Phew. . .

Just learned that American Idol is actually going to do the right thing and ignore the guy's past.

Good. Now I can safely go back to not caring about American Idol.

I feel better already.

A question. . .

How is it that one can work a legitimate, legal job and yet face possible expulsion from a game show on moral grounds? Why do we as a society allow this just because the job happens to be stripping? I mean, if we are to judge jobs from a moral viewpoint, wouldn't we be better off shunning the owners of payday loan joints? Or slums?

Apparently, there is a guy on American Idol who used to work as a stripper. Now I've only watched about 2 episodes of American Idol in my life. I have absolutely no interest in who gets chosen. I just get frustrated by all of this hypocritical moralizing. Who cares what the guy did for a living? How does this affect how well he sings?

It reminds me of the infamous "wardrobe malfunction" at the Super Bowl a few years ago. The incident occurred in the middle of a game where grown men basically attempt to tear each other limb from limb. After the game, the network aired the season premiere of a game show (Survivor) where people lie, cheat and connive their way to victory. For all that, we are told that the most immoral thing to happen that night was the sudden appearance of a woman's breast. How does that happen?

I'm not trying to defend stripping. I really could not care less, one way or the other. All I'm saying is that, if the job is legal (he was licensed), what right do we have to pass judgement?

Canuck Book 7 - The Architects Are Here by Michael Winter

I just finished book 7 in the Canadian Book Challenge.

Michael Winter's The Architects Are Here is a book I was really looking forward to loving. What was there not to love? After The Big Why, Winter returns to a story focused on his fictional alter-ego Gabriel English, the protagonist of one of my favourite books, This All Happened. Furthermore, the book is a road story of sorts, winding from Toronto to Newfoundland with stops and detours along the way. Again, this is something I normally love.

At the end of it all, the book did not live up to my expectations. It would be easy to say I set my sights too high, but I don't think this is the case. Mr. Winter is an excellent writer and there is some excellent writing in this book. It's just the story gets muddled in a series of outlandish coincidences and strange acts that did not always ring true to me.

To be clear, this is not a bad book. I enjoyed reading it. Gabriel English is one of my favourite fictional characters and I hope Mr. Winter returns to him in the future. It's just the story did not hold together as well as I had hoped. Near the end of the book, you get this feeling that the end is near. . . And then he pulls back. Then he builds another climax, then pulls back. You start to feel as if you're floating close to shore, feeling the waves push you forward, draw you back, then push you forward all over again. By the time you land on the shore, it feels less like a conclusion, then that you simply ran out of room.

With that said, I must make it clear that I do love his writing. There is a sharpness to it that I love. Like his fellow Burning Rock alumnus, Lisa Moore, Winter's writing style jettisons all extraneous punctuation to create a text that is very fluid. Dialogue mingles with description, thoughts with actions.

A long time ago, I read a review of one of his earlier books by a blogger who complained about this. She took the lack of punctuation to be a sign of disrespect for the language. It stuck with me all this time because I could not believe how wrong she was. To write the way Mr. Winter does, requires a great deal of respect for the language. He is not simply forgetting to put in punctuation. Instead, he is actively withholding the punctuation to better serve the story he is telling, in the way he wants to tell it. It works because he has taken the time to make sure it is done right.

For those unfamiliar with Mr. Winter's work, I would recommend picking up This All Happened first. Get yourself acquainted with Gabriel English and his world. After that, pick up The Architects Are Here. It's not perfect, but it tries.

My Book is a Success. . .

. . . in a small, but satisfying way.

The storybook I made of my trip to New York City for my 5 year old niece was a hit. So was the monkey itself. My niece has already arranged for readings both in Junior Kindergarten and also in daycare on Friday (she's a bit of a type-A personality).

I'm big in Sioux Lookout. Not many people can say that. Furthermore, I'm also almost through my first printing. Of course, my first printing was 5 copies done at Kinkos and the price was free, but those are just details. And who really cares about details anyways?

Anyways, I have 2 more days with CN. It's strange - and a bit scary - but it's time. I've been with CN since the summer after high school. I worked summers on the gangs doing trackwork. Then I moved on to work as a conductor. Finally, I've spent the past few years as a commuter central officer dealing with the GO Trains.

Starting next Monday, I will be working with GO Transit. This involves a number of changes. Payday will become Tuesday instead of Thursday. I'll now have a pension and a retirement fund. And I'll have much less vacation for now.

Did I ever mention that I'm not really good with change?

But the money's good and the people are great to work with. Furthermore, I get to keep working downtown, a fact that is quite important to me. Transit to Vaughan kind of sucks and that's what I probably would have been stuck with if I had stayed with CN (I'm glad I have my license but I have no interest in owning a car any time soon).

So I am off to greener pastures and it feels. . . well. . . odd. Good as well, though, which is the main thing.

What keeps me up at night. . .

. . . laughing.

http://www.emophilips.com/video/

Check out the video "Vintage VidEmo: No Glass Bottles".

The fall of the Western Empire

I will be the first to admit the above clip is funny. . . For a minute. Then it just becomes sad. Now before we Canucks start feeling all high and mighty, realize that we are not that much better. We are capable of being just as short-sighted as our southern neighbours when it comes to the myriad issues that lie beyond what is presented on prime time TV.

What really disturbs me is how little she really cares about her ignorance. She makes her flippant remark about how she knows more than men and then she laughs a little but you can tell she is not really bothered by it at all. She is not even burying her head in the sand; she just brushes it off because "who knew that 'hungry' was a country?" Wait until she finds out that Hamburg is not just something she buys at the local McDonald's.

I can accept that our society is getting dumber. I guess it was bound to happen sooner or later. I do find it sad that we as a society have chosen wilful ignorance at a time when the tools of knowledge have never been so widespread, cheap and available. What bothers me is how easy it is happening. How quickly we have dismissed anything that is vaguely intellectual in favour of some homogenized mess of slogans and pratfalls.

Almost half a century ago, JFK told a nation to "Ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country."

Nowadays, that sentence would have to be jettisoned in favour of a short sound bite. I mean, how dare he ask the citizens to actually get up off their couches and do something? Next thing you know, they might start asking questions for themselves. Who knows? Maybe, someday in the future, they might even dig out a map and figure out where Hungary is.

Canuck Book 6 - King Leary by Paul Quarrington

Finally finished King Leary by Paul Quarrington. For a funny book, it took me a while to really get into. More to the point, for a funny book, it wound up packing a punch that was both unfunny and surprisingly effective.

The more I think about the book, the more I like it and the more I realize the skill and care that went into it. In the last third of the book, I had many of those 'a-ha' moments where I would finally get where Quarrington was going with some of the asides and digressions. The only other Quarrington book I've ever read is Whale Music, a book I liked a lot. While this one took longer to grow on me, I will definitely be reading more of his work.

In thinking about the book, I realize more and more that I should have paid greater attention to its title, because much of the Bard's Lear can be found in this king of the ice. It's not a retelling by any stretch of the imagination, but the influence is there. These are tales of Kings without kingdoms. While Lear gives his up, Leary winds up outliving his, hanging onto a title that lost meaning years ago for most everyone but him.

King Leary is a tragicomedy born of hubris and selfishness. On one level, it revolves around a trio of friends from Ottawa who go on to careers in professional hockey. Leary and Manny Oz become players while Clay Bors Clinton becomes owner of the Toronto Leaves. Oz falls to alcohol and a broken heart. Clinton falls to the excesses of his lifestyle. All that's left of the trio is Leary, Indian name Loofweeda, stuck in an old age home with Blue Hermann, one-time hockey scribe and full-time boozehound.

On another level, the story follows Leary, his ghosts, Hermann and an orderly on a trip to Toronto for King Leary night at the Gardens. The next day, Leary is supposed to film a ginger ale commercial with the latest rising hockey star. The story bounces back and forth between the two narratives. The aged Leary is even prone to spells where the two tales intrude upon each other and overlap.

King Leary is a book about memory, family and the unpleasant decisions that we are faced with. It's also a book about hockey, for sure, but it’s more about the mythical side of hockey. It's about the sort of hockey that gets dragged out once a year on CBC so we can watch rosy-cheeked kids wobble around on outdoor rinks and pat ourselves on the back for loving such an odd spectacle. For all the mess that Leary's life becomes, he still believes in the game.

It's the people who take part in the game that are all messed up.