Friday, April 11, 2014

Downer

 
Just over twenty years ago today, I returned to the communal flophouse I was living in at the time after a particularly stressful day at school only to be told that my favorite musician was dead.

"Yeah, it's all over the news," Mike said, pointing a lit cigarette towards the twenty-five-inch cathode ray beast propped up on our milk-crate entertainment center.

I hadn't even had a chance to take off my coat and backpack yet. For a while I just stood there, gaping dimly at the lurid, flickering images on the T.V. screen: police crawling all over a nondescript gray garage/greenhouse, all-too-familiar videos in heavy rotation, interviews with tearful fans, a grassroots gathering of lost souls in Seattle Center Park which would eventually coalesce into a massive candlelight vigil and then culminate with a stirring public address. It didn't make sense yet it made perfect sense.

Eventually I became aware of several sets of eyes trained on me, waiting for some sort of reaction.

"Mmmm, yeah...whatever," I shrugged, then turned on my heel and trudged slowly upstairs to my room. I was exhausted and needed sleep desperately.

As written these words look bitter. Or jaded. Or angry. But nothing could be further from the truth. I just recognized this latest dollop of bad news for what it was: the purest example of inevitability you could possible conceive of.

I've always had a really hard time recognizing when something good is well and truly over. When we moved away from Sydney I couldn't cope with the idea of never seeing my friends again. When High School was over the thought of permanently losing contact with my core group of hometown peeps was totally inconceivable. But thanks in some weird way to the grimly-decisive action of a chronically-depressed and blatantly-suicidal rock star, the permanence of change was finally beaten into my thick skull.

Indeed this was mutability's finishing move on my naive consciousness. Back then I was just weeks away from polishing off my final exams and in another three short months I'd be faced with convocation. At that moment I was finally forced to realize that nothing lasts forever. My third wave of friends would soon be scattering to the wind like matchsticks and, once again, I'd find myself virtually alone. But at least this time I'd be ready for it.

Now, before I go on, I must confess that I wasn't enough of a music nerd at the time to have already heard Nirvana's debut album Bleach. Indeed, like so many others, my first exposure to the band came with their album Nevermind. I distinctly remember sitting in my dorm room sometime in 1991, trying to make some headway on a massive term paper while "Good Rockin' Tonight" dangled the tantalizing and anarchic imagery of the "Smells Like Teen Spirit" in front of me. It immediately hijacked my attentions and then kept me permanently distracted for the rest of the night.

Not long after Nevermind went into heavy rotation in residence, played incessantly by my floor-mates Rod and Mike. I didn't rush out and buy the album right away; why would I? If I ever wanted to listen to it all I need to do was open my door.

To be brutally honest, I really didn't know what to make of it at first. Kurt's own admission that "we sound like the Knack and the Bay City Rollers being molested by Black Flag and Black Sabbath" was actually a fair description. It sounded a bit too poppy and overproduced to me. Thanks to my narrow-minded definition of music at the time, warped by a small-town alpha/omega audio bath which consisted exclusively of heavy metal and classic rock, I was much more apt to gravitate towards Temple of the Dog and Soundgarden at the time.

Forced to return to Stephenville for economic reasons, I bought Nevermind as a consolation prize for myself in the summer of 1991. I then proceeded to play the ever-lovin' bejesus out of it. Loneliness and isolation was a major theme in Kurt Cobain's music and my exile back home and separation from my newfound brethren was just one of many reasons why I loved it so much. That and the fact that it kicked Herculean amounts of ass.  

During the following academic year it continued to be the omnipresent soundtrack for everything we did, whether it was eleventh-hour compositions, besotted four-day benders, road trips, or as an alternative score for our 16-bit video games. Just about the only way I could be lured onto a dance floor is with the promise of slam-dancing to a Nirvana track. With Mike's assistance I soon discovered their first album Bleach and my transformation from disillusioned metal-head to indie punk music snob was complete.

Now, I've already talked about the incendiary effect that Nirvana had on pop music here and here so I won't presume to rehash that. Just suffice to say that even back then we had the distinct impression that Nevermind didn't get released, it escaped. By my estimation it was the last time a genuine voice for youth was properly represented in the Zeitgeist of pop-culture, as opposed to the industry-approved swill that gets served up to kids today.

I wish I'd had more money back then. Or, more accurately, I wish that I knew that I had enough money to travel to Toronto or Montreal to see them live. Then again, at the time I thought I'd have an entire lifetime to do that.

Regardless, I just wanna say: thanks, Kurt, wherever you are. First off, thanks for the obvious: for all of the amazing music that affected a positive change in me.

But also thanks for a darker, more inadvertent reason.

Thanks for finally convincing me that change is very, very permanent.

EPIC TUNE  No, my favorite Nirvana song is not "Smells Like Teen F#@king Spirit", thank you very much. In fact, it could very well be this hauntingly-beautiful unreleased track called "Do Re Mi", which was included on the With The Lights Out boxed set. Apparently the song was earmarked for Nirvana's next record. No words can describe how sad that makes me feel.


EPIC HOPE FOR THE FUTURE  Dear industry pin-heads: please start giving kids more music of their own that they'll want to listen to past the age of twenty!


EXPLOITATIVE FAIL Really? Does every single thing have to be a conspiracy now? Cripes.

Wednesday, March 12, 2014

A B.L.E.S.S.-ing For Humanity


 http://31.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lsaocbsyCp1qafxx3o1_500.jpg

Wènhòu, Faithful Readers!

Okay, so imagine if the government started paying every adult in Canada a living wage of $2000.00 a month just so they could spend their lives doing what they wanted instead of slaving away at some job they don't care about in order to avoid freezing and / or starving to death? Well, that's exactly that the Swiss are thinking about doing right now.

Depending on where you are (both mentally and physically) this either sounds like emancipation from modern capitalist serfdom or the rankest form of SOCIALISM. Ewwwww.

If anything else, it illustrates the philosophical gulf between Europeans and North Americans. In Europe this proposal could be regarded as the next logical extension of the social safety net that's already set in place. In the United States just voicing this idea in a public forum would probably get you run out of town by a mob of yahoos armed with torches and pitchforks.

Now, I'm not sure what Americans think socialism is but many of them pronounce it with same sort of distaste a literate person would use if they were forced to say the word "coprophagia". Maybe they just assume that its evil because it ends with "-ism" like "fascism". Notwithstanding the the fact that capitalism also ends with the same three letters, I really want to ask these people what they think farming assistance, unemployment benefits,Social Security, Medicare and Medicaid is. You like those programs, right?

"Wrong!" comes the obstinate reply.

Um, o-o-o-o-kay, why not?

"Givin' people a free lunch makes 'em weak, unmotivated an' dependent. And I don't wanna give a red cent to anybody who ain't gonna pull their own weight!"

Okay, but what if the shoe was on the other foot? What if the cracker factory you work at in Frog Balls Arkansas suddenly gets bought out by some wealthy conglomerate who then decide to move the whole operation lock, stock and barrel down to Bogata in order to wring a bit more profit out of it and give their shareholders a money-boner™? Suddenly the job you held down for the past eighty-four years is gone, you find yourself unceremoniously dumped out into a ruinous economy with barely any contemporary skills and you've gotta turn to Food Stamps to support your family.

Lemme give you another scenario: what if you're a single mom who works two jobs and can't afford health insurance and one day you get plowed down in the crosswalk of a four-way intersection because someone's idea of "multi-tasking" is texting, putting on makeup, eating a McGriddle and driving all at the same time? Well, if you have the misfortune of surviving, it's very likely that you'll be buried under an insurmountable crush of medical bills that you may never be able to extricate yourself from.

Since there's clearly a victim in both of these scenarios, wouldn't it make sense if society as whole chipped in a little bit to help mitigate this misfortune? And if you decided to accept this help would you see it as badly-needed assistance in a time of need or the start of your unending spiral towards becoming an entitlement junkie?

Or, to put it in the inexplicable words of actor / Republican / oblivious chowderhead Craig T. Nelson:


Wow, just...wow. Even Glenn Beck looks like he's thinking 'Oh, God, did he just say what I think he said? Who booked this (oxy)moron?'  

For a bunch of self-righteous blowhards who constantly rail against "takers" who exist only to score their next government handout, many star Republicans seem pretty durned quick to snatch up these benefits themselves when given half the chance. Take fiscally-conservative tub-thumper / unblinking Skeletor understudy Michelle Bachmann. Despite decrying Obama for foisting "socialism" on a weakened American populace like a drug pusher, her family farming operation leeched almost two hundred and fifty-two thousand dollars from American taxpayers between 1995 and 2006. And, trust me, she's not the only hypocrite.  

In fact, all Republicans and Conservatives want us drones to unquestioningly worship at the feet of whatever corporate golden calves that are kind enough to grant us a future. Well, if we're to believe that corporations are people now and we should look up to them, shouldn't they all be paragons of fiscal responsibility and independence? 

Nope. Wait, let me double ch...ah, nope.

 http://www.decisionsonevidence.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/11/Ten-companies-with-the-largest-tax-subsidies-2008-2010.png

And that's why I think the Swiss are on to something.

"But Dave!" I miraculously hear some of you out there saying, "If you give people a free basic living allowance they'll never do anything productive. People are inherently lazy and, if given half a choice, they won't work a day in their lives!"

To which I reply:
  1. You must be hanging around the wrong people! Everybody in my circle would go totally batshit nuts if they remained idle for too long, present company included. 
  2. Eventually automation and technology will force this issue and there'll too many people and not enough crappy McJobs
  3. Honestly, who cares if some people don't want to work? If humanity applied itself, only about five to ten percent of the world's population would need to work in order to keep this wacky globe a-spinnin'.
http://radicalunjobbing.files.wordpress.com/2012/10/bucky-fuller-quote.jpg

So, what if we could set up a system that both generous humanitarians and selfish assholes could both get behind? Welp, here's what I'd institute if I was ever voted Emperor of the Planet:
  1. "People need food, water, shelter and access to basic healthcare in order to live. Okay, with that truism established, I'm just gonna give every legal adult $2000.00 a month just fer bein' you! I call it the B.L.E.S.S. or the Basic Living Expense Survival Supplement. Now, don't spend it all in once place; I'll be back in about a month or so to check up on ya!"
  2. "Hey, how're you doin'? Man, I can't believe that it's already been four weeks since I gave you your first B.L.E.S.S. so I just wanted to pop by and see what you've been up to! What's that you say? You've been doing nothing? Just sittin' there watching one Vanderpump Rules marathon after another, huh? Well, um, okay, but if you really want the full experience of watching a snooty British entrepreneur berate her pretty-but-dumb-as-a-bag-of-hammers waitstaff on a high def T.V. then you might wanna go out and get a job. But, hey, whatevs."
  3. *knock, knock* Yo, Jessie I'm here to...OH MY GOD!!! What the hell did you do?!? Okay, okay, lemme get this straight...you took all of the money I wanted you to spend on bread, milk and pizza and blew it on meth?!? Okay...no...no, relax, dude, chill out...stop crying...no, we're not gonna throw you in jail. And no, we're not going to cut off, alright? Clearly you've got a problem so we're just run  you through the same drug treatment program that Portugal's been using to good effect. Even if it takes more then a month, don't worry dude: we've got an endless supply of opportunities to get your head screwed on straight! Eventually I know you'll come around...
  4. Good day, random flaky artsy person! I just wanted to see what you've been doing with your B.L.E.S.S. money and all of that free time! Well, well, looky that...I see that you've painted a picture / written a story / made a movie and / or composed and then learned how to perform an original dubstep song on the theremin! Well, here's this month's B.L.E.S.S. and, remember: if you manage to make some cheddar from your creation, it's all pure profit! That's right, you can cash that royalty check knowing that it's not just gonna get swallowed up by the inexorable rent monster! 
  5. So, you say you want to live in something larger then your basic domicile? You want clothes with some stupid brand name printed on it? Enough kids to start up your own basketball team? A fancy new motorcar? A timeshare in Lisbon? Do you have an irrational desire to habitually dine at an expensive restaurant named SUR? Well, then you better keep your job at the cracker factory, pal! Now, don't worry, if you decide to keep working I'm not gonna claw back your B.L.E.S.S.! To the contrary, all of the money you bank from work will be pure, unadulterated profit my covetous friend!
  6. Wow, hey, check you out! Through your hard work, discipline, initiative and perseverance you've become an entrepreneur / brain doctor / atom-smasher / star of a series of oddly profitable direct-to-pay-cable-giant-shark-based-monster-movies! Oh, but what's that you say: you don't want to share your tax dollars with "deadbeats" who don't work as "hard" as you do? Hmmmm, well, I can see by our records that that this stance of yours certainly hasn't precluded you from cashing those B.L.E.S.S. checks every month. Remember how that money paid your power bill while you were putting together your business plan? Do you recall how many text books it paid for? What gave you the chance to really drill down on that Sharkaconda vs. Gorillarantula script instead of bussing tables at Spagos? And, yes, I'm referring to the Spago in Windsor Ontario, by the way.  
  7. As long as you keep living fairly frugally then you won't have to pay a lot of taxes. But if you start buying yachts, Ferraris, forty-thousand dollar bottles of wine or island in the Cyclades like a dee-bag, then yer gonna get dinged for some mondo sales tax.
***

So, is my system perfect? Hardly. Switzerland might be able to pull this off but that's just because of their shady-but-undeniably-strong international banking economy. Oh, and they also have a population of only about eight million people, who are already predisposed to the notion that social programs can actually improve the quality of life instead of signalling inevitable imprisonment on a work collective.

Even though it would be a lot harder to institute a paradigm shift in North America and you'd get a lot of push back from hordes of uninformed morons who erroneously equate socialism with communism, I still dream that one day we'll all come to our collective senses and actually try something new.

'Cuz, let's face it folks, the system that we're using right now is just plain broken.

EPIC DOC   You think that I'm a dreamer? Check out futurist / social engineer Jacques Fresco's proposals for The Venus Project. Pity that there's no chance in hell that the whole of humanity will ever rally behind this great idea because reasons.


EPIC INTERVIEW Our very own George Stroumboulopoulos gets some great observations out of comedian and political satirist Bill Maher. Pay particular attention to what he says at the six minute mark and beyond.  


REALITY FAIL  Fox News continues to be the "news" equivalent of that drunk racist uncle of yours who's always ranting and raving about the "moocher class" at family dinners. Seriously, if you hitch your wagon to these idiots then you deserve to work sixty hours a week at two jobs in perpetuity and have the same quality of life as a medieval serf.  


REALITY FAIL: PART DEUX  "Have you seen some of the movies I've done? Did you think I wanted to do all of those movies? I'm gonna be honest, sometimes you have to go to work...and then get paid an exorbitant amount of money to run around and play pretend."
 

Friday, February 7, 2014

Top Five Lamest Rock Song References


Aloha, Audio-Philes!

In order to effectively horrify authority figures and inspire feelings of genuine rebellion, good rock songs really need to reference some if not all of the following things:
  1. Sex.
  2. Mind-Altering Substances.
  3. Overt Weirdness.
  4. Justified or Unjustified Rage. 
  5. Crushing Despair / Loneliness / Unfulfilled Longing / Angst / Ennui. 
  6. Sex.
  7. Genghis Khan, Cthulhu, crazed robots, dragons, poems by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Satan or some other Cool, Deep, Dark Shit.
  8. Partying Like It's On Sale For $19.99.
  9. Sex.
  10. Sex.
In spite of these no-brainer pre-requisites, more then a few musicians have plumbed the depths of incongruous or decidedly-uncool subject matter, resulting in some of the lamest "rock" "songs" in music history.

So, I give to you:

The Top Five Lamest Rock Song References

(5) Name-Dropping Someone With More Talent Then You  Word to the wise: if your breathy, falsetto warbling and limited range showcases a complete and total absence of vocal power (which is then further whitewashed by hideous levels of overproduction), then you might not want to draw attention to your shortcomings by repeatedly reminding listeners that there's infinitely more talented vocalists out there that they should be listening to.


(4)  Mentioning Any God That Isn't Mythological  The phrase "Christian Rock" is an oxymoron. If you think that listening to music that sounds like a Nickelodeon show's theme song makes you some sort of rebel, then your halo's on too tight.

Remember kids: if your parents are cool with it, then there's a very high probability that your musical selection probably sucks.

The really funny thing about dudes like Scott Stapp from Creed or Russ Lee from NewSong is that they usually employ this ridiculous, "HA-RUM-DE-HEY", walking gonad vocal style which is clearly designed to tell every girl within earshot that he won't hesitate to put the blocks to her back at his hotel room at the Best Western next to the Wingy Manone Memorial Speedway.

Unless, of course, you're one of those pure-as-the-driven-snow members of Stryper.


Honestly, is there anything lamer and less rock n' roll then the willfully and active pursuit of virginity? Thanks, Stryper for giving us this ear-splitting, tone-deaf ode to a mid-life crisis.

Please note, Jesus is completely exempt from this rule because:
  1. He's an only child.
  2. He's got amazing mechanical aptitude.  
  3. He gave us some of our best rock-star poses
  4. He hates televangelists
  5. I mean, he really, really hates televangelists
  6. He's a pretty chill dude
  7. He's got no time for hypocrisy
  8. He's WAY COOL.
  9. He can bust out more awesome party tricks then David Blaine. 
  10. He's willing to spot a brotha when he's down. 
Speaking of being broke... 

(3) Personal Finances  We've all got bills to pay so the last thing I wanna hear when I turn on the radio is some band's lead singer whinging about his bank balance. Sorry, but references to "saving money", "market losses", "pension funds", "bad investments", "taxes" and "overdrawn accounts" is about as rock n' roll as an episode of The Lang and O'Leary Exchange.

Obviously you didn't get the memo, Passion Pit, so here goes: the primary duty of rock stars is to provide escapism for the average shmoe, not rub our nose in the bleak and boring drudgery of having to get by every day. Little wonder this video starts the way it does; you'll want to lie down in the street too after listening to this crap.

Get the off the stage, you morose motherf#@kers!  


(2) Sports  True rock stars derive exercise from only two sources: groupie shagging and/or on-stage scissor kicks. Sorry, but sports goes with rock n' roll about as well as Cheez Whiz and Lucky Charms.


In addition to providing incentive for meathead jocks to chest-bump one another, these boring, cliche-ridden anthemic pieces of shite also give failed-athlete parents a soundtrack to live vicariously through their put-upon kids, some of whom couldn't give a flying f#@k about sports.

Now, although I'm not the biggest fan of Tom Cochrane's "Big League", I have to respect the fact that he wrote the song about a real-life Canadian kid who was killed in a car accident just prior to starting what might have been an amazing NHL career. This grim, underlying subject matter still doesn't prevent hordes of slack-jawed troglodytes from using the song as warm-up music before minor league hockey games. F#@king idiots.

(1) Scholastic Achievement  Look, unless you're suggesting a radical, rock-based curriculum change,  admiring an educator's aesthetic value, reveling in a temporary, seasonal-based hiatus, or just advocating wanton cruelty, bands should never, ever talk about school. Especially not in a positive light. And this is coming from a former honor student.

Hey, I might be a geek, but I'm no nerd.

And bands should never, ever boast about "doing alright", "gettin' good grades" or destinies so luminescent that they require the use of ultra-violet ophthalmological protective devices.


This song has to be the dweebiest daily affirmation ever recorded. It's like the musical equivalent of that cocky, gel-haired Principal's son in High School who wore Hawaiian shirts and neon-framed sunglasses. Indeed, if a song can ever be characterized as "douchey", this is it. 

I swear, just as soon as I'm named Emperor, I'm gonna wipe this tinny, sickeningly-optimistic, drum-machine-driven audio abortion right out of existence. Then I'm gonna find out what decrepit trailer park the lead singer lives in and jam that f#@king harmonica right up his ass.  

Equally sinful is this mock-cock-rock piece of dreck from back in 1985 by even-aging-way-back-then southern songsters .38 Special. 


Since, from my own personal experience, only about 20% of educators are worth crooning about and the rest are dead-eyed, soulless, unimaginative basket cases, this song really, really pisses me off. Just check out some of these incredibly tripe lyrics:

Teacher, teacher can you teach me?
Can you tell me all I need to know?
Teacher, teacher can you reach me?
Or will I fall when you let me go? Oh, no!

Am I ready for the real world? Will I pass the test?
You know it's a jungle out there.
Ain't nothin' gonna stop me, I won't be second best!
But the joke's on those who believe the system's fair, oh yeah!

Sorry, but whatever "kid" is singing these lyrics really need to chill the f#@k out, go back behind the bleachers and smoke a doob with the bangers.

By crafting this battle-hymn for teacher's pets everywhere, I can't help but wonder if song-writers Jim Vallance and Bryan Adams ("Ah, I belief dat ve haff found zee source of zee suckage!") used to sit in the front row of math class, stick their arms up every five seconds and shout "Ooo, OoOOO!  Is this gonna to be on the test, Mr. Pommelhorse, sir?"

Every one of these references needs be placed in a permanent state of detention, post haste.  

EPIC MUSE:  "Jesus Is Just Alright" with me.

EPIC SUMMARY:  "I tell you whut..."


HOW TO MAKE AN EPIC FAIL FAIL-IER: Three-to-one odds says that she'll have a pay-to-watch webcam service by the time she hits her mid-twenties...


FAILED CONNECTION: "Funny thing is, Jesus told me that he only talked to you like once back in High School, so, y'know the whole 'friends' thing is probably a bit of a stretch."




Tuesday, January 21, 2014

Cold Turkey

 
Greetings, Persistent Perusers.

During my forty...um...three years I've never come remotely close to tobacco, alcohol or drug-related dependency. Hell, I've barely even touched the stuff. All told, I think I can safely declare that I don't have an addictive personality.   

Yet now I find myself in the throes of a compulsion that may be just as ruinous. It's hobbled my finances, distracted me from potentially lucrative opportunities and even impacted my health. What is this dire pursuit, you may ask? In one incongruous word it's:

WRITING

Now, I know you're thinking: "C'mon, Dave, dramatic much?" But I'll prove it to you. Just listen for a second...
 
January gives me a chance to look back and see what I managed to accomplish during the previous year. For example, back at the end of 2011, this was my admittedly-"impossible" Things To Do list for 2012:
  1. Try voice acting work.
  2. Make more board game videos.
  3. Attempt to find some sort of film crew gig.
  4. Make my first book available to Kobo readers.
  5. Keep promoting my first book.
  6. Start working in earnest on my second book.
  7. Produce four blog entries (!) and six reviews (!!!) per month.
  8. Sell some of my crap.
  9. Travel.
  10. Find a practical job that will somehow jibe with this irrational creative workload whilst not driving me insane in the process.
As sad as this underachieving checklist might be, the most depressing part about it is the ending:

"Even if I manage to check off a few of these, I'll be happy.   In my current situation, 2012 is virtually rife with limitless, unpredictable and downright giddy possibilities." 

Wow. You poor, deluded, naive bastard.

I say all of this because my single-minded obsession with número siete on this list caused everything else to fall by the wayside. In fact, instead of diversifying my efforts, I started up a third blog and then proceeded to write like a possessed maniac throughout the entire year. In fact, I only managed to accomplish seven through ten on this list.

Now granted, some of these goals were either goofy and/or pie-eyed anyway so a part of me is relieved that I didn't waste a lot of time on them. For example, with the rise of iPads and other tablets, I'm glad I spared myself the pain and misery of wrestling with super-frustrating formatting issues just to appease a couple of Kobo users. 

And even though I really enjoyed the time I've spent on movie sets (documented here, herehere and here for what it's worth), I no longer have a burning desire to be a mobile light stand or a human-shaped prop in the background. And although I had a lot of fun emoting in my one and only "acting" gig, I just don't posses the level of self-awareness (nor the wardrobe, apparently) to become a career actor. Or whatever passes for "career actor here in the impoverished Maritimes.

No, the two things I really regret not doing over the past two years is making more of my own short films and writing the sequel to my first book. My very first board game video was so wildly successful (over twenty-one thousand view as of this writing, holla!) that I really should have followed up on it immediately. Also when I think about how many chapters of a new book I could have written instead of blog posts, my mind reels. And, believe it or not, I still think I've got something to offer as a voice-actor.

Anyway, a year goes by and my next "things to do list" sounds a helluva lot more sober. Self-disappointment must have been getting me down, since I reduced my goals from ten the previous year to only two:
  • Break my ruinous addiction to writing
  • Stop my savings from swirling down the commode
See!? Even back then I was referring to writing as a "ruinous addiction"! Clearly feeling defeated, I bashed out the following weary resignation:

"It kills me to say this, but I'm either going to have to quit these blog posts cold turkey or, at the very least, scale back my usage."
 
Well, I'll have your know that I did scale back that year. I just couldn't bring myself to quit. When you're a closet extrovert who's desperately seeking creative validation, you begin to live for that steady stream of visitor hits, the rush of positive comments and the optimistic delusion that the right person will come along, read what you've written and magically offer you a paying job for something that you're clearly passionate about. Is there any wonder why the alluring l'il devil mounted on my shoulder kept reeling me in whenever he leaned into my ear and whispered: "C'mon, man, just one more post! You know you wanna!"

Sorry, but compared to chipping away at the third chapter of a full-length novel that may or may not ever see the light of day, the instant gratification offered up by a blog entry is just waaaaaay too tempting.    

Regardless, I now find myself in the same position again, looking back at the prior year and trying to see 2014 in a positive light. Even though my monthly balance sheet still keeps going in the wrong direction, at least my savings have stopped hemorrhaging. I really don't want to hit rock bottom. As such, I gotta start making some really tough decisions. I need some help.

To follow through on this goofy addiction analogy, I seriously considered going cold turkey at first. But then I found out that the odds of this working were actually pretty slim. In fact, according to one source, only "three to six cold turkey quitters out of every one-hundred will succeed during any given quit attempt. This makes cold turkey the least effective of all treatments."  Hmmmmm, not very promising.

Honestly, my vow to quit writing cold turkey is nothing but an unrealistic, overly-optimistic New Years resolution. Taking a break from breathing would be an easier for me. Just last week I tried to go as long as I could without writing something. Within a few short days I started to feel anxious, surly, unfulfilled and vaguely depressed. I felt like I was wasting my time. I even took my unconscious frustrations out on a poor, innocent sandwich press.

So, with the cold turkey approach out of the running, I had to find a more realistic strategy. Taking another hackneyed page from the simile book, I'm going to try a Gradual Reduction combined with a little dash of N.R.T., I.E. Notary Replacement Therapy. As such, here are my goals for the coming year:
  1. Keep this blog alive even if it means committing to a single new post a month and more if the  spirit really moves me.
  2. Reduce my reviews to a minimum of two per month instead of striving for one a week. If I need to do more then that I'll use "Pro" and "Con" bullet points if I have to.
  3. Maintain my board gaming blog at its current pace since it's clearly the most popular of the three.
  4. Finalize at least one chapter a month for my new book. 
  5. Start making those damned board game videos. Monthy, by rights.
  6. Put more focus on writing projects that may actually yield a bit of money one day down the road. The iPad ap I've been dabbling with now gets top priority!
  7. Keep looking for ways to snare the almighty dollar while keeping my mind and soul intact. At least cobble together enough scratch in order to travel someplace this year. Travel is the only luxury I really can't do without. 
Slowly but surely I'm coming to realization that writing has to be one of the worst pursuits to burden yourself with. In this age of fleeting attention spans, visual artists, pod-casters, musicians and film-makers have a huge advantage over writers, because the things they create can be experienced and enjoyed passively. Writers, on the other hand, need to engage people in the active endeavor of reading, which oftentimes ain't easy.

Even I'm guilty of literary sloth from time to time. Occasionally I'll click on a superficially-intriguing link, quickly appraise the resulting wall of text that's been magically conjured in front of me, dive in and then start to think 'Ugh, this is waaaaay too much effort. I wonder if there are any new talk show clips with Bill Burr on YouTube that I haven't seen yet?'

In spite of this, I'm glad that I gave myself so much time and opportunity to practice and hone this wonderful craft. When I first started, I really wasn't a writer. I was just some dude who could kinda string a sentence together and occasionally come up with something vaguely funny, witty and/or crude. At least I can do a reasonable impersonation of a writer now. And as such, I'm really looking forward to turning my attention to producing a vastly superior second novel.

Wish me luck, Gentle Readers, as I try to stay on the straight-and-narrow path and not backslide into temptation. If you could just feel the same gloriously-wonderful sensation of creative endorphins happily frolicking around in my head as I'm about to finish up this sad, navel-gazing exercise in self-therapy, you'd know why I'm so strung out on the written word.      

I appreciate your continued support just not, y'know, too much support. Whatever you do, don't be an enabler. If I get too much encouragement then, who knows, I might fall off the wagon and go on some crazed, five-post-a-week binge like back in the good old days.

*sigh*

EPIC POEMS   The photo that appears at the top of this post comes from this site, which features some heartfelt poems produced by real people in the throes of real addiction. Pretty harrowing stuff.

EPIC SHMALTZ:   Corn-ball but true...


EPIC SENTIMENT  Yeak, I know, I know...another Patton Oswalt clip. But, hey, the dude keeps encapsulating my exact thoughts on the overwhelming drive to practice your true calling, regardless of how financially daunting that can be. Just listen to what he says here at the 30 second mark:


FAILED ANALOGY   'Don't bury your lead...don't bury your lead...don't bury your lead...'

Tuesday, December 31, 2013

Them's Fightin' Words


Greeting, Pickers and/or Grinners!

In my humble opinion, one of the worst things you can call someone is a "redneck". Which is kind of a pity because the term began innocently enough as a literal descriptor for poor, hard-working farmers who could easily be identified by their sun-charred necks.

Eventually "redneck" began to take on another, darker meaning. Since many of the people described in this manner weren't exactly the most educated, urbane or open-minded folks, the word soon became synonymous with bigotry, ignorance and rigidity. In turn, it's a label that every single Southerner has been unfairly tarred with; a prejudice that's as myopic and intolerant as any other.

Even though I personally don't understand the appeal of NASCAR, buck hunting, Will Hoge, camouflage bed-sheets and half-ton trucks (especially as a Canadian), I do know that just because people like these things it doesn't automatically make them inbred, Bible-thumping racists. As you might expect, folks get a tad prickly when you call them "redneck" just because they have a fetish for watching cars drive around in a semi-circle.

Which is why you've seen a redneck reclamation effort recently. Hell, Sarah Palin nearly got to within one step of the Presidency on the back of her oblivious, corn-pone "charm". Both Jeff Foxworthy and Larry The Cable Guy have inexplicably managed to parlay the concept into nominal, one-note comedy careers. Tyler Farr had a tryin'-too-hard hit this year called "Redneck Crazy". Daryl Dixon is justifiably the most popular character on The Walking Dead. And although Honey Boo-Boo and her clan aren't exactly rocket scientists, they aren't a bunch of intolerant assholes either.

And then there's the high water mark for redneck chic:


Having never watched a single episode of Duck Dynasty, I can only guess as to why it's so ludicrously popular right now. Here then are my theories:
  • "It's got jen-you-wine FAMILY VALUES which is in short supply on the TEE VEE nowadays."
  • "If'n you get the right idea and you work hard you can go from RAGS TO RICHES."
  • "It's great to see real people on the TEE VEE that'r jus' like us and not like them uppity Kardashians."
  • "Even though some members of your family are COLORFUL CHARACTERS that GET ON YER NERVES, you still love 'em anyways."
  • "It's also nice to see someone on the TEE VEE openly express their FAITH IN GOD."
  • "I jus' love it when Phil, Miss Kay, Si, Willie and the rest of 'em get into all them hi-jinx. IT'S JUS' LIKE MY OWN PACK O' NUTS!"
  • "It's nice to see good, honest, God-fearin' people win out for a change instead of all them over-edumacated snobs that Rick Santorum is always talkin' about."  
If you insist on frittering away chunks of your life watching the empty mental calories of reality T.V., you could actually do a lot worse. At face value, Duck Dynasty is just a modern-day, real-life spin on The Beverly Hillbillies: with innocent, well-intentioned, "new money" hayseeds who rock the rich establishment with their own home-spun brand of down-to-earth charm. We root for them for the same reason we cheer on Kathy Bates as the "Unsinkable", and refreshingly sassy, Molly Brown in Titanic.   

But ever since Duck Dynasty became a cultural phenomenon, I've wondered just how legitimately "rednecky" these guys really are. After all, it doesn't matter how back-woodsy these guys claim to be, if they're multi-millionaires, then they have to posses some gar-run-teed, lee-jit-uh-mit smarts. And sure enough, after a cursory bit of research, you can quickly suss out the real reality behind these counterfeit clodhoppers:

Jase Robertson B.C. (Before Camouflage). Is this an errant page from the J. Crew catalog?  

While he attended Louisiana Tech University, Phil had the sort of haircut you could calibrate scientific instruments with.

Willie has a Bachelor's degree in Health and Human Performance with a minor in Business from the University of Louisiana.  Hmm, I wonder if Rick Santorum would call these guys snobs?

Sy was once a clean-cut military man.

But just as I was about to write them all off as a bunch of closeted New England Blue Bloods, Robertson family patriarch Phil recently uttered the following eye-opening quote:

“Start with homosexual behavior and just morph out from there. Bestiality, sleeping around with this woman and that woman and that woman and those men. Don’t be deceived. Neither the adulterers, the idolaters, the male prostitutes, the homosexual offenders, the greedy, the drunkards, the slanderers, the swindlers—they won’t inherit the kingdom of God. Don’t deceive yourself. It’s not right.”  

As soon as I read that I was like: "Okay, theeeeere's the pompous, know-it-all certainty disguised as intolerance and hatred that I usually associate with rednecks. Maybe these guys are legit after all."

Confession time: I'm forty-three years old and hopefully part of the last generation to grow up during a climate of open hostility towards homosexuals. When I was a kid, people actually thought that being gay was a lifestyle choice, presumably due to some sort of sexual fetish or psychological deficiency. 

But this never made sense to me. Why would someone consciously pick a sexual orientation that threatened to alienate them from their family and friends? Why would you chose a predilection that would open you up to a lifetime of societal scorn? I know for a fact that there were gay kids in our High School who spent years wrestling with self-esteem issues and depression brought on by open hostility and alienation.    

In the 70's and 80's, broad, stereotypical depictions of gays and lesbians in the media were a constant source of ridicule. Eddie Murphy openly expressed a particularly vile form of homophobia that makes both Delirious and Raw nearly unwatchable today. Gay and lesbian actors and musicians, harshly "outed" by the press, were immediately branded with harsh epithets like "lezzie", "faggot" and "queer" in private circles.

As you might expect, if you spend years growing up immersed in this warped prevailing attitude there's a pretty good chance that you'll buy into it as well. I'm not proud to admit it, but back then when I was a stupid, impressionable kid, I found myself entertaining these idiotic thoughts from time to time. 

But even during my most ignorant and callow days I never, ever openly expressed the sort of vitriol embodied in Phil's quote to anyone. Even when people were being openly hurtful and verbally cruel I just couldn't bring myself to join in. Probably because, as a scrawny, geeky kid I'd been on the receiving end of enough ridicule to know how it felt to be ostracized just for being different. 

In most cases, university becomes the place in which we leave our narrow view of the world behind and expand our minds. Unfortunately, these moronic thoughts were actually re-enforced somewhat during my first few years living in residence. It wasn't until I got out into the workforce and met and befriended some truly fantastic people before my embryonic but omnipresent positive stance on gay rights finally pushed its way to the vanguard. 

During this time I swiftly came to recognize my borderline-redneckian leanings for what they truly were: a symptom of my own ignorance and personal failing. With this firmly established I went out, got myself informed, divorced myself from these infantile thoughts and now I'm a much better person for it. 

So I beseech everyone reading this: please, please stop referring to yourself in such oxymoronical terms as a "proud redneck". Now I'm not saying that you can't sport a mullet, attend Monster Truck rallies and watch CMT, just don't characterize yourself in such limited way.   

To me, a redneck is someone who's given up on trying to make themselves a better person, someone who is 100% convinced that they're right about everything and everyone else is wrong. They cling stubbornly to their own narrow point of view, even when their woefully under-informed opinions are filled with bitterness, insecurity and hate.

So if anyone ever calls you a redneck to your face, you have my permission to punch them right square in the larynx.     
       
EPIC RANT  This is what happens when one particularly awesome Southerner gets tired of being depicted as a bigoted asshole:


EPIC FUNNY   Comedian Patton Oswalt perfectly sums up my own thoughts on gay marriage right here. Not suitable for work, even though it should be.


HUMANITY FAIL   If you recognize any portion of yourself in the following GQ Magazine interview then you got some work to do on yourself, son. Phil's insistence that poor, segregated blacks were "Godly...and happy" and no-one was "singing the blues" back then is equally baffling, but that's a blog entry for another time.       

Sunday, December 22, 2013

In Transit


Here's how my flight home last year played out in a series of desperate and pathetic Tweets:

12:27 PM 
Sorry that the weather's completely shite today, guys, but I'm flying today.
#alanismorissetteironic
 
12:28 PM
The airport: the only place on the planet where a bottle of water is more expensive then a tall Starbuck's dark roast.
#hydrationpaymentplan?
 
12:30 PM
The airport: where young people bliss-out with digital distractions and old people cling doggedly to boredom.
#generationgapchasm
 
12:34 PM
The airport: where an elderly black woman can dress like Diahann Carroll in the "Star Wars Holiday Special" and no-one bats an eye.
#pssstdiscoisdead
 
12:39 PM
Hey, moron, if the airport waiting area is totally silent then everyone can hear your "private" phone conversation.
#useyourindoorvoice
 
12:50 PM
A hyperventilating older woman continues to linger just outside the still-open plane door.
#Ivedecidedtorethinkthiswholeflyingthing
 
12:51 PM
The stewardess has now linked arms with her in case the old woman passes out and rolls down the steps.
#whatevershesgettingpaiditisntnearlyenough
 
12:56 PM
Dude to panicked lady: "You'll be alright, maid! In a few minutes you'll be back there playin' cards and havin' a smoke!"
#screwsafetyregulationsletlighterup
 
12:58 PM
Stewardess seems to have pacified the panicked lady with a premature offering of pretzels and O.J.
#prozaclacedjuicebox
 
1:00 PM
Pretty sure the dude seated in front of me has been marinating in Captain Morgan and Aqua Velva. 
#youcanwearORdrinkeitherofthem
 
1:00 PM
God, I sure hope the pilot flies better then he drives.
#checkhispapers 
 
1:03 PM
Oh...my...God, I just heard the stewardess refer to our pilot as a "new hire". #thingsyoudontwannahearonaplane
 
1:06 PM
So, apparently the chemical used to de-ice planes first turns ice brown, then it turns ice green and then and only then does it melt it. 
#seemslegit
 
2:31 PM
Plastic cup just popped out of the seat flap in front of me, spilling ice and O.J. into my open backpack.
#urgetokillrisingrisingrising
 
2:36 PM
The two things that have caused me the most hearing loss in my lifetime are rock concerts and Dash-8 airplane cabin noise.
#wha?
 
2:46 PM
Dash-8 planes: slightly less leg room then a go-cart. Inadvertently molested my seat-mate while fishing my iPod outta my backpack.
#thosenutsarentcomplimentary
 
2:47 PM
DEER LAKE: I AM IN YOU!!!
#notdirtytechnicallycorrect
 
2:51 PM
Feet pinned under backpack and not enough room to pull bag up between shins and seat in front of me. "HALP!  I IS TRAPT!"  
#santaclaustrophobia
 
2:52 PM
LEMME OFF!!! LEMME OFF!!! LEMME OFF!!! LEMME OFF!!! LEMME OFF!!! LEMME OFF!!! LEMME OFF!!! LEMME OFF!!! LEMME OFF!!!
#margesimpson
 
3:12 PM
Seeing the smiling faces of the 'rents in the terminal widow = priceless.
#worththeeffort
 
 
EPIC LOOP    See how far you can get through this before you end up joining her in the chorus... 

 
HOLIDAY SPECIAL FAIL     "OoooOooo...OOOO! We are excited, aren't we?"
  
 
 


Tuesday, November 26, 2013

Perfectly CON-Tent: HAL-CON 2013

 
Greetings, Fellow CON-Testants!

I had a couple of minor hiccups at HAL-CON last year, mainly centered around entitled dweebs armed with Warp Passes and well-meaning but militant volunteers trying to annex our free-play game tables. Neither of these niggling issues were enough to deter me from procuring a three-day weekend pass for this year.

In fact, these tiny glitches were nothing compared to the irritants which plagued some attendees at this year's event. If ticket-holders made the mistake of pressing "SNOOZE" on their alarm clock Saturday morning or if you kept tabs on HAL-CON 2013 in the media as a spectator, you probably already know what I'm on about. Personally, I can only comment on my own individual experience.

And I have to say, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this was my favoritest HAL-CON evar!

"Stay awhile and listen and I shall regale thee of my tale of high adventure..."


FRIDAY

Andrew picked me up at my place just smidge after noon. I had to get him to back-track up into Bayers Lake so that I could pick up a few new digital video tapes.

To future-quote Jewel Staite: "Tapes. Remember tapes, guys?"

Yep, I bought my video camera back in 2008, which might as well be the Mesozoic Era in technology terms. At that time, on-board digital storage and memory cards were still in their infancy. Ergo, I had to snag some extra tapes for my camcorder before heading down to the World Trade and Convention Center. Given the scarcity of the damned things this is becoming an increasingly-difficult prospect.

While I was waiting for my first mandatory event of the day, I spent some time roving around the convention floor. With my happily-fed video camera cranking away, I captured the panoply of sights, sounds and yes, smells of HAL-CON whilst casing the expansive vendor section for some choice acquisitions. As you can well imagine, the time just flew by and the next thing I knew it was time to meet up with a childhood hero.

Now, I've already ranted at length about how impactful Star Wars was to me as a kid, but let's face it, the adventures of Luke, Han and Leia were few and far between. The wait between 1977 and 1980 was a long and protracted one but mitigated considerably by the appearance of Battlestar Galactica in theaters here in Canada.

The brainchild of producer Glen Larson, Battlestar Galactica posited that the race of man first originated "amongst the stars". In some distant past, the human race has been engaged in a protracted struggle against the Cylons, a population of murderous automatons who've been trying to wipe out all organic life in the galaxy. When the Cylons extend an unexpected offer of peace, the twelve human colonies jump at the offer, anxious to bring an end to a thousand years of constant warfare.

The most vocal olive-branch skeptic is Adama (Lorne Greene), a decorated war-hero and the Commnader of the titular Battlestar. True to Adama's predictions, the Cylons shatter the temporary truce and during the resulting Pearl Harbor job the human race is all but extirpated. All that remains is a "rag-tag, fugitive fleet" led by the Galactica. Their goal: to find a planetary promised land known only as "Earth".

Lured in by the spectacular trailers on television I was one of the few kids lucky enough to see Battlestar Galactica in theaters in 1978 at the tender age of eight. I was completely blown away by the Viper ships, the Raiders, the Galactica, the Basestars, the insect-like Ovions and the creepy, mechanical Cylons. As amazing as all of this visual spectacle was, I was also engaged by the movie's human element.  

Richard Hatch's Captain Apollo was at the core of the film's emotional heart. Despite losing his brother, his mom and his wife to the Cylons, Apollo's resolve never wavered and his moral compass was always set to "Paragon". As an idealistic young kid, he was definitely the character I identified with the most.

Needless to say, it was pretty cool meeting Richard Hatch. In addition to getting his autograph, Richard subjected himself to a guerilla-style interview, the results of which can be peeped right hur.



Well-spoken, affable, and relentlessly enthusiastic about his past and future endeavors, Richard was a delight to talk to. His infectious positive aura virtually assured that I'd be attending his Acting Workshop later that evening. Leaving Andrew to engage in a four-player game of Firefly, I stole away to the "Clockwork Room" and grabbed a seat in anticipation of Richard's arrival.

Immediately I was thankful that many of my fellow conventioneers decided to show up and there was a respectable amount of butts in seats. There's nothing more awkward then going to one of these workshops only to find yourself in what amount to a midnight screening of After Earth. That's just sad.

Then, from out of nowhere, local Hali-famous actor Rhys Bevan-John, plunked down into the seat next to me. I absolutely love this guy. Earlier that day, in a move perfectly in step with the rest of the costumed masses, Rhys was strutting around the convention hall in his "Best Of" cape and crown.

I don't blame him for being proud. Just a few days earlier Rhys was named "Best Male Theater Actor" in The Coast's annual "Best of Halifax" survey. I saw him play the lead in Shakespeare By The Sea's performance of Hamlet that past summer and he (along with the rest of the cast) were uniformly awesome.

When Richard arrived it looked as if he was dressed for winter, bundled up in no less then four different shirts and/or jackets. Can't say that I was surprised; during our interview he'd scoffed at my casual reference to the weather as "mild". In fact, I think he characterized the temps that day in Halifax as "Arctic-like".

It wasn't long before Richard started shedding some of those heavy layers of fabric. Dude's a very dynamic orator and if you ever get a chance to see him speak in any capacity I highly suggest you do so. Over the course of the next hour-and-a-half Richard offered up some tremendous insights into the business of acting, auditions, self-motivation, encouraging the creative spark, avoiding career pitfalls and parlaying personal experiences into effective performances.

The workshop concluded with a gloriously loopy improv session featuring a pair of brave aspiring actresses, one playing a put-upon hospital supervisor and the other posing as a drug-addled janitor (!). Things got even weirder when Rhys was thrown into the mix as a stern-but-inexplicably-merciful manager. Just as the scene started to come together we had to stop.

Honestly, I could have stayed there for another two or three hours but the room was booked for "Adventures with Vampires and Publishing". *Pffffttt*, as if there isn't already enough of that crap around!

On the way out I congratulated Rhys on his terrific showing in Hamlet and asked about his recent starring role in The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. When Rhys gave me a quick demonstration of his transformation scene I promptly kicked myself for missing out on what was surely another bravura SBTS production. Go see more live theater, kids! It's a blast!

By the time I got back to the games room, Andrew had pulled out a win in Firefly and also played a few games of Mr. Jack Pocket with a friend from work named Fraser. The three of us then broke out the awesome co-operative game Hanabi and by the time that game was over it was definitely time to pack it in for the evening.

All told, it was a great first day. We'd gotten the lay of the land, Andrew had played a bunch of games, I'd met and then hung out with a childhood hero and the crowds were pretty sedate. Not too shabby.

But then there came:

SATURDAY 

I faced another early rise the next day but I really didn't care. I knew that it was going to be a crazy day and I wanted to get down there early. I pitched at the Starbucks on Barrington Street around 9 am and waited for Andrew and Mike to turn up like a pair or bad pennies. In a stroke of synchronicity, my friend Chad, his wife Jeanette and the rest of their enthusiastic clan stumbled in to get their caffeine fix. We discussed strategies for the day and then prepared to wade into the fray.

With Andrew and Mike delayed, I decided to hike up to the convention center in order to establish a beach-head in the games room. In retrospect, this was probably a good move since the place was already starting to fill up. One major reason for this was the fact that the vendor section was open to the public, which I think inspired a lot of people to buy day passes right there on the spot.

In fact, my own significant other, who is usually leery about attending crowded and sometimes, shall we say, aromatic events like this, even trolled through the merch section with me for awhile. She picked up a gorgeous, elaborate-looking, Steam-punky watch while I got a fabulous deal on two awesome board games.

That's when we ran into two more friends, Sabina and Mark. Although Sabina's HAL-CON attendance was never in doubt, Mark had declared days ago that he wasn't going because of the crowds. He changed his mind at the last second when Sabina managed to procure a free weekend pass through work. Although this awesome spate of good fortune proved to be irresistible to Mark, the shoulder-to-shoulder throngs of colorful humanity probably did nothing to cure his agoraphobia.

Seeing the crowds rise like the water line over the bow of the Titanic, Sabina, Mark and I decided to retreat to the gaming room on the third floor. We waited there until Mike and Andrew showed up and then promptly left them behind. I'd been so busy with writey-type stuff leading up to HAL-CON that I didn't even have a chance to look at the schedule. Having Sabina there was great because she knew exactly what, when and where things were transpiring.

As such, she urged us to get down to the Main Stage about an hour early to score a good vantage point for the Billy Dee Williams Q&A. This worked out great because I arrived at the perfect time to capture Richard Hatch's presentation which I wasn't even aware has going on at the time!

During the subsequent half hour and change, Richard shared his views on narrow-minded studio execs, the dearth of speculative fiction on television, and how current technology provides creative freedom. Oh, and he also gave the attentive crowd plenty of insight into both incarnations of Battlestar Galactica as well as his forthcoming web-series The Great War of Magellan.

  

After watching this it's not hard to see why Richard is one of the most sought-after acting coaches and public speakers on the convention / lecture circuit right now.

With the imminent arrival of Billy Dee Williams, the Main Hall became as jam-packed as a Hyundai crammed with drunken university pledges. In fact, it got so crowded that it prompted a funny exchange with a couple that was standing next to me. 

"Wow, can you imagine what would happen if the fire alarm went off right now?" they observed.

"Oh, God, it'd be total anarchy," I replied. "The average Dexterity score for most people in this room is probably only around five or six so just picture a thousand of Hans Moleman's kids trying to get out of here all at once."

The wait, and the encroaching tide of humanity, was quickly forgotten when the Coolest Dude in the Galaxy™ walked out on stage. Over the course of the next forty-five minutes, Billy Dee Williams charmed young and old, male and female alike, regaling us with stories about The Empire Strikes Back, Return of the Jedi, Tim Burton's Batman and Robot Chicken

For pop culture nuts such as myself it was also great to hear him reflect on his celebrated artwork, his challenging appearance in Brian's Song and his debut on stage in The Firebrand of Florence at the tender age of seven. By the time he called a fan a "double-crossing, no-good swindler" at their request, we were all collectively wrapped around his finger:

    
The thing that resonated with me the most was when he likened himself to Holden Caulfield in J.D. Salinger's Catcher in the Rye, a character who naively floats through life, having random adventures and innocently getting into and out of trouble. You can see this yourself at the fifteen minute mark of the video.

"Even at my age at this stage in my life I'm pretty naive about a lot of things," he told the enthralled masses. "I was so protected as a kid growing up that I kind of found myself bumbling through life." 

Amen, brother.

When the Q&A was over, I lost Sabina and Mark in the resulting tsunami of bodies. While inching my way through the shoulder-to-shoulder crowds I first began to hear fleeting references to "over capacity", "fire marshal" and "clearing the building". About around that same time I bumped into Chad who told me that his kids had left the convention center to get lunch and couldn't get back in. Although it pained them to do so, Chad and Jeanette left to collect them knowing that they weren't going to get back in. Needless to say, a day pass refund would be in their future!

I finally managed to claw my way to the escalator and get back to the Games Room on Level Three. I briefly re-united with Andrew and even managed to get in a fleeting game of Mr. Jack Pocket before I had to take flight. 

I'm glad that I had the foresight to bring my own lunch with me. After our game was over I bypassed the concession stand on the same floor and then eked out a spot in the impromptu dining area where I wolfed down my home-made ham sammich, pausing occasionally to capture a few incredible costumes on video.

Oh, by the way, I despise the word "cosplay" with the fire of a million suns. Dressing up like an elf is goofy enough without giving it an infantile handle like "cosplay". Sounds like some sort of weird sexual fetish involving Cliff Huxtable and a Jello Pudding Pop. I actually had a great costume that I could have worn but if someone asked me what I was "cosplaying" as I probably would have beaten them to death with a plastic tricorder.

After scarfing down my lunch like a gluttonous anaconda, I scrambed down to the second floor, knowing that my window of opportunity to meet Billy Dee was drawing to a close. I jumped into the lineup and ended up having an extended yarn with the dude standing behind me who, in addition to being a Star Wars fan, was also a big horror nut. We both expressed our desire for a dedicated horror convention here in Halifax. 

"Yeah, wouldn't that be great? Especially if they got someone like Bruce Campbell as a guest? God, I'd freak right the f#@k out!" he confessed.

"Oh my God, that would be so friggin' awesome," I gushed. "I'd be a complete mess if I ever met Bruce."

Like a couple of 'tween girls talking about One Direction, we spent some time affirming our mutual love for The Chin. Then, when he told me that he'd met Texas Chainsaw Massacre star Gunnar Hansen at "Summer Fear" in Tatamagouche a few years back I was nearly overcome with jealousy.

"Dude, there's only one Leatherface, and that's Gunnar Hansen!" I maintained, having just re-watched his performance for a recent blog entry.

Also in the lineup was an uber-dedicated Mom who was looking to get her son's Lando Calrissian action figure signed.

"So your son couldn't be here? Is he studying for exams or something?" I asked.

"Oh, no," she replied. "He's a software developer for Valve in Washington. But when he heard that Billy Dee Williams was going to be here in Halifax he wanted me to meet him and get his action figure signed!"

And the "Mom of the Year" award goes to...

That's the great thing about coming to events like this. Even if you find yourself waiting in a barely-moving lineup, you'll find no shortage of awesome people to talk to, the lion's share of whom have built-in interests in common with you.

Meeting Billy Dee Williams was a real treat. I swear, if I could hop into a time machine and go back to around 1981 and tell L'il Dave that I'd be meeting one of my cinematic idols I'd probably plotz.

I do have one minor gripe about the way his autograph booth was set up, however. I've been to enough of these signings by now to know the drill off by heart:
  1. You wait in a big-ass line-up. 
  2. You eventually get to meet the person at the end of said lineup.
  3. You get to exchange some brief pleasantries with the person at the end of the lineup or heap some barely-comprehensible gushing praise on them.
  4. You hand over the crap your brought along so they can notarize it or get them to sign one of their free 8"x10" glossy photos laid out on the table in front of you.
  5. You get the f#@k out of the way post-haste for the other hojillion people nervously tapping their feet behind you.
But Billy Dee's set up was kinda odd. As you slowly began to approach the goal line, there was a large table set off to the right which bore all the available signature swag. When I tried (and failed) to pick up my chosen 8"x10" my weary brain eventually told me that the damned thing was taped securely to the table. Noting my confusion one of my line-mates leaned over and said:

"I think they're all up at the signing booth," she said, indicating a large wooden box set off to the side which resembled a low-fi filing cabinet.           

So, naturally, when I got up to the table I started to flip through the box to find the photo I wanted to get signed. Suddenly Billy Dee's assistant turned towards me and offered the following admonishment:

"Okay, you don't touch that," he said sternly. "I can find it for you. Which one do you want?"

For a second there I almost expected him to produce a ruler and whack me on the knuckles. After making a concerted effort to wipe the glare off of my face I indicated which 8"x10" I wanted Billy Dee to sign. Even though I'd deliberately held off until the tail end of the signing in a vain effort to avoid the initial rush, it was still pretty damned busy. As a result I didn't a chance to talk to Billy Dee very much.

I started by giving him a gift. Knowing that he was still catching heat from Star Wars "fans" for Lando's "betrayal" of Han Solo, I'd made up some joke flash cards that he could just hand out to people instead of wasting his breath:

This quote is actually taken from an interview that Billy Dee did with Wired in which he explained, in his own words, what Lando was up against. Cripes, even at the time as a ten year old kid I completely understood why Lando did what he did. After all this is Darth freakin' Vader we're talkin' about here!

The flash cards seemed to amuse him and I even got a chuckle out of his assistant. While Billy Dee signed the 8"x10" we had a chance to talk shop about art. I told him that my dad is a visual artist and how awesome it was to come home from school every day to see how his paintings had progressed. We also talked about his own formative arts-based education, a stark contrast to my crappy High School which cherished math and science above everything else.

But alas, a signature line-up waits for no one so I quickly thanked him, bid him farewell and then stumbled away with my newly-acquired treasure.   



As I slowly beetled my way out of "The Cave of Wonder" (more like "The Cave of I Wonder How I Get The F#@k Outta Here?!?") I was lucky enough to bump into Sabina and Mark, who'd found another mutual pal Angela. After "Ooooo"-ing and "Awwww"-ing over our new acquisitions, Sabina jumped into the autograph line-up for J. August Richards. When she returned from that encounter she was positively beaming. By all accounts, he was one of the most approachable and genial guests of HAL-CON, something I came to realize myself later on that same evening.

"Much love?" What the hell were they talking about over there?!?!

I briefly returned to the Games Room where Andrew had gotten himself immersed in the Pathfinder Adventure Card Game and Mike was embroiled in a heated match of Battlestar Galactica. At an event as jam-packed as this year's HAL-CON there was certainly no rest for the nerdy. Up next was Jewel Staite's Q&A which was set to begin at 2:30 pm sharp. Again, to make sure that we got a decent seat, we went down about forty minutes prior to the big event.

And its a damned good thing we did. The halls were still completely choked with bodies and the air was rife with rumors about people being turned away in droves at the door. When Angela's boyfriend Matt left the premises to get his equipment for a demo with the Society for Creative Anachronism, his re-entry was in doubt for the longest time. It was really scary when scuttlebutt seemed to indicate that we'd all be evicted from the premises and the entire event might get shut down.

But there was no confirmation of this as I staked out some standing room in the Main Hall. Regardless of how many people were packed into that place, the audience became downright reverential as soon as Jewel Staite took to the stage. Winsome, smart, funny, candid and more then a tad cheeky, Jewel immediately captured the hearts of everyone within earshot.

She covered all the bases and then some, dishing about her work on Higher Ground, Firefly, The X-Files, The Killing, Stargate: Atlantis, The L.A. Complex and even talked about her preferred super-power, the rewarding world of food bloggery, the insane world of Nathan Fillion and the joys of cooking bacon in an oven.


It's a darned good thing that I'd left my bags with Sabina and Mark. Wisely, they'd ducked out just prior to the end of the Q&A, beating the resulting crush of humanity that followed. Since I was videotaping fairly close to the stage, extricating myself from the room proved to be a Herculean effort. 

Mercifully, I found Sabina and Mark right off the bat. They'd expertly located the proper place to queue up for Jewel's autograph and I quickly joined them at the back of the budding line-up. During the subsequent wait, we had plenty of time to recant the many highlights from Jewel's entertaining Q&A and concluded that she'd be an absolute blast to have a drink and shoot the shit with.

And let me tell ya, folks, if you think that Jewel exudes scads of charisma on screen as Kaylee in Firefly or as Jennifer Keller in Stargate: Atlantis, well that ain't nothin' compared to meeting her in person. Knowing that she maintained an excellent food-related blog and had already patronized a few local eateries I opted to steer clear of any typical questions and go the foodie route.

As she signed an 8"x10" for me I couldn't help but needle her a little bit on the subject of haute cuisine.
   
"So, Jewel, y'know...there are people in this world who think that food is nothing more then something you stuff in your face to make hunger go away."

Upon hearing this she stopped what she was doing, lowered her pen and then fixed me with a steely glance.

"Those people are idiots," she said, half-joking and half dead-serious. 

"Whoa, whoa!" I protested, holding my hands up to ward off her mock ire. "I totally agree with you! In fact, since you already mentioned The Bicycle Thief I have a few more suggestions for you!"

"Oooo! Wait! Hold up!" she said excitedly, reaching for a conveniently-located pad of paper. "Okay, shoot!"

"Alright, so right across from The Bicycle Thief in Bishop's Landing is Ristorante a Mano, another great place for Italian food."

"Ristorante a Mano. Okay, check, I got it."

"Now, I also know that you're a huge burger fan."

"Oh, yeah! Now we're talkin'...whattaya got?"

"You need to check out Ace Burger."

"Ooo! OooOooo! Where's that?"

"It's down on Agricola Street. Now, be warned, at face value the place can look a tad...divey."

"I don't mind," came her plaintiff and emphatic reply.

"It's in Gus's Pub. And let me tell you, it's to die for."

Jewel stopped scribbling for a moment.

"Can I walk there from here?" she asked. When I made the mistake of hesitating for a beat she promptly turned to her assistant asked the exact same question. 

After assuring her that a cab ride would be well worth it, I thanked her and told her to enjoy the rest of the Con. She replied in kind and I strode away with yet another unique story and one shiny autograph.



I quickly located Sabina, Mark, Angela and Matt and collectively we all tried to puzzle out our next move. 

Even though it was just shy of 5 pm we were all getting pretty pooped. I'd been on the go since 7 am so I almost packed it in when Sabina and Mark said that they were getting out of Dodge. But since Angela and Matt were sticking around, I decided to stay for the J. August Richard's Q&A at 6 pm. And, man, am I ever glad that I did.

As Richard Hatch mentioned during his talk, Cons can be pricey affairs where your wallet starts to hemorrhage money as soon as you pass over the threshold. You really need to pick and choose who you get autographs from and photos with and what to buy in the vendor section. It's a constant struggle.

I'm saying this as a prelude to the following statement: I gotta meet J. August Richards one of these days. During his stellar Q&A he answered a slew of audience questions about Angel, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., Arrow, Gray's Anatomy and, hell, even Goodburger fer cryin' out loud. Somehow karaoke, Star Wars, board games and superhero stuff also crept into the mix. As you watch this video just take stock of how genuine, enthusiastic, warm and friendly this guy is.        


One of these days I hope to meet the guy, if only to tell him that he delivered my all-time favorite line in all five seasons of Angel. It came during the second-season closer "There's No Place Like Plrtz Glrb" when Wesley and Gunn were facing certain death at the executioner's block:

Gunn: I got a plan.
Wesley: Oh, thank God! What is it?
Gunn: We die horribly and painfully, you go to Hell and I spend eternity in the arms of Baby Jesus!

This took us up to 7 pm; way past my anticipated check-out time. Even Andrew and Mike had retreated to play games in relative peace back at Chad's place. Although periodically I'd been forced to battle against the tide of humanity, I left that night feeling perfectly content about how things had gone down. In fact, it wasn't until I got home and popped onto Facebook when I realized just how bad things had gone for some people that afternoon.

Regardless, I got myself prepped for Day Three, hoping that it would be a much more casual affair that was chock-a-block with board gamey-goodness. 

SUNDAY    

To paraphrase Emperor Palpatine: "everything transpired according to my desires" on Sunday. This time there was no mustering at Starbucks; I just made a bee-line for the first open gaming table I could find and pledged to sit there on my ass all day and play games. When Mike and Andrew joined me not long after I proceeded to fulfill the crap out of that humble goal.

As such, I played Jaipur, Forbidden Desert and something vaguely resembling Lost Legends. I also had a football-sized roast beef sandwich that I'm probably still digesting Sarlaac-style. I also took fleeting video of some awesome people in some very cool costumes.

And then I went home and I was sad.

EPIC EXPERIENCE  My video love letter to this year's HAL-CON.


EPIC GUEST Going back to my point about J. August Richards, you really have to pick and choose who you want to meet at these things. Given a second chance I would have gone out of my way to meet the incredibly classy and selfless Peter Davison. I started to pick up on the man's indelible qualities when I was waiting in the lineup to see Billy Dee Williams. Even then Peter was going well-above and beyond the call of duty with everyone he encountered.

As a neophyte Dr. Who fan, my experience with the character is woefully limited to the current modern iteration of the show which kicked off in 2005. Well, no more. I'm going rectify this personal deficit and seek out every single episode featuring the fifth Doctor, Peter Davison.

When he heard that scores of cold and frustrated fans were unable to get inside, Peter took it upon himself to go out, mingle with them and take a bunch of photos. With so much money flying around at these sort of events it's pretty easy to get jaded but with amazing guests like Peter in attendance, you really can't go wrong.

The Seward Clan were delighted to meet legendary Time Lord *slash* class act Peter Davison.

P.S. Who fans old and new owe it to themselves to watch Peter's fantastic short film The Five(ish) Doctors Reboot. It's rife with awesome cameos, self-effacing humor and plenty of great in-jokes.

NERD RAGE FAIL  Now, I know that a lot of folks had a very trying time of it this year, but I can only judge HAL-CON 2013 by my own experience and my own experience was nothing short of spectacular.

Having said that I can also sympathize with fans who were barred from entry on Saturday. I can only imagine how frustrating it would have been if I'd made the pilgrimage to Halifax from some remote corner of the Maritimes, rented a hotel, and got down to the convention center around noon after wrangling the kids only find out that my entry was barred. 

Let's face it, selling day passes without a specific date on them wasn't very swift. Having said that, throwing the vendor section open to the public was actually a pretty smart move in theory if not in practice. I have a sneaking suspicion that when hordes of curious shoppers swarmed the first floor they probably thought: "Wow, this is awesome! Let's get a day pass and check out the costume contest!" The result: "Stern-Faced, Lantern-Jawed Fireman" quickly became the most popular costume at HAL-CON that day.

Having said that, I can only accompany people down Frustration Avenue only so far. When apoplectic displays of internet rage in the form of "legal action" or verbal and physical threats get bandied about, then I'm afraid you and I have to part ways. If you think that the organizers of HAL-CON deliberately wanted to over-sell the venue, incur the wrath of the Fire Marshall, piss off a bunch of fans and issue a metric shit-ton of refunds, then your Stormtrooper helmet's on waaaaay too tight.

By the contrary, the HAL-CON gurus have always seemed like a reasonable and well-intentioned bunch of dedicated volunteers. In fact, they've always taken the time to personally address and rectify every single issue I've ever publicly voiced via this blog over the past few years. I'm willing to wager dollars to 'droids that next year a finite amount of day passes will be earmarked for each day of the Con.

We need to view this for what it is: growing pains for an event that continues to expand by leaps and bounds every year. If attendance was dwindling, HAL-CON was on life support and the chances of it coming back next year were looking bleak, then I'd be worried.

PERSONAL FAIL Man, I really wanted to meet Monte Cook but there was JUST...TOO...MUCH...TO...DOOOO!!! Please come back, Monte!!!  PLEASE!!!