Neil Crone - Enter Laughing

Does you wanna be the Mama or the Papa?

Wow.  Bernie 'No soul' Madoff gets 150 years in the slammer.  Nice. You have to love the judge on this one.  150 years.  Mind you Madoff is already 71, so it's not like he's losing his life.  With any luck though, he'll do some seriously hard time, with Big Agnes and the rest of the fellas in the general population.  I don't like his chances of getting out of the shower without a new friend or two...or five. He's gonna get more action than Pamela Anderson on Prom Night. Tough to be forgiving on this one, I'll tell you.  This guy basically financially raped a lot of regular folks like you and I.  Some estimates put his crime upward of 170 billion dollars.  Think about that number for a second.  That's larger than the GNP of many countries. The question that always comes to my mind in cases like this is; How much do you need?  How much dough do you need to pocket before you can say, "I'm fairly comfortable?"
Personally I'm pretty sure I'd be good after the first billion.  But this, obviously, is not about money.  It's a power thing.  Well, Bernie, old chum...good luck with the power thing in the Stir.  You can start by arm wrestling Big Agnes for the top bunk.  Reminds me of that wonderfully off-color old joke "...Does you wanna be the Mama or the Papa?"  Tough call Bernie.

A little perspective goes a long way.

Boy, it's a little eerie to listen to the words foaming out of Iranian despot/whack-job  Mahmoud Imadinnerjacket's mouth lately.  In response to U.S. condemnation of his post election crackdown he said "You should know that if you continue, the response of the Iranian nation will be strong. The response of the Iranian nation will be crushing.  The response will cause remorse."  Man, did this guy get his public speaking technique from Saddam Hussein's 'The big book of Inflammatory Rhetoric'?  Maybe he should also have spent a little time in Saddam's other book "Poking the Big Dog - Things I regret and other stories from the gallows'.  Iran is not that far from Iraq.  Surely they saw some of the smoke drifting off in the distance during those days.  Maybe heard the occasional crump of artillery?  Spotted the odd laser-guided warhead streaking overhead, carrying it's load of death and destruction?  Wouldn't his time be much better spent thanking Allah that a man of intelligence, patience and vision is now in the White house instead of trigger-happy hawk who would happily bomb he and his country back into the stone age given the least provocation?  Perspective is everything isn't it.

Anything but the booze! Pleassssse...

I popped into the local LCBO this morning, you know, just to pick up some boxes for packing up books and what not...don't want to give the impression I'm after booze before noon.  Although yes, certainly, I didn't see the point of actually being in the store and not picking up a little something anyway.  I mean, that's just good planning.  I can stop drinking whenever I want, dammit.
But I digress.  I mentioned, by way of small talk to the cashier, that I was sure she was glad they were not out on strike.  She replied that she was certainly glad of that and also glad that she had not been on shift during what she referred to as 'Nutty Tuesday'...the day before the strike was supposed to happen.  My jaw dropped as she told me that the shelves had been stripped bare that day.  She said the crowds were such that they doubled their entire Christmas week sales in one day. One day!  She told me they had just received a huge shipment and that only 10% of it stayed in the basement, the rest was used to fill the upstairs shelves.
Hmmm...rather interesting wouldn't you say?  I'm afraid to think about what that all says about us...most of us.  I'm sure people weren't nearly as up in arms about a nasty old garbage strike as they were about the prospect of a summer weekend without a tasty cocktail or two. Well, at least we know what our priorities are.  If we ever really go to war with another nation it likely won't be over a boundary dispute or politics or sovereignty issues...it'll be about somebody cutting off our booze supply.

So long Jacko...

I have to admit I was saddened by the news of Michael Jackson's death yesterday.  For all of his weirdness, I was a huge fan.  I saw the Jackson 5 live a couple of times and loved them.  Had all of his albums...can we still call them albums???  I was the guy, in the 70's, in my very white group of friends, who  was the 'go to' guy for party dance music.  In a house full of siblings that loved everything from the Beatles to Deep Purple...I somehow discovered R + B, funk and even, God bless it, Disco.  I grew up dancing to Michael Jackson. I was, I think, the first guy to do the 'robot' at my highschool dances.  Oh yeah...all that was missing was the 'fro and the glove for me.
He was a huge talent.  There's no denying that.  Troubled?  No question.  But a musical genius and a consummate entertainer.  Watch him in early videos...back when he was actually black, and you'll see what I' talking about.  Even as a ten year old, this guy was unbelievably fun to watch.  And he loved doing it.  I think it was the rest of his life that perhaps wasn't so much fun.  And that's very sad.  I couldn't get too busted up about Ed McMahons death, on the other hand.   I always thought Ed McMahon was sort of like Luba Goy.  A questionable talent who waltzed into one of the best and longest free rides in entertainment history.  As for number three...Farah Fawcett...well...there must be millions of boys who hit puberty in the 70's who had that poster of her up on their bedroom wall.  That alone, and the attendant adolescent fantasies, is worth a moment of silence. Thanks for the memories folks.

Heaven's Drive-thru...

Absolute heaven on the drive home tonight.  About twenty minutes from my house, well into the rolling hills of horse and farm country I turned the A/C off, rolled down the windows and opened the sun roof.  I was immediately enveloped in a warm, moist summer night air that was drenched in the sweet perfume of freshly mown hay, ripe strawberries and God knows how many flowering plants, trees and shrubs.  It was glorious.  The sun was on it's way down, another twenty minutes or so left of that diffuse dusky light. Sounds dumb, I know, but I almost wanted to pull the car over and just weep with pleasure.  Even the sky was etched, from horizon to horizon, with the most fantastically beautiful, wisps of cloud.  Everything around me seemed to be conspiring to delight me.  Why fight it?  We live in Eden up here and occasionally nature and the universe whack us over the head with a package so spellbinding that we are jarred out of our day to day complacency.  Hit me square in the solar plexus tonight.  Thanks.

One mo' mojito...

I officially welcomed in the Solstice with my first Mojito of the summer.  I fell in love with the Mojito long before I ever actually tasted one.  I've been a Hemingway fan for years, (I've read 'Islands in the Stream' four or five times anyway) and Papa makes drinking in general and the Mojito in particular, seem very appealing.  I had my first one in Los Angeles a few years ago and it was love at first sip. In fact, it may have eclipsed the Gin and tonic as my official drink of summer...although Bombay Sapphire gin is unquestionably a little bit of heaven. 
But the Mojito is something else altogether.  And, unfortunately, along with it's sudden popularity, has suffered from rampant and global bastardization.  In my books, and in Hemingway's incidentally, you have to use Cuban rum, preferably Havana club and you must use fresh mint and lime.  No 'Real Lime' will be tolerated.  Our backyard thankfully, is blessed with a very healthy, if regularly denuded, Mint patch and my LCBO, is blessed with a healthy stock of Havana club.  What a coincidence?  I like a little bit of bite to the cocktail too, so I top it off not with club soda but with Ginger beer. A couple of those and I'm ready to go to the bullfights.

If you've never tried a Mojito and don't want to wade through the endless variations of recipe, here's a good one to start with. Enjoy.

Happy Father's Day

A very happy Father's Day to all of you Dads out there.  Hope this day brings you loads of pleasure and joy.  As it should.  I can't think of anything I've done in my life that has come near to the challenge and reward of the mantle 'Father'.  Every day it's something new and the responsibility morphs as quickly as my children...which is blindingly fast.  You can't sleep at the switch on this job.  It's a testament to the import of the job of parenting that, for better or worse, so much of my life, energy and happiness, are tied up in my role of Dad. Far more than in any career or social activity.  It's been that way for the last seventeen years, when the first one arrived on the scene.  And I like it that way.  I like parenting.  I like being a Father to someone.  Children are an almost perfect mirror for ourselves.  They very clearly show us our virtues and faults. And just when we think we've got them and the job of parenting figured out, they go and surprise the hell out of us.  I awoke this morning to find a hand-lettered card on my bedside table.  I opened it up and read a very heartfelt note from my seventeen year old son.  I had been fully prepared to have both of my kids getting up, as usual, at the crack of noon, completely oblivious to the notion of 'Fathers Day'.  I wouldn't have blamed them at all.  That's the way kids are.  That oblivion is part of their charm and wonder.  I was like that for many years.  Most kids are.  But occasionally, you get moments like this card.  I don't think he'll ever realize how important it is to me.  Not, at least, until he finds one on his own bedside table one day.

God help us...

I have to admit I'm shaking my head again.  This time over the latest gafuffle with Toronto's Unionized City Workers...bankable sick days.  If you're not familiar with this deal, in a nutshell it means that a city employee can 'bank' unused sick days and then when he retires, get paid for them.  Sweet huh?  What century was that little item negotiated in?  And while we're asking questions, what planet do these people think they're living on?  As a self-unemployed actor/writer, I have issues with guaranteed sick days, let alone being able to bank them.  Union officials claim the rationale for this plan is that "... the sick-bank system rewards good attendance and, therefore, serves the public by limiting absenteeism."
Rewards good attendance???  Are we dealing with twelve year olds here?  You know what else rewards good attendance?  The very real possibility of getting shit-canned for being an absentee stiff.  How do you like them apples?  The first assumption upon being fortunate to actually get and hold a job these days is that you will show up on a fairly regular basis.  Attendance should never be a negotiable item.  'Rewards good attendance'...God help us.

Re-visiting 'The Dresser'

I re-watched 'The Dresser' last night. What an incredible piece of filmmaking. Two acting giants (Albert Finney and Tom Courtenay) in a loose adaption of King Lear.  The performances are so good, in fact, that both Finney and Courtenay were nominated for Best Actor at the Academy awards that year.  The film received a nomination for Best Picture and Peter Yates for Best Director.  Amazingly no one picked up an Oscar that night.  But take a look at the line-up for Best Picture: 
The Big Chill
The Right Stuff
Tender Mercies
The Dresser
Terms of Endearment

Yikes. 1983 was a pretty good year for movies. Anyway, this is one that I would own and I can't recommend it enough. Courtenay's final monologue  is stunning.  Enjoy.

I have a very nice life...

I have a very nice life.  This morning I was able to take an hour and set out with the dog along our favourite walk.  It's a long, gradual climb up a gently sloping country road that is surrounded by some of the prettiest scenery around.  Most of it is farm land and this time of the year, when we've had some rain and the heat is coming on, you can almost see the fields growing and changing hues as you walk along beside them.  Most of the time, on this walk, we won't see or even hear a vehicle.  We generally walk right down the middle of the road.  And that's always been the best way to walk down a country road in my book.  This morning we had the whole package, glorious blue sky and sunshine, just enough heat to get a sheen under the hat brim, the smell of freshly mown hay on the wind and birdsong everywhere.  At the top of the hill, about twenty minutes walk, we rewarded ourselves with a pleasant rest underneath some ancient maples.  Pretty nice.
The view from up there is fairly breathtaking as well.  A good way to start your day. I have a very nice life.