Her BUNS are the BEST!

This deserved a post unto itself.

The title says it all: "A Stoned Sir Patrick Stewart Teaches His 35-Year-Old Girlfriend How to Act."

I don't think any further annotation is necessary. As Jo put it, linking this article, "The internet is on fire this week".

Also, I like his sweater.

Also, how many takes does it count as if it's incessant?

Yoooooouuuuurrrrr (watch) face is a company face

 Well, I probably wouldn't have blogged tonight, but Kristy beseeched me to. So... don't say I never did nothin' for you. Or something.

Anyhoo. Staying at my Grandmother's place in my last night in Ontario has stirred up a bunch of memories, seeing as the last time I was here I was saying goodbye to my Grandpa, who passed away in early January, but in a way it's sort of capping the whole emotional growth/memory untapping project of this whole trip nicely. A big agenda of mine of late has been to try to acknowledge when physical spaces store memories and emotions, but not letting myself be consumed and controlled by them, but instead working with them to fuse memories with forward momentum and growth, so being back here is kind of helpful in that way. At any rate, an appropriate culmination to the trip, and just as worthwhile.

Also, visiting my Grandmother this time proved especially awesome, as going through one of her bookshelves yielded some fairly fantastic finds. Check these out!

Yes "trenches". As in WWI. You'll notice the date is 1918.












And, for your reading pleasure, a copy of Uncle Tom's Cabin (the "Young Folks' Edition", to boot!), dated 1912. Yes folks, this book is 101 years old.










Coooooooooooool.


In other completely unrelated world news, here is your dose of "web patriarchy systematically shut down" for the day, courtesy of Dr. Jill McDevitt, sexologist and Cosmo contributor. Also, your daily dose of the term "raw-dog". Hopefully.

In further unrelated news, this made me laugh:

Then I pictured Ben Affleck, and laughed some more. 

OKAY, I'M DONE.

Maybe.

Nah. 

Moving on.

I have a fact and everything, courtesy of my Uncle Steven! Here goes!

#38: When you reach an anniversary at a major company (25 years of employment, etc.), they allow you to choose your commemorative gift from a website, like a wedding registry. 

Isn't that hilarious? This struck me as so typical of "our time", in a weird way. No "here's your watch" - it's "pick out your own bloody gift and order it from amazon on our dime, because we can't be bothered". The sentiment and personal agency in the matter is nice, but it strikes me as basically the reward equivalent of a gift card.

Consequently, I'll now have "The Company Way" from How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying stuck in my head for the rest of the night. And yes, I went with the Radcliffe version because I hadn't heard him sing it yet, and this gave me an excuse to. Also, he's a cutie. Deal with it.

So there we go! Last Ontario blog. Next up: Calgary! Sayanara, fooz!

Booties and circles and other suggestive sounding things

So, this is essentially me right now:

(Side note: I won't reveal how embarassingly long I spent trying to find a visual for this. Apparently the internet doesn't want to make gifs of Tobey Maguire dumping sand out of his Spidey-boot. Way to fail me at my moment of creative need, internet)

(Side note #2: we also had an amusing discussion about appropriate usage of the word 'booties'. Is it just for babies' footwear, or for short boots as well? Only the fashion Gods shall know for sure)

The point is, I went to the beach at Grand Bend today with Mike, Jess and Becca, and it was a barrel of fun. Going to the beach in Ontario makes for a wonderful novelty indeed - especially when accompanied by such stalwart friends as mine. From life-chats on inner tubes floating far enough out on the lake to get a lifeguard to whistle abrasively at us (a first!), to rapping Linkin Park on the car ride back, I had about as fun a day as I could ask for. 

And, sure enough, I even found me a beach-bound fact! Okay, it has nothing to do with the beach whatsoever. But Becca told it to me and it was interesting, so go do what Wolverine says, and listen up, kiddies. 

#37: There is a preconception that serial killers are known for being able to draw perfect circles. 

We interrogated this notion a bit over beachside beers and burgers tonight. Would that be because of their violently obsessive nature forcing them to compulsively practice? A deficiency in their brain that, while compromising on empathy, allows for particularly acute geometric awareness? A strange quirk of nature? Or complete bunk? I'm more inclined towards the latter, but it's an interesting urban myth regardless! 

Now, since I've run out of Hellboy to read (I'll be interested to see if the comic actually ever tops the near-apocalyptic one I just read), and this is the second day in a row I've kept myself up past 3:00am writing (not only on this blog post, silly - I've also been journaling a shit-ton more! And it's all happy stuff too! Yay!), I'm going to see myself to bed. Fare thee all well, one and all! 

Blue shoe, blue shoe, world's end for me and you

Unexpectedly most pertinent double-bill ever? The World's End and Blue Jasmine. What, pray tell, could the conclusion of Edgar Wright's "cornetto trilogy" (virtually flawless as a trilogy, in my opinion)  and Woody Allen's latest outing, possibly have in common?

Well, I'm glad you asked, nonexistent hyothetical amorphous mass of a reader!

Both films deal a lot with nostalgia, and the difficulty of getting beyond a romanticized past and moving on to a productive future. Both, while hilarious, left me ultimately feeling sad and troubled, but in a good way, as if both had provided much needed sips at the goblet of "actual life wisdom" (someday Ima have to procure me a chug o' that). Both ended up vividly recalling people in my life, or at least aspects of them, as only the best films can do (God forbid I ever become a Gary King, but I will contend that he stands as an eerie doppleganger of who I could at least somewhat become if left unchecked and non-reflective).

And both, as you may have concluded, were pretty fucking awesome.

In general, this visit in Waterloo continues to only become steadily more rad. Massive heart-to-hearts with many of the most important people in my life? Pretty fucking crucial. Feeling semblances of actual emotional progress, of feeling the Sisyphusian boulder actually edging up the proverbial mountain? Pretty revelatory.

Also, beer is fun.

 

Yes I know it's from Shaun of the Dead, not The World's End. So sue me.

And, amidst all of this jovality, dear reader, I've even found a good ol' fact of the day for you, courtesy of my Uncle Ron.

#36: Back in the day, but as recently as the 1970s, shoe stores used x-ray machines to check the fit of one's foot within the shoe.

Yeah. This was an extremely common thing, apparently, but I had absolutely no idea. This threw me entirely for a loop. I'm sure your mind, as mine did, immediately leapt to the health concerns involved. Apparently, for those thrusting their feet into the x-rays, it was just fine. But for the shoe store clerks who were consistently putting their hands under said x-rays over and over again? Less harmless. 

Damn science, you scary. 

And with that, to bed. Tomorrow: the beach! And yes, I realize in Vancouver I have my pick of countless beaches on any given day. But in Ontario, beach day is a wonderful novelty, which makes it all the more exciting. And thus, I shall do justice to it. By sleeping. For a change.

Excelsior!

NANANANANANANANANANANANANANA

So this happened.

And the internet, predictably enough, explodes. My favourite is the one who describes him as looking like a 40 year old who still does kegstands. That's an image that's hard to shake.

Don't get me wrong: I'm not one to jump on the internet bandwagon of fan backlash just because. Most recently, I found myself standing my own against angry nerds threatening Shane Black's head for certain... creative liberties... in Iron Man 3 (does it still count as spoilers if you really have no excuse for not watching the majestic Iron Man 3 yet? Whatever. I'll respect that until the DVD release, at which point it's all bets off), and generally defending Man of Steel as one of the strongest superhero movies I've seen in years, which apparently is a controversial stance. I was even one of those people, way back in 2007, who, against the standard "WTF why is Heath Ledger the Joker" narrative, was one of those voices of cautious "Nolan knows what he's doing" optimism. Hell, I even still hold the much maligned Daredevil as one of my favourite guilty pleasures, so I'm not even against Affleck's almost universally ridiculed genre credentials.

But Batfleck is something I simply cannot get behind. Just say the name "Bruce Wayne" while looking at his stubbly smirk. I can't even describe it without starting to giggle. Nervously. Yes, Affleck has more than proven himself as a director of late. But a sterling director (and to me, thus far, he remains a "good not great" director - though admittably I've yet to see The Town) does not a quality actor make. And, even if it did, it does not guarantee good casting. Which, ultimately, is my main gripe - even if I adored Affleck, I would still find him hilarious, grotesquely miscast.

Director Zack Snyder came the closest to arguing for Affleck's presence by describing him as carrying the weight and presence of an actor who is far more established than Henry Caville, thus lending an interesting dynamic to their duo (OKAY I'M SORRY, I HAD TO). Fair enough. But surely there are dozens of other actors who could equally provide such screen presence while being better casting. Secretly, when they said "grizzled older Batman", a part of me was still holding out for the name that was thrown around the most 10 years ago when the prospect of adapting Frank Miller's The Dark Knight Strikes Again: Clint Eastwood. Yes yes, I know, he's far too old now, even for an "older Batman", but a lad can dream, can't he? But even if not him, the rumours of Richard Armitage as a more middle-aged Bruce Wayne were appealing. But seri-eeeeheeeheeeheee, sorry, my brain just remembered the word "Batfleck" and started giggling again. Good luck building towards your Justice League movie at this rate, DC. You're doing a bang-up job of following up Man of Steel.

Anyway, fanboy rant over. For now. My fact of the day - surprise surprise - is also Batman related.

#35: Bruce Wayne is named after Scottish patriot warrior and king, Robert the Bruce and American military legend 'Mad' Anthony Wayne.

As much as I'm still staunchly embedded in camp Marvel over DC, I will say this for DC: they sure did put a bit more thought into naming their characters than my idol, good ol' Stan 'The Man' Lee. As catchy as Peter Parker, Reed Richards, Bruce Banner, Sue Storm, Scott Summers, Betty Brant, Robbie Robertson and J. Jonah Jameson are as characters, I can't help but think the thought invested into naming them was somewhat less profound and researched.

Like most great writers, this is where Stan Lee probably took most of his inspiration from.

So, as I prepare for the monumental awesomeness of THE WORLD'S END - the conclusion of the 'Cornetto trilogy' by the man I can now, on the record, refer to as my favourite living director* - by having some beers with the ever-esteemed Mr. Grantaloon von Skeeternaut, have a MARVELous (okay, that was actually accidental, but I'm keeping it regardless. To quote my fantastic friend Wendy, "Coincidental puns are my life!") day, fraught with thoughts of BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Sorry. Batfleck moment again.

Sayonara!






*hopefully that title won't be disputed come tonight. Somehow I doubt it will be, though. Knock on wood regardless, though!  

Maddeningly relaxed

"We are all born mad. Some... remain so."
-Samuel Beckett

Well, true believers, today proved to be one hell of a day! I was privileged enough to be taken by my Mom to see not one, but TWO productions at Stratford festival: Tommy and Waiting for Godot (my first time seeing Godot, though I've meant to for ages, and it's definitely semi-consciously influenced a lot of my own playwriting style). Both were utterly fantastic, and indicative of the standard sterling quality associated with the festival.

At the time, too, I would have considered the two to be a rather comically non-sequitur double-bill, but, in a very Hatch fashion, I couldn't help but draw links between both shows. Both address issues of the inevitable striving to assert identity in purpose in a world seemingly designed to unravel such pretenses, and the importance of, in the face of seeming futility, doing one's best to enjoy the wacky ride across this barely fathomable ride known as life. To me, that wasn't too much of a stretch. Regardless, that and a rather superb conversation with my Mom made for a rather unforgettable day, and a rather ideal antidote to the increasing sense of stagnation and mild existential despair that was beginning to gnaw irritatingly at my shinbones once again. Hooray!

Moreover, my Mom even provided me with a similarly gusto-infusing fact of the day!

#34: Doing 30 seconds of the yoga poses 'child's pose' and 'downward dog' every day serves to produce gamma-Aminobutyric acid (or "gaba", as it is more commonly known) - a natural anti-anxiety chemical - in your body.

So, there you have it - amidst all of the other "get fixed quick" schemes and various bandaid solutions to our myriad of daily cultural malaises, apparently a quick shot of yoga is actually pretty damn good for you on a number of fronts beyond general flexibility, stretching and relaxation. This, to me, sounds tantalizingly achievable. That said, this is coming from the guy who has made it his '_______[insert occasion]'s resolution' to stretch every day for several years now, and has followed through on this... maybe one day a year. Nonetheless, reminders are helpful, particularly with so lucrative a payload attached.

Thus concludes one of my most relentlessly positive posts in a while! Yay! Let it wash over you, similarly dosing you in warm thoughts of puppy-cuddling, back scratches, and all sorts of cloying, inspirational 'it takes fewer muscles to smile than frown!' factoids.

And, just in case those aren't doing the trick, thank God for Jennifer Lawrence.

Sad whale, happy "vacation"

Hello blog-reading-type-people!

Have I been enjoying my "vacation"? What I have been doing is trying to determine if something is still a vacation if the geographic location is far less exciting than one's current place of residence. But, nonetheless, I will call it a vacation. A vacation into delightful and very welcome old and dear friends and family. Parks galore, the heuther hotel, Princess cinemas, Phil's... you name it. Amidst it all, a general feeling of very much needed comfort and happiness, in terms of faces and places alike.

"Faces and places". Dear god. Shoot me now. Or perhaps cut off my hand, "Saudi style" (groan), as Hit Girl would put it.

Oh yeah. I saw Kick-Ass 2 tonight. Prime example of very interesting ideas stuck in a shoddy script, but with some particularly good one-liners (arguably the best: "It's like finding out your best friend is secretly Will Smith!") and bits of fantastically brutal violence peppered throughout. It may not be the movie that we want, but it sure is the movie that Gotham needs. Or something. Batman is cool.

Yes, I missed you too, Hit Girl. 

That said, if you're preparing to jump on the Kick-Ass love-in (heh. heh. McLovin'. I get it) train, do also be sure to read what creator Mark Millar, along with one of the other most important and influential people in comics in the past several decades, Todd MacFarlane, have to say about how comics apparently are not for girls. And then wince. And then reflect on the sad symmetry of two of the people who worked the hardest to push comics as an art form forward pull it back about forty years. As Becca retorted, "welcome to the '60s". Now please feel free to sing. 

Amidst all of my "vacationing", Kristy was even sufficiently spectacular to pay a cameo appearance to Waterloo herself! While she was here, we saw Blackfish - or, as we dubbed it, "Sad Whale". Consider it heartily recommended. That said... that whale is mighty sad. And a bit homicidal. And in spite of that, by the end of the movie, the only one you don't end up blaming at all is the whale. Go figure. Poor Sad Tilikum. 

Nonetheless, Blackfish also provided me with a fact of the day so good that, although I saw it half a week ago, I'm going to hold onto it and present it anyway! 

#32: Killer whales have a part in their brains that humans do not, which allows them to process emotions with greater nuance and sophistication than us. 

This was my reaction:

Apparently I'm on a Will Smith kick tonight. Perhaps it's because I listened to his "nice, clean rap" earlier.

But yeah. Let that fact marinate in the ol' brain-box. Think more about how miserable whales are in captivity, and how deeply it will affect them. OH GOD SAD WHALE WILL NEVER LEAVE ME.

Now stop being sad, and enjoy this second fact of the day! YES SECOND! Just because I love you. And because Kristy sent it to me, and it equally deserves mention.

#33: Nine former Irish political prisoners, all initially sentenced to death, after being deported to Australia instead, each became extremely successful, important political heads. 

Srrsly. Check it out, and make lots of horrible "Boy, now that's 'Luck 'o the Irish!'" jokes. Oh wait, I already did it for you. Womp womp. 

In conclusion, a photo study: reminisce of the days of McLovin'. Who is now the Mother-Fucker. Few actors have been branded with such unorthodoxly iconic names as Christopher Mintz-Plasse. But he can take it. Because he's not the star that we want, but the star that Hollywood nee-OKAY I'LL STOP. 

I, too, would want my career to evolve like this. 

Now, to return to the productive activities I've been consuming myself with here in Waterloo. Largely, Crash Bandicoot. Excelsior!