Bait Your Breath, Friends

I haven't forgotten you.
This is the typical "I've been neglecting my blog" post.  I've just been too busy settling into my new job, and with a crazy-busy Sketch22 schedule to find time to even surf the web, let alone post witty and insightful commentaries on the important things in life.
Once things settle down, I'll be back at it.

The One In Which Rob Gets A New Job

The ink is still wet on the contract that I signed.  The one that says I am now employed (well, I start in 10 days).
It's been a long time coming.  Back in May of last year, when I was employed by MBS Radio, the CHTN portion of Magic 93/CFCY/CHTN was forced by the CRTC to go out on its own, and with it, a large portion of the staff went too.  What happened was CFCY and Magic 93 were MBS stations, and CHTN was a Newcap station.  Because of the small size of the market, it was deemed, a number of years ago, that it would be in the best interest of all to pool resources and building and office, and all work together.  Then, last year, the CRTC reversed that decision and said that CHTN would have to move into its own digs and operate as a separate company.  So, a bunch of people from the amalgamated MBS/Newcap group left with Newcap.

I wasn't one of the lucky ones to leave and become part of the Newcap family of radio station employees.  I stayed at MBS and continued working for MBS, a company, shall we say, not known for its affection for its employees.  One of the people who did leave was the Creative Director. He and I comprised the Creative Department, and so when he left, I was on my own for a period of time, until such time a second writer was hired.  I had assumed the duties and responsibilities of the Creative Director, with the promise of compensatory financial remuneration shortly in the future.  In good faith, I waited for that remuneration.  It never came, but the promises kept coming, however each time they seemed to be more and more vague.  So, in July, fed up with doing more work for the same amount of pay, and with no other job or prospect awaiting me, I gave my notice that I would be leaving the company.  I was asked to stay on until September and help train the people who would be replacing me.  Since it was in my interest to get paid that extra month and a half, I agreed.
So, in September, I left for good.  I had a bit of money in my pocket from Sketch stuff, and a couple of pretty good paying freelance jobs that came up right after I left, so I wasn't immediately concerned about money.  Too, I was fortunate to be eligible for EI, since they agreed that leaving the position was an option that I was more or less justified in taking.  So, while the money wasn't flowing in, we were able to get by more or less.  As the months wore on into the new year, the "get by more or less" kind of swung to the "less" side of things.  Not a lot of prospects in terms of jobs, and the ones I applied for didn't happen.
A couple of months ago, I was made aware that CHTN (Newcap) would be, sometime soon, hiring a bunch of new staff, and one of them was a second Creative Writer.  I pinned my hopes on getting that job.  It's a job that I quite enjoy and one that I seem to perform well.
So, the anticipatory waiting began.  It seemed to take forever for the job to get posted.  First they had to wait (forever) to get CRTC approval on their switch from AM to FM.  That came (in February, I believe), along with the approval of adding a second FM station for Newcap.  Then came the wait for when the switch to FM would take place.  Maybe in May.  No, maybe in June.  July?  Probably July.
Finally, the job I was hoping for was posted.  I applied.  It took a couple of weeks for a response on my application.  In those couple of weeks, I had pretty much talked myself out of any chance to get the job.  I was feeling kind of low.  Like I said, I had kind of pinned my hopes on this job and the more I told myself I was a great candidate for it, the more the back of my mind told me I wouldn't get it.  Finally, I was asked to come in for an interview.  It went okay.  Another 10 days of waiting.  Then, last night at 5:30, I was offered the job.  I was asked if I needed any time to think it over.  I said I'd been thinking it over for a number of months, and agreed to accept the offer.
So, today I went in and signed the contract.  I'll be making a nice chunk of change more than I was at MBS.  From all accounts from my former MBS colleagues who made the move last year to Newcap, they are a fantastic company to work for.  Best of all, many of the people who moved from MBS last year were the people I most enjoyed working with at MBS.  So, I'll be reunited with them all, and I won't have to go through that awful "new guy" period where I'm learning names and protocols, etc.
So, I'm pretty pleased.  It'll be great to work again with these people, and exciting to work at a radio station that, at this stage, really seems committed to giving PEI a couple of radio stations that will be fun to listen to.
Yay for me!

Butch, Sundance & Pamela Anderson

You may remember a couple of months ago, I was approached by a sort of grassroots marketing company and asked if I'd be interested in reviewing the newly released DVD of Pamela Anderson and posting it to my blog.  Of course you remember.  This blog is very important to you.  Anyway, I said I'd be delighted to do that (no qualms here about being a shill for the Hollywood machine).  So they sent me the DVD and I watched it, and posted what I thought was a fairly un-shill like review.  I'm not going to bother to find the post and provide a link to it, because somehow that implies these posts have worth.  And while I suspect a number of readers get disconsolate if I don't post something fresh for them to read each day, and they would argue that these posts do have worth, at least to them, I prefer to think of these posts as empty vessels.
So, I reviewed it and that was that.  Until today, when the same company emails me and asks if I'd be interested in presenting another review.  Whereas last time I had to trek through the sludge of comedy that focused far too much on Miss Anderson's gaping beaver (alleged)  (Alleged gaping, not alleged beaver, because I think we're all pretty sure she's not got dangling participles down there), this time I may have struck gold.  I'll be sent a DVD of a new collector's edition of one of my favourite movies:  Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.

And just now, having re-read those last couple of sentences, I realise how sad and pathetic it is to create a post about how one is excited about the anticipation of receiving a free DVD in return for being something of a corporate whore.
No.  I will not allow myself to fall for that kind of talk.  I am a valued member of the critical press.  My opinion is cherished.

It is also for sale.  If anyone else wants to send me stuff in return for my honest opinion of it, I'll gladly listen to your offers.  Perhaps you have a photo you took, and you have no idea if it's Art.  Send it to me, and I'll tell you.  Maybe you're in charge of soliciting low-ranking bloggers for their opinions on how well the latest video iPod works.  Send me one, and I'll tell the world what I think.  Maybe you sell frozen beefsteak from the western provinces and are trying to get a foothold here in Eastern Canada.  Ship some steaks my way and I'll cook 'em up and eat 'em.  Then I'll tell the great multitudes of readers (conservatively estimated now at at least tens of ones) whether they're worth purchasing.

Those Who Hate Them, Hate Them A Lot

Two of the more annoying TV pitchmen in recent Canadian television history have recently ended their run.
First, a couple of weeks ago, the very annoying Fake Scottish bloke who rudely confronted drinkers of Keiths beer was released from his contract, due to alleged dalliances into child pornography.
While I wish it could have been for something far less seedy, I am, of course, thankful that he's gone from the airwaves.  Because Those Who Hate Him, Hate Him A Lot.

And yesterday it was announced that The Canadian Tire Guy has been retired from the Canadian Tire advertising cycle.  Again, good news, I think, as I suspect that the shark has long been jumped by that campaign.
The Canadian Tire Guy has, actually, become quite a national phenomenon.  Especially the Hate that many people feel for him.  This very site happens to be the number one Google search result for "Canadian Tire Guy" and "I hate the Canadian Tire Guy".  Ironic, I think, since the post referencing him 'Why I Hate That Canadian Tire Guy' has very little to actually do with him.   I find it curious that so many people actively enter the search parameters "Hate Canadian Tire Guy", and I find it kind of funny that when they come to my post, they get a post that must leave them a bit miffed, due to the lack of reference to him.

And still the Curiouser keeps getting curiouser.  Today I received an email from a woman at The Ottawa Citizen asking if she could interview me for an article she's writing on his retirement.  My initial response was "no thanks. I have nothing of value to add to such a story."  But then I stopped and asked myself "What's the more interesting and potentially, more exciting thing to do?  Be interviewed or not be interviewed?"  Since the obvious answer is "be interviewed", and even though I still believed I had nothing of value to add to such an interview, I decided to do it.
So, I just got off the phone with the journalist.  We had a nice little chat about The Canadian Tire Guy, and also about the weirdness of how such an innocuous little post on such an innocuous little blog can lead to an interview (admittedly, on a rather innocuous little topic such as the Canadian Tire Guy's retirement).  I think I ended up offering a few interesting sound-bites.

And, what the whole thing has taught me is that I'm pretty tired of saying, hearing and typing the phrase Canadian Tire Guy.

Technorati Tags: CanadianTireGuy, blogging

RIFF 4 Shorts Review

I went last night to see both screenings of Reel Shorts at the Reel Island Film Festival.  That's a lot of sitting in those City Cinema seats, I'll tell ya!
Here, then, are my opinions on what I saw:
Pete Murphy's "The Olde Christmas Spirit" was shown first.  Frankly, this was a rough piece of work.  Pete, I think, has an interesting eye, but this film (as well as the few other films of his I've seen) suffers from poor acting, worse sound and lazy editing.  The story and script, too, could have benefitted tremendously from a prudent editor.  
The acting in the first scene was, I'd have to describe as, plodding.  Very slow and deliberate.  Couple that with languid edits and the film starts off at a less than energetic pace.  And slows down from there.  The main trouble with the acting of the lead actor is that he tries too too hard to act Angst and tries to play "Cool guy" too much.  His acting gets in the way of his, well, acting.
I could go on, I suppose, but I have to live in this town.
Next up was "Snowbird" The Search for Lonestar" by Scott Parsons.  An interesting, but slightly flawed, docu-drama on the origins of Gene McLellan's song Snowbird.  I say flawed because of too much reliance on voice-over narration to tell us what is going on.  It results in too much telling us the drama rather than showing us the drama.  The story is about this woman trying to find out about a guy named Lonestar, a former lover, who apparently co-wrote a song about her with Gene McLellan.  She's trying to find out about the song.  Turns out the song is Snowbird.  Little things bugged me.  Like when we flashback to the woman's younger days, when she's with Lonestar, she's wearing the same short denim shorts that she's wearing in "present day".  And there was no attempt to make her look younger in those flashback scenes.  Maybe that was a conscious decision, but to me it belied the reality of those scenes where she was supposed to be a teenager.  Especially since her "youthfulness" was supposed to be the thing that sets of the rest of the story.  Small complaints, really.
Third was Louise Lalonde's "Courir la chandeleur", a re-enactment of an old Acadien soiree, performed by Birchwood Intermediate French Immersion students.  This was an enjoyable film.  Yes, the acting of the junior high kids was pretty amateurish (and some of their French Immersion french was pretty rough), but their energy and enjoyment of the experience kept me interested.  Probably could have shortened the amount of time we see them dancing to a tune, though.  That seemed to go on a bit too long.
Speaking of going on a bit too long:  Jeremy Larter's "A.J." was a film that I absolutely hated and couldn't wait for it to be over.  Basically, this was a masterbatory piece of shit, where one guy, Jeremy Larter, points his camera at another guy (forget his name) who plays A.J. who may or may not be mentally handicapped and gets him to do "funny" stuff.  What a piece of crap and a waste of my time!  Scene after scene of this guy doing stupid, barely interesting, things.   There was no apparent attempt at structure.  Just random scene after scene of boring "look at me and how car-aaazy! I am" bullshit.
Thank goodness for Joey Weale's "Flagwar".  Basically, this film documents an elaborate game of capture the flag on the streets of Charlottetown.  Very well done, it kept me interested and entertained for almost its entirety.  I say "almost" because my only criticism is that it may be a few minutes too long, and a couple of times I wanted the action to move along, rather than showing me, yet again different versions of basically the same scene or idea.  The film employed a lot of still-photos to further the action, and at first I was worried that such a technique might bog the film down.  Nobody likes a slideshow, right.  But, to his credit, Joey made it work beautifully.  He used all kinds of tricks and techniques (without making them feel simply like tricks or techniques) to keep the action moving forward and to keep the audience engrossed and it worked wonderfully.  It's apparent that a great deal of thought and effort went into the production of film, and I was very much impressed with the whole thing.
Of the first round of Reel Shorts, Flagwar got my "viewer's choice" vote.

The second round of Reel Shorts was basically a display of the talents of Fox Henderson.  Five of the nine shorts were either "all credits by Fox Henderson" and one other (Jack and The Mud Queen) utilized his studio and talents (to the point where I thought it was another by him, but in fact was directed by Devon McGregor).  Rather than go through each of his films, I'll offer a general opinion of his work.  First of all, it's obvious that he's a very talented guy and so much of his work is impressive.   Last year, he had a few animated films entered in RIFF 3, and my criticism then was that his films were technically interesting but failed on the story, editing and acting fronts.  This year, all that improved dramatically, and I was very impressed with practically all of his work.  Dan Caseley was very good playing Mr. Death in a couple of very funny silent movies.  One aspect of his work that I don't care for is in his choice to re-record the dialogue in a controlled environment (just like the big movie-makers do).  While I understand the desire to want to control the sound, it can really adversely affect the performances if the actors aren't up to the over-dubbing task.  This was most apparent in my least favourite of his films "They That Did Dream".  The dialogue-audio re-dubbing was very intrusive to the enjoyment of the film.  But, since I didn't like the story at all anyway, I doubt that better audio would have helped much.
I was very much impressed with the look of Jack and The Mud Queen, and the acting of the lead actor was good, but, like other films presented, this story needed to move along a lot more quickly.  Once again, plodding direction gets in the way.
Onto the non-Fox Henderson films of Reel Shorts 2:
Daniel Arsenault's "Music Has Family Roots" was a trifling bit of music video.  Basically a single-camera, one shot thing showing two live musical performances of Michael and Robert Pendergast.  Apart from a slightly interesting projection effect, there wasn't much of interest in this, as a film.  The music performances were good, though.
"This and That" by Richie Mitchell was a film that I ended up not "getting".   I think it was about a guy who desired to be a gay thief, but wasn't because of a priest in a car who followed him around.  In one reality he has a companion who may or may not be his lover, and they steal some money from a store owner.  In another reality, he is alone, with no companion, and rather than steal from, is given an envelope by, the store owner.  He then gives the envelope to the priest.  When he sees his alternate-universe companion crossing the street, he gasps, but the priest shakes his head "no".  ???  There are also some shots of a woman walking down the street.  She has been shopping.  I didn't like this one very much.
And the other non-Fox film was my very own, Christmas Lights.  This film, of course, is brilliant, and above criticism.  Seriously, though, I am very proud of this film and think it's a pretty good piece of work.  It's a tight, compact, funny piece of tragic-comedy.   The audience seemed to like it quite a bit.
I do think (not really), however, that a conspiracy was hatched to confuse the audience (perhaps in an attempt to keep me from any chance of winning "viewer's choice"?).  First of all, on the website, my film was shown as being directed by Jason Rogerson.  That was later corrected.  Then, on the Viewer's Choice slips of paper that each audience member was given, Driving Lights was shown as being directed by Rob MacLean.  And, the title on the actual film is "Christmas Lights" not Driving Lights, but I think that one was an honest mistake.  All the rest, though, is an obvious attempt to confuse the audience.

Of the second round of Reel Shorts, I voted Christmas Lights as my "viewer's choice".  If it wasn't in the running, then my vote would have gone to Fox Henderson's "The Last Days of Death: After Life".  It was a very funny piece of comedy and my only criticisms of it are that it is too long and the joke doesn't go anywhere.  Each scene is merely a different version of the same joke.  It is only too long because it's one-joke retold again and again.  And again.  I wanted each scene to build on the previous scenes in some way, but they didn't.  As a result, the joke didn't have a conclusion.  It just ended.

In the past, I've railed against the Reel Island Film Festival for showing films that I didn't think were good enough to be shown.  I complained that RIFF's eyes were bigger than its stomach.  Meaning that the festival was too big for the amount and quality of films it screened.  This year's event, due to a lack of funding, was very much paired down compared to previous RIFF festivals.  Whereas in the past, they might have tried to have two evenings of shorts screenings and would have had to "water down" the overall quality in order to fill up all the slots, this year's festival, I think, benefitted by the single night (of shorts).  The result was an evening with a pretty solid lineup of shorts.  An impressive variety of films.
I do think they need to be careful, though, with the potential problem that the RIFF could turn into the Fox Henderson Film Festival.  Nothing against Fox, and his work is definitely worthy of being shown, but ideally, I would have liked to have seen a couple less entries from Fox and a couple more entries from other people.

Copper Acropolis - Chapter One

Ten years ago, I spent a winter writing some short stories, based on the pervasiveness of the Anne of Green Gables culture of the Island.
Over the holidays, as I was transferring files from an old dying computer, to a newer computer, I came across the folder of stories and started reading some of them.  One was kind of a comedic horror story called Copper Acropolis.  It has some funny elements to it, and some of the writing is kinda good, so I thought I'd serialize it here on The Annekenstein Monster.  Keep in mind, though, that it hasn't met an editor, so please, treat it with kindness.
Copper Acropolis is kind of a cross between Anne of Green Gables and Frankenstein.  Annekenstein itself, of course, was also the same amalgam of themes.  Anyway, read it or not, here is the first chapter (of 10). 

Chapter One:
‘Tarnished Homes and Egg Rolls’

                                  The old mansion stood atop one of the steeper hills in the community of Afton Road, overlooking the sinewy end of the East River tributary that flowed from the Hillsborough Bay.  A blood red dirt drive, its connection to Route 2 hidden amidst a heavy growth of scrub brush, peristaltically wound its way up the hill, through an overgrown grove of dying willow trees, breaking into an open field of grass that surrounded the large, ivory-white edifice.

The mansion was a three and a half story building; the top half story being composed of a large dome, which some of the older people around Afton Road claimed at one time housed an observatory.  A number of Greek columns supported the expansive veranda that occupied the whole width of the front of the house. Above the large, wooden double front doors, ‘Copper Acropolis’ was engraved into the sandstone; the engraving now as faded and worn as the rest of the stone of the house.

Large blocks of red Island sandstone were used as a facade around the house.  At some point in its life, the structure was bathed in a heavy coat of whitewash paint.  Due to the heavy, hard rains of countless springs, and the wind and snows of years of harsh Island winters, the whitewash had faded off the red stone in such a way that gave the impression, to those who saw the house from Route 2, that the building was bleeding.

Other than the blood-dripping red and bird-turd white of the faded whitewash stone, the only other colour to be seen on the outside of the mansion was the tarnished green of the window shutters, gables, and the many buttresses of the observation dome.  These adornments were all made of pure copper, and, when first installed on the house, how many years ago, no doubt would have been striking in their burnished copper lustre.  Now, through years of neglect, they looked dirty.  Thick green tarnished residue, along with the faecal droppings of generations of crows and other birds, had built up on the shutters, gables and dome over the years of negligence.  This, along with the blood-dripping walls, its isolation high atop that steep hill, and the fact that no one lived in it for years, gave the mansion an ominous and mysterious reputation.  No one now living in the community knew precisely how long it stood there, or whom had it built, but those of them who studied such things claimed that based on the style of its architecture, it was likely built in the first half of the 19^th century.

Many in and around Afton Road believed it to be haunted.

 

            Doctor Lucille Dewar was the present owner of Copper Acropolis.  Born on Prince Edward Island, Lucille, at the age of five, lost both her loving parents. They, Lucille and her parents, were spectators of an afternoon card of horse-racing at the Charlottetown Driving Park during Old Home Week, when a competing horse went mad just as they were rounding the six-eighths’ pole for home in Race Three and jumped the fence.  The horse, sulky, and jockey all landed squarely on Lucille’s parents, killing them and the jockey.  The horse was later shot.  Lucille was given the opportunity to pull the triggers on the double-barrelled shotgun, but had declined to do so.

Lucille escaped death that day because at the time of the accident, she was off buying an ice cream, a rare treat for a country girl.  She had escaped death, but over the next fifteen years wished many times that she had died that day with her parents.  For on that day her life turned upside down.  From her birth, right up to the untimely end of the infamous Race Three at the CDP, Lucille had been a happy, intelligent, and well-mannered child.  After that day, however, love and joy left Lucille’s heart.  She was forced to live with her relatives, none of whom she cared for, nor whom cared for her, and who would often only take her for a short while before shuttling her off to the next furthest out relative.  Eventually, at the age of eleven, the list of relatives ran out and she was placed in the Mount Herbert Children’s Orphanage.

Despite the hardship and uncertainty of her life, she managed to excel in each and every public school at which she was enrolled, and also at the orphanage school. Lucille Dewar was a genius.  She was sure of it.    When she was twelve, and not trusting the Island’s teachers or doctors to test her adequately, she devised her own test to find her Intelligence Quotient.  She scored very high.  She knew that with her keen intellect and burning desire for knowledge, she was bound for greatness.  And it was this belief that kept her spirit alive.

But where her education flourished, her social life died.  Because of her high intelligence, and her being new to each school every year, sometimes twice a year, she was hated by her class mates and became a social outcast.  As soon as she came of age, she kept promising herself, as boys pulled her hair or called her names, she would move away, off the Island, to pursue her higher education.  She came to hate Prince Edward Island and its intolerably ignorant and mean-spirited children.

When she finally did become legal, she had briefly considered moving to Charlottetown to live, but feeling that the small Prince of Wales College there could not offer her the quality of instruction that her knowledge-absorbing brain required, ended up deciding to make a clean break from the Island.

After a twenty-six year absence, she returned to P.E.I., unmarried, now a doctor and very wealthy. One of the Island newspapers reported the ‘Prodigal Island Girl Returns Home A Millionaire Doctor’ and an interest in her began to grow.  Her sudden return to the Island; her unexplained, more-than-you-could-make-as-a-doctor wealth; her spinsterish, and frugal lifestyle; her use of strange, big words made her an enigmatic celebrity on the Island.  When asked what areas of study she had pursued away, or, how she, an unmarried woman, came upon such a fortune, she remained imperspicuous. 

Years of social outcasting had, seemingly, evaporated any skills she may have had to handle the sudden popularity.  The more questions people asked of her, the less she told.  And the less she told, the more people wanted to know about her.  She wasn’t impolite in her silence, and sometimes seemed to enjoy the attention she received wherever she would go.  Soon it became an Island obsession to speculate on the mystery that was Doctor Lucille Dewar.

And when she, against the advice of everyone but the real estate agent, (there were even letters to the editors of the papers advising her against it), went and bought the dilapidated old mansion with the strange name of ‘Copper Acropolis’ and became a total recluse, the obsession grew to the height of its fever.  But like all fevers, once this one reached its height, it quickly fell, and the mania surrounding the mysterious and eremitic Doctor Dewar eventually died, and everyone left her alone in her big house to do whatever it was that she did.  Even the speculation as to what she did in that big house gradually ended.

After that, the only time her name even came up in the newspaper was when she hired, as a manservant and chauffeur, the Charlottetown Chinese restaurateur named Yune Mune.   Yune came under her employ approximately three years after the ‘fever’ broke, about four years after her initial return to the Isle. 

Yune, a handsome, classy gentleman, had owned The Blue Mune, the first Chinese restaurant in Charlottetown.  When the local newspapers disclosed that he was being investigated for allegedly caressing and speaking indecencies to a rich, married, and well respected female patron, he, despite his claims that the indecencies and caresses were mutually entertained and embarked upon, was, due to public outrage, forced to close down his previously successful enterprise.

Dr. Dewar wrote him a letter offering employment.  He accepted, quickly sold his property for a ridiculously small amount and moved into Copper Acropolis.  Two months later, a page six article in the newspaper cleared him of any wrongdoing after the rich, married, and well respected female patron dropped her charge, was divorced from her husband and moved to the Yukon with a black lumberjack out of Halifax.  At this point, hardly anyone saw, or cared that they did or didn’t see Doctor Lucille Dewar.  Occasionally she would be seen, with Yune Mune driving about the countryside.  She almost never emerged from the mansion.  Yune Mune was her link to the community of Afton Road, and to the world.  She was forgotten.

-------------
Stay tuned for the next exciting chapter of Copper Acropolis, right here on The Annekenstein Monster!

I'm 24, Going On 41

I've often thought that I behave younger than my "real" age. In my mind, I'm still a young guy, even though my physical body tells me otherwise.
Well, now it's official. According the the scientific computations based on this test, I act as if I'm 24 years old. I think, though, that this low number has more to do with me answering "Spongebob Squarepants" than anything else.
Those who know me, what age do you think I exist at?
What age do you act?

You Are 24 Years Old

Under 12: You are a kid at heart. You still have an optimistic life view - and you look at the world with awe. 13-19: You are a teenager at heart. You question authority and are still trying to find your place in this world. 20-29: You are a twentysomething at heart. You feel excited about what's to come... love, work, and new experiences. 30-39: You are a thirtysomething at heart. You've had a taste of success and true love, but you want more! 40+: You are a mature adult. You've been through most of the ups and downs of life already. Now you get to sit back and relax.

What Age Do You Act?

Back On The ChainGang

If you were wondering where I've been, blogaphorically speaking, the past couple of weeks, I've been:
(choose one)
a) in jail.
b) depressed and not feeling like posting inane nothingness to the handful of people who read this site.
c) feeling a great lack of inspiration and wondering if I'll ever find the desire to write again.
d) busy with other stuff.
e) watching television 24/7.
f) visiting relatives in Attleboro, Mass.
g) too nervous about all these hurricanes and terrorists and bird flues.
h) obsessing over things like whether it's "flues" or "flus" (or possibly an entirely different spelling), but not to the point where I bother to look it up.
i) reading something called a 'novel'.  It's kind of like a text-only fiction site on the internets, only it's all, like, hard copy and portable.
j) pirating movies and then watching them.
k) taking my wife to and from and to and from the hospital and visiting her there in between.
l) sitting by the phone and waiting for it to ring after our Sketch22 Contact East performance.
m) drinking so much beer that I've begun to wonder if I have a drinking problem.
n) looking for magic mushrooms in my own backyard.
o) spending way too much time playing a stupid video game on the GameCube.
p) taking all kinds of pictures with my digital camera.
q) letting my knee heal, mostly by just sitting on the couch and having it (my knee, not the couch) elevated.
r) chastising myself to the point of lethargy about my lethargy during this current work hiatus.
s) planning a little home work project, wherein I glue all kinds of discared CDs onto a black-painted wall,  and wondering where I could find enough discarded CDs.
t) rapping.
u) thinking about all the stuff I've lost over the years.
v) counting a bit too much on that big Lotto payday last week, but not even buying a ticket.
w) being unemployed.
x) admiring too much female nudity on the world wide web.
y) keeping silent on this site for two weeks because I lost a bet and the stakes were two weeks web silence.
z) not eating pizza, but really, really wanting to eat pizza.

Now that I have finished doing that one thing from the list above, I hope to return to a more regular posting schedule.

Change of Email Address

Anybody who cares, I've changed my email address again.
When I started with email, I thought I'd be clever and use sendit2me as my name.  You know: "Hey, what's your email address?" "Send it to me at gmail dot com".  I was so clever.  In my head.
When I have to tell people my address, I quickly realised, I have to explain that the "to" in "send it to me" is the number 2, not the word "to".  A pain in the butt.

Fortunately, I was smart enough to also snag the name robmacd.

So, from now on, if you want to contact me, please do so at RobMacD at gmail dot com  (use capitals if you want, or don't if you don't want).

Update your address books, peeps.

I apologize for that "peeps" thing.

Stanley Theman

What have I been doing lately?
This week has been incredibly busy for me, with three or four assorted acting gigs going on.
The strangest, by far, is the one I'll talk about here.  About a month ago, I was contacted and asked if I could play a nerd.  Not really sure exactly was being asked of me, I said "sure I can".
Turns out there'd be a convention at the Delta this week, of the Mechanical Contractor's Association of Canada.  They wanted me (well, someone, not 'me' specifically, like, they didn't seek me out, just any actor who could do it, and someone at the Delta thought of me) to pretend to be a new delegate to the MCAC and show up to a few events and kind of make my presence known to all.
Wierd gig, sounded easy, and it paid pretty good money, so how could I turn it down.
The name they gave me was Stanley Theman (you know, "Stan the Man", ha ha, right?) and I owned a company called New Energy Refrigeration and Development Mechanical, Limited (or N.E.R.D Mechanical Ltd. for short, ha ha, right?).  I was to be from Whitehorse, NWT.  I was to dress "like a nerd" they told me.  Best I could do was this:  I made my hair look greasy and flat and greasy.  I wore my "Teddy Goldman" glasses and a tight short-sleeve dresshirt over a blue long-sleeve turtleneck.  I had my iPod in my shirt pocket, and some large headphones (which I "forgot" to remove) on my ears.  It was my wierd version of a nerd.  (I wore variations on this theme throughout the week of events)
So, my for my first appearance, I was to show up at the MCAC Board of Director's meeting on Tuesday morning, be confused about why I, as a new delegate, was not allowed to sit in on the closed meeting, then leave in something of a huff (or a minute and a huff, as Groucho might say).  It should take about 5 minutes tops, they told me.
So, in to the Delta I go on Tuesday, and into the Elfin Pekaha room, where, sure enough, a board meeting was taking place.  There were probably about 40 or 50 people, mostly men, sitting around a square of tables, doing, you know, important (to them) work.  I interrupted them.  I figured I'd be nervous doing this, but nervous in an actorly way.  In reality, though, I became really nervous because I was interrupting their meeting.  I could really sense the bother I was causing these people.  I fealt really uncomfortable.
The room went totally dead-quiet when I first entered.  I went to the snack table and thought about pouring myself a coffee, but couldn't find a carafe.  So I abandoned that idea and started to look around the table for an empty seat.  That's when the Chairman (who was the only one "in on" the joke) asked me, politely, what I was doing there.  That's when the nerves hit me, because everyone was looking at me, and a definite air of being-bothered was in the room.  I said I was looking for a seat.  He said it was a closed meeting.  I told him "yeah, no problem, I'm a new delegate. I'm a member" and showed him my conference badge.  He said this meeting was only open to member of the board. I didn't understand what that meant.
I continued to play dumb for a minute and he continued to ask me to leave.  Someone got up and left ("to get security?" I wondered/hoped).  Finally, I "got the message" and promised to leave.  I apologized to the room for being an idiot and said I'd leave.  I kept apologizing and the chairman kept telling me to leave.  I then changed my slant and said it didn't seem fair that I couldn't sit in, and wondered what kind of secret stuff they'd be talking about that I shouldn't hear.  "It's a closed meeting, you'll have to leave" he kept saying.  "Can I at least get a juice?" I asked. That got a laugh.  Kind of a "what a pathetic tit" laugh.   "Sure" he said.  As I was getting a juice, one of the board members, who was near me, said "What boat did you just get off of?", kind of as a joke to his compatriots, not really to me.  I replied.  "No I didn't get hear by boat, I came by plane, and those friggers lost my luggage."
Anyway, I finally left, and it took maybe 4 minutes tops?  Seemed to go well, I thought.

The next event I was scheduled to punk was the First-Timer's Reception on Wednesday night.  Basically, show up, get people to look at me, and then leave.  That's what I did.  I shook people's hands, approached and interrupted groups in conversation with awkward conversation starters of my own.  I was in and out in about 10 minutes, just like they asked.  As I was leaving the hotel, I was walking past The Club (a small bar/llounge in the Delta).  It was packed with MCAC delegates.  A trio of them, near the door, saw me (they were board members and remembered me from that meeting), and called me over to them.  I could sense, from their questions, that they were trying to figure out if I was real or not.  I had decided to use a variation of my Moe Gorman voice, as it was one I was sure I'd be able to keep up for long periods of time, if need be.  Unfortunately, it kind of comes off as a bit "maritimey".  One of the guys picked up on that and asked me "if you're from Whitehorse, how come you have that accent?"  "I moved to Whitehorse 17 years ago" I said without missing a beat. "Originally I'm sort of from the maritimes.  Guess I can't lose the accent."  I was quite pleased with this lie, but kicking myself for the "sort of" vagueness.  Sure enough, one of them says "what do you mean, 'sort of'?  How can you be sort of from some place?"  I began to hem and haw a bit, on the technicalities of time spent in one place and how perhaps the place you have lived the longest is the place you're from...  beads of flop-sweat being born on my brow.  Hemming and hawwing, until the third guy gruffly says "Where were you born?"  Sydney, Cape Breton I lied.  "Then that's where in the hell you're from" he said definitively, killing the conversation.  I am-scrayed from them as soon as I could.

Thursday, I was scheduled for three appearances.  First one at 7:15am, as people were milling around waiting for the breakfast event (at which Ron MacLean was guest speaker!!) to begin.  I brought my camera for this one and basically just kept coming up to groups of people, couples, people by themselves and asking them where they were from (I didn't have my own glasses on, so I couldn't read that information that was on their conference badges).  My goal, I said, was to try and get a picture of myself with someone from each province in Canada.  This seemed to work quite well, and got me interacting with a bunch of people.  I was supposed to do that for 10 minutes or so, and it worked out perfectly.  My camera's batteries died after about 10 minutes and that gave me the perfect excuse to "go back to my room and get new batteries" rather than enter into the breakfast room.

Second gig that day was the Companion's Tour.  I was supposed to try and take the Companion's Tour (on 3 Trius motor-coaches), but then end up not taking it.  This event didn't work out so well for me.  I was supposed to show up at 8:45 and talk it up with the delegates Companions (mostly women) about the tour and stuff.  Trouble is, nobody was waiting for the couches.  Slowly, women started to trickle in (from the breakfast) but it was pretty awkward to try and start up conversations with them.  It's easier to be kind of jerky when there are more eyes watching, I realised.  When it's one-on-one like I was trying at this moment, it felt pretty creepy.  Eventually, one of the coaches got filled up, and I went on it and took a seat, asking anyone and everyone if they thought they'd mind if I, who was not a companion, took the tour anyway.  After chatting up the women around my seat on the coach, and just before they were about to leave, I "happened" to ask when the tour was over.  3pm I was told.  That was too late for me, I said, and awkwardly made be exit from the bus.  I was only supposed to spend about 10 minutes at this event, but because of the trickling of the companions, it ended up being about 25 minutes.  It went okay, but was my least favourite of the week.

The third that day was an appearance I was to make at the Suppliers' Showcase on the Mezzanine.  30 or so booths set up in rows up and down a couple of hallways.  I was basically to show up and visit each booth, ask stupid questions and be a bit of an annoyance.  And that's basically what I did.  I found it kind of tricky to get away from some booths without them asking me specifics about my company (to see, I assume, if I was worthwhile "pitching" to).  Even a cursory probe from them would've made them quite aware that I didn't know what the hell I was doing.  Luckily, I got away pretty much unscathed.

This morning at 7:30 was the Awards Breakfast.  I arrived and returned to my taking a picture with someone from each province routine.  I was looking for anyone from Quebec, the only province I still needed, so this allowed me to quickly go from table to table asking if anyone was from Quebec, and explaining my goal.  This worked very well in getting me around to as many people in a short time.
Then it was time to eat.  I played it pretty quiet during breakfast, as I didn't want to get into conversations with the other 7 people at my table for fear of blowing my cover.  After breakfast was eaten, awards were handed out.  For 10, 15 years service, Lifetime achievement, etc.
The final award was a new award for them, sure to be very prestigious, to be given out to a deserving member of the association. It was going to be given to me, I was told.  Then the MC told the room about this person's accomplishments, and the accomplishments were very impressive:  $400 million in income last year alone, 30% profit over blah blah blah.  People were very impressed with the numbers and statistics that were being spouted.  This person's business was hugely successful was the gist.  Then:  "The 2005 "Gotcha" award goes to... Stanley Theman!  Stan the Man, come up and get your award."  With the word Gotcha, the whole room, I'm sure, caught on if they hadn't already.
I went up and received my award - a rubber chicken - said thanks, etc, revealed my real identity and then promptly left.

And that was that.
What a wierd gig.  It was fun, but still through the week a fair amount of worry on my part, wondering what in the hell might go wrong at my next appearance, afraid of going too far and making it overly obvious that Stanley was a gag, or worrying about playing it too subtle and not making a big enough impression on enough people.  It's a pretty delicate balancing act, trying to be out there enough so that people take notice of you, but no so out there that you're not believable.
I had a good time though.

Un-Labour Day

So now that I'm a famous media pundit (really the only person one should talk to in reference to all things The Office), it's time to say good-bye to the humdrum boredom of a bi-monthly paycheque and start the next chapter in my quest for financial stability.
This Friday is going to be my final day at the job I've held for the past 6 or 7 years.  Earlier this month, I informed those that needed informing that I was quitting. My reason for leaving is primarily one of feeling under-appreciated, as far as being paid what I should for the work I do.  I probably should have left two weeks after giving my notice, but, being the nice guy I am, I offered to stay on until the end of the month, to help train my replacements. Plus the extra couple of weeks of income will come in handy.
I quit without having any solid (or even loose-stool) prospects of a replacement job or career.  I have a couple of small projects that will get me through the next month or so, but after that, it's a serious question mark as to how my family manages to maintain the low middle class lifestyle to which we've grown accustomed.
Qutting a job at the age of almost-40 (only days away), with a wife and a kid and a falling-down house and breaking-down car may be the most moronic thing I've ever done, but I'm hoping it will lead to a more fulfilling life.
It's a rather scary step to take, but a step that I take with no concern that it's the wrong move to make.
It was time for a change.  Rather than wait for the change to come to me, I've decided to find the change.  (yes, I'm going to be a pro-active bum).
So, this Labour Day, as the world celebrates, um, Labour... I'll be celebrating Un-Labour.  Or De-Labour? Or Dis-Labour?

100 Things You Couldn't Care About Me

1)  I hate the word "meme".  I don't know what it means and I don't want to bother to look it up.  Okay, I looked it up and I guess I did pretty much know what it meant.
2) I will sometimes say I'll not do something, or say I will do something, then go ahead and disregard myself. (see #1)
3) (see #2)
4) ...

Eenie Meenie My Knee Ow

It's been a while since I updated you all on the status of my sore knees (I wait, as I hear the exhalation of air from  thousands of readers who've been holding their breath)...

I hurt my knees a couple of weeks after I started walking/jogging.  I am such a cliche.  Well, the pain was considerable at times, but (since it was the same type of pain as my recurring "university basketball knee injury" trouble) I knew it would eventually get better.  After two weeks of not really getting better, I decided I should see a doctor, so I went to a night clinic.  It was a fairly fast procedure, the night clinic, as I was in and out in about an hour and a half.
The doctor confirmed my expectations that all that was needed to heal me was time.  However, in her examination of my knees (what with the pulling and the gyrating and the flavin flave), she made them much much more painful.  I hobbled home and began my weeklong campaign of medicating myself with Advil (I usually don't take pain medication, but this pain was an exception).  The Advil worked at hiding the pain, but my knees still felt pretty weak and tender.
That was almost two weeks ago.  By this past weekend, my knees are/were at about 90%.  The pain is gone, the Advil is gone, and only the occasional twinge of the slightest pain is experienced.

As the doctor was examining me, she was manipulating my legs in all manner of directions and noticed an odd cracking sound at in my hip region.  She didn't like the sound of it and suggested that maybe jogging wouldn't be the best approach for me in my quest to get healthier.

So, I'm not going to be running for a while.  I'll begin a walking (and perhaps bicycling) regimine in about a week's time, and build myself up from there.

Exercise: Who Knees It?

Yeah, so about that running thing I've been doing...
Well, it's on hiatus.  Last Tuesday, I went for my regular run/walk (actually turning up the heat to a frothy 20 minute regimine of sets of 90 seconds of jogging followed by 2 minutes of walking) and got home, feeling good.  Next day I started having pains in my knees, and they've hung around and still pain me today.
Now, I get pains in my knees all the time, or specifically, in one of my knees.  Back when I was in university, I played some rec-basketball and twisted my left knee pretty badly.  Ever since then, it will occasionally just pop out (usually if I'm walking down stairs) and cause me a couple of days of intermittant pain and discomfort.  Then it goes away.
This is just like that pain, only a bit moreso, and more constant, and in both knees (although the right knee pales in comparison).  It's been bothersome for about a week, but today I sense it improving.  If it continues much longer, I'll have to get it looked at.
So, no more running until I'm well and truly recuped.
Can't say I miss it, though.

Boring Exercise Update #2

I'm going to be keeping a small diary of my running exploits, so please feel free to ignore these posts.

Today was my second run.  The difficulty of the first run was 100 (the maximum on my scientific scale, on the probably flawed theory that subsequent runs get a bit easier).  It was a real trial to get through and I barely did.  Sounds simple, probably:  8 repetitions of 60 seconds or running followed by 90 seconds of walking.  But for a schlub like me, carrying around the extra pounds I do, it was a task, I tell ya.  The worst part was the two hours afterwards, what with the aches and the pains and the high-den-froid-en, nice laaaa-ddy!
Today's run was again 8 repetitions of 60 seconds running and 90 seconds walking.  It seemed a bit easier to get through to the end of the 8 reps, and the afterwards pain is substantially less (see, I'm an ace at exercise!!), although I did find it kind of difficult to walk after my final run.  Not because of shortness of breath, or anything, but because of sore shins.
The big problem, one I hope goes away eventually, is the pain all up and down my left arm... no.  Is really sore shins.  Does anyone know if that will remedy itself after a few more attempts?  I hope so.
Anyway, exercise attempt number 2 rates a 90 on my worthless scale.  That's a whole 10 point difference (those 10 points coming off because this time I had no doubt I'd finish the 8 reps).
Yay Me!!