complicate matters by pinching some money that doesn’t belong to them. In the end, almost everyone involved is trying to track down an oft referenced, but never seen, ‘lucky’ painting, in a homage cribbed directly from Quentin Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction playbook.
RocknRolla lacks the punch of Ritchie’s previous gangster films, the modern classic Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrells and Snatch, not because RR is a bad film or even a weaker film. Rather, it’s been eight years since a Ritchie gangster film last graced the big screen and since that time a genre of filmmaking he’d help reinvigorate has become so popular that his work seems less original and groundbreaking as a result. Nothing succeeds like success.
Ritchie continues to push the genre as far as he can, with his top drawer writing, editing and direction. And even though you’ll leave the theatre impressed with the results, you can’t help but think that you’ve seen it all before.
Apparently he’s written a sequel to this film, The Real RocknRolla or some such nonsense, which he alludes to in the end credits with a James Bondian-like flourish. I think the biggest vote of confidence that I can offer RocknRolla, is that I’d be very interested in checking out what comes after.
Chris does TIFF: The Wrestler edition
The Wrestler
9am, Saturday, September 13
Ryerson Theatre
Darren Aronofsky blows my mind. If you have enough brain power to process that last sentence, you clearly haven’t seen any of his films.
Pi? Power drill to the forehead at the film’s climax.
Requiem for a Dream? The entire movie is like a power drill to the forehead.
The Fountain? Yah, I’m still trying to wrap my head around that one.
The point is, every time this man picks up a piece of celluloid some part of my cognitive capacity dies a horrible death.
But The Wrestler isn’t like that. This is Aronofsky working in a different gear. The film follows Mickey Rourke, as Randy ‘The Ram’ Robinson, finishing up his pro wrestling career as little more than a shadow of the man he used to be. Randy is living a life on the fringes of pro wrestling, using his fading name and reputation to help him make a couple of extra dollars. His best days behind him, Randy is forced to participate in some of wrestling’s more dangerous matches in order to pull together enough money to make a living.
However tragedy strikes and Randy’s career is stopped dead in its tracks after a near fatal heart attack. Forcibly retired Randy tries to reconnect with the people in his life that are important to him, including his estranged daughter Stephanie, Evan Rachel Wood, and Cassidy, Maria Tomei, an aging peeler at the local strip club.
Randy’s attempts to leave wrestling behind and make a life for himself in the real world prove harder than he expected and soon if he finds himself contemplating a return to the ring.
Mickey Rourke is fantastic in this film. What is this, his fifth career comeback? If his performance here doesn’t have Oscar buzz all over it, it’s because the Academy is too busy trying to unwrap the milk chocolate from all those gold statues. I’m not saying he deserves to win, but I think, at the very least, his performance deserves to be considered. Wood and Tomei also turn in respectable performances with their time onscreen.
Aronofsky does a fantastic job setting up parallel story lines between Randy and Cassidy. Both make a living by selling a fantasy to the willing masses and both have trouble adjusting to the expectations of the real world when the sun comes up. But while Randy has squandered his time in the spotlight and has nothing to show for it, Cassidy has made the most of her circumstances and plans to retire on her own terms.
Unlike Aronofsky’s other films The Wrestler is more bio pic than mind fuck. Instead of trying to broaden our horizons about what it means to be human he chooses to tell a simpler tale of a man coming to terms with his own obsolescence and how he struggles to main his identity and dignity throughout. You don’t have to be a wrestling fan to enjoy this film, although it may help a little. In the end, if you like a good story, told well, this film is for you.
9am, Saturday, September 13
Ryerson Theatre
Darren Aronofsky blows my mind. If you have enough brain power to process that last sentence, you clearly haven’t seen any of his films.
Pi? Power drill to the forehead at the film’s climax.
Requiem for a Dream? The entire movie is like a power drill to the forehead.
The Fountain? Yah, I’m still trying to wrap my head around that one.
The point is, every time this man picks up a piece of celluloid some part of my cognitive capacity dies a horrible death.
But The Wrestler isn’t like that. This is Aronofsky working in a different gear. The film follows Mickey Rourke, as Randy ‘The Ram’ Robinson, finishing up his pro wrestling career as little more than a shadow of the man he used to be. Randy is living a life on the fringes of pro wrestling, using his fading name and reputation to help him make a couple of extra dollars. His best days behind him, Randy is forced to participate in some of wrestling’s more dangerous matches in order to pull together enough money to make a living.
However tragedy strikes and Randy’s career is stopped dead in its tracks after a near fatal heart attack. Forcibly retired Randy tries to reconnect with the people in his life that are important to him, including his estranged daughter Stephanie, Evan Rachel Wood, and Cassidy, Maria Tomei, an aging peeler at the local strip club.
Randy’s attempts to leave wrestling behind and make a life for himself in the real world prove harder than he expected and soon if he finds himself contemplating a return to the ring.
Mickey Rourke is fantastic in this film. What is this, his fifth career comeback? If his performance here doesn’t have Oscar buzz all over it, it’s because the Academy is too busy trying to unwrap the milk chocolate from all those gold statues. I’m not saying he deserves to win, but I think, at the very least, his performance deserves to be considered. Wood and Tomei also turn in respectable performances with their time onscreen.
Aronofsky does a fantastic job setting up parallel story lines between Randy and Cassidy. Both make a living by selling a fantasy to the willing masses and both have trouble adjusting to the expectations of the real world when the sun comes up. But while Randy has squandered his time in the spotlight and has nothing to show for it, Cassidy has made the most of her circumstances and plans to retire on her own terms.
Unlike Aronofsky’s other films The Wrestler is more bio pic than mind fuck. Instead of trying to broaden our horizons about what it means to be human he chooses to tell a simpler tale of a man coming to terms with his own obsolescence and how he struggles to main his identity and dignity throughout. You don’t have to be a wrestling fan to enjoy this film, although it may help a little. In the end, if you like a good story, told well, this film is for you.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Chris does Tiff: Achilles and the Tortoise edition
Achilles and the Tortoise
Friday, September 12, 8:30
Ryerson Theatre
My first Takeshi Kitano TIFF experience was watching Brother at the Varsity cineplex at about 9 on a Sunday morning. I was a fledgling film student and Kitano's final arty ultra-violent gangster flick was like nothing I'd ever seen before. Since then I've made it a point to catch every Kitano film that TIFF manages to get its hands on.
Sometimes you get Zatoichi, Kitano's tale of a blind swordsman bringing justice to medieval Japan, or Dolls, his tragic story of love and lonliness....and sometimes you get Takeshis! and Glory to the Filmmaker, expermental bio pics that can challenge even the most devoted fan. S came with me to see Glory to the Filmmaker at the last fest and when Kitano trotted out the penis guitar on screen I turned to see her giving me a look of pity and disgust.
Achilles and the Tortoise is closer to Kitano's experimental bio pic phase then it is to his gangster films, although thankfully the film avoids the outlandish excesses of his previous endeavours. The story deals with young Machisu as he attempts to follow his dream of becoming a painter, despite the great tragedies in his life that threaten to block him.
The film begins with Machisu's clumsy first attempts at painting as a boy, to his efforts at finding his painterly 'voice' as a young man, before jumping forward to the modern day where Kitano takes over the role. The first two stages of Machisu's life are mostly played straight, although with any Kitano film there is always a hint of dark anarchistic comedy. It's the tale of the earnest artist, painstakingly trying to perfect his craft, no matter what the cost.
The film's third act is played for laughs all the way. Here Kitano is sending up the more pretentious elements of the art world, heaping scorn and satirizing the incomprehensible and sometimes outlandish personalities that create 'art'.
This is Kitano's third film that tries to explain how he's done with movie making and how there isn't anything original left for him to say. Throughout his entire life Machisu the painter attempts to create a great work of art but all he ever manages is to copy the works of other great painters. Kitano's career has taken a similar arc, tired of making violent gangster films, that helped craft his public persona, he has eschewed his most familar genre in an attempt at striking out and finding his own voice, with unfortunately mixed results.
This is a modest message film that never pretends it has all the answers to the questions it posits. Kitano is just as unsure as his audience about the true nature and worth of art. He offers moviegoers a little personal insight, a little tragedy and then tries to break the tension by throwing some levity on top of it all. He wants us to think and feel, but not too hard and not too long.
Relax. He says. It's just a movie. It doesn't really matter.
Friday, September 12, 8:30
Ryerson Theatre
My first Takeshi Kitano TIFF experience was watching Brother at the Varsity cineplex at about 9 on a Sunday morning. I was a fledgling film student and Kitano's final arty ultra-violent gangster flick was like nothing I'd ever seen before. Since then I've made it a point to catch every Kitano film that TIFF manages to get its hands on.
Sometimes you get Zatoichi, Kitano's tale of a blind swordsman bringing justice to medieval Japan, or Dolls, his tragic story of love and lonliness....and sometimes you get Takeshis! and Glory to the Filmmaker, expermental bio pics that can challenge even the most devoted fan. S came with me to see Glory to the Filmmaker at the last fest and when Kitano trotted out the penis guitar on screen I turned to see her giving me a look of pity and disgust.
Achilles and the Tortoise is closer to Kitano's experimental bio pic phase then it is to his gangster films, although thankfully the film avoids the outlandish excesses of his previous endeavours. The story deals with young Machisu as he attempts to follow his dream of becoming a painter, despite the great tragedies in his life that threaten to block him.
The film begins with Machisu's clumsy first attempts at painting as a boy, to his efforts at finding his painterly 'voice' as a young man, before jumping forward to the modern day where Kitano takes over the role. The first two stages of Machisu's life are mostly played straight, although with any Kitano film there is always a hint of dark anarchistic comedy. It's the tale of the earnest artist, painstakingly trying to perfect his craft, no matter what the cost.
The film's third act is played for laughs all the way. Here Kitano is sending up the more pretentious elements of the art world, heaping scorn and satirizing the incomprehensible and sometimes outlandish personalities that create 'art'.
This is Kitano's third film that tries to explain how he's done with movie making and how there isn't anything original left for him to say. Throughout his entire life Machisu the painter attempts to create a great work of art but all he ever manages is to copy the works of other great painters. Kitano's career has taken a similar arc, tired of making violent gangster films, that helped craft his public persona, he has eschewed his most familar genre in an attempt at striking out and finding his own voice, with unfortunately mixed results.
This is a modest message film that never pretends it has all the answers to the questions it posits. Kitano is just as unsure as his audience about the true nature and worth of art. He offers moviegoers a little personal insight, a little tragedy and then tries to break the tension by throwing some levity on top of it all. He wants us to think and feel, but not too hard and not too long.
Relax. He says. It's just a movie. It doesn't really matter.
Friday, September 12, 2008
ASBAR 10 - Additional
Apparently Ebay is heating up with people hocking their copies of this issue. The last I checked one lot item, which included the regular cover and the variant, was selling for north of 120 dollars.
Which made me think I should head back to ye olde comic shop, purchase whatever copies they have left and fleece me some suckers on ebay.
But unfortunately, I’m inherently lazy, and reluctant to go through all that effort for something that could plummet in value by the time I get it to the cash register.
But I wonder. How much of this is an accident, and how much of it is a beautiful scam to generate some press and drive some eyeballs back to the title?
Crazy?
Perhaps. Perhaps not.
Which made me think I should head back to ye olde comic shop, purchase whatever copies they have left and fleece me some suckers on ebay.
But unfortunately, I’m inherently lazy, and reluctant to go through all that effort for something that could plummet in value by the time I get it to the cash register.
But I wonder. How much of this is an accident, and how much of it is a beautiful scam to generate some press and drive some eyeballs back to the title?
Crazy?
Perhaps. Perhaps not.
Chris does Tiff: Me and Orson Welles edition
Me and Orson Welles
September 11, 9pm
Ryerson Theatre
Orson Welles is one of those rare film personalities that fascinates me outside of his body of work.
An accomplished thespian and radio artist before he ever turned to more celluloid based endeavours, his genius and larger than life personality were eclipsed only by his hubris and arrogance. His film career was cut tragically short because he refused to play the studio game, but not before he forever changed the way that movies were made in Hollywood. As a result actions, he spent the rest of his life hopping around the globe trying to secure financing on a variety of projects, never again truly getting the opportunity to truly exercise his creative abilities.
However, in the Richard Linklater production, Me and Orson Welles, the focus of the film is on Richard Samuels (Zac Efron), an aspiring actor who lucks into a supporting role in Welles’ modern dress stage version of Julius Caesar. The film covers approximately the two weeks before the opening of the play. Samuels is chafing at the bit as approaches the end of his high school education and so he goes out into the world to see what it has to offer him. Almost by accident he becomes a member of the famed Mercury Theatre where he experiences first hand the passion, creativity and near chaos that was any project Orson Welles’ put his mind too.
Welles, played to absolute perfection by little known actor Christian McKay, is almost reduced to being part of the background scenery, albeit a part of the scenery that’s not afraid to insert itself forcibly into the action of the film. His almost tangible personality reinforces the character and feel of the late 1930’s, where radio was the mainstream commercial juggernaut of the day, film little more than a snot-nosed upstart and where theatre was where all the really prestigious actors worked.
McKay’s Welles moves like a storm throughout this film, scattering actors, and their ambitions, left and right. People don’t act with Welles, they react to him. He is as far above his stage counterparts of the day as he would be above his film peers less than four years later. It’s unfortunate that in the film that bears his name in the marquee, it is not this man that we are supposed to be watching
Zac Efron, Clare Danes and Ben Chaplin all do credibly jobs with the time they are given on screen. But make no mistake, you’re hear to watch Christian McKay. The man manages to bring Welles’s epic personality to the screen, but dial it back just enough that he doesn’t overshadow his fellow performers. This film is nothing more than a brief slice of Welles’ frenzied career, but it is a filling meal nonetheless.
***A note on my festival experience thus far. TIFF 07 was notable for the sheer amount of death and nudity that I ingested. I saw some great movies but the subject matter was overwhelmingly bleak and depressing and by the end of the fest I was craving some lighter fare. This year, the theme of my TIFF experience seems to be intense character driven pieces. Gone are the blood and guts, and questionable graphic nudity scenes of last year, and I would argue that my festival experience has
September 11, 9pm
Ryerson Theatre
Orson Welles is one of those rare film personalities that fascinates me outside of his body of work.
An accomplished thespian and radio artist before he ever turned to more celluloid based endeavours, his genius and larger than life personality were eclipsed only by his hubris and arrogance. His film career was cut tragically short because he refused to play the studio game, but not before he forever changed the way that movies were made in Hollywood. As a result actions, he spent the rest of his life hopping around the globe trying to secure financing on a variety of projects, never again truly getting the opportunity to truly exercise his creative abilities.
However, in the Richard Linklater production, Me and Orson Welles, the focus of the film is on Richard Samuels (Zac Efron), an aspiring actor who lucks into a supporting role in Welles’ modern dress stage version of Julius Caesar. The film covers approximately the two weeks before the opening of the play. Samuels is chafing at the bit as approaches the end of his high school education and so he goes out into the world to see what it has to offer him. Almost by accident he becomes a member of the famed Mercury Theatre where he experiences first hand the passion, creativity and near chaos that was any project Orson Welles’ put his mind too.
Welles, played to absolute perfection by little known actor Christian McKay, is almost reduced to being part of the background scenery, albeit a part of the scenery that’s not afraid to insert itself forcibly into the action of the film. His almost tangible personality reinforces the character and feel of the late 1930’s, where radio was the mainstream commercial juggernaut of the day, film little more than a snot-nosed upstart and where theatre was where all the really prestigious actors worked.
McKay’s Welles moves like a storm throughout this film, scattering actors, and their ambitions, left and right. People don’t act with Welles, they react to him. He is as far above his stage counterparts of the day as he would be above his film peers less than four years later. It’s unfortunate that in the film that bears his name in the marquee, it is not this man that we are supposed to be watching
Zac Efron, Clare Danes and Ben Chaplin all do credibly jobs with the time they are given on screen. But make no mistake, you’re hear to watch Christian McKay. The man manages to bring Welles’s epic personality to the screen, but dial it back just enough that he doesn’t overshadow his fellow performers. This film is nothing more than a brief slice of Welles’ frenzied career, but it is a filling meal nonetheless.
***A note on my festival experience thus far. TIFF 07 was notable for the sheer amount of death and nudity that I ingested. I saw some great movies but the subject matter was overwhelmingly bleak and depressing and by the end of the fest I was craving some lighter fare. This year, the theme of my TIFF experience seems to be intense character driven pieces. Gone are the blood and guts, and questionable graphic nudity scenes of last year, and I would argue that my festival experience has
Thursday, September 11, 2008
and furthermore...
...my honeymoon sinus infection has flared up again.
Which means I'm blowing copious amounts of snot out of my skull, breathing entirely from my mouth and generally shuffling along in an obscene parody of a living, functioning human being.
Over the last couple days S has wondered aloud about the need to consider separate bedrooms for the duration of my illness. This is only disturbing when you consider the fact that we live in a one bedroom townhouse.
Which means I'm blowing copious amounts of snot out of my skull, breathing entirely from my mouth and generally shuffling along in an obscene parody of a living, functioning human being.
Over the last couple days S has wondered aloud about the need to consider separate bedrooms for the duration of my illness. This is only disturbing when you consider the fact that we live in a one bedroom townhouse.
Fall start up
So,
Back in school again for another semester. This time out the course is Reputation Management aka Crisis Communications and since its my fifth course in my PR certificate it officially puts me over the halfway mark in post secondary education: round 2.
My first assignment is supposed to be talking about my personal brand. What makes me, me?
6’4, blond hair, blue eyes, devastatingly handsome and recently started snoring in his sleep. Bam. Done. What more do you need to know? That’s my brand.
I also started the fall Frisbee season on Tuesday. I signed up as an individual and got thrown into a team that just made the switch from rec to intermediate. So I found myself handling again as some people were a little disc shy. Its not big a deal. Maybe I’ll take the opportunity to get my flick down. Stranger things have happened.* My only beef with the team is that we play at a venue that’s notorious for injuring people. The floor isn’t turf or wood, its some kind of rubberized concrete that becomes extremely slippery when the outdoor temp starts to drop. S tore her Achilles tendon there, I’ve seen break their wrist and more wipe outs then I can count. Last year I even wrote the sports league to complain about their continued use of the venue.
But with the loss of their domed turf field, the league can’t afford to be picky at where they schedule games. And since I signed up to play in it, apparently, neither can I.
*Stranger things have in fact NOT happened.
Back in school again for another semester. This time out the course is Reputation Management aka Crisis Communications and since its my fifth course in my PR certificate it officially puts me over the halfway mark in post secondary education: round 2.
My first assignment is supposed to be talking about my personal brand. What makes me, me?
6’4, blond hair, blue eyes, devastatingly handsome and recently started snoring in his sleep. Bam. Done. What more do you need to know? That’s my brand.
I also started the fall Frisbee season on Tuesday. I signed up as an individual and got thrown into a team that just made the switch from rec to intermediate. So I found myself handling again as some people were a little disc shy. Its not big a deal. Maybe I’ll take the opportunity to get my flick down. Stranger things have happened.* My only beef with the team is that we play at a venue that’s notorious for injuring people. The floor isn’t turf or wood, its some kind of rubberized concrete that becomes extremely slippery when the outdoor temp starts to drop. S tore her Achilles tendon there, I’ve seen break their wrist and more wipe outs then I can count. Last year I even wrote the sports league to complain about their continued use of the venue.
But with the loss of their domed turf field, the league can’t afford to be picky at where they schedule games. And since I signed up to play in it, apparently, neither can I.
*Stranger things have in fact NOT happened.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Shock and Awe
Oh yah,
ASBAR #10.
The one that has apparently been recalled due to a printing error. (Must fight the urge to add air quotes.) The one which must be instantly destroyed if you see it out in the open sunlight.
Well apparently my local comic shoppe decided to ignore that edict, received the title as planned, and stuck it on the shelf anyway.
Yes, there are some very bad words in here.
Yes, you can see said bad words without trying very hard.
No, I’m not shocked.
Let’s face it. If you’re reading ASBAR you’re doing it because a) You want to see just how far Miller will go before his overlords at DC pull him back. b) You like a good laugh, (and the dialogue in this title is nothing if not hilarious.) c) You want to be a part of the tidal wave of public criticism and (sometimes) mockery. d) You like Jim Lee’s art.
Honestly, it doesn’t bother me that much. It feels like shock for shock’s sake, like a writer trying to push the envelope, trying to stir up some controversy and hey, its working.
Very few people I know admit to liking ASBAR, but they all read it, because they’re fascinated by how far this thing will go. I don’t know how well this title is selling, mostly because I’m too lazy to use the internet, but it’s still being published so obviously someone is reading.
Yes the language goes way beyond strong, but honestly this comic wasn’t intended for younger readers. The argument that, just because it contains Batman, we should be extra vigilant in ensuring that it remains all ages friendly is disingenuous. We make Batman comics (Super Friends) for younger readers, why can’t we have ones for older ones as well? Like anything else that may be bad for children, booze, drugs, cigarettes, guns, etc, accountability for making sure this comic doesn’t end up in the wrong hands lies in the hands of responsible adults.
Of course kids are going to want to see Batman swear. They’re also going to want to Daddy’s Playboys as well. Specifically because they’re not supposed to see it. We know to keep pornography from children, so why not questionable reading material as well? If your childhood hero using offensive language disturbs you on a personal level, then vote with your wallet or write to someone who can do something about it.
In an industry where almost every safe plotline has been done, it’s inevitable that someone is going to try to push the boundaries in order to find something new. If that offends you, push back.
ASBAR #10.
The one that has apparently been recalled due to a printing error. (Must fight the urge to add air quotes.) The one which must be instantly destroyed if you see it out in the open sunlight.
Well apparently my local comic shoppe decided to ignore that edict, received the title as planned, and stuck it on the shelf anyway.
Yes, there are some very bad words in here.
Yes, you can see said bad words without trying very hard.
No, I’m not shocked.
Let’s face it. If you’re reading ASBAR you’re doing it because a) You want to see just how far Miller will go before his overlords at DC pull him back. b) You like a good laugh, (and the dialogue in this title is nothing if not hilarious.) c) You want to be a part of the tidal wave of public criticism and (sometimes) mockery. d) You like Jim Lee’s art.
Honestly, it doesn’t bother me that much. It feels like shock for shock’s sake, like a writer trying to push the envelope, trying to stir up some controversy and hey, its working.
Very few people I know admit to liking ASBAR, but they all read it, because they’re fascinated by how far this thing will go. I don’t know how well this title is selling, mostly because I’m too lazy to use the internet, but it’s still being published so obviously someone is reading.
Yes the language goes way beyond strong, but honestly this comic wasn’t intended for younger readers. The argument that, just because it contains Batman, we should be extra vigilant in ensuring that it remains all ages friendly is disingenuous. We make Batman comics (Super Friends) for younger readers, why can’t we have ones for older ones as well? Like anything else that may be bad for children, booze, drugs, cigarettes, guns, etc, accountability for making sure this comic doesn’t end up in the wrong hands lies in the hands of responsible adults.
Of course kids are going to want to see Batman swear. They’re also going to want to Daddy’s Playboys as well. Specifically because they’re not supposed to see it. We know to keep pornography from children, so why not questionable reading material as well? If your childhood hero using offensive language disturbs you on a personal level, then vote with your wallet or write to someone who can do something about it.
In an industry where almost every safe plotline has been done, it’s inevitable that someone is going to try to push the boundaries in order to find something new. If that offends you, push back.
Work bit
Crashed a press conference this morning, for strictly work related reasons. Met Paul Gross, Don McKellar, Martha Burns and Karen Kain.
I was literally surrounded by a who’s who of Canada’s A-list arts and culture types.
I’m being pounded into the ground with work right now. I’m like a carnival whack-a-mole. I’m rushing to meet deadlines on Project A, while the recent federal election call means that I need to deal with the appearance of an instant workload on Project B.
Such is life.
The arrival of the new staffer is a mixed blessing for me. One the one hand I’ve been doing the job of two people for almost a year now so I can’t deny that the extra set of hands is needed. On the other hand I embrace change like a vampire embraces sunlight, with much wailing and gnashing of teeth…followed by a little internal combustion.
She’s a nice person, works hard and is probably smarter than I am. She also knows my Manager outside of work and is another opinion that muddies the water a little bit. Even though it was a shit load of work, I’d become used to shouldering the load and it’s like pulling teeth for me to give any of it up.
I was literally surrounded by a who’s who of Canada’s A-list arts and culture types.
I’m being pounded into the ground with work right now. I’m like a carnival whack-a-mole. I’m rushing to meet deadlines on Project A, while the recent federal election call means that I need to deal with the appearance of an instant workload on Project B.
Such is life.
The arrival of the new staffer is a mixed blessing for me. One the one hand I’ve been doing the job of two people for almost a year now so I can’t deny that the extra set of hands is needed. On the other hand I embrace change like a vampire embraces sunlight, with much wailing and gnashing of teeth…followed by a little internal combustion.
She’s a nice person, works hard and is probably smarter than I am. She also knows my Manager outside of work and is another opinion that muddies the water a little bit. Even though it was a shit load of work, I’d become used to shouldering the load and it’s like pulling teeth for me to give any of it up.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
TIFF not for the regular guy anymore
So I’ve seen (and participated) in some chatter about how the basic nature of TIFF has changed recently. Last weekend, a Toronto newspaper columnist even called it elitist and went on to list a bunch of reasons why the fest wasn’t about the regular people any longer.
I have to say on the whole I find his basic premise spot on. The fest has changed. About five or six years ago when I first started attending it seriously I could buy a ten back of tickets for about a hundred bucks (tax included) and have a reasonable chance at getting in to see just about any film on the schedule. This included some years where I spent some serious time in the Rush Line in the hopes of catching a hot film. Now days I pay north of 160 for that same ten pack and may get none of my first picks if I happen to get a bad box in the random draw.
It’s all changed now. The big venues are more interested in keeping people away, setting up more and more of those crowd control barriers at the larger venues (Roy T and the Elgin). It used to be I could stand in the Rush Line at Roy T and watch the limos pull up and drop the glitterati off. Nowdays I’d have to run a gamut of police officers, photogs, crazed fans and crowd control barriers straight out of Children of Men. Inviting it isn’t.
Then there’s the preferential treatment afforded to ‘Donors’, the price jacking of anything at the Elgin, the ever encroaching presence of big name sponsors, an unhealthy obsession by the media to cover the eating habits of whatever celeb happens to be in town and a general overall feeling that this festival isn’t about having fun anymore.
It’s about setting up a pecking order for those with enough money and influence to jump the line and get in to all the hot parties. Its about business and doing deals and getting sponsors ships and the prestigious of a permanent office on Queen Street (the sponsorally named Bell Lightbox)
I guess the only question have is ‘What took it so long?’
I have to say on the whole I find his basic premise spot on. The fest has changed. About five or six years ago when I first started attending it seriously I could buy a ten back of tickets for about a hundred bucks (tax included) and have a reasonable chance at getting in to see just about any film on the schedule. This included some years where I spent some serious time in the Rush Line in the hopes of catching a hot film. Now days I pay north of 160 for that same ten pack and may get none of my first picks if I happen to get a bad box in the random draw.
It’s all changed now. The big venues are more interested in keeping people away, setting up more and more of those crowd control barriers at the larger venues (Roy T and the Elgin). It used to be I could stand in the Rush Line at Roy T and watch the limos pull up and drop the glitterati off. Nowdays I’d have to run a gamut of police officers, photogs, crazed fans and crowd control barriers straight out of Children of Men. Inviting it isn’t.
Then there’s the preferential treatment afforded to ‘Donors’, the price jacking of anything at the Elgin, the ever encroaching presence of big name sponsors, an unhealthy obsession by the media to cover the eating habits of whatever celeb happens to be in town and a general overall feeling that this festival isn’t about having fun anymore.
It’s about setting up a pecking order for those with enough money and influence to jump the line and get in to all the hot parties. Its about business and doing deals and getting sponsors ships and the prestigious of a permanent office on Queen Street (the sponsorally named Bell Lightbox)
I guess the only question have is ‘What took it so long?’
Monday, September 8, 2008
Purge
So last night was the big clothes purge.
I got rid of nearly two dozen T-shirts, some pitched callously overboard in a desperate bid to save my concert Ts, a double handful of socks, a lone pair of pants, and another lone pair of shorts and a couple long sleeved work shirts I no longer wear. They all went in a big black garbage bag for drop off at the closest Salvation Army. I even managed to chuck a jacket that I don’t wear anymore.
I tried for almost an hour to get rid of an old (p)leather motorcycle jacket that absolutely doesn’t suit me but I love nonetheless. In the end I tucked it back in the closet, secure in the knowledge that I’ll go through the same dance with it the next time I do a clothes purge.
For the first time in years there is space in the closet. Which of course only served to remind me of the other clothes I want, but put off buying due to wedding related expenses (MEC jacket, plain black T’s, new pair of sports shorts and some replacement dri-fit)
I got rid of nearly two dozen T-shirts, some pitched callously overboard in a desperate bid to save my concert Ts, a double handful of socks, a lone pair of pants, and another lone pair of shorts and a couple long sleeved work shirts I no longer wear. They all went in a big black garbage bag for drop off at the closest Salvation Army. I even managed to chuck a jacket that I don’t wear anymore.
I tried for almost an hour to get rid of an old (p)leather motorcycle jacket that absolutely doesn’t suit me but I love nonetheless. In the end I tucked it back in the closet, secure in the knowledge that I’ll go through the same dance with it the next time I do a clothes purge.
For the first time in years there is space in the closet. Which of course only served to remind me of the other clothes I want, but put off buying due to wedding related expenses (MEC jacket, plain black T’s, new pair of sports shorts and some replacement dri-fit)
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Chris does TIFF: Is There Anybody There? edition
Is There Anybody There?
September 7th, 3pm
Ryerson Theatre
10 year old Edward, Bill Milner from Son of Rambow, lives with his parents in a family run nursing home. Life hasn't been very easy for him as of late. His old bedroom is now the property of aging geriatrics, his classmates don't think very much of him and his parents' relationship is slowly breaking apart under the financial and emotional toil of caring after the elderly. To escape the death that surrounds him everyday Edward becomes obsessed with the afterlife and contacting those from beyond the grave in order to figure out what dying is really like.
Into his life lurches Clarence, (Michael Caine from lots of interesting movies you should probably watch), an aged former magician who is tragically unable to put the death of his wife behind him. When Edward saves Clarence during a failed suicide the young boy attempts to befriend the octogenarian in the hopes of finding out what its really like when people die.
What follows next is a fairly predictable, but no less touching and heartwarming, story of two outcasts who seem to have no one in life but each other. Caine, a wonderfully gifted character actor, is remarkably restrained in his performance in this film, but his pain and guilt at the loss of his wife manages to burst through his reserved exterior nonetheless. Even late in his career this talented actor shows that he can do more with a few subtle eyes gestures than some performers can achieve over their entire life. This is award winning stuff we're watching here.
Sadly, the friendship of Clarence and Edward cannot last. Clarence begins to suffer from the onset of senility and drifts further and further away from Edward as his mind starts to fail him.
Director John Crowley is remarkably adept at manipulating emotions throughout this movie. He is able to find the warmth and humour in this tragic tale, without ever turning the film into a comical farce or falling prey to the over-the-top melodramatics that a less gifted director might lean on. By resisting the urge to hold the audience's hand and lead us directly to the film's message, Crowley allows the audience to discover it on their own by respecting their abilty to read between the lines.
The power of this film stems directly from the strength of its characters. Their struggle to come to terms with their lot in life is so simple and honest that the audience cannot help but to emphasize with their pain. And even though they may not all be able to find happiness for themselves, there always seems to be a helping hand to pick them up after they've fallen.
September 7th, 3pm
Ryerson Theatre
10 year old Edward, Bill Milner from Son of Rambow, lives with his parents in a family run nursing home. Life hasn't been very easy for him as of late. His old bedroom is now the property of aging geriatrics, his classmates don't think very much of him and his parents' relationship is slowly breaking apart under the financial and emotional toil of caring after the elderly. To escape the death that surrounds him everyday Edward becomes obsessed with the afterlife and contacting those from beyond the grave in order to figure out what dying is really like.
Into his life lurches Clarence, (Michael Caine from lots of interesting movies you should probably watch), an aged former magician who is tragically unable to put the death of his wife behind him. When Edward saves Clarence during a failed suicide the young boy attempts to befriend the octogenarian in the hopes of finding out what its really like when people die.
What follows next is a fairly predictable, but no less touching and heartwarming, story of two outcasts who seem to have no one in life but each other. Caine, a wonderfully gifted character actor, is remarkably restrained in his performance in this film, but his pain and guilt at the loss of his wife manages to burst through his reserved exterior nonetheless. Even late in his career this talented actor shows that he can do more with a few subtle eyes gestures than some performers can achieve over their entire life. This is award winning stuff we're watching here.
Sadly, the friendship of Clarence and Edward cannot last. Clarence begins to suffer from the onset of senility and drifts further and further away from Edward as his mind starts to fail him.
Director John Crowley is remarkably adept at manipulating emotions throughout this movie. He is able to find the warmth and humour in this tragic tale, without ever turning the film into a comical farce or falling prey to the over-the-top melodramatics that a less gifted director might lean on. By resisting the urge to hold the audience's hand and lead us directly to the film's message, Crowley allows the audience to discover it on their own by respecting their abilty to read between the lines.
The power of this film stems directly from the strength of its characters. Their struggle to come to terms with their lot in life is so simple and honest that the audience cannot help but to emphasize with their pain. And even though they may not all be able to find happiness for themselves, there always seems to be a helping hand to pick them up after they've fallen.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Festival Cup: Post game highlights
So S and I went to the inaugural Festival Cup last night at the ACC.
It was an interesting event, a roughly equal mix of celebrities types and professional hockey players. We got to sit right up front, which is a prospect that S and I are unlikely to enjoy at a Leaf game anytime soon (not being budding multi-millionaires of course)
But for the 36 bucks a pop we got to see Sundin on the ACC ice, one last time, as well as Gilmour, Stajan, Avery, Robataille, and Cujo. If I had one complaint it would be that the game was almost a little too relaxed. I know this is a charity game and some of these players would be out a lot of money if they were seriously hurt. But it wouldn’t kill you to hustle after the puck and scrap a little bit in the corners would you?
Being energetic doesn’t necessarily mean you have to be rough. Just keep in mind that no one’s paying money to watch people skate around out there like its open ice night at their local arena.
What was kind of wank though was how they game was obviously pre-destined to end in a shoot out. With about fifteen seconds left in the game the ‘White’ team accidentally scored and you could tell from the ‘oh shit’ look on the scorer’s face that he knew he wasn’t supposed to do that. But the refs called back the goal and we were all treated to some amusing antics from Cujo during the shoot out as he flopped back and forth on the ice, bending over backwards so that some of the shooters would get a goal.
Things I enjoyed
Tim Robbins getting accidentally smoked by his own teammate.
Cujo playing the puck end to end on the ice.
Sean Avery getting booed every time he was on camera or on the ice
D.B. Sweeney. (toepick)
Tim Robbins getting in a faux-fistfight
The standing ‘O’ for Sundin (come back Mats)
Spezza getting his balls busted by the announcer
Jim Basille scoring a goal.
Things I did not
Dougie Gilmour only playing one shift, WTF?
The new Leaf ‘goal scored’ animation.
The idiots behind me (Is that Bobby Orr? I could kick Cujo’s ass)
Overall I had a good time and if they try this event next year, I think I could be persuaded to do it again.
It was an interesting event, a roughly equal mix of celebrities types and professional hockey players. We got to sit right up front, which is a prospect that S and I are unlikely to enjoy at a Leaf game anytime soon (not being budding multi-millionaires of course)
But for the 36 bucks a pop we got to see Sundin on the ACC ice, one last time, as well as Gilmour, Stajan, Avery, Robataille, and Cujo. If I had one complaint it would be that the game was almost a little too relaxed. I know this is a charity game and some of these players would be out a lot of money if they were seriously hurt. But it wouldn’t kill you to hustle after the puck and scrap a little bit in the corners would you?
Being energetic doesn’t necessarily mean you have to be rough. Just keep in mind that no one’s paying money to watch people skate around out there like its open ice night at their local arena.
What was kind of wank though was how they game was obviously pre-destined to end in a shoot out. With about fifteen seconds left in the game the ‘White’ team accidentally scored and you could tell from the ‘oh shit’ look on the scorer’s face that he knew he wasn’t supposed to do that. But the refs called back the goal and we were all treated to some amusing antics from Cujo during the shoot out as he flopped back and forth on the ice, bending over backwards so that some of the shooters would get a goal.
Things I enjoyed
Tim Robbins getting accidentally smoked by his own teammate.
Cujo playing the puck end to end on the ice.
Sean Avery getting booed every time he was on camera or on the ice
D.B. Sweeney. (toepick)
Tim Robbins getting in a faux-fistfight
The standing ‘O’ for Sundin (come back Mats)
Spezza getting his balls busted by the announcer
Jim Basille scoring a goal.
Things I did not
Dougie Gilmour only playing one shift, WTF?
The new Leaf ‘goal scored’ animation.
The idiots behind me (Is that Bobby Orr? I could kick Cujo’s ass)
Overall I had a good time and if they try this event next year, I think I could be persuaded to do it again.
Chris does TIFF: Sky Crawlers edtion
Sky Crawlers
9am
Ryerson Theatre
Sky Crawlers, directed by Mamoru Oshii (Ghost in the Shell), tells the story of a not-so-distant future where genetically modified children fight never-ending World War II type air battles at the bidding of faceless multinational corporations.
If you think that sounds exciting and full of adventure and drama, you’d be absolutely wrong. There is some dog fighting at the very beginning and a larger invasion a little later on, but this film is primarily an introspective character piece. The action scenes take back seat to the film’s character development.
The story deals with the arrival of a new ace fighter pilot, Cairn, as he attempts to fit in at his newly assigned airfield.
The plot is carefully structured, with precise measured beats. Information is released in dribs and drabs, for example much is intimated about the bases’ sordid history but never explicitly stated, even at the very end. Every time you think a key piece of information is going to be delivered the director chooses to dance around the subject matter rather than approach it directly. In the end, you’re reduced to piecing together a story entirely from an absence of information.
It’s like being given a jigsaw puzzle, but with no final picture to assemble from. You know the pieces are supposed to fit each other, you’re just not quite sure how.
The film attempts to delve into some interesting interlocking philosophical concepts about the nature of youth, war and the modern corporation. But ultimately this deep introspection means the film appeals to an audience primarily on an intellectual level and never really connects with the viewer emotionally.
I enjoyed the film, slow pacing and all, but I’d hesitate before recommending it to a larger audience. If you need your anime to be ultra-violent and shoot’em up, this is not the film for you. But if you can appreciate a slow, methodical story that asks you to think a little bit about the way the world around you is developing, then I can think of worse ways to spend your time on a Saturday morning.
9am
Ryerson Theatre
Sky Crawlers, directed by Mamoru Oshii (Ghost in the Shell), tells the story of a not-so-distant future where genetically modified children fight never-ending World War II type air battles at the bidding of faceless multinational corporations.
If you think that sounds exciting and full of adventure and drama, you’d be absolutely wrong. There is some dog fighting at the very beginning and a larger invasion a little later on, but this film is primarily an introspective character piece. The action scenes take back seat to the film’s character development.
The story deals with the arrival of a new ace fighter pilot, Cairn, as he attempts to fit in at his newly assigned airfield.
The plot is carefully structured, with precise measured beats. Information is released in dribs and drabs, for example much is intimated about the bases’ sordid history but never explicitly stated, even at the very end. Every time you think a key piece of information is going to be delivered the director chooses to dance around the subject matter rather than approach it directly. In the end, you’re reduced to piecing together a story entirely from an absence of information.
It’s like being given a jigsaw puzzle, but with no final picture to assemble from. You know the pieces are supposed to fit each other, you’re just not quite sure how.
The film attempts to delve into some interesting interlocking philosophical concepts about the nature of youth, war and the modern corporation. But ultimately this deep introspection means the film appeals to an audience primarily on an intellectual level and never really connects with the viewer emotionally.
I enjoyed the film, slow pacing and all, but I’d hesitate before recommending it to a larger audience. If you need your anime to be ultra-violent and shoot’em up, this is not the film for you. But if you can appreciate a slow, methodical story that asks you to think a little bit about the way the world around you is developing, then I can think of worse ways to spend your time on a Saturday morning.
Friday, September 5, 2008
Cleaning house
The great purge continues…albeit veeeeerrrrrry slowly.
It’s official. Our little dwelling has run out of space. Prime culprit? Yours truly. I’ve brought in more books, DVDs and comics then our living space can currently contain. Unfortunately, I’m biologically incapable of getting rid of anything, a trait that I come by honestly. My mother has a problem with pack rat-ism that has gotten so bad, my parents are restricted to living in only one room of their house, the rest of it being stacked floor to ceiling with junk.
Things have come to a head in our own place with the influx of wedding related giftery. And while many of these generous gifts are meant to replace things we already own (pots and pans, dishes, etc.) we haven’t yet managed to squeeze the time out of our schedules to begin that replacement process.
I’ve been sorting and purging my comics for the last couple months and I’m starting to see the results of that decision in my purchasing habits. The light weeks are becoming more prevalent as I make the tough choices about what to buy and what to leave on the shelves.
A couple days ago I took a crack at my books, pulling nearly two dozen titles from my bookshelves in preparation for a visit to the used bookstore. A process I equate to ripping your own arm off and beating yourself in the face with it. Unfortunately, I suffered a setback on this front last night after stopping by Scottie’s for a round of video games. I ended up with leaving with a small handful of TPB’s that Scott earmarked for disposal. Scottie, FYI, is a purging master. That guy knows what he wants to keep and what has got to go. He has no sentimentality whatsoever about keeping something he’s not sure about. And since I have so much trouble letting things go, its awe inspiring to watch him at work.
Next up is the big purge, clothing. Its not that I’m attached to my old clothes that I don’t wear anymore (concert T’s notwithstanding) its just that I’m a sentimental bastard who can’t bear to part with anything. Although a tipping point was reached when I realized that I was taking up more closet space then my wife.
Truly, a milestone to be proud of
It’s official. Our little dwelling has run out of space. Prime culprit? Yours truly. I’ve brought in more books, DVDs and comics then our living space can currently contain. Unfortunately, I’m biologically incapable of getting rid of anything, a trait that I come by honestly. My mother has a problem with pack rat-ism that has gotten so bad, my parents are restricted to living in only one room of their house, the rest of it being stacked floor to ceiling with junk.
Things have come to a head in our own place with the influx of wedding related giftery. And while many of these generous gifts are meant to replace things we already own (pots and pans, dishes, etc.) we haven’t yet managed to squeeze the time out of our schedules to begin that replacement process.
I’ve been sorting and purging my comics for the last couple months and I’m starting to see the results of that decision in my purchasing habits. The light weeks are becoming more prevalent as I make the tough choices about what to buy and what to leave on the shelves.
A couple days ago I took a crack at my books, pulling nearly two dozen titles from my bookshelves in preparation for a visit to the used bookstore. A process I equate to ripping your own arm off and beating yourself in the face with it. Unfortunately, I suffered a setback on this front last night after stopping by Scottie’s for a round of video games. I ended up with leaving with a small handful of TPB’s that Scott earmarked for disposal. Scottie, FYI, is a purging master. That guy knows what he wants to keep and what has got to go. He has no sentimentality whatsoever about keeping something he’s not sure about. And since I have so much trouble letting things go, its awe inspiring to watch him at work.
Next up is the big purge, clothing. Its not that I’m attached to my old clothes that I don’t wear anymore (concert T’s notwithstanding) its just that I’m a sentimental bastard who can’t bear to part with anything. Although a tipping point was reached when I realized that I was taking up more closet space then my wife.
Truly, a milestone to be proud of
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Hockey Talk
Some Hockey Talkery as Steve and I dissect the future of the Toronto Maple Leafs…for only the tenth time this week.
Steve:
this guy is a shock writer who isn't seeing a bigger picture... We will get all the draft picks back at the trade deadline...when other teams are making their push for the playoffs and/or cup, and we are sitting near the bottom, we will become sellers...we will have the big fast D that teams will want heading into the playoffs, and that will give us the chance to reacquire our draft picks.
I think Fletch is doing a bang up job...we have a big D in place and they will develop over this season, and hopefully a few of our young forwards will turn into something and then we add a big UFA with all the cash we have now and suddenly we look good again in 2 years....
Chris:
TML are going about this all bass-ackwards.
Build a team through drafting and developing.
Steve:
didnt you read what I said?
we are getting all these young big strong D players and will sell them off at trade deadline and get our picks back...
this way we get rid of our losing core, bring in some youth and let the cream rise to the top...the rest gets traded off for picks and we get more youth...
this is building through the draft...
Chris:
No that's what you think will happen, that's what you hope will happen.
But we have no idea if that's what will ACTUALLY happen.
Could be these guys will all turn out to be fantastically mediocre and that there's no real demand for them at the trade deadline. Then we've lost picks and we're stuck with a losing team.
A pick in the hand is worth two in the bush.
Steve:
but without doing what Fletcher has done, we would have the same guys on this team for the 4th year in a row... the team needs to change...we cant keep going with the same crap and hope that they will all magically bond THIS year! it's a painful process, but at least there is a direction...listen to all the interviews...look at who is being brought in... with Wilson at the helm, and all the big defensive players we are getting, it is obvious that we are heading into a trapping, hard backchecking era...getting away from the run and gun style of the past 5 years...
about time!
Chris:
There's nothing obvious about it.
They're making questionable trades because they're worried about how the team looks (McCabe) rather than how they actually produce on the ice.
They're trading away the future on the hopes and prayers than down the road they'll be able to get something at the trade deadlines. (No guarantees there whatsoever)
They're screwing around in the front office (Fletcher) hoping that Burke will somehow weasel his way out of his contract and come to Toronto...the land of milk and honey...just because he wants to be closer to his kids.
COME ON!!!!!
Change is necessary. Change for the sake of change, especially when it's not thought out, can be more harmful then helpful.
Steve:
totally disagree...they have thought this through for sure... we have guys like Antropov that can be traded if some of our newer guys don't shape up...we still have assets and so what if they are trying to get Burke...wouldn't be the worst thing to do.
We have a great coach, have a hired a whole new (and well respected) scouting team and finally have a roster filled with youth rather than overpaid aging vets that dont really show up every night.
Chris:
Look at how you're talking.
You're looking at the team primarily from the standpoint of assets.
Tradeable assets. You've already conceded any hope of having a competitive season.
Steve:
no I haven't...
we will be a rough team to play against...we will punish a lot of forwards coming into our zone..it will be great to watch... Do I think we will win the cup with this roster? no...but do I think we will be fun to watch...YES! We will pull out some wins based on defence alone...I am waiting to see if out forwards can produce more this year than in years past... guys like Blake and Stajan need to really pick things up in order for this to be a successful year...
but I also realise that we need to go backwards to go forwards...if we end up with another high draft pick, it wouldn't be the worst thing for us.. look at Pittsburgh or Philly or Chicago..they all went down, got some good draft picks, loaded up on youth and then in 2-3 years are either fighting for the cup, or are well on their way...
that's where the Leafs are headed...
Chris:
It's too early to make that call. I think their lack of goal scorers is their biggest problem.
D helps you hold on to wins, it doesn't score goals for you.
Steve:
this guy is a shock writer who isn't seeing a bigger picture... We will get all the draft picks back at the trade deadline...when other teams are making their push for the playoffs and/or cup, and we are sitting near the bottom, we will become sellers...we will have the big fast D that teams will want heading into the playoffs, and that will give us the chance to reacquire our draft picks.
I think Fletch is doing a bang up job...we have a big D in place and they will develop over this season, and hopefully a few of our young forwards will turn into something and then we add a big UFA with all the cash we have now and suddenly we look good again in 2 years....
Chris:
TML are going about this all bass-ackwards.
Build a team through drafting and developing.
Steve:
didnt you read what I said?
we are getting all these young big strong D players and will sell them off at trade deadline and get our picks back...
this way we get rid of our losing core, bring in some youth and let the cream rise to the top...the rest gets traded off for picks and we get more youth...
this is building through the draft...
Chris:
No that's what you think will happen, that's what you hope will happen.
But we have no idea if that's what will ACTUALLY happen.
Could be these guys will all turn out to be fantastically mediocre and that there's no real demand for them at the trade deadline. Then we've lost picks and we're stuck with a losing team.
A pick in the hand is worth two in the bush.
Steve:
but without doing what Fletcher has done, we would have the same guys on this team for the 4th year in a row... the team needs to change...we cant keep going with the same crap and hope that they will all magically bond THIS year! it's a painful process, but at least there is a direction...listen to all the interviews...look at who is being brought in... with Wilson at the helm, and all the big defensive players we are getting, it is obvious that we are heading into a trapping, hard backchecking era...getting away from the run and gun style of the past 5 years...
about time!
Chris:
There's nothing obvious about it.
They're making questionable trades because they're worried about how the team looks (McCabe) rather than how they actually produce on the ice.
They're trading away the future on the hopes and prayers than down the road they'll be able to get something at the trade deadlines. (No guarantees there whatsoever)
They're screwing around in the front office (Fletcher) hoping that Burke will somehow weasel his way out of his contract and come to Toronto...the land of milk and honey...just because he wants to be closer to his kids.
COME ON!!!!!
Change is necessary. Change for the sake of change, especially when it's not thought out, can be more harmful then helpful.
Steve:
totally disagree...they have thought this through for sure... we have guys like Antropov that can be traded if some of our newer guys don't shape up...we still have assets and so what if they are trying to get Burke...wouldn't be the worst thing to do.
We have a great coach, have a hired a whole new (and well respected) scouting team and finally have a roster filled with youth rather than overpaid aging vets that dont really show up every night.
Chris:
Look at how you're talking.
You're looking at the team primarily from the standpoint of assets.
Tradeable assets. You've already conceded any hope of having a competitive season.
Steve:
no I haven't...
we will be a rough team to play against...we will punish a lot of forwards coming into our zone..it will be great to watch... Do I think we will win the cup with this roster? no...but do I think we will be fun to watch...YES! We will pull out some wins based on defence alone...I am waiting to see if out forwards can produce more this year than in years past... guys like Blake and Stajan need to really pick things up in order for this to be a successful year...
but I also realise that we need to go backwards to go forwards...if we end up with another high draft pick, it wouldn't be the worst thing for us.. look at Pittsburgh or Philly or Chicago..they all went down, got some good draft picks, loaded up on youth and then in 2-3 years are either fighting for the cup, or are well on their way...
that's where the Leafs are headed...
Chris:
It's too early to make that call. I think their lack of goal scorers is their biggest problem.
D helps you hold on to wins, it doesn't score goals for you.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Declaration of Principles
Hey!
So what kind of blog is this going to be?
Every morning I scan through a prodigious amount of bloggery on a number of different subjects. For me blogs that are done well, and are interesting to read, are the ones that pick a specific subject and then adhere to that topic as closely as possible. I’ve been banging out a blog with varying degrees of success for a couple years now. But for the most part, it’s all been pretty random, stream of conscious stuff with some comic book laced overtones. That’s not the kind of blog I want to write anymore.
So what kind of blog is this going to be?
I could make this a blog about comics. But frankly, the world needs another blog about comic books like I need prune juice enema.
I could make this a blog solely about shit that is going on in my life. But that’s only good readings if you know me personally, have an unhealthy interest in listening to me bitch about how everything pisses me off or if I had an exceedingly interesting life. Frankly we’re just not that close.
Personal finance blog? Let me sum that up for you. I do all right, but I always wish I had some more scratch….and out dated slang.
Books, movies, music review blog? Who wouldn’t want to listen to another uninformed opinion? And trust me, my opinions are among the most uninformed out there.
In the end, I decided to ignore my observations. I’m not going pick a specific subject and adhere to it as closely as I can. I’m going to talk about any and every thing that I feel is worth talking about. That means I could write about anything from comic books, to my irrational fear of flying to my growing interest in environmentalism.
In the end, I’m looking for more than just a platform to scream about the stuff that bothers me. Sometimes I’m looking for a frank and open discussion about a weighty subjects, sometimes I just want to nerd out and talk about Transformers.
I promise to try and blog everyday. And let me tell you right now, I will horribly fail that goal before the week is out. But I still promise to try.
So what kind of blog is this going to be?
I don’t know really. It’ll be a blog about me I suppose. Hopefully something interesting and insightful, but only time will tell.
Blog on.
So what kind of blog is this going to be?
Every morning I scan through a prodigious amount of bloggery on a number of different subjects. For me blogs that are done well, and are interesting to read, are the ones that pick a specific subject and then adhere to that topic as closely as possible. I’ve been banging out a blog with varying degrees of success for a couple years now. But for the most part, it’s all been pretty random, stream of conscious stuff with some comic book laced overtones. That’s not the kind of blog I want to write anymore.
So what kind of blog is this going to be?
I could make this a blog about comics. But frankly, the world needs another blog about comic books like I need prune juice enema.
I could make this a blog solely about shit that is going on in my life. But that’s only good readings if you know me personally, have an unhealthy interest in listening to me bitch about how everything pisses me off or if I had an exceedingly interesting life. Frankly we’re just not that close.
Personal finance blog? Let me sum that up for you. I do all right, but I always wish I had some more scratch….and out dated slang.
Books, movies, music review blog? Who wouldn’t want to listen to another uninformed opinion? And trust me, my opinions are among the most uninformed out there.
In the end, I decided to ignore my observations. I’m not going pick a specific subject and adhere to it as closely as I can. I’m going to talk about any and every thing that I feel is worth talking about. That means I could write about anything from comic books, to my irrational fear of flying to my growing interest in environmentalism.
In the end, I’m looking for more than just a platform to scream about the stuff that bothers me. Sometimes I’m looking for a frank and open discussion about a weighty subjects, sometimes I just want to nerd out and talk about Transformers.
I promise to try and blog everyday. And let me tell you right now, I will horribly fail that goal before the week is out. But I still promise to try.
So what kind of blog is this going to be?
I don’t know really. It’ll be a blog about me I suppose. Hopefully something interesting and insightful, but only time will tell.
Blog on.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
