You're dead to me, Robin Hobb

Previously, I relayed my obsession with some of Robin Hobb's earlier books. In spite of my searing disappointment with the ending of Hobb's Tawny Man Trilogy, I decided to give her Soldier Son Trilogy a try.

Shaman's Crossing - Book 1 of Soldier Son Trilogy
Reminiscent of Assassin's Apprentice, this is a beginnings book. We are introduced to Nevare Burvelle, who is also the narrator. Unfortunately, Nevare is stupidly obedient and dull, to boot. He stoically endures abuse from humans and supernatural forces, then manages to see the end of a series of painful trials due to dumb luck. The book ends with Nevare happily ensconced in the status quo, dreaming of marriage to a boring girl.

Forest Mage - Book 2 of Soldier Son Trilogy
Whereas Book 1 was dull and painful in turns, Forest Mage is like militant fat camp propaganda. Nevare spends the entire book being called a fatty and trying to prove that he has no control over his obesity. He bungles his way into being accused of murdering a prostitute and necrophilia, which the mob is eager to believe, because he is fat. Nevare is supposed to be a forest mage, but he really only commands his power in the climactic final scene, before severing ties with his few loyal friends. What a loser.

Renegade's Magic - Book 3 of Soldier Son Trilogy
Unread.

Joe has been reading Hobb's latest, the Rain Wild Chronicles, and he says that there is a lot of whining in that one, too.

Robin Hobb, you had a good thing going with The Farseer Trilogy and The Tawny Man Trilogy, but you appeared to be in such a hurry to finish the latter that you tacked on a false happy ending and made me want to cry. Now, you spend your time and energy writing about long suffering, boring protagonists who can't seem to get out of trouble except by the mercy of dumb luck.

Until you choose the rewrite the ending of The Tawny Man Trilogy, I will not be reading your books, any more.

Hard at work

Contrary to what my meager blogging may indicate, I have been busy writing.

After mastering the art of generating strong opinions within a lunch hour for the last five years, I decided to make myself more respectable by attempting to write fiction. My last foray into fiction writing was back in high school, when I was heavily influenced by J.D. Salinger. This was not a good thing. So, I signed up for an introductory writing course with the University of Toronto's School of Continuing Studies. It worked for Vincent Lam, so why not an underachiever like me?

My class is made up of people who work in finances, mothers doing it for themselves, and a party clown (not a derogatory statement but a fact). The writing is equally eclectic: the Muslim women use lush prose to describe the clash of East and West, the party clown wants to be the next J.K. Rowling, and a segment of the finances division has failed to meet the project deadline. Of the two remaining financial workers who did hand in their final project, one offered a story worthy of Harlequin, and the other modified a personal travel blog entry.

The latter student's year in Australia has been a well of inspiration with rapidly diminishing returns. Her stories run the gamut of traveling through Australia to encountering ticketing problems while attempting to leave Australia. In one story, the gender of her main character was changed but he still pranced to yoga class and traded bitchy looks with a travel agent.

The in-class workshop, during which the class offers compliments and constructive criticism for a single student's work, is one of the best aspects of the course. Still, it has made a strong case for the idea that procrastination does not make for good writing. In the first few weeks, the compliments flowed freely, but as we approach the end of the workshop schedule, a tension has descended on the party. The class struggles to find the bright side of what they have read ("You have a very original narrative voice.") and temper their criticism ("I don't understand what is happening here...here...and here.").

After my workshop, I edited furiously in order to meet the submission deadline for the Random House Creative Writing Award. Whatever the outcome, I am hooked on this new respectability, and the promise of fame and cash prizes will drive me to write long after my lunch hour is done.

A 'Yes!' and a 'No!'

A warning of possible radio silence for the next while as I strap my home onto my back and shuffle east to Leslieville.

In the meantime, I direct you to the blog I wish Xiao Pangzi could be, Stargazing by Malene Arpe. Two items of note today, copied and pasted directly from Malene's blog:

David Cronenberg and Viggo Mortensen team up again From Monsters & Critics: "The star of the darkly intense The Road is in talks to play Sigmund Freud in The Talking Cure, according to film site buzz. Digital Spy reports Mortensen will replace Christoph Waltz as the founding father of psychoanalysis following a scheduling conflict involving Waltz. Mortensen will again work with director David Cronenberg, who directed him in A History of Violence and Eastern Promises with Naomi Watts. The key story line in the movie is the conflict between Freud and theorist Carl Jung, who will be played by Michael Fassbender. Their dramatic relationship, indeed, is portrayed as giving birth to psychoanalysis. Keira Knightley, according to the buzz, may just make it onto the couch as an 'unstable young woman'."

Damn "Andy Whitfield, who plays the title role in the Starz Original series "Spartacus: Blood and Sand," has been diagnosed with non-Hodgkin lymphoma. The British-born actor will begin treatment immediately. The network says the cancer was discovered during a routine checkup as Whitfield prepared to begin shooting the second season of the action-adventure series, which is filmed in New Zealand. Starz said Tuesday that production has been postponed while Whitfield undergoes treatment. According to the network, doctors say the cancer was detected in its early stages and is "very treatable." AP.

I am Malene Arpe

I have been a fan of Malene Arpe since her days as a columnist for Eye Weekly back in the 90s but it was only when she started her Stargazing blog with The Toronto Star that I realized that we are practically the same person. See the evidence below:

• She is nerdy enough to give updates on the TV adaptation of George R.R. Martin's Game of Thrones; I love the series.
• She adores Viggo Mortensen; I dream of Viggo Mortensen, too (no proof on this blog but, ever since Lord of the Rings, it is true!)
• She posted a mash up video of "True Blood" with Depeche Mode and labelled it "Overwhelmingly awesome"; I cannot agree more (here and here)
• She lives on internet detritus; I am a cultural bottom feeder, too! (see any part of my blog)

Admittedly, the evidence that I have provided is scanty, but I believe that Arpe is the more successful, cooler version of me. Joe cannot believe that two of us exist in the same time continuum.

Internet rehab

I laugh at people who are clearly addicted to caffeine; those who experience headaches and general feelings of unwellness when they skip their daily cup of coffee. Unfortunately, the sad truth is that I suffer the same way when I am deprived of regular access to the internet.

The usual scenario in which I experience internet deprivation tends to be while on vacation. Even in the midst of such rousing experiences, I feel the urge to type on a keyboard, check my email and read up on nothing important.

In the tradition of self-improvement through self-deprivation, I will be restricting my internet access to work related endeavors for the next week, starting at noon today. This may well be harder than my previous week-long foray into vegetarianism or even my kichadi diet. However, I feel that it is necessary to force myself to disconnect from the computer and reconnect with real life extracurricular activities.

Just as Renton prepared for his break from heroin in Trainspotting (bucket, beans, porno - check, check, check), I have bought some books from BMV to help me stay the course:
Slowness by Milan Kundera
On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan
Naked by David Sedaris
I am a fan of both McEwan and Sedaris, and the Kundera book looks promising.

Here's hoping that the sweating and suffering can be kept to a minimum. Radio silence starts now.

Doppleganger dreams can come true

As shown in previous blog entries (The Doppleganger Dinner, Doppleganger update), I obsess about a woman who possesses the same name as me. She is back on Facebook but I have not had the courage to approach her.

If only I was as sassy as Kelly Hildebrandt, who not only connected with her doppleganger but is going to marry him, too!

There will be no such happy ending for me and mein doppleganger, since I am not interested sexually in women and any marital relationship could be construed as incestuous. However, even an exchange of pokes on Facebook would be considered a victory at this point. Give me strength!

Art for a millenium

Artist and journalist Jonathon Keats has created the longest story ever told for Opium Magazine. Merely nine words long, the story has been printed in such a way that only long term exposure of the magazine cover to ultra violet light will reveal each word over the course of 1000 years.

Keats's work is a reaction to the quick-click publishing and consumption that dominates the internet and contemporary culture at large. That this work has captured so much attention, along with the slow food movement and the resurgence of craft (ie Etsy), tells me that people may be exhausted by the current speed of living.

Among my pet peeves about the fast and the furious are people who fail to read emails carefully before hitting 'Reply All', and friends who won't read my longer blog entries. Slowing down is desirable but, as a generation brought up on video games, I suspect that only heart disease and other byproducts of our lifestyle will force us to operate at a more leisurely pace.

Latest obsession: The Tawny Man trilogy

For the past two weeks, I have been sleep-deprived yet felt little in the way of exhaustion because of my raging addiction to Robin Hobb's fantasy trilogy, The Tawny Man series. I had previously attempted to read this series after finishing the Farseer trilogy that precedes it, but gave up, perhaps due to fantasy fatigue. When I recently felt the need to be immersed in something other than non-fiction, giving The Tawny Man series anther chance seemed like a good bet.

Overall, The Tawny Man series has less action than the Farseer trilogy. The same narrator, FitzChivalry Farseer, is now a 35 year old recluse who refuses to be dragged back into his previous life as a royal bastard turned assassin, a role that ultimately required him to sacrifice love and family for the sake of loyalty to the Farseer monarchy. Like its protagonist, the books are more slowly paced and the best moments are the ones that focus on character development and interaction. Hobb's ability to imbue her characters and their relationships with psychological depth and realistic complexity is as impressive as it was in the Farseer trilogy.

Cryptic spoilers to follow.

Book One: Fool's Errand

Possibly the most satisfying book of the series because of its consistent focus on the themes of civil and paternal responsibility. The reader fails to encounter any action until the 1/3 point of the book, hence, some may find the pacing slow but I was absorbed in the reunion of Fitz with the few who know that he lives, especially the Fool, now known as the ridiculously entertaining Lord Golden. A romantic tension between these two male characters becomes palpable, in spite of Fitz's obliviousness to the Fool's subtle affection. The threat of the Piebalds, a militant group originating from a marginalized community, feels very real. The novel concludes with the rocky start of Fitz's relationship with Prince Dutiful and the devastating end of another.

Book Two: Golden Fool

Fitz reacquaints himself with his childhood home, Buckkeep, while attempting to hide his true identity as a royal bastard under the guise of the outrageous Lord Golden's servant. The majority of the story is driven by intrigue brought about by a possible political alliance with a former enemy, the Outislanders, through an arranged marriage for Prince Dutiful, and Fitz's reluctant role in it. The romantic tension between Fitz and Lord Golden builds to a devastating clash that results in the sorely felt absence of the latter character for the second half of the book. This void is partially filled by a riveting sequence in which Fitz engages a group of Piebalds and nearly loses his life, but the conclusion of the novel is marred when the relationship between Fitz and the Fool comes to a dissatisfying impasse.

Book Three: Fool's Fate

Reading the first half of this book was an exercise in frustration simply because of the narrative's unrelenting focus on Fitz's thankless guardianship of half-wit, Thick. Thick becomes the 'JarJar Binks' of the series, nearly ruining the third book by forcing both Fitz and the reader to suffer his idiotic selfishness. It is only when Thick recedes from the spotlight and the Fool/Lord Golden returns that the story picks up again. The plot quickens as Fitz and the Fool face the latter's arch rival, the Pale Woman, and Fitz must seemingly choose between loyalty to the Farseers and his friendship with the Fool in deciding the fate of a long lost dragon. While the conclusion of Fitz's relationship with the Fool is heart wrenching, the rest of Hobb's plot wrap-ups seem overly convenient. Especially disappointing is the afterthought resolution of the Piebald problem. Fitz's life is determinedly set for a happy ending, with the notable exception of his relationship with the Fool, which ends prematurely and without closure for both men - sadly much like real life.

For a more detailed assessment of Fool's Fate, I recommend the review of J.Smith "ladyofthebooks".

I feel a little relieved that I have finally finished this series since it has distracted me from functioning as a productive adult. As dissatisfying as I found the ending, wishing that it had been as ruthlessly loyal to the characters as the Farseer trilogy was, the novels kept me riveted throughout, and I would recommend them without reservation.

If not moustaches, then fedoras

In an attempt to tame his hair, Joe will often wear a baseball cap to squeeze his afro into submission. My problem with the baseball cap is that it makes Joe look young, sometimes, younger than me. This inaccuracy in age perception is a problem that needs to be fixed...oh, and his hair, too.

Back in December, Joe and I were in the Penguin store in Las Vegas and came across a spiffy fedora. It looked good on Joe's unusually large head and gave him an air of sophisticated cool. Unfortunately, Joe worried that he would not have sufficient opportunity to wear it since he works in the land of khakis and statement t-shirts, and therefore, chose not to make the purchase.

Now that the fedora has definitely hit the mainstream, I would like to make a case for it again. Joe recently tried to grow a beard but the rug burn was more than I could take. Why not make the fedora your Easter bonnet this weekend?

In progress

• I started reading Barack Obama's Dreams from My Father: A Story of Race and Inheritance yesterday and I am about 1/3 through; this is a testament to Obama's compelling prose as opposed to my reading prowess. The book was published in 1995 but already, the characteristics that make Obama such a force to be reckoned are revealed: his thoughtful yet unflinching reflections on racial identity, and the unswerving confidence in the face of ignorance or even outright hostility demonstrated by his father and assumed by Obama in turn.
• I traded in my Air Tracks snowboard, which seemed too flexible and unresponsive, for the 2008 Flow Venus. I have not had a chance to test my new board as Mother Nature has not been on my side, choosing to please just about everyone else with milder weather. Never before have I prayed so fervently for cold weather and heavy snowfall.
• The downturn in the economy has apparently produced a bumper crop of eager police recruits thus pushing any chance of me taking the York Regional Police written and physical test to 2010! I also failed to submit an exhibition proposal for Luminato due to a lack of motivation. Presently, all my hopes rest on my Nuit Blanche 2009 application - decisions are promised for the end of March. In the meantime, I am open to suggestions on what to tackle next.

Still entertaining

When George W. Bush left office, I must admit that a little part of me was dejected at the prospect of a less ridiculous political climate in the U.S. Happily, I am wrong.

The new chairman of the Republican National Committee, Michael Steele, recently spoke to The Washington Times and demonstrated that the Republican party is the gift that keeps giving.

In the article, Steele promised a public relations strategy that would be "off the hook".

"We want to convey that the modern-day GOP looks like the conservative party that stands on principles. But we want to apply them to urban-surburban hip-hop settings. (W)e need to uptick our image with everyone, including one-armed midgets,” said Steele.

Urban blacks and white liberals would both be offended if they weren't laughing so hard.

Look at what I read!

In my previous blog entry, I listed some of my easy reading favourites. These were books that took absolutely no effort but were completely engrossing and satisfying. Next, I will list books that were more challenging but still left an impression. Again, feel free to leave suggested read lists.

I am currently half way through Terry Pratchett's Nation. I got bogged down when characters started speaking with spirits instead of each other. For the sake of my newly revived reading exercise, I hope this changes.

The White Hotel - D.M. Thomas
I had recently finished Sigmund Freud's Dora: An Analysis of a Case of Hysteria before I picked this up so I was in no mood for more psychoanalysis. Yet, piecing together the incongruous bits of information about the main character's past kept me going until I reached the chapter that made the Holocaust real to me in a way that no movie nor novel ever has. The apt term for the book's depiction of the Holocaust is chilling, not depressing.

Our Mutual Friend - Charles Dickens
This book was challenging only because it is as thick as a dictionary. I pride myself on being a speedy reader and yet, Our Mutual Friend took me seven days - after I had forsaken attending my classes in favour of holing myself up in my room. It was easy to get lost in Victorian London and the characters that occupy every facet of society. This was Dickens's last completed work and it seems that in his old age, Charles enjoyed aiming comedic barbs at the more pompous members of Victorian society. Admittedly, the ending is contrived but the overall experience was still enjoyable. Do not see the 1998 BBC production, which is overly dramatic and turns the male lead into a morose stalker.

Amsterdam - Ian McEwan
Before McEwan's Atonement was published and turned into a big budget movie starring Keira Knightley, McEwan was known for nasty novels about sophisticated people drawn into violent situations. Amsterdam won McEwan the Booker Prize but it has none of the grandness and ambition of Atonement. Rather, its spare and ruthless treatment of its characters made it engrossing even as it filled me with dread. Atonement has a great ending that betrays the reader's previous peceptions but Amsterdam fulfills the pact that it makes with its readers from the very beginning.

Next up: books that I could not finish. It could be my longest reading list yet!

Look at me! I'm reading!

It has been a while since I have been caught up in a book. I read periodicals off the internet everyday and enjoyed some graphic novels quite recently, but my attention span has not allowed for the more leisurely pace that a good book requires.

Nicholas Carr was on "The Colbert Report" back in September to promote his book, The Big Switch: Rewiring the World, from Edison to Google. He posits that the internet is taking away our ability to concentrate. Carr perfectly encapsulated the frustration that I have felt in trying to control myself as I jump from web page to web page, and days turn into months. Sometimes, I am forced to think hard in order to remember what year it is.

I have been trying to read Jared Diamond's Guns, Germs, and Steel: The Fates of Human Societies for the last several months but its textbook-like quality has only enabled my web surfing addiction. Then Joe got a book for his birthday: Terry Pratchett's Nation. I had a bad introduction to Pratchett's work through his Discworld books, which Joe is a fan of but I found too British in its humour (read: punny). Yet, I started Nation last night and I am almost half way through. Clearly, some easy reading is the solution to my book drought.

Eventually, I hope to finish Diamond's tome, which does get more interesting once war and disease become major players in human history. In the meantime, I am going to recommend some of my favourite fulfilling no-brainers, in the hope of receiving other people's easy reading lists. So, please recommend away.

Me Talk Pretty One Day - David Sedaris
I recommend this book a lot but no one takes me seriously. I have never laughed so hard while reading as I did when I read about Sedaris's family and his ludicrous leaps of logic. His other books are great but not as close to comic perfection as his 2001 publication; a close contender is Catch-22 by Joseph Heller.

First three books of A Song of Ice and Fire - George R.R. Martin
There's talk of plans to bring this series to the screen but I do not see how the film medium can do Martin's expansive story and massive cast of fully developed characters justice. Martin has been suffering from writer's block and the fourth book, A Feast For Crows, was a disappointment due to the absence of a good editor. However, an uncertain future for the series should not deter readers from enjoying the first three books, which meld a fantasy story with the ruthlessness of a war epic. Less emotionally straining and almost as absorbing is the complete Belgariad series by David Eddings.

Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
It never ceases to amaze me how easy a read this novel is, even with a span of 200 years since its publication. Austen's story has been adapted repeatedly, directly and indirectly, but nothing beats the subtle wit of the original. I highlight this Austen novel over her others because of its mix of social satire with unsentimental romance. Another early feminist romance that goes down easy is Anne of Green Gables by L.M. Montgomery. And heterosexual men should not fear castration from reading either of these books - they are just good reading.

Next up: my list of more challenging yet equally rewarding reading favourites.

No great white hope for Runner's World

Just based on the cover alone, you might suspect Runner's World of having a thing for attractive, white models. After subscribing to the magazine for two years, I can attest to having seen only two cover models of colour: Olympic marathoner, Meb Keflezighi and triathlete, Lokelani McMichael. McMichael appeared twice but is half Scottish so I guess that still counts as one occurrence.

RW's white bias could be shrugged off as superficial if it did not also affect their editorial content. The magazine frequently focuses on born and bred white Americans runners that will put "American distance running back on the map" (oft cited with brave optimism by RW writers): Alan Webb, Galen Rupp, Ryan Hall, and Alan Culpepper - Eritrea-born Meb Keflezighi is the lone exception. It would appear that the editors of RW are still pining for the days of Steve Prefontaine, America's last great white running hope.

To their credit, RW's feature article on Meb Keflezighi focused on the disconnect many Americans feel towards Keflezighi because of his immigrant status. Keflezighi has had to continually prove his love for the American flag and defend his ties to Eritrea, which he left in the midst of a war. Yet, for all the support that RW puts behind Keflezighi, it is as if there is not enough to go round to other American runners with stories similar to Keflezighi. Keflezighi is the U.S. distance running field's Naomi Campbell - the poster child for racial balance in the industry.

In recent issues, the magazine has focused on Beijing contenders including Kara and Adam Goucher, and Gabe Jennings. With the exception of Kara Goucher, the magazine's spotlights were misdirected: Adam Goucher and Jennings failed to make it onto the U.S. Olympic Team, as did RW favourites Alan Webb, Meb Keflezighi and an injured Alan Culpepper.

In the competitive 1500m field, three immigrants will represent the U.S.: Kenya-born Bernard Lagat, Mexico-born Leonel Manzano and Sudanese refugee, Lopez Lomong. Bernard Lagat, an undeniable force in the 1500m distance, was profiled by RW but the other two runners have been virtually ignored by RW.

Ryan Hall and Galen Rupp recently earned their places on the U.S. Olympic Track & Field roster. It will interesting to see how RW, and its American readership, will distribute their hopes and dreams between two of their favoured sons versus the athletes who have chosen to carry the American flag without fanfare.

Hello from outside

I don't mean to neglect this blog but summer is here and I don't have much to say. Well, there are a few topics that come to mind:

Summer of anticipation
This has been an excellent summer for movies. Iron Man and Wall-E have lived up to expectations, and while The Incredible Hulk, Wanted and Hellboy II have not, they were not terrible. In fact, my anticipation of this summer movie season has been about as enjoyable as watching the films themselves; I'm pretty sure the trailers for Hancock and Get Smart are more satisfying than the actual products. Next up: The Dark Knight and all the delicious anticipation that a sequel featuring a buzz-worthy performance by a dead actor can generate.

The iPhone soap opera
The iPhone drama in Canada finally proves that Apple enthusiasts have neither self-control nor dignity. While Apple consumers took a stand in protest when Rogers first announced their stingy data plans, they quickly folded when Rogers offered the equivalent of a cheap bouquet and a half-assed apology. As in any abusive relationship, Rogers is guaranteed to go back to its old ways and after August 31, will resume reaming its customers once more.

Infestation of hacks
I had not read Metro News in a while when I discovered that their resident film reviewer, Norm Wilner had been replaced by a teenage boy named Steve Gow. I base this assumption of immaturity on the quality of the writing alone: childish, derivative and colloquial. Some may attribute these same words to my writing though critics should keep in mind that this is a blog and not a nationwide newspaper. It may be too much to hope for Pauline Kael in a free newspaper but I do expect more from a published and credited writer than "Genghis friggin’ Khan, baby!" Another revelation of clumsy writing at Metro News: Sandy Caetano. It is not a stretch to imagine Sandy dotting her 'i's with hearts when she gushes about Canadian Idol. Thankfully, Metro News has retained Rick McGinnis. The day that budget cuts force Metro News to let Rick McGinnis go is the day their publisher should hire me. I guarantee all the finesse of both Steve Gow and Sandy Caetano at half the friggin' price, baby!

Blame the women

A lot has been happening to me lately and almost all of it good. I no longer work for my evil boss and I have been enjoying an unexpected two week vacation when my letter of resignation did not go over well with my former boss. I'll be working for another institution of higher learning next week and, this time, I hope to stay for a while because one of the perks will be a free education. That's right: I can get as many Bachelor Degrees as I want. Maybe even a useless one like English. Frivolousness is a luxury.

What has shaken me out of my happy stupor is an assessment of American Idol's audience by various TV columnists, brought together in one article by Metro News columnist Rick McGinnis.

It has been speculated that American Idol is increasingly being embraced by an older audience - in particular, women of a certain age - while the young flee the TV room in droves. One critic uses as supporting evidence an episode of The New Adventures of Old Christine in which Julia Louis-Dreyfus and her friends obsess over American Idol. The critic disparagingly calls the sitcom "TV's ultimate mommy show" as if "mommy" could be equated with something unsavory like "retard" or "pedophile".

Following this demographic change prediction, it goes to reason that the enduring popularity of craptacular contestant Sanjaya Malakar can be blamed on the young girls who have always loved American Idol and the recent older women converts because Sanjaya is a cute and non-threatening male.

I find the assumption that women naturally support mediocrity as long as it's cute and neutered insulting. The widespread acceptance of this theory says more about the misogynistic attitudes of TV critics than the American Idol demographics.

In addition to using a fictional character played by Julia Louis-Dreyfus as evidence, the TV critic cites recent Idol guests Peter Noone of Herman's Hermits and Lulu as further proof of the aging Idol demographics. The critic is cutting a rather wide swath since Louis-Dreyfus was born in 1961 and Herman's Hermits and Lulu had their heyday with the swinging youth in the 1960s. This would mean that women between the ages of 40 to 60 are all to blame for Sanjaya Malakar. This sort of statistical prediction is more buckshot than scientific analysis.

Rick McGinnis goes on to blame Taylor Hicks's win last year on "older women" then wonders when Idol producers will bow to this increasing demographic. This reasoning goes against the Sanjaya Malakar theory since Taylor Hicks is neither cute nor safe for petting.

If we are to assume that "older women" are indeed to blame for Taylor Hicks, I doubt Idol will cater to them any time soon since they did not actually open their wallets and buy Taylor Hicks's album. Album sales for last year's Idol winner have not met expectations or the sales of runner-ups like Chris Daughtry. Perhaps older women are just little stinkers at heart.

Wal-Mart greeter punched in face

The headline intrigued me so I read the rest of the Toronto Star article (excerpts below):

A Wal-Mart greeter in Vaughan was punched in the face after she tried to stop a shoplifter with a cart full of baby formula, York Region police say.

"The greeter grabbed the cart and pushed it back. He failed to respond to her and then punched her in the face," said Det. Bruce Rowlandson. The man then fled the store.

The greeter was taken to hospital with minor facial injuries.

The injured Wal-Mart greeter will probably get nothing for her trouble except maybe a letter of thanks from the CEO or a $10 gift certificate. And if she takes a few days off to tend to her sore face, she probably won't get paid.

In fact, if that Wal-Mart greeter had been given a chance to think about her lacklustre wages, the absence of health benefits, and how easily she could be replaced by a robot right before her encounter with the shoplifter, she probably would have been charged with manslaughter.

PS Happy Valentine's Day!

The latest sexy corporate commingle

This afternoon, Scotiabank and Cineplex Entertainment assumed the 69 position on each other in the middle of the clubbing district. At the Paramount, soon to be renamed the 'Scotiabank Theatre', the two companies announced a rewards program that would allow bank customers to earn points towards free movie passes and concessions.

Corporate types love this sort of 'mixing of the bodily fluids' so their enthusiasm about the program is predictable. What I found laughable were the assessments of Ashwin Joshi, professor of marketing at York University, who was quoted in The Toronto Star.

"It's a very good idea because it will be attractive to young customers. A 25-year-old is asking, `Do I want air miles? Travel's not high on my agenda or do I want movie passes? Movies are high on my agenda,'" Joshi said.

Joshi assumes that 25 year olds are incapable of planning for the future then he proceeds to act out the thought process of that 25 year old. While it is impossible to prove in a newspaper article, Joshi was probably wielding a sock puppet to represent said 25 year old.

"(Young people) is a good segment to go after because if you can catch them early and keep them for life, you'll do well."

Whereas I think Joshi did not give 25 year olds enough credit with his previous statement, I think he gives them too much credit with this one. My generation are a bunch of johnny-come-latelys whether it be towards employers, social causes, or products. 'Easy come, easy go' is our motto.

Joshi does come to his senses in his disapproval of the changing of the Paramount's name to Scotiabank Theatre. However, I won't bother quoting him there since a 15 year old moviegoer quoted in the article says it so much better:

"I don't like it. It's a little irritating. It's like the SkyDome becoming the Rogers Centre"

True enough. I have my own list of new names for the Paramount Theatre:

• "The Videodrome"
• "The Bank and Tank"
• "Pay bank fees to withdraw your money so that you can give it to the entertainment corporation that we are sleeping with - har har har"

Top Ten Online Procrastination Tools in 2006

Now that it is December, the media will soon review 2006 and rate different aspects of this past year. I present to you the first of my series of 2006 Top Ten: Online Procrastination Tools.

Speaking of procrastination, I recently bought myself a home wax kit and made use of it when I really should have been preparing for a crucial job interview. I really enjoy getting rid of unwanted hair but this kit took it to a whole new level. In fact, I might have taken it too far. My already skimpy eyebrow now look like they are in a state of moulting. I can only hope that they didn't distract my interviewer too much and that they will grow back in time for a wedding that I'll be emceeing in early January.

Top Ten Online Procrastination Tools

1. Perez Hilton - this guy blogs like Dymaxion World except about stuff that I care about like Britney's hairless crotch and which celebrity is secretly gay. I couldn't have gotten through my first month of work with my crazy boss without Perez.
Casualty from 2005: E Online - now that I have the uncensored smut from Perez Hilton, I don't need the weekly, cleaned up gloss of the E website.

2. The Star - I don't even understand why people buy The Toronto Star anymore when they offer everything they print for free online. Not like those cheap assholes at The Globe and Mail and The National Post -not that I would read The National Post, even if it was free.

3. Red Flag Deals - Actually, this is Joe's #1 online procrastination tool. He will even forsake quality time spent with me to search for a good deal so this must be one hell of a website. It must be.
Casualty from 2005: Save.ca - Basically a marketing tool for a corporation (possibly Procter & Gamble), it offers the same narrow selection of coupons repeatedly. But if you consume Gay Lea whip cream all the time, you'll love it.

4. Wikipedia - I tutor a teenager who relies on Wikipedia as a reference source for her essays. I tell her it is not considered a reliable source but when she asks why, I can only shrug and say, "Why be truthful when you can be entertaining?" (Note: That's not actually what I say. I am more responsible than that. Please hire me.)

5. Internet Movie Database - I enjoy finding out how old actors are, what movies they have done, finding out who their co-stars were, finding out how old their co-stars are, etc. It's like playing 'Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon' without the competition or the companionship.

6. Style.com - Most other fashion websites are stingy on content and only selectively display parts of a runway show. Style.com, the online home of Vogue and W, offers photographs of the complete collection for major designer collections. You'll be able to judge for yourself whether the potato sack dress is here to stay.

7. Xiao Pangzi, Who pissed in your cornflakes?, Of No Import, etc. - I tend to visit my blog and blogs linked to mine because it is easy. It should be noted that visitors to my blog usually come through Cornflakes because it has an easy to type URL.

8, 9, 10. My email - I check my email like a fiend. I acknowledge that I have an addiction in that I usually do not feel whole if I do not check my email at least once a day. Joe and I even used Alex's PSP to check our email while in California, as slow and laborious as the process was. Even more sad than an email addiction is this: while at an internet cafe in California, Joe searched Red Flag Deals of Canada. Sad.

That's more of a Top Eight list, which does not sound as catchy as Top Ten. Can you suggest any online procrastination tools?

Lock the door, throw away the key

Let me simply say that Michael Richards' verbal diarrhea has been so ridiculous that I cannot take it seriously. His hateful rant at the comedy club could only have been drug-induced since any racist with half a mind would been more subtle (think Russell Peters). His spluttering apologies and desperate, clammy grasps at civil rights leaders for redemption are embarrassing, to say the least, because they are so transparently self-serving.

The latest turn of this train wreck is, of course, litigation. The two men who were the targets of Richards' anger have enlisted an attorney to help obtain a personal apology and "maybe some money". Apparently, they were "humiliated, and even scared at one point", despite the fact that they were in the company of 20 friends.

The Associated Press article is hilariously dismissive of the whole case as it recounts in the following order:

"Our clients were vulnerable," [the lawyer] said. "He went after them. He singled them out and he taunted them, and he did it in a closed room where they were captive.''
The video of Richards' outburst shows several people getting up and walking out as he shouts at the audience.

Michael Richards is an idiot and anyone who seriously considers him a threat is naive. The targets of his rant are shameless opportunists. Now that they have all been clearly identified, let's just ignore the whole thing; like a bad migraine, the event serves no purpose and just makes my head ache.