The Friday Time Waster Supreme: Summer Vacation Edition

Okay, so maybe it's not your summer vacation, but it's mine ...woo-hoo! In the spirit of slacking off for the next two weeks I present this collection of worldly observations from my simple and provincial mind.

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Pamela Anderson is too sexy for Montreal. That according to city commissioner Josee Rocheford who informed the walking tribute to mammary glands that they cannot endorse her local campaign in support of PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals) because the event poster was too racy. This from the same city hall that collects taxes from strip clubs on St. Catherines street who regularly advertise their wares with street level posters of topless 'performance artists.' Pam's PETA poster (say that five times real fast) features the buxom blond in a skimpy bikini with markings on her body similar to those used on butcher's diagram.

I've seen the poster, and frankly I would hardly call it racy. If anything it should be banned for the gratuitous use of Photoshop.

Hey, look at that, I can insert pictures. Who knew?

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So BP finally capped their toxic spew in the Gulf of Mexico

...and the crowd says: yay, it's about f**king time.

The news was soon followed by an immediate jump in the company's stock. They must have a lot of customers at the brokerage house of Beelzebub, Lucifer and Satan.

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Apple's new iPhone 4 is apparently not quite as revolutionary as promised. The phone's antenna just happens to be located in a spot where users grip the phone during a call. This causes a loss signal reception and dropped calls. The company has had to deal with a multitude of complaints from customers. Two of the angriest came from Tiger Woods and Mel Gibson who wanted to know why the problem couldn't have happened on earlier models.

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You know you're getting old when you Google Corey Hart and you get a baseball player.

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News you need to know. I'm sure you've all be chaffing at the bit to get your hands on a bottle of Lady GaGa's new perfume. Well, you'll just have to hang on to your bottle of Brut, because there is no Eau de GaGa on the way. It was just a rumour. Too bad, I was kind of curious to know what essence of cuckoo-bananas smelled like.

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An Air France jumbo jet en-route from Rio de Janeiro to Paris had to turn back and make and emergency landing because six of the plane's toilets stopped functioning. That'll teach them for serving complimentary coffee and bran muffins.

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It's good to see John Daly on the leaderboard at The Open Championship. If ever there was a true Scot at heart, it's JD. I'm a little worried about his wardrobe, though. For locals accustomed to gray, green and blue, that much colour might trigger a seizure.


I'm on vacation as of today, but will try to report my adventures on the family road trip to PEI.

Enjoy your weekend.

Stop This Year, I Want To Get Off

It's only midway through the year and I'm ready to call 2010 a flop. Between the toxic goo spewing from BP's broken oil well to the toxic vitriol spewing from Mel Gibson's mouth, this year has been a clunker. Sure there have been some bright spots, like the Habs unexpectedly long playoff run. Unfortunately the organization sucked all of the joy out of that story by trading away the author of that miracle tale.

Politically speaking, this year has also been a dud. Nothing new out of Ottawa to impress anyone. The same old cronyism, back stabbing and general he said-she said crapola.  The whole Helena Guergis and Rahim Jaffer thing looked promising. Turns out they were using the Prime Ministers Office and Guergis's status as an MP to get lucrative contracts for Jaffer's company. Mmm, a good old fashioned political scandal. But even that was a bust. They were so lousy at covering their tracks that virtually everyone knew they were guilty, except perhaps Guergis and Jaffer whose denials in the face of overwhelming evidence borders on comical. It was over before it got really juicy.

The official opposition didn't seem much sharper. The Liberals have yet to define themselves under Michael Ignatieff, partly because Iggy is not sure who he wants to be. The guy changes his mind more than his underpants (which I presume is at least every day). You could almost predict what was coming next. Yes kids, a cross-Canada tour so that the leader of the official opposition can re-introduce himself to the country. It's okay Iggy, save yourself the bus fare, we actually know who you are. Unless you're planning to come to my house and mow the lawn it isn't gonna change what we think. A few hours after leaving Ottawa Iggy's bus broke down at the side of the road. Uh, Mr. Ignatieff, I have irony on line one...

Even some of the news stories coming out of the U.S. seem like a rehash of a movie from the 80s. Really, a Russian spy scandal? In 2010? Last time I checked the cold war was over back when Jesus Jones was still popular. What could Russian spies possibly learn that they couldn't find out by Googling? American conservatives continue to demonstrate their proclivity for outrageous proclamations and bald-faced hypocrisy. The Tea Party movement is classic GOP propaganda. A bunch of rich politicians using an historical reference that has absolutely no relevance to modern America. The movement's key spokesperson is Sarah Palin. Memo to Americans, she is a certified wing nut, the only country in the world who doesn't think so is you. By the way Tea Partisans, before you throw your proverbial tea in your proverbial harbor, bear in mind that the country is so deep in hock at the moment (due almost entirely to eight years of tax cuts while the country funded two wars overseas) you might need to sell it on eBay to pay the rent. Unfortunately almost all of your tea is owned by China, and I got a feeling they are not in a buying mood.

Here at home, the province has raised taxes to the hilt to cover all those services which we can't get access to anyway, the PQ are still babbling about sovereignty, and city hall still functions by virtue of wads of cash in brown envelopes (maybe virtue was a poor choice of word). Meanwhile travelling the city's expressways is like playing Russian roulette (there are those Russians again) and cars are disappearing into holes in St. Catherine street. I guess the good news for the city was the return of Formula 1. Good news if you don't mind the $15 million bill courtesy of your tax dollars. Woo-hoo, rich people in fast cars, where do I buy my ticket for next year?

Then again, who cares what the rest of the world is doing? I have an amazing family, work that I enjoy and it's summer, my favourite time of year. Vacation is just around the corner and in addition to taking time away from work I think I'll take some time off from the cynicism and depravity of the news cycle. I think all of us could use a little of that.

If I might make one suggestion before I tune out, maybe BP could cap the oil well with Mel Gibson's mouth. It's certainly big enough and it seems well accustomed to toxic spew.

Take The Money and Run

Thanks to a very generous friend, I got a chance to see 1970s rock acts The Doobie Brothers and The Steve Miller Band performing at this year's Montreal International Jazz festival. It's a bit odd for a jazz festival to feature aging rock artists who, to my knowledge, have never recorded a jazz track in their lives. Although Steve Miller is currently preoccupied with producing blues albums, so I guess that counts.

The Doobie Brothers line-up featured their early 70's incarnation, that is sans Michael McDonald on lead vocals. They happily dusted off virtually every hit song from their repertoire. The band did slip in a couple of newer, unfamiliar tracks, but then quickly reverted back to the old stuff. The audience ate it up.

Steve Miller was feeling somewhat less nostalgic. Although his stage set featured the words Space Cowboy and he opened with Jet Airliner, Miller soon wandered off into a long set of lesser known pieces that had the audience, for the most part, sitting on their hands.

I am of two minds when it comes to popular musicians performing familiar and sentimental music versus something new and undiscovered. I've always thought that music is something that can be both timeless and innovative. If you listen to the same old song all the time it loses some of its lustre, but at the same time just because something is new doesn't mean its good.

Back in the 80's a band named Flock of Seagulls had a monster one-hit-wonder with I Ran (So Far Away). The song is a quintessential euro-pop-synth piece that was the signature of the era. The band's former front man Mike Score, who still performs live with a new band, is often called upon to perform the popular song. Which he does, begrudgingly. He has admitted that he can barely stand to hear the song, let alone perform it. I suspect he gets decent royalties, and hell if it pays the bills, he'll bite the bullet and plug away at the old keyboard one more time. I get why one would eventually tire of having to play the same old song over and over again, but at the same time if the guy hates it so much why would I pay to see him?

This sentiment isn't unique to musicians. Actors and actresses have often enjoyed great success in their careers only to be typecast into a role. Adam West will always be campy version of Batman just like Lynda Carter will always be Wonderwoman. Leonard Nimoy (Spock from Star Trek) once penned a biography titled I Am Not Spock. Many years later the actor re-embraced the character (that is, the movie studio dumped a truck-load of cash at his door) and he wrote a follow up titled I AM Spock.

Audiences can be ruthless towards artists they perceive to be sellouts or has-beens trying to rekindle old success. The thing is, there a millions of talented artists out there that never get a real shot at success. Like most of us, artists are often forced to do jobs they hate in order to do the thing they love. Actor Sir Michael Caine once admitted to doing a remake of the cheeseball sci-fi movie The Hand to cover the cost of renovations to his summer home.

I can forgive Steve Miller the artist for choosing to showcase more of his latest work, rather than revisit a songbook that is over 30 years old. While it's true that the platform to share new ideas came courtesy of the old ones everyone already knows, he didn't seem to care. He was doing something he loved.

If I were in his shoes I'd probably do the same.

The Friday Time Waster Supreme Pizza

Here's a cool and refreshing way to end a stinker of a week. It's another instalment of the much feared and despised, yet misunderstood and deeply sensitive, edition of the Friday time-waster supreme. See how I made it sound like a character from Twilight as a desperate attempt to sound relevant even though I'm really old? Clever, huh?

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I heard a rumour about some guy in a sport I never watch getting a terabazillion dollars as a free agent. You know, it would be kinda neat if somebody in the television business would dedicate an entire hour of primetime coverage so that we could learn so much more about this important event. Nah, who would watch such an idiotic, self-aggrandizing showcase of blatant avarice and narcissism?

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While I'm on the subject of television, Lisa LaFlamme has been tapped as the replacement for Lloyd Robertson who is finally stepping down as anchor of CTV News sometime next year. L-Rob has commanded the news desk since the invention of the lightbulb. He outlasted quite a few of his news peers including Harvey Kirk, Knowlton Nash and local boy Bill Haugland. Not sure what Lloyd plans to do with his retirement time, but to borrow a Ron Burgundy line:

Ladies and gentlemen, can I please have your attention. I've just been handed an urgent and horrifying news story. I need all of you, to stop what you're doing and listen.

Cannonball!

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Today, like all Prime Ministers before him, Steven Harper made good on his promise to abolish the Senate by appointing another senator. Apparently the plan is to fill the chamber so full of fat, lazy, overpaid do-nothings that the chamber will just collapse under the weight.

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A woman in Iran today has apparently received a reprieve from being stoned to death. In a completely unrelated story, the Calgary Stampede kicks off today. I think the Flux Capacitor in my car must be busted because I can't decide if it's 1892 AD or BC.

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The quote of the week comes courtesy of Virgin Radio's Nat Lauzon who asked readers to complete the sentence: "It's so hot in Montreal, that..."

The winner is Sheila Tibbo-Côté with: "Two trees were fighting over a dog!!!"


Stay cool everyone. Enjoy the weekend.

Fame and Misfortune

Celebrity meltdowns.

We've seen a few over the years. It's certainly not new to show business. There are still people speculating about Marilyn Monroe forty-eight years after her death.

Today's high-profile train wrecks seem much more public, and uglier. We've seen and heard some fairly unseemly details about celebrity high-life in recent years. From inside the bizarre and tragic life of Michael Jackson to the jaw-dropping insight into the mind of Mel Gibson. I find it interesting how we can still be surprised at the goings-on in the world of privileged VIPs in a post O.J. Simpson world.

The latest (and soon to be longest-running) showcase of celebrity excess is Lindsay Lohan. This kid (and she is still a kid) is a mess. The 24 year-old actress is so out of touch with reality that she is completely convinced that she is above everyone including the law. Her tearful appearance in a Beverly Hills courthouse yesterday was sad. Not because of her 90 day jail sentence, or the additional 90 days of rehab, but rather her immutable conviction that she is being unjustly punished.

For those of you keeping track at home, Lohan's jail sentence was the result of a 2007 DUI conviction and subsequent probation, an alleged failure to comply with an order to remain sober and failing to report to drug and alcohol rehab. In addition to her drinking, Lohan is apparently living on a cocktail of prescription drugs, including Zoloft, Trazadone (for depression), Nexium (heartburn) and Dilaudid (a very powerful painkiller, apparently for 'dental discomfort').

It's fair to say that without some intervention you can pretty much see where this is going.

Of course Lohan has no shortage of enablers. Her mom has frequently defended her daughter, but seems to turn a blind eye to the growing stack of convictions. Then there is Lohan's entourage who are really just along for the high-profile free ride, and let's not forget her physicians who are handing out prescriptions like candy at Halloween. Her own father is such a celebrity whore he barely deserves mentioning.

So who cares, right? There's nothing new here. Celebrities have it easy. They are rich, pampered, spoiled and out of touch with the rest of the world. There are more than enough people on this planet who know a thing or two about real suffering so go ahead, crash and burn, serves you right.

I think there are several things to learn from Lohan's situation. The obvious lesson being that success, notoriety and wealth are clearly not the formula for health and happiness. Beyond this, there is a disturbing level of compliance among her peers, advisors and family who seem more than willing to look the other way when a person's life is going off the rails as long as the money train keeps chugging along. The media sharks are also circling, finding every possible angle to exploit hoping to unearth an exclusive and lucrative story.

All manner of people are lining up to find some way to profit from this situation, which I find bothersome.

Have we become so jealous of celebrity and wealth that we forget that this is a real person?

I don't doubt that should she decide to get her life back together, Lohan will have access to the best and highest-priced therapy, but then it really has nothing to do with money. Or does it?

Perhaps we too have become enablers because we allow fame and fortune to determine a person's value rather than their humanity. Witnessing someone crash and burn should be considered tragic, regardless of their perceived social status, but somehow when it comes to celebrity it's considered a form of entertainment.

To think that a person is less deserving of sympathy because of their success is not much different than celebrities who think they are above everyone else.

When it comes to life, there is no amount of earthly fortune that can preserve it, or prolong it, as effectively as the choices we make. One would hope those choices are based on humility and compassion in much the same way as how we view others.

Otherwise, who is the better person here?

No News Isn't News

Here is an actual statement overheard on a national news broadcast.

"Health officials are warning the elderly and individuals who suffer from chronic illnesses that they are at high risk during the current heat wave. One way to avoid the high heat and humidity is to find someplace cool."

Every once in a while you find yourself reading a newspaper, or watching television, or surfing the net and you suddenly realize these incredibly pervasive forms of communication actually have nothing to say. It's sort of like this blog, except you don't have to pay for it.

At least newspapers have the right idea. If there's nothing to talk about they just print fewer pages. But television and radio stations have airtime to fill, so they do just about anything to keep their audiences attention. I've studied media, so I get that. Problem is, sometimes they just get lazy, and on occasion they think their audience isn't  really paying attention when they slip some over-hyped filler into their broadcasts.

CTV News is probably the worst offender when it comes to no-news news reports. It's usually the last headline in the show's opener that grabs you with a tantalizing teaser:

"New research reveals a possible cure for diabetes."

Immediately you're hooked. So you sit through 29 minutes of blather about federal politicians sniping at one another, the sorry state of the economy and other assorted depressing news, clinging desperately to the hope of the miracle cure you are about to discover.

Then finally, the moment of truth.

The story is set up by our old friend Lloyd Robertson. This has to be good, he is after all the most trusted newscaster in Canada.

With a twinkle in his eye he trumpets: "New hope for diabetes patients..."

New hope? Before you said it was a cure. Well, new hope is good.

The story reveals that lab tests on Emu's using some unpronounceable chemical showed a 1% improvement in natural insulin production versus the placebo Emu's. Of course, we are reminded, these are early results, and tests probably won't be performed on humans for another twenty years. So don't count on a cure anytime soon, but researchers are optimistic.

That's it?! I just sat through a half hour of asinine Parliamentary analysis, grim economic reports, sixteen commercial breaks featuring the same stupid pickup truck ad, ten other depressing stories about war, death, mayhem and doom for this!

If you have to fill airtime, just get Brent Butt to do a two minute editorial about healthcare. We probably won't learn much, but it'll be entertaining.

In tomorrow's blog: new information that could save your life!

A Kick In The Grass

It won't be long before the vuvuzela becomes an instrument relegated to pop-culture history, and frankly good riddance.

The world cup of football (soccer for everyone west of Ireland) is nearing its finale and I confess I am feeling somewhat indifferent.

It's a bit unfair to South Africa who have proven to be competent and gracious hosts. The nation has demonstrated how far it has risen from the gloom of its inglorious history. Audiences have marveled at the grand stadiums built to showcase the world's football talent. We have been treated to scenes of majestic landscapes representing much of the contrast and beauty of the African continent, and of course the pride and passion of its people.

The face of international football has been less than stellar. In the early going, many matches were low scoring affairs, making the beautiful game a full 90 minutes of dullsville. Players and coaches were blaming the ball, which supplier Adidas evidently has the exclusive rights to produce. For whatever reason, whenever there is a huge football event, Adidas creates a new ball. Why? Well, one would presume to improve the game, but more likely its a marketing scam to sell product. Many have felt this world cup iteration was too unpredictable. As it turns out only a few nations had access to the ball prior to the World Cup, due to a sponsorship deal Germany was one of them.

Of course blaming the ball is just another way of distracting people from the fact that some teams suffered some fairly impressive internal meltdowns. England (sorry mates) and Italy (sorry amicos) did not perform as advertised. But nothing compares to the French team folding like a cheap lawn chair. France's star striker Nicolas Anelka got into a nasty spat with his coach Raymond Domenech after losing 2-0 to Mexico. This led to Anelka being kicked off the squad. The team refused to show up for practice in protest. It was an unmitigated disaster for a team that essentially cheated its way into the world cup (see Thierry Henry's uncalled handball that eliminated Ireland in a World Cup qualifier).

The officiating has also been spectacularly bad. Just ask the American and English teams. Could England have defeated Germany after Frank Lampard's clear goal (witnessed by a oobazillion people worldwide) was not acknowledged? Personally I still think Germany would have handed England their asses, but still. Hello FIFA? It's the 21st century calling, we can see every one of your dumb-ass missed calls in crystal clear high definition. Would you consider looking at what actually happened rather than go with the ref checking out the blond in the first row?

Then there has been the time-honoured tradition of elite athletes acting like they'd been shot a point-blank range with an assault rifle every time an opposing player so much as brushes his jersey. Really? Has the world not figured out this cheap little melodrama? In the NHL we call it diving and players have to park their lying, sorry arses on a pine bench.

Sigh. I'm actually a fan of football (yes, I'm still talking about soccer), but there hasn't been much about this world cup that has inspired me. Yes, there have been a few good matches. Just not enough to warrant the hype or to allay my discontent over bad calls, bad behaviour and bad acting.

I think FIFA has its work cut out for itself after this world cup, because the game on the pitch has taken a big credibility hit. It's wishful thinking because the organization knows that as long as there is a planet filled with football-mad fans content with the status-quo, why bother?

As for me, well I'm ready for some football. The CFL kind.

Hot In The City

It appears our fair metropolis is about to become hotter than hells kitchen with a grease fire. A heat wave is set to grip Montreal and boil it in its own oil. If you've lived in the Montreal area for most of your life, you understand the not-so-subtle nuances of summer on this tropical island to the north. Surrounded by rivers and lakes, and tucked into a valley, Montreal's vacation season can be oppressive.

For some maybe, but not me. I love the heat. Don't ask me why, I just do. I think it has something to do with tolerances. Some people seem to relish the hot, thick, muggy air and others seem to enjoy the frigid, bone chilling, brain numbing cold. Say what you will about summer heat, at least you can still feel your extremities.

I hate winter. Perhaps hate is a strong word, let me rephrase, I loathe winter. Maybe I'm crazy, but I just have a thing about waking up in the dark, stumbling to pull four sweaters over my head and scraping a half inch of ice off the windshield of my car as I begin to lose the feeling in my fingers (which is the only mercy for the stinging pain of frostbite). But that's just me.

I'll tell you one thing, if I had been one of the early settlers to Canada, experiencing winter for the first time, I'd have said 'f**k this!' and caught the first rickety ship back to France or England. I'll risk the scurvy 'cause the beaver pelts just ain't worth it.

For the record, it was my dad's idea to move here. He was working for Trans Canada Airlines out of Prestwick in Scotland (not exactly a balmy climate either). A job came up at TCA (soon to be Air Canada) headquarters in Montreal. It must have been a good career move to justify putting up with the winters. I should mention that earlier in his career he took on an assignment in Bermuda. How we ended up in the great white north is still a mystery to me, but like I said, the money must have been good.

So all these years later, I grumble and grimace my way through winter, patiently waiting for those sun-filled, steamy Montreal summers. Which I love. In fact, there are a multitude of things about this city I love. The food, the nightlife, the festivals, the people, the cultures, the history, the Habs, and the list goes on.

Now I am sensitive to the fact that there are those with allergies or other health issues that are exacerbated by the heat and humidity. I get that this season can bring with it more misery than joy. But even the most cynical among us has to admit that when the city's fauna is in full bloom and the blue skies shine a bit longer, the soul of Montreal seems to come to life.

Winter will come again. It will be bitter cold, slushy and sloppy. We will sequester ourselves in our homes, fighting cabin fever and dreaming of tropical escapes.

Right now, summer is here in all its glory.

Bring on the heat.