February 27, 2004
A contemptful guy with a short temper defends his decision to see Welcome To Mooseport
I saw a great movie on the weekend. I’m sure you didn’t see it, caught up as you were with your dinner parties, your Grey Poupon and Dijon crowd, and your posturing about the latest Lexus sedan and such.
Meanwhile, the rest of us guys who actually work an honest day were spending a chunk of our hard-earned paycheque to see a little cinematic gem called Welcome To Mooseport. Talk about a great way to make your cares melt away for an hour and a half.
I don’t normally feel obligated to defend my movie picks, but in this instance I’m going to stand up for this film, because I’ve seen too many of you arthouse wankers dismissing this wonderful crowd pleaser.
As a courtesy to you, I’m going to break it down point by point, using plain language you should easily understand. I know how smart you think you are, but I don’t want anyone dismissing my efforts on a technicality, just because I may have used a word like oeuvre or denouement in what you feel is the wrong context, or some flimsy shit like that.
You and your paper-thin sensitivity for proper word usage, you make me sick. C’mon, it’s Go Time…
*The title
How can you go wrong with anything that used the word “Welcome” in its title? I think you know exactly what you’re in for when a movie bothers to be polite from the outset. Did you enjoy your Passion of the Christ? Were you expecting a steamy erotic thriller, and then left the theatre puking your guts out, overwhelmed with the nails in the hands and the brutal savagery and so on? I’ll bet you really enjoyed discussing that over your post-film latte at Starbucks. Dilettantes.
*The stars
A no-brainer. Has Gene Hackman made anything bad, ever? Is his DNA hard-wired for cinematic genius? I’m starting to think so. Why don’t we just call him f---ing Midas, okay?
The lovely Maura Tierney, who brings the heat every week on my favorite show ER, showed us an entirely new dimension of her inner being, and really explored the space, in my view.
And the lynchpin of this movie was Ray Romano. Yes, he can just sit back and let the TV residuals roll in, but the Ray Romanos of this world don’t do that. He went into that meeting with the producers with his brass balls out. He set them down on the table and said I’ll be back for these next year, right after I collect my People’s Choice Award for Best Actor In A Comedy Or Musical Film, and right before I collect my Golden Globe for Best Supporting Actor in a Non-Dramatic Film or Mini-Series Without Musical Numbers, Children, or An Appearance By Michael Caine.
It’s Ray Romano’s world, and we just live in it.
*The story
Ex-US President runs for mayor in small town, and hijinks ensue. It took this long to get this idea on the big screen?
But of course, a sweet, homespun story is not what you’re looking for, am I right? I know what you want…
Oh, hey, I want my French films, with the pathos and the tragedy and the people peeing on each other. Give me some independent film with the midgets and the shaky cameras and the subtitles. I want characters who are miserable and sit in a cafe all day. I need an unhappy ending. Don’t make me laugh, because I don’t want to have any fun at the theatre. No, I’m only happy when it rains…
You know what? I’m done defending this movie. There’s no hope for people like you. You’ll just automatically dismiss my opinions anyway, just because I’ve had a few DUIs, just because I happen to like my wife’s collection of Princess Diana commemorative plates from the Franklin Mint. Do you know how many weeks it took her to order the full set from the infomercials? Do you know what kind of dedication that takes? No, you don’t, because you’re too busy block-mounting your precious Anne Geddes baby prints. Yeah, I could have gone to art school too, but I chose convenience store management, and I’ve never looked back.
You just stick with your pretentious, high-minded ideals of the cinema, and I’ll keep supporting the movies that us regular joes really want to see. I see Ashley Judd has blessed us with another crime-thriller/woman-in-peril masterpiece. Guess where I’ll be this weekend?
I saw a great movie on the weekend. I’m sure you didn’t see it, caught up as you were with your dinner parties, your Grey Poupon and Dijon crowd, and your posturing about the latest Lexus sedan and such.
Meanwhile, the rest of us guys who actually work an honest day were spending a chunk of our hard-earned paycheque to see a little cinematic gem called Welcome To Mooseport. Talk about a great way to make your cares melt away for an hour and a half.
I don’t normally feel obligated to defend my movie picks, but in this instance I’m going to stand up for this film, because I’ve seen too many of you arthouse wankers dismissing this wonderful crowd pleaser.
As a courtesy to you, I’m going to break it down point by point, using plain language you should easily understand. I know how smart you think you are, but I don’t want anyone dismissing my efforts on a technicality, just because I may have used a word like oeuvre or denouement in what you feel is the wrong context, or some flimsy shit like that.
You and your paper-thin sensitivity for proper word usage, you make me sick. C’mon, it’s Go Time…
*The title
How can you go wrong with anything that used the word “Welcome” in its title? I think you know exactly what you’re in for when a movie bothers to be polite from the outset. Did you enjoy your Passion of the Christ? Were you expecting a steamy erotic thriller, and then left the theatre puking your guts out, overwhelmed with the nails in the hands and the brutal savagery and so on? I’ll bet you really enjoyed discussing that over your post-film latte at Starbucks. Dilettantes.
*The stars
A no-brainer. Has Gene Hackman made anything bad, ever? Is his DNA hard-wired for cinematic genius? I’m starting to think so. Why don’t we just call him f---ing Midas, okay?
The lovely Maura Tierney, who brings the heat every week on my favorite show ER, showed us an entirely new dimension of her inner being, and really explored the space, in my view.
And the lynchpin of this movie was Ray Romano. Yes, he can just sit back and let the TV residuals roll in, but the Ray Romanos of this world don’t do that. He went into that meeting with the producers with his brass balls out. He set them down on the table and said I’ll be back for these next year, right after I collect my People’s Choice Award for Best Actor In A Comedy Or Musical Film, and right before I collect my Golden Globe for Best Supporting Actor in a Non-Dramatic Film or Mini-Series Without Musical Numbers, Children, or An Appearance By Michael Caine.
It’s Ray Romano’s world, and we just live in it.
*The story
Ex-US President runs for mayor in small town, and hijinks ensue. It took this long to get this idea on the big screen?
But of course, a sweet, homespun story is not what you’re looking for, am I right? I know what you want…
Oh, hey, I want my French films, with the pathos and the tragedy and the people peeing on each other. Give me some independent film with the midgets and the shaky cameras and the subtitles. I want characters who are miserable and sit in a cafe all day. I need an unhappy ending. Don’t make me laugh, because I don’t want to have any fun at the theatre. No, I’m only happy when it rains…
You know what? I’m done defending this movie. There’s no hope for people like you. You’ll just automatically dismiss my opinions anyway, just because I’ve had a few DUIs, just because I happen to like my wife’s collection of Princess Diana commemorative plates from the Franklin Mint. Do you know how many weeks it took her to order the full set from the infomercials? Do you know what kind of dedication that takes? No, you don’t, because you’re too busy block-mounting your precious Anne Geddes baby prints. Yeah, I could have gone to art school too, but I chose convenience store management, and I’ve never looked back.
You just stick with your pretentious, high-minded ideals of the cinema, and I’ll keep supporting the movies that us regular joes really want to see. I see Ashley Judd has blessed us with another crime-thriller/woman-in-peril masterpiece. Guess where I’ll be this weekend?
February 25, 2004
Back to her day job?
Stronach still hot, but unelectable
March 16, 2004
Conservative leadership candidate Belinda Stronach ended her bid for the party’s leadership today. Her announcement was met with varied reactions from supporters and detractors, but all agreed – Stronach is really, really hot.
“As a leadership candidate, she failed,” said Conservative leader-in-waiting Stephen Harper. “As a wickedly hot babe, she succeeded, and will succeed for years to come, at least until she develops jowls. Even then, advances in plastic surgery may extend her hotness for years to come. I wish her well. Oh, and be sure to elect me in the fall. That way there’s no chance some limpish butt pirates will be getting married, sharing benefits, or God forbid, running this country any time soon. Thank you.”
September 18, 2004
Conservative candidate Belinda Stronach suffered another setback today when she lost the election for MP in her home riding. Exit polls indicated voters would have selected Stronach in a landslide if she had focused on her superior hotness instead of campaigning on the issues.
“As a political candidate, she failed,” said winner and late night TV cult favorite Ed the Sock. “As a woman she has a rack that won’t quit, and I will maintain that until my dying day. By the way, no matter who won, this is a great day for inanimate objects in politics, am I right?”
September 28, 2004
PM wannabe Belinda Stronach failed to secure leadership of the bake sale at her son’s elementary school today. In a tight race, Stronach’s campaign derailed when her own son refused to endorse her candidacy.
“As a potential bake sale leader, she failed,” said wee Timmy Stronach, age 7. “Obviously I cannot comment on my mom’s physical features, because if I did I’d have to tear my eyes out and get all Oedipal on your asses. Does anyone have some gum?”
October 2, 2004
Failed, flawed, but still hot, Belinda Stronach suffered another setback today when she learned her position as CEO of Magna Corp. now belongs to her interim replacement – her step-brother Fred.
Fred, an alcoholic and heroin abuser, was unconscious and thus unavailable for comment. Board chairman Frank Stronach feels Fred will literally fill the CEO chair most days of the week, and Frank will continue to do what he has always done - actually run the company.
“As a CEO, my daughter failed,” said Stronach. “And even the shadowy right-wing/old money/hockey mullet complex that secretly rules this country could not propel her to the position of the ultimate figurehead, also known as the PM’s chair. But I’m certain my daughter will land somewhere.”
May 29, 2005
The CBC unveiled its Fall schedule today, with a surprising new star in its line-up. Belinda Stronach heads the cast of Hangin’ In 2: Back to the Youth Centre. A re-working of the critically reviled 1981 sitcom, Stronach plays a terminally stressed social worker, reprising the role once played by dinner theatre hack Lally Cadeau. She stars opposite the ham-fisted Pat Mastroianni, better known as Joey from the omnipresent Degrassi High television series.
“As a television star, Belinda Stronach is doomed to fail,” said the president of CBC’s entertainment division. “We are remaking a show that was pure crap to begin with, casting it with marginal talents who can’t act their way out of a paper bag, and scheduling on Friday nights at 9:30, the timeslot where shows go to die. But sometimes shit sticks to the wall, as evidenced by the inexplicable popularity of The Beachcombers and Seeing Things. So we have our fingers crossed."
Mastroianni is excited to share screen time with newcomer Stronach.
“Everyone says she’s hot,” says Mastroianni. “As a closeted homosexual, I can only take their word for it. I plan to pinch her allegedly smoking hot ass as often as possible.”
Stronach still hot, but unelectable
March 16, 2004
Conservative leadership candidate Belinda Stronach ended her bid for the party’s leadership today. Her announcement was met with varied reactions from supporters and detractors, but all agreed – Stronach is really, really hot.
“As a leadership candidate, she failed,” said Conservative leader-in-waiting Stephen Harper. “As a wickedly hot babe, she succeeded, and will succeed for years to come, at least until she develops jowls. Even then, advances in plastic surgery may extend her hotness for years to come. I wish her well. Oh, and be sure to elect me in the fall. That way there’s no chance some limpish butt pirates will be getting married, sharing benefits, or God forbid, running this country any time soon. Thank you.”
September 18, 2004
Conservative candidate Belinda Stronach suffered another setback today when she lost the election for MP in her home riding. Exit polls indicated voters would have selected Stronach in a landslide if she had focused on her superior hotness instead of campaigning on the issues.
“As a political candidate, she failed,” said winner and late night TV cult favorite Ed the Sock. “As a woman she has a rack that won’t quit, and I will maintain that until my dying day. By the way, no matter who won, this is a great day for inanimate objects in politics, am I right?”
September 28, 2004
PM wannabe Belinda Stronach failed to secure leadership of the bake sale at her son’s elementary school today. In a tight race, Stronach’s campaign derailed when her own son refused to endorse her candidacy.
“As a potential bake sale leader, she failed,” said wee Timmy Stronach, age 7. “Obviously I cannot comment on my mom’s physical features, because if I did I’d have to tear my eyes out and get all Oedipal on your asses. Does anyone have some gum?”
October 2, 2004
Failed, flawed, but still hot, Belinda Stronach suffered another setback today when she learned her position as CEO of Magna Corp. now belongs to her interim replacement – her step-brother Fred.
Fred, an alcoholic and heroin abuser, was unconscious and thus unavailable for comment. Board chairman Frank Stronach feels Fred will literally fill the CEO chair most days of the week, and Frank will continue to do what he has always done - actually run the company.
“As a CEO, my daughter failed,” said Stronach. “And even the shadowy right-wing/old money/hockey mullet complex that secretly rules this country could not propel her to the position of the ultimate figurehead, also known as the PM’s chair. But I’m certain my daughter will land somewhere.”
May 29, 2005
The CBC unveiled its Fall schedule today, with a surprising new star in its line-up. Belinda Stronach heads the cast of Hangin’ In 2: Back to the Youth Centre. A re-working of the critically reviled 1981 sitcom, Stronach plays a terminally stressed social worker, reprising the role once played by dinner theatre hack Lally Cadeau. She stars opposite the ham-fisted Pat Mastroianni, better known as Joey from the omnipresent Degrassi High television series.
“As a television star, Belinda Stronach is doomed to fail,” said the president of CBC’s entertainment division. “We are remaking a show that was pure crap to begin with, casting it with marginal talents who can’t act their way out of a paper bag, and scheduling on Friday nights at 9:30, the timeslot where shows go to die. But sometimes shit sticks to the wall, as evidenced by the inexplicable popularity of The Beachcombers and Seeing Things. So we have our fingers crossed."
Mastroianni is excited to share screen time with newcomer Stronach.
“Everyone says she’s hot,” says Mastroianni. “As a closeted homosexual, I can only take their word for it. I plan to pinch her allegedly smoking hot ass as often as possible.”
February 23, 2004
Not Coming To A Theatre Near You
Mundane River
Three childhood friends (Sean Penn, Kevin Bacon, Tim Robbins) reunite years later to discover they all live in newer suburbs, lease SUVs, and sell insurance. Tension erupts for a moment when Penn forgets that old pal Robbins is allergic to nuts. At the last moment Penn remembers the allergy and discreetly places the peanut buster parfait back in the freezer, replacing it with lime jello.
Cold Weather
A wife (Nicole Kidman) worries about her husband’s (Jude Law) decision to wear a spring coat on a day when the temperature dips below freezing. She stands at the kitchen window, gazing absentmindedly into the kitchen of her neighbor (Renee Zellweger). Gradually her mind refocuses as she watches Zellweger prepare a three-meat lasagna and garlic bread. Kidman concocts the same meal without the aid of a recipe and proudly places it on the dining room table moments before the arrival of her husband. He arrives home with chills and a sore throat. Dinner fails to impress him, partly because of his emerging cold symptoms, and partly because he recently adopted the Atkins diet.
Win A Date With Ralph Nader
Something Should Probably Give, But Not Right At This Moment
An aging ladies man (Jack Nicholson) debates pursuing a relationship with a pretty young thing (Amanda Peet) or with her mother (Diane Keaton). The debate ends when he learns that a life of reckless fornication has left him with genital warts and a curious bend in his member. While he convalesces, the bored women become passionate saleswomen for Nads hair removal gel, and relocate to Trenton, New Jersey.
Lost In Home Depot
An actor in decline (Bill Murray) is unable to find the proper halogen bulb for a pot light in his recreation room. He explains his dilemma to an indifferent clerk (Scarlett Johannesen) who makes a half-hearted attempt to retrieve the item from the stock room. While there she finds other clerks hiding in a corner, smoking pot and stuffing aerosol cans in their pants. Intrigued, she joins them for the remainder of her shift. The actor waits patiently, then complains at the customer service counter. He is assured his complaint will be dealt with, but both parties walk away knowing that will never happen.
Girl With A Pus-Filled Earlobe
A sixteenth-century Dutch servant (Scarlett Johannesen) infects her ear while attempting a crude piercing with a rusty nail. The infection festers for days until she becomes delirious and collapses. Medical technology being what it was in the late 1500’s, she dies hours later.
Touching The ‘Roid
House Of Drywall And Spackle
A widow (Jennifer Connelly) sells the partially-constructed dream home she had planned to share with her husband. The buyer (Ben Kingsley), alerted of the sale through his wife’s sister’s husband, who had gone to school with the dead husband’s older brother, and heard of his untimely passing when he ran into the older brother at Starbucks, makes an offer directly to the widower, thus saving thousands of dollars in agent fees.
The Coffee Stain
While burning the midnight oil, a professor (Sir Anthony Hopkins) spills coffee on his tweed coat. While entering the faculty bathroom to get some paper towels, he bumps into a cleaning lady (Nicole Kidman) working the graveyard shift. They have passionless, mechanical sex, repeatedly. The tweed coat remains stained, but it’s not too noticeable because of the many hues of brown in the jacket.
Finding Domo
A suburban housewife (voice of Ellen Degeneres) sets out to fill her minivan’s tank at the nearest Domo gas station in this (inexplicably) animated adventure. Dismayed to find the pumps closed, she sets out to find the next nearest Domo station, because she has a coupon for an eight cent per litre discount, and no limit on the total fill. Frustrated after an hour of searching, and with her tank nearing empty, the housewife fills up at the Shell station two blocks from her home. Resigned, fatigued, she pays for her gas and brightens upon learning she can receive double Air Miles if she purchases two chocolate bars. Her joy dissipates when she learns that only Big Turk chocolate bars qualify for the promotion. Unfortunately, she is not a fan of chocolate-coated jelly, nor is anyone in her family.
Mundane River
Three childhood friends (Sean Penn, Kevin Bacon, Tim Robbins) reunite years later to discover they all live in newer suburbs, lease SUVs, and sell insurance. Tension erupts for a moment when Penn forgets that old pal Robbins is allergic to nuts. At the last moment Penn remembers the allergy and discreetly places the peanut buster parfait back in the freezer, replacing it with lime jello.
Cold Weather
A wife (Nicole Kidman) worries about her husband’s (Jude Law) decision to wear a spring coat on a day when the temperature dips below freezing. She stands at the kitchen window, gazing absentmindedly into the kitchen of her neighbor (Renee Zellweger). Gradually her mind refocuses as she watches Zellweger prepare a three-meat lasagna and garlic bread. Kidman concocts the same meal without the aid of a recipe and proudly places it on the dining room table moments before the arrival of her husband. He arrives home with chills and a sore throat. Dinner fails to impress him, partly because of his emerging cold symptoms, and partly because he recently adopted the Atkins diet.
Win A Date With Ralph Nader
Something Should Probably Give, But Not Right At This Moment
An aging ladies man (Jack Nicholson) debates pursuing a relationship with a pretty young thing (Amanda Peet) or with her mother (Diane Keaton). The debate ends when he learns that a life of reckless fornication has left him with genital warts and a curious bend in his member. While he convalesces, the bored women become passionate saleswomen for Nads hair removal gel, and relocate to Trenton, New Jersey.
Lost In Home Depot
An actor in decline (Bill Murray) is unable to find the proper halogen bulb for a pot light in his recreation room. He explains his dilemma to an indifferent clerk (Scarlett Johannesen) who makes a half-hearted attempt to retrieve the item from the stock room. While there she finds other clerks hiding in a corner, smoking pot and stuffing aerosol cans in their pants. Intrigued, she joins them for the remainder of her shift. The actor waits patiently, then complains at the customer service counter. He is assured his complaint will be dealt with, but both parties walk away knowing that will never happen.
Girl With A Pus-Filled Earlobe
A sixteenth-century Dutch servant (Scarlett Johannesen) infects her ear while attempting a crude piercing with a rusty nail. The infection festers for days until she becomes delirious and collapses. Medical technology being what it was in the late 1500’s, she dies hours later.
Touching The ‘Roid
House Of Drywall And Spackle
A widow (Jennifer Connelly) sells the partially-constructed dream home she had planned to share with her husband. The buyer (Ben Kingsley), alerted of the sale through his wife’s sister’s husband, who had gone to school with the dead husband’s older brother, and heard of his untimely passing when he ran into the older brother at Starbucks, makes an offer directly to the widower, thus saving thousands of dollars in agent fees.
The Coffee Stain
While burning the midnight oil, a professor (Sir Anthony Hopkins) spills coffee on his tweed coat. While entering the faculty bathroom to get some paper towels, he bumps into a cleaning lady (Nicole Kidman) working the graveyard shift. They have passionless, mechanical sex, repeatedly. The tweed coat remains stained, but it’s not too noticeable because of the many hues of brown in the jacket.
Finding Domo
A suburban housewife (voice of Ellen Degeneres) sets out to fill her minivan’s tank at the nearest Domo gas station in this (inexplicably) animated adventure. Dismayed to find the pumps closed, she sets out to find the next nearest Domo station, because she has a coupon for an eight cent per litre discount, and no limit on the total fill. Frustrated after an hour of searching, and with her tank nearing empty, the housewife fills up at the Shell station two blocks from her home. Resigned, fatigued, she pays for her gas and brightens upon learning she can receive double Air Miles if she purchases two chocolate bars. Her joy dissipates when she learns that only Big Turk chocolate bars qualify for the promotion. Unfortunately, she is not a fan of chocolate-coated jelly, nor is anyone in her family.
February 10, 2004
Going nowhere fast
The following diatribe was written in a delusional spasm fuelled by prolonged writer’s block, sleep deprivation, and a malt liquor bender. It’s not good. But things can only get better, so please feel free to skip this edition, or carry on and see what the hack wrought today…
There was a story in the paper a few days ago that mentioned a curious statistic. For the third consecutive year, more Canadians died by suicide than by car accident.
Some talking head for some special interest group crowed: What are we going to do about this?
I pondered his question, and the only idea I could come up with was this: I guess we could try to cause more car accidents. Incidentally, I wondered which category a person is put into if they commit suicide by having a car accident. Is it just easier to put them in both categories, with an asterisk?
Wow. I am so cold, and getting colder each day.
You know those people who always remember their friends’ birthdays, always buy little gifts for no reason, always make their loved ones feel special? You know, people who are warm and thoughtful? I used to envy those people. Now they bug the piss out of me. Pretty soon I won’t just be cold, I’ll be crotchety, then cantankerous, then senile, then alone, sitting on my porch, feebly two-handing neighborhood kids across the backs of their knees with my cane.
Oh yes, I will treasure that last stage…
Anyway, hours later, while trying (unsuccessfully) to open a bag of potato chips, it finally came to me that the talking head had actually been advocating (via expensive government programs) for the reduction of deaths by suicide. See, I think well outside the box. My thinking is actually done inside an old dented can, the kind that might blow it’s lid and spew botulism-infested tuna all over it’s unwitting victim. It’s that kind of toxic environment that causes me to ponder ways we can cause more death and tragedy.
But sometimes I have a salient opinion. For instance, why do we always have to tinker with, and tweak, and buff every corner of life? Are we that naïve to think we can reduce suicides simply by legislating happiness? It’s very unfortunate and sad that people do themselves in, but it’s as much a part of the human condition as joyous celebration. There are people in this world who just can’t get their shit together. We can’t save everybody, right?
But if we’re going to reduce suicides (with a trite awareness campaign, perhaps?) then at the other end of the spectrum I think we should start an organized effort to tone down all of the superfluous celebrating that goes on. For example, let’s stop telling kids they’ve “graduated” from Kindergarten, Grade Six, and Grade Nine.
Let’s start telling our kids that they haven’t done shit until they’ve gotten a job and can pay their own rent. They haven't grabbed the world by the tail until they've acquired an oppressive mortgage and two crappy cars, and raised a couple of kids who hate them, not to mention a wife that spends more time with the pool boy, and they don't even own a pool.
And then one sad day they’ll just sit there in the tattered easy chair, fifty-six years old and wondering where all the time went, wishing they could be a kid one more time, because this time they would get it f***ing right, wouldn’t be such a smart-ass, wouldn't be such a know it all. This time they would live a worthwhile and deliberate life, spending the occasional night with a good book, instead of spending their free time developing carpal tunnel syndrome from playing so much Grand Theft Auto alternated with pathetically begging their girlfriend for sex night after night...
And that's as far as I got, thirteen days ago. Then the froth took over and I couldn't write another word. I sort of feel like Maverick in Top Gun, right after the accident that killed his wingman, Goose. Except nobody has died, I don't fly planes, and I've never utilized Nicole Kidman as a beard for my homosexuality...
I just don't know if I can write again. I don't know if I can go to the ragged edge, one more time. Excuse me while I leave the room and perch at a window, staring off into the mid-distance. Cue somber piano music...
The following diatribe was written in a delusional spasm fuelled by prolonged writer’s block, sleep deprivation, and a malt liquor bender. It’s not good. But things can only get better, so please feel free to skip this edition, or carry on and see what the hack wrought today…
There was a story in the paper a few days ago that mentioned a curious statistic. For the third consecutive year, more Canadians died by suicide than by car accident.
Some talking head for some special interest group crowed: What are we going to do about this?
I pondered his question, and the only idea I could come up with was this: I guess we could try to cause more car accidents. Incidentally, I wondered which category a person is put into if they commit suicide by having a car accident. Is it just easier to put them in both categories, with an asterisk?
Wow. I am so cold, and getting colder each day.
You know those people who always remember their friends’ birthdays, always buy little gifts for no reason, always make their loved ones feel special? You know, people who are warm and thoughtful? I used to envy those people. Now they bug the piss out of me. Pretty soon I won’t just be cold, I’ll be crotchety, then cantankerous, then senile, then alone, sitting on my porch, feebly two-handing neighborhood kids across the backs of their knees with my cane.
Oh yes, I will treasure that last stage…
Anyway, hours later, while trying (unsuccessfully) to open a bag of potato chips, it finally came to me that the talking head had actually been advocating (via expensive government programs) for the reduction of deaths by suicide. See, I think well outside the box. My thinking is actually done inside an old dented can, the kind that might blow it’s lid and spew botulism-infested tuna all over it’s unwitting victim. It’s that kind of toxic environment that causes me to ponder ways we can cause more death and tragedy.
But sometimes I have a salient opinion. For instance, why do we always have to tinker with, and tweak, and buff every corner of life? Are we that naïve to think we can reduce suicides simply by legislating happiness? It’s very unfortunate and sad that people do themselves in, but it’s as much a part of the human condition as joyous celebration. There are people in this world who just can’t get their shit together. We can’t save everybody, right?
But if we’re going to reduce suicides (with a trite awareness campaign, perhaps?) then at the other end of the spectrum I think we should start an organized effort to tone down all of the superfluous celebrating that goes on. For example, let’s stop telling kids they’ve “graduated” from Kindergarten, Grade Six, and Grade Nine.
Let’s start telling our kids that they haven’t done shit until they’ve gotten a job and can pay their own rent. They haven't grabbed the world by the tail until they've acquired an oppressive mortgage and two crappy cars, and raised a couple of kids who hate them, not to mention a wife that spends more time with the pool boy, and they don't even own a pool.
And then one sad day they’ll just sit there in the tattered easy chair, fifty-six years old and wondering where all the time went, wishing they could be a kid one more time, because this time they would get it f***ing right, wouldn’t be such a smart-ass, wouldn't be such a know it all. This time they would live a worthwhile and deliberate life, spending the occasional night with a good book, instead of spending their free time developing carpal tunnel syndrome from playing so much Grand Theft Auto alternated with pathetically begging their girlfriend for sex night after night...
And that's as far as I got, thirteen days ago. Then the froth took over and I couldn't write another word. I sort of feel like Maverick in Top Gun, right after the accident that killed his wingman, Goose. Except nobody has died, I don't fly planes, and I've never utilized Nicole Kidman as a beard for my homosexuality...
I just don't know if I can write again. I don't know if I can go to the ragged edge, one more time. Excuse me while I leave the room and perch at a window, staring off into the mid-distance. Cue somber piano music...
