The Occasional Rant: Bummertime

So here I sit in my living room all alone again, naturally.
Typing away like a confused madman,
while the heat rises up to my crib from the floorboards.

A year ago I would've chilled with my woman,
made plans to go some place where we could see boats going by
into the North Atlantic Blue.

But this summer is different.
I no longer have a woman in my life.
Not that I'm complaining.

And it isn't as if I could've lived my life better.
Yes, I would've lived it better,
but what's done is done and can't be undone.
So I'm learning to do it better every day,
one day at a time.

I've had my relapses - yes I'm human and I can stumble.
I can be articulate but I can also mumble.
I can think of bigger things to happen
but instead I prefer to be at least humble.

So I'm moving on and looking forward
even though it will not go beyond the next hour or two.
At this time it's way past my bedtime
since I ended my shift at quarter-past-two.

But here is something that you should know.
I am here. Here to play. Here to stay.
I'm neither robot, superman nor demigod,
demagogue, religious fanatic, right-wing douchebag,
nor liberal ass-lick, hate-baiting psycho-blogger
who spends virtually most of his time online
reading other people's blogs, watching silly viral vids
or downloading the latest album/tv show/movie via torrent.

I'm just your average, poverty-stricken,
mellowed-out, aging, balding, horny
and thoroughly diabetic romantic hater
who's looking forward to either a decent summer
or a bummer of a summer.

I'm for real. I'm not a bot.
If you see me around and about
on the streets of Halifax, Bedford,
Sackville or Dartmouth, Nova Scotia, Canada,
say hi, whassup, yo, dude when you can,
for I do exist.

There's at least one thing I cannot change
and that's my anger at things that are sometimes
beyond my control,
things that I should've done,
things that I shouldn't have done,
things that others shouldn't do
and the lies presented as truth.
Thank god I can still write.

Right about now, I'm beyond tired.
Shall I crash or catch a second wind?
I'll soon find out.

Have a great summer. Stay tuned, Romantic Haters.

The Occasional Rant: As True As It Is Now As It Was Then

Over 2 years ago I posted this ranting on a CBC forum. I believe that it still makes a lot of sense.

So here we go...

On any given day, you can ask any Canadian celebrity on what Canada and being Canadian means. Almost all of them were reading from the same book of peace, love, diversity and socialized medicare.

But all of them miss the point.

This country started out as a cash cow for the ancient tribal empires until more people moved in and slowly displaced the First Nations who were there since Day One.

We did have a bloody history. We had slavery. We had our spats with the ingrates to the South. Had we been more tenacious, the Alamo would be flying the Maple Leaf (or maybe the Fleur-de-lys).

But we prefer our wide open spaces, the freedom to roam and the ability to invent - and re-invent - ourselves.

Sadly, I would hear people take pride in what we're not, as in "We're not as cold-hearted as Americans" or "We have a better health system, not like the Americans". Because for the most part, we have descended from Americans - United Empire Loyalists who believed that Mad King George had the better idea than George Washington or Ben Franklin.

But let's not nitpick over technicalities. Canada is still a young nation... in fact, more of a concept rather than a nation. Canadian is a state of mind, rather than a nationality. The land, like its contemporary society, is a mosaic. Each province and territory is a nation in its own right. We work, create, procreate and sometimes deviate in our own way.

But most of all, we live.

We are humans living in a land that that was cultivated by the First Peoples and bound by Celtic ferocity and tenacity, Gallic pride and joie-de-vivre, Anglo-Saxon resolve and good old American know-how.

Collectively, we can be the mouse that roars, the gentle giant, the silent beacon of hope.

Yet we are not perfect. Our medicare costs money. Some people carry ancient grudges and use our freedom to stoke their fires. And our politicians try to be everything to everyone, satisfying no-one.

But as long as the human species remains flawed and the polar icecaps keep melting, I am and shall always be a Canadian.

I'd like to hear one of our celebrities come up with something better.

Even to this day, I never hyphenate myself: there's no point or logic to hyphenation. A man is either this or that, black or white, alive or dead.

In the end, being a Canadian means simply being, in the here-and-now, in Canada.

Happy Canada Day, Romantic Haters.

The Occasional Rant: D'yalls Miss Me?

Big ups, y'alls!

Sure... I've been lying low with life, work, taxes, bills and the like.

And sadly enough, I've haven't been writing and filming too much these days.

It's either spring fever or swine flu. Given the fact that I'm immunized for neither one, it's a tough call, eh?

But here goes what anything goes in this mess of a world...

1. You wouldn't wish THAT on your worst enemy, unless that enemy was a meth fiend.
   
   Back in the day, Henry Lee Summer had this hit called "I Wish I Had a Girl (Who Walked Like That)" that was played incessantly in bars and on rock radio.
   
   I thought that he would be a flash in the pan, a one-trick one-hit wonder.
   
   I didn't expect this to happen to him, though.
   
   I never liked his music anyway, but this is pretty damn sad. He had a promising career, money, fame, limoes and all the booze his liver could handle.
   
   But as one addict pointed out to me a few years ago in Victoria, BC, "Blow may be bad, but crystal is a whore."
   
   I hope Henry Lee can pick up the pieces, quickly enough. Compared to the crap currently heard on "hit" radio, his one-hit had class.
   
   Consider this as a wake-up call for all the one-hit ponies who believe in their own invincibility - you are NEVER invincible; you are NEVER untouchable; you are NEVER immune to addiction.
   
   Moving right along...
   
   
2. Swine Flu Apocalypse! Head to the hills: the Day of Judgment is nigh!
   
   Simple rules.
   
   Wash hands.
   Cook food.
   Stay home, take fluids if sick.
   See doctor.
   Repeat.
   
   In the end, it will all pass.
   
   
3. Windows 7: what Vista should have been.
   (And why you should AND shouldn't download the Release Candidate.)
   
   For the past 4 months I've been beta-testing Windows 7 and at this point I'm resigned to the fact that this is a better Windows operating system than the overworked, overburdened Vista platform.
   
   It does have the flash of Vista, but it doesn't tax your system, especially after you sign in and realize that the damn thing is still loading apps left, right and centre.
   
   In fact, when I received the email from MS announcing the release of the Win 7 RC, I was more than willing to replace my Vista Basic (a better version than the bloated Home "Premium" edition, in my opinion).
   
   But here's the dilemma - I'm running a dual-core Celeron with 2 Gigs of RAM and an overclocked GeForce 9600 video card. I have partitioned the 320-Gig internal drive 3-ways: one for Vista (loaded on someone else's XP installation - long story); one for Win 7 Beta (Release 7000); one for programs and games. I've downloaded the 32-bit version of the RC and burned it onto a DVD. This one would take up 16 Gigs of space, making it almost a full OS release in its own right.
   
   I'd really love to do the whole makeover of my system, creating a mini Win 7 powerhouse, except for the fact that I will have to do it without a net, since unlike the Beta, there will be virtually no support. This means that a) I would be taking a great leap of faith on something that is actually the Son of Vista©; and b) if this blows up, I'd be screwed!
   
   My suggestion for all you who are considering taking similar leaps of faith is this: think very carefully. And as soon as you are ready to let the RC take over, pray. A lot. Often.
   
   Because, for every promise, there shall always be a little disappointment, even if this version of the Win 7 may be the best thing since sliced bread or grocery-store roast chicken.
   
   So far, my Win 7 beta hasn't disappointed me.

And so... there you go. I'm off to bed.

The Occasional Rant - Well, I Knew It Had To End, Somehow.

There are a few things that are certain and guaranteed in life.

Death is one of them.

Paying taxes is another one (just ask any average working stiff about that).

Growing old is yet another one.

So I'm not shedding any tears for the demise of the "Trailer Park Boys" for the simple reason that the show has run its course.

I knew for the fact that one way or another, Ricky, Julian, Bubbles and company will grow up.

I knew that Season 7 would be the final one.

You could see the outcome in the last episode: the trio hardly smiled throughout the series, yet in the very last scene, they all found an epiphany, a closure, a new beginning.

It may also be because that final episode of that season featured one of the last appearances of Denny Doherty of the Mamas and Papas (and the "Theodore Tugboat" series, BTW).

There is something about the number 7 being the lucky number.

Maybe after 7 years of bad luck, the beleaguered denizens of Sunnyvale Trailer Park were just looking forward to moving on, beyond the bottle tossing, the dope growing, J-Roc's endless schemes and 'hood intentions, Lucy's fake boobs, stray kitties, Julian's ubiquitous rum'n'coke (check out the original "Trailer Park Boys" movie for the origin - it ain't that pretty), Randy's well-exposed cheeseburger-belly...

Maybe, it's because we all grew up, out and beyond.

We could all relate to the people at Sunnyvale: they were like us, with faults, shortcomings, dreams, ambitions.

But there could only be so many stories to create, tell, portray. Eventually, everything that had to be said and done, has been filmed, edited, released, syndicated, put out on DVD and shown again in edited reruns.

So, thanks and G-d Bless to all those who participated for one fucking hell of a good run.

TBP was part of the spirit of the age. Let's keep it that way.

Because, eventually, we'll soon get too old for that shit.

The Occasional Rant:Polite Country, Aren't We?

We're so polite no-one would ever think about messing with us, eh?

Otherwise, someone might wind up losing his head.

Literally.

By now, the whole world knows that Canada is a great country to live in.

A safe place full of peace loving peoples and knife wielding psychos.

Because where else can you feel safe riding a bus anywhere, let alone drive one in any given city?

Consider the fact that our crime rates are always falling.

Even the fictional Ministry of Truth in Orwell's "1984" (a very prophetic book, IMO) couldn't come up with anything sunnier than what StatsCan™ would cook up on any given day.

Yes, kids - this is shaping up to be one HELL of a summer here in the Great White North.

Thank fuck.

The Occasional Rant - Jeff Healy / I stand corrected on Ellen Page / A tale of 2 Steve-O's

My work sucked donkeys Monday night.

Maybe because it was the first Monday of the month, where the mundane became weird and the weird became completely obnoxious.

If I had a dollar for every single company store cock-up, I wouldn't be blogging: I'd be banking, partying and sit around in South Beach sipping vodka sours and watching the thongs pass by.

The suck-ass weather didn't help matters much either. My sinuses went Jihadi and forced me to knock back the last sinus care caplet with my morning tea.

It was one of the worst of times to be on my best behaviour. And even that it getting tested beyond its breaking point.

Enough of my life. Here we go...

1. Angel eyes on Jeff. Back in the day, Jeff Healy could rock the blues and funk the jazz out of his Strat. Like the other Jeff (Jeff Beck), he could bend the fuck out of his notes while the single coils transmit the sonic fire to the masses.
   Most of all, Jeff Healy was a gentleman, a Mensch, a sonic entrepreneur who parleyed his talents to different avenues such as his own hot jazz/blues club in the T-dot.
   But, for those who know better, Jeff was a fighter and a survivor. The cancer that stole his eyes didn't steal his love of music, nor did it still the hands that wrenched it out of any Fender that was lying around at any time.
   Last Sunday night, Jeff went down fighting.
   Charlie was too tenacious, too fast, too ingrained.
   Charlie didn't care who he took. Be it man, woman, child, Charlie was a glutton for flesh, tissue, organs and cells.
   But Charlie can never take souls. He failed to still Jeff's hunger for the perfect sound and stifle his dream of doing good for the love of music.
   Love. Music. Life. The God-blessed trinity that keep me alive fueled Jeff's life, right to the end.
   Our existence on this planet is always transient, yet the works and legacies that we create will outlive us for better, for worse, and for those willing to follow in our steps.
   Jeff was but one of many. Yet, at 41, he had lived and loved more than people twice his age, if only because his life, like ours, was transient.
   For me, 41 is too damn young. My sister's 41. I was once 41. And yet we all felt that there was more work to be done, more sights to see, more mountains to climb.
   We'll see you on the other side, Jeff Healy.
   My condolences, love and respect to those who loved him.
   
   
2. Gauging Page again. I swear that this will be the last time I take Ellen Page's name in vain again.
   A few posts ago, I've mentioned that Ellen may be this generation's Molly Ringwald.
   Then, while I was at work, something really hit me.
   Ellen is not- repeat, not - Molly.
   She's our Christina Ricci.
   Or maybe Winona Ryder.
   In fact, after watching "Juno" and "Hard Candy", I believe that Ellen has the versatility possessed by these 2 stars.
   Having said that, I should just go and get a life instead.
   Ellen is simply... Ellen. And I'll leave it at that.
   
   
3. A tale of 2 Steve-O's. As I'm getting next to comatose, I'll keep these 2 items short.
   a) Steve-O busted.
   b) Steve-O busted.
   Discuss amongst yourselves. Which one is more Jackass than the other?
   Can you see the difference?
   Maybe it's because one of them beat up something while the other one is getting beaten up from all sides.
   Who will survive? Stay tuned.
   

And so, there you go.

The Occasional Rant - Go, Leafs... oh... nevermind. Ellen Page - the new Molly Ringwald? Why Afghaninstan is not Canada's Iraq.

Just what the Doctor ordered. Open wide..

1. Giving it up for the Blue and White? Just give up. The big question nipping at the synapses of athletic gourmands is whether the Toronto Maple Leafs would turn around and surprise everyone with a resurrection of sorts.
   
   As a terminal Torontonian (my creds: born at Mount Sinai; treated for many ailments at Sick Kids; knows that Yonge and Dundas is not as bad or evil as it used to be; misses the yeasty malt waft from the old Molson brewery on the Lakesore as it hit HMCS York), I suffer every single season. I remember the last Stanley Cup parade - I was all of 3 years old when pandemonium hit downtown and my parents took me to experience the thrill of seeing the sacred Cup in the hands of the Chosen and Deserving. To me, everyone was all of 3 years of age at that point.
   
   But now, long after Harold Ballard had become nothing but dust, bone and shady memory, the Leafs have imploded. Not that they ever had any major success since 1967 - they've been frustrated bridesmaids many a time, but never holders of the battered Grail - but this year, the effects of that drought are starting to fray the nerves of even the newbiest of newbies. At last count, after getting pwned at home 8-0 Tuesday night by the Florida Panthers - based in a state where snow is what someone would rather snort than shovel - the once and future Kings of Carlton St. share the dank basement with the likes of Tampa, Chicago and LA. The former dynastic Islander powerhouse is now even a shadow of its former self, its fans no doubt intent on commiserating with their counterparts.
   
   But this is not about how to improve the team. This is a eulogy, a requiem for a throwaway season. This may sound defeatist, but there is a fine line between optimism and full-blown delusion. Rather than hope for a miraculous turnaround, rather than goad an already battered team into further oblivion, we should just show our love for the Blue and White, win or lose, and give up on the rest of the season.
   
   This isn't just for the good of the team. It's also for your own health. There's always next season. Consider this roster under construction and cut them enough slack to let them make mistakes from which they could learn. And come playoff time, learn to say this mantra with all your heart...
   
   GO, SENS, GO!
   
   Next...
   
   
2. Juno Pretty in Pink? I'm probably going to piss off a lot of fanboiz and fangrrlz by saying that there isn't anything special about Ellen Page.
   
   In a field over-saturated by wide-eyed ingenues and hyper-precocious twinks (hello, Hannah Montana?), Ellen may be seen as a hot, gawky woman with all the quirks associated with opinionated youth. Then again, having lived in the Halifax-Dartmouth area since 2002, there are many women like Ellen/Juno who posses these same qualities. Hell... one of my co-workers recently gave birth to a healthy baby boy, and she was just 17 when the bun was placed in her oven (big-up, congrats, mad-love and respect, Amanda). So, what's up about Juno and the hamburger phone, eh?
   
   To be fair, I have yet to see this movie, but I remember a similar hype with another ingenue who broke out on the scene via teen flicks - Molly Ringwald.
   
   Mmmmmm - how I loved her all-American gawkishness and her fiery red hair, and the way she scowled at Judd Nelson in "The Breakfast Club".
   
   There could be so many similarities between Ellen and Molly - both of them started out on television (Ellen: "Pit Pony", "Re-Genesis", "Trailer Park Boys"; Molly: "The Facts of Life"). Both of them went to interesting schools (Ellen: Shambhala School; Molly: Lycée Française School in Los Angeles). And most interestingly, they both appeared in movies about teen pregnancy (Ellen: y'know; Molly: "For Keeps?").
   
   Surprise, surprise. I think I've found a match. 20 years apart.
   
   It would be very interesting if both these ladies get together for some lunch, maybe at the Wooden Monkey in downtown Halifax, where they serve this chocolate walnut tofu cheesecake to kill for - yummy, muthafuckah! - and maybe do a film together. Think of this as passing the torch from one gen to another.
   
   For now, Ellen Page is a work in progress. While she does have some career mileage, she really has to do something that would make everyone shout "What the f---!" rather than say "What the f---", "Hard Candy" and "The Tracey Fragments" notwithstanding. The upcoming adaptation of "The Stone Angel" might just do the trick. In the meantime, for patriotic purposes, Ellen (along with Wintersleep, Classified, Buck 65 and John Dunsworth, among many in the Maritimes) has been declared Jacques Approved™!
   
   Having said that, I still believe that she'll win the Oscar some other time.
   
   Next...
   
   
3. Quagmire is Peter Griffin's Neighbour! Stéphane Dion's heart may go on, but in the here-and-now, the Gritmeister is in a quandary.
   
   His party, many moons ago, volunteered this country to go into Afghanistan to rebuild and keep the Taliban and al-Qaeda zealots at bay, if not six feet under. Current Prime Minister Stephen Harper ensured that the boys and girls - my brothers and sisters - take advantage of this mandate to ensure the freedom, dignity and respect for the many disparate tribes that make the Afghan nation.
   
   As everyone should know by now, this had been easier said than done - every tribe has one form of beef or another, and most deaths amongst the local populace could be attributed to longstanding vendettas dating way before the Mullahs or Comrade Ivan ran things. All things considered, the Canucks have gone above and beyond the call of duty to keep the masses on their watch from killing each other.
   
   The problem that Dion has right now is that he wanted to remove the troops or at least limit their commitment after Feb 2009. Harper wanted to maintain the status quo beyond that date, provided that NATO would do more to help out in the region around Kandahar.
   
   Granted - Afghanistan is not Quebec, and multiculturalism there is more of the "You suck" - "You suck even more than your momma" variety. And in this region of the world, our concept of liberal democracy is as strange to them as female circumcision is to us. To those people who believe that we should stick to peacekeeping, think about this problem - remember Yugoslavia? Rwanda? If we have kept the peace there, why are there still more unmarked graves turning up? Peace, love and flowers, and a "Star Trek" solution are not the answers - in order to have peace, you have to create it, and as much as you hate the thought, a loaded weapon with the safety off does a better job than hugs and "Kumbaya". You have to make it to keep it, and our people over there are doing just that - policing the peace.
   
   The real big issue is that in spite of all our best efforts, we're still not feeling the love from our NATO "partners". Ignoring the need for more resources in this volatile region will make more Canadians resent the commitment to carry out the task. And an emasculated central government doesn't help the cause any better. As much as Hamid Karzai can talk a great talk, he still has to learn the baby steps to walk the walk, one step at a time.
   
   Whether Dion, Layton and that guy from the Bloc Québec-wha'? realise the big picture as much as Steve-O remains to be seen. I'm not holding my breath - neither should anyone who cares about the security of others as well as ourselves. And to be fair, if you need to commit, you need the love, and Steve-O should step up more often to ensure that our "partners" send more of it over. And soon. Or else.
   

And BTW - I'm working on my first proper YouTube posting. The first true post - a test-run - really sucks donkeys, but it's a start. All that's really needed are better lighting and a script.

And so... there you go.

The Occasional Rant: Dead Celebs; Vista is Satan; PC-hostile CDs; Stéphane Dion Might Be Right After All; And Then Some...

Hey, les Gang! Life as a wage slave may suck, but at least there's time for some more bitching and scratching.

So here we go...

1. Heath Ledger. Brad Renfro. RIP. Could it be the alignment of planets? Could it be that the death-watch focus on Britney, Lindsay and Amy have failed these 2 tortured souls in an industry where looks and performance intertwine? Has Western-civilised society in general become so shallow that the pain and struggle experienced by the famous few get scrutinised under the paparazzi microscope while the common, obscure majority dealing with the same issues get ignored, mocked and even exiled to wallow in their own private hells?
   
   It makes a sane person mad with the desire to kill Dr. Phil, the fake, phony, trivialising bastard-fuck of a charlatan who tried to make Britney his personal experiment, but failed. Where was he when Brad had his demons? Where was he when Heath had to deal with being the Joker for the Dark Knight? Does he care for all of the tortured people, or is he content being Oprah's lap-dog?
   
   I know pain, pressure, desperation. These guys deserved better. Love and respect to those who do.
   
   
2. Vista: Bill Gates's "Fuck You" to PC owners? Hands up all those who still chafe under the yoke of Windows Vista.
   
   Here's the story so far... I got myself a nice little HP laptop preloaded with the infamous OS, loaded up on my favourite games while being challenged every time by its built-in sentry, blah blah blah. In spite of it all, things started getting copacetic. Right?
   
   Well, on Tuesday I booted up the laptop, clicked on the IE button and got a nice little F-You from the system. Just when it was trying to load the Yahoo!© homepage, the damn browser went tits-up on me. Windows stepped in to shut it down with a couple of killer pop-ups of its own, then after I clicked on the "Close Program" button, a balloon appeared on the lower right-hand corner of the screen saying that an app called "Data Execution Prevention" kept the browser from running and ruining the Vista Utopia.
   
   Somehow, the OS assumed that IE would crash and burn and that the entire system would scream blue screen. But I led me to think that of all the OSes I've tried, Vista was one of the worst.
   
   In fact, the only (relatively) robust OS I've ever experienced was IBM's late, lamented OS/2 Warp 4. I worked with it during my time at BMO and it rarely gave any grief, especially while monitoring the bank's vast array of branch nodes and ABMs.
   
   A year-and-a-half later, BMO installed Windows NT, and all hell broke loose.
   
   For a corporation with a virtual monopoly on PC OSes, they should've done their homework before ditching XP in favour of an Apple-lite wannabe. Maybe I should've bought a Mac instead.
   
   
3. Can someone help me with these CDs?
   
   I've tried ripping these CDs for my "jukebox":
   
   Nelly Furtado - Folklore (crashed WMP, CD-DA)
   Bright Eyes - I'm Wide Awake - It's Morning (crashed CD-DA, unreadable by WMP)
   The Mars Volta - Deloused in the Comatorium (Track 10: "Take the Veil Cerpin Taxt" - crashed both CD-DA and WMP)
   
   IMO, Furtado's "Folkore" was a great release, but when I tried to even play the CD, the laptop went "F-U" on me. Same thing with the Bright Eyes disc. Connor Oberst is without a doubt a true fuckin' pop music genius - next to Tom Waits, Richard Thompson, Ben Folds... But was it his idea to make "Wide Awake" so cyber-hostile - the entire OS went Jihadi on me when I popped it in. Like, WTF dude? The Volta's "Comatorium" equals anything put out by At The Drive In in terms of intensity and lyricism, but the last track was a whore, eventually forcing both rippers to yell "Kamerad!" before expiring.
   
   If anyone has similar ripping war-stories, et al, let me know. If you know a cure, e-mail me. Please. Like, right freakin' now. 'kay?
   
   
4. Stéphane Sticks It to the Man. It's a lot better when read out loud.
   
   He who is not Céline recently made a comment that, surprisingly, made a lot of sense.
   
   And so said Stéphane the man...
   
   

   "We are going to have to discuss that very actively if they (the Pakistanis) are not able to deal with it on their own. We could consider that option with the NATO forces in order to help Pakistan help us pacify Afghanistan," said Mr. Dion in Quebec City, commenting after his two-day trip to Afghanistan last weekend. "As long as we don't solve the problem in Pakistan, I don't see how we can solve it in Afghanistan."
   
   The Liberal leader explained that Afghan officials told him they know where the extremist strongholds are in Pakistan. But he said the Afghans don't take action.
   
   "One day, we are going to have to act because our soldiers are cleaning out some areas, but in fact very often they are only clean in principle. The insurgents go take refuge in Pakistan and they are going to come back (to Afghanistan) at the earliest opportunity. This could last very long if we don't tackle the problems that often originate from Pakistan," Mr. Dion said.
   
   Defence Minister Peter MacKay told Canwest News Service Dion's comments were off base.
   
   "Mr. Dion can't be serious to suggest NATO "intervene," in another country while simultaneously saying Canada should abandon its United Nations-mandated NATO mission in Afghanistan," he said in an e-mail.
   
   "He has to explain to Canadians why he wants an "intervention" but wants to turn his back on Afghanistan, which has asked and continues to ask for Canada's help. It's inane."

   With all due blah blah blah... most of what Monsieur Dion said made a lot of sense - Taliban come in, leave IED, fuck-off to the other side. If the Pakistanis have trouble teaching the Taliban manners, why couldn't we help these "brothers" out?
   
   Don't forget: Pakistan, like all the other 'stans, is Islamic. Period. And to many, if not most in that land, the Taliban are brothers. To date, 78 of my brothers and sisters have gone to a better life thanks to these Jihadis, and Musharraf doesn't seem to be doing enough to rein in these murderers who have also sent innocent Muslim civilians to paradise.
   
   Right about now, the 78 Canucks, including Sapper Gonthier, are each probably enjoying 70 virgins and endless showings of classic NHL - the ones with the Rocket and Bill Barilko. After all, they too are Allah's children, aren't they?
   
   
5. Gauging the Rage About Page. (And why I'm being very cautious about what I really want to say without hurting too many feelings.)
   
   Think of this as a bookend.
   
   Ellen Page is without a doubt one of Hali's best exports next to Keith's, Sloan, April Wine and (even though they're from Cole Harbour, but who cares?) the Trailer Park Boys.
   
   Now, I admit to seeing Ellen a few years ago passing through along Young St. once in a while - she attended the Shambhala school which is located not too far from CFB Stadacona. Didn't know or care who she was. She was just another face. But thanks to a few choice roles in some movies ("Hard Candy", "The Tracy Fragments", "Mouth to Mouth", "Juno"), she has gotten more than a foot in the door - she's now in the house.
   
   I also have to mention the fact that she did appear in Season 2 of Trailer Park Boys as Treena Lahey, the sensible offspring of the oft incoherent park super Jim Lahey (played by the inimitable John Dunsworth).
   
   Everyone is talking about "our Ellen" being in the running for the Oscar. I hate to say this, but she's got herself some pretty stiff competition - and that's not just the Torontonian in me saying this: I'm being a bit realistic. Cate Blanchett, Julie Christie (remember "The Demon Seed"? Wicked-ass flick.), Marion Cotillard (c'est qui?) and Laura Linney all want a piece of that action.
   
   I'd love to see Ellen win one, not only for Hali but for all of the Great White North. But truthfully, the golden doorstop has a tendency to go to the classic (Julie Christie has been around since I was half Ellen's age), the pretentious (Cotillard, who won the Golden Globe for Best Actress, played Édith Piaf in the sprawling "La vie en rose") or the all-American. Also, I haven't really experienced too many dark-horse wins, let alone wins by newbie talent.
   
   Ellen, with all due respect since she might be reading this, is a newbie talent compared to the competition. I'm saying that this is not her time. I'd give her 2 more years, more mature roles and storylines, and maybe an appearance on "Red Eye", then she will have enough cred to bring home the hardware.
   
   After all, where the hell is JK Simmons, the man who played Juno's dad? Why did he not get a nod?
   
   Of course, I may be proven wrong. Ellen is talented. And if you take her Canuck career, she does have milage via tv and indie productions. So maybe the Oscar would be considered the icing on the cake.
   
   For now - I'm picking Julie Christie. Better luck next year, Treena Lahey.

And so... there you go.

The Unknown Good Stuff In '06 and '07:How I Lived to be 44 So Far

In spite of what I had to go through these years, I feel a little more empowered and free.

No more would I need an excuse to get hammered on my spare time, nor find myself broke for any other reason than having to pay rent, groceries and utilities.

(Okay... I did have to get games for the Playstation, but that's another story.)

I could finally fit into my jeans. After spending so much time struggling to fit 38 inches into a 32-inch pair of dungarees, I had to tighten my belt quite a bit.

Poverty and starvation can do that. Trust me.

All kidding aside, I am in process of releasing all these years of anger and self-loathing that ironically have driven my previous endeavours, both legit and illicit.

The funny thing about creativity and maintaining muses is that there has to be something that nourishes the process and perpetuates the momentum. Sometimes, the spark would come from a single, repetitive act, an occurring ritual that would define a person's head space. Sometimes, there would be a chemically induced revelation, an alcoholic epiphany, a hallucinogenic awakening that would give birth to a song, a drawing, a rant on a blog.

As you can see, all my writings were done under some kind of influence. And sometimes, like DUI, there would be a little collateral damage.

Have my Muses abandoned me? Has the Fire been squelched? HELL NO!

I believe that through adversity and bullshit, I've become, if not stronger, at least more at peace, more considerate, maybe even more aware of what's around me.

Yes... there will be haters everywhere who will think that once you've got the Disease, you're lost forever. I don't subscribe to the Darwinist fascism of immediate disposability (except for some extreme circumstances). The Disease always has a source, and within that source lies the cure.

Yes, I was, I am, and I will always be an addict. Once you get a taste, the taste will linger as long as you're above ground. For every rush, there will always be the crash, and most true addicts would dwell on the former than contemplate the latter. With sobriety, though, there's no difference between the two - both have equal weight and are necessary to maintain balance and order.

I'll still love and hate as usual, except that my targets will be attainable. I realise that I can't change the world as much as I like - I have enough problem changing myself as it is right now. As for the bridges that I have burned behind me in my years as an addict, leave them be - God will sort out the rest.

In other words, I am still Jacques. Nothing more. Nothing less. And there's still work to be done.

007... and before I forget...

For the remainder of the year, I shall forgive everyone who had pissed me off for for any reason (real or imagined).

Starting in the New Year, though, the beatings will resume.