YPKY-MF!!

It's been my personal tradition for the last... I don't even know how long, to sit down, usually on Christmas Eve, snuggled warmly under a quilt watching my Christmas movies.  The line-up includes Die Hards 1 and 2, preceded (some years) or followed by Lethal Weapon.  Both have come under fire, this year, for not actually being "Christmas movies", but rather action movies that happen to take place at Christmas time.  Perhaps this is correct, but the tradition of watching these films and how they put me into the Christmas spirit, is not lost in this argument.

A customary movie that plays on (just about) every channel, is the Frank Capra classic, "It's A Wonderful Life".  The film which stars the late James Stewart who plays George Bailey, a man down on his luck and contemplating suicide, when an angel intervenes.  The angel takes (George) on a journey demonstrating the many positive impacts his existence has had on others around him.  I've never seen the movie, but I understand that in the end, everything turns out well and George returns home to celebrate Christmas with his family.

One can argue, and as I understand it, many have, that this film, though considered a Christmas tradition, isn't actually a Christmas movie, but simply a story that takes place on Christmas Eve.  That, withstanding, the same defense can be made for Die Hard 1 and 2 and Lethal Weapon, as well as "Running Scared" (Billy Crystal, Gregory Hines), "Getaway" (Ethan Hawke, Selena Gomez) and a plethora of others.  Even "Gremlins" is a film that only takes place at Christmas, but is hardly a Christmas-themed movie.

Let the naysayers have their way.  Most people who argue stupid points, won't listen to reason, anyway.  I say, "Wish them a 'Merry Christmas and shut the f*ck up'!!"  I don't give two shits.  My tradition is going to continue.  Granted I have so many movies to choose from, it gets difficult to watch everything in one sitting, so this year I'm going to edit some of it.  I believe the playlist this year will be as follows:

1. DIE HARD
2. DIE HARD 2; DIE HARDER
3. LETHAL WEAPON
4. GETAWAY
5. THE NIGHT BEFORE

And if there's time, I may squeeze SCROOGED, in there.

I'm shirking the usual pizza and going with another concoction, topped with a shit load of bacon, in case any of you were wondering...

MERRY CHRISTMAS, to all.  And to all, a good night...!

Money Grubber

Someone got f*cked out of their money.  I don't know who it was, but someone f*cked up and an innocent person lost almost two hundred dollars.

I went down to the bank to make a substantial payment on my credit card.  It's a ScotiaBank card and I wouldn't even have it, if it weren't for the fact I earn points that go towards FREE movies at any Cineplex-Odeon theater.  I applied a few years ago, when the program first began and I've been earning a shit ton of free movies ever since. I'm not the most responsible guy in the world and often forget to make regular payments, forcing myself to make large payments when I'm finally reminded via a pressing letter from the bank's head office.  Today, I made such a payment.

As I was readying myself to exit the bank, the teller, a Middle-Eastern fellow named Rishi, expressed that I owed a $20 overdraft fee on my checking account.  I was flabbergasted as I don't have a checking account with this bank.  My dealings with the bank is expressively with regards to the credit card, in which I earn points towards free movies.  I had no use for a checking account, nor do I ever recall opening such an account.  I pressed for more information and with a nervous look washed across his face, Rishi began feverishly tapping away at his keyboard, looking for an explanation.

According to Rishi, the account had been opened in 2011 and had exceeded to just over $193, at it's highest at one time.  I explained that there's no way that I would have parted with such an exorbitant amount in 2011, as I was unemployed and could not have parted with that amount, especially into an account that had laid dormant for the past four years.  He began typing again, further delving into the bowels of the banking records.

"It was opened with sixty dollars," he said, "In December of 2011.  Then another sixty dollars was deposited in June of 2012, then $153.12 in September."

I don't claim to be the most intelligent man in the world.  True, I consider myself smarter than most, especially those residing in Kentucky, but the math on what this frail little man just reported to me, fails to equal the amount that he claims the account maxed out at.  60 + 60 + 153.12 =$273.12, nearly a hundred dollars more than what he'd claimed.

"Is it possible that someone else tried to deposit money into their account and someone messed up and typed in the wrong account number?" I asked, to which I was sternly informed that human error is not possible.  "Bullshit," I thought to myself, "All humans ever do, if f*ck up."

I couldn't understand how such a blunder could occur.  Furthermore, I couldn't understand how if the account allegedly has so much money and hadn't been touched for four years, how could it be delinquent now and in arrears?  It was explained that ScotiaBank charges $3.95 per month as a service charge.  "Service for what?" I asked, adding, "If the account was never touched for four years, what are you guys servicing?"  Rishi explained that in exchange for the 'privilege' of having a checking account with ScotiaBank, a monthly service charge was withdrawn from the account.  This is when I began to question the authenticity of the television commercials I see daily, boasting how beneficial banking with ScotiaBank is.  It's a stinky load of bullshit, I tell ya.

I expressed that the account was never opened by me and that I'd like to close it.  Rishi assured me that this would not be a problem, then requested how I was going to pay for the delinquent amount still owing.  I explained that because I never opened the account, don't recall ever opening the account and that he's yet to prove that I did open this account, that ScotiaBank should eat the outstanding charge.  "It is only $20, after all.  ScotiaBank owns everything, nowadays, so they can afford to wave the charge."

Rishi was of a dark complexion, but this request made him turn grey.  Nervously, he excused himself from the kiosk to go chat with his supervisor, who agreed to wave the charge.  All I had to do was sign a document closing this mysterious account and all was done.

I don't harbour any ill-will towards ScotiaBank or Rishi.  No one will ever know, exactly, how this account had come into being, but someone out there, somewhere, must've deposited some money, then forgot about it, thus f*cking themselves out of some cash.  I know it wasn't me.  I have no use for ScotiaBank, other than to earn them points for free movies.  When they cancel that program, ScotiaBank and I will part ways, as well.  Adios, f*ckers!!

Silent Movie

I love going to the movies.  Ever since I was a child, I've found it a calming escape from a life otherwise full of turmoil.  It's no surprise that growing up wasn't the easiest experience for me.  Perhaps it wasn't as terrible as that of some children, but it had more than it's fair share of horror.  So while some kids might get into mischief, I always found it more relaxing to escape into my imagination for a couple of hours, being a fly on the wall of someone else's existence.

My joy of escape can also be reflected in the tremendous library of movies and TV shows in my personal collection.  I've lived in this house of mine for going on seven years and though I've got a ton already alphabetized, there are still hundreds still packed in boxes from when I moved in.  I haven't got the foggiest idea of how many DVDs and Blurays I own, but there's probably thousands of stories that I can dive into and escape my reality for awhile.  That withstanding, the experience of watching a movie on the silver screen has never left me.  I enjoy getting out of the house, meeting up with friends (or sometimes not) and watching a fun flick in the cinema.

Movies have come a long way in the last decade, let alone over the span of my lifetime, and it's progressed leaps and bounds since the days of Laurel and Hardy (pictured above), and the price of a ticket has reflected these improvements.  Seems like the crisper the sound and visuals are, the pricier the admission gets, not to mention the second mortgage one needs to take out if refreshments are desired.  Generally, I'm satisfied with a simple over-priced soda.

Along with the progression of the movies, so has people's personal devices.  Although some people still insist on sparking up their iPad's and other nonsense, for the most part it's pretty good.  A good number of people obey the warning clip that precedes the previews, that suggests people shut off their personal devices.  I've never understood those who insist on distracting themselves with texting or Facebook during the movie, given how expensive movie tickets tend to be, not to mention being so ignorant as to ruin everyone else's movie experience.  And don't get me started on the people who choose to talk throughout the film.  They tend to frustrate me and all those around them, too.

What baffles me the most, though, are the idiots who bring their children.  If the movie is a cartoon or something family-oriented, then bring your kids.  I understand.  The subject matter is aimed at their simple minds, so I'll sit back and try to enjoy myself regardless.  However, these ignorant cusses who drag their six month, twelve month or 24-month old babies to watch an action movie riddled with curse words, gore and mayhem caused by machine gun fire and explosions...  I don't understand.  I get it, that babysitter's cost an arm and a leg, nowadays.  Little Becky-Sue is charging double-digits to watch your little rug-rat, instead of being content with a crisp five dollar bill, but dragging your brat along with you and allowing it to chitter-chatter throughout the film, shouldn't be allowed either.

Tonight, I went to watch the latest Fast & Furious film.  The whole series is a little silly and tongue-in-cheek, but they're fun for me to watch.  Fast cars, explosive action and hot chicks galore.  Ya can't ask for much more than that in a movie, except maybe NOT BRINGING YOUR F**KING CHILD TO THE MOVIE!!!  I tried and tried to ignore this silly little shit, that kept throwing his apple juice on the floor, pulling the hair of the people sitting in front of him or just being a complete f*cking nuisance on his parents.  At one point, I had enough and I stormed out of the theater and approached one of the ushers.  I said to him, "At the beginning of the movie, you show a clip that tells people to shut off their phones.  Then you have one that tells people to not talk, so that the other people can enjoy the movie, but you need to have one that tells people NOT to bring their f*cking babies.  Why is it acceptable for people to bring their kids to a grown up movie and allow them to talk throughout the entire movie??"

The munchkin looked at me, blankly, and replied, "I can look into getting you a refund."  I shook my head with defeat, telling him to shove his refund up his ass.  "I don't want a refund.  I want you to shut that kid up."

Nothing was done about it.  So I clenched my teeth, and watched the remainder of the film.  From what I was able to catch when I wasn't distracted by how much I hated children in that instance, the movie was pretty f*cking good.  I may try to catch it again, at some point down the road, not sure when or if I will do so in the theater.  I'm glad that I have a big screen TV and an awesome sound system.  As I will, for sure, be purchasing this movie to add to my ever-growing collection, and escaping my pitiful reality once more.

I remember going to the movies when I was a kid and sometimes, I was the only person in the theater.  There's something truly special about being the only one in the theater, being able to sit wherever and having the movie played especially for you.  It's as close to heaven as I'll ever get.

Bugbear

Do you know what the speed limit is within a parking lot?  Would it surprise you to know that it is 15 kilometers per hour?  I think I am one of the only people to, not only know this fact, but who practices it also.  Yet people on foot, will constantly run in front of or behind my vehicle then turn to chastise me for "moving too quickly".  These are usually the same culprits who will then climb into their vehicle and speed out of the parking lot at a velocity of sixty or seventy kilometers per hour.  These people are among the many pet peeves that seem to plague my everyday life.

A "pet peeve" is described as: A particular and often continual annoyance; A personal bugbear.

My life seems riddled with pet peeves, the afore is a minor one.  Though it seems to occur upon almost every visit to the nearby Home Depot, it has little or no effect on me, personally, but has become tiresome, all the same.

I've tweeted my major peeves, which have been commented on as being shared by many.  The most frequent being that I will sit through a barrage of annoyingly repetitive commercials only to realize that the program I'm watching is recorded.  Even with the remote control in hand, my thumb placed firmly over the fast-forward button, I will often mutter profanity to myself about the irritating commercials, all the while forgetting to depress the button under my opposable digit.

Another exasperation of mine is sitting down to watch a program, whether it a mere sixty minutes in length or a movie that is more than a couple of hours long, and falling asleep.  I'd prefer to see the show in it's entirety, avoiding revisitation.  Earlier today, it happened to me twice while watching the (Christopher Nolan) Batman Trilogy.  The movies are not boring in the least, yet I found myself slipping into deep slumber about an hour into each movie, only having to skip back ninety minutes to rewatch the full movie.  This also occurs whenever I sit down to watch any of the Star Wars movies, although I rarely bother going back to watch the full stories over again.

Probably one of the biggest pet peeves I have, nowadays, isn't one that's come into fruition until as of late.  It does not occur very often, yet when it does, it sends me spiraling.  It has occurred when I'm climbing into my vehicle.  When I'm climbing into bed and (earlier tonight) settling down on the sofa to watch a movie.  Breaking wind.  A split-second before I plant myself firmly in my seat, a minor fart will slip out.  Minor in it's simplicity, yet major enough to almost bring me to tears.  The smell nearly harsh enough to drop a moose out of the sky.

I know not the recent exuberance of flatulence, but I suspect it may largely have to do with the ingestion of tomato-based foods.  I did have pizza yesterday and lasagna today.  Decrease the intake of such foods and I'll be less likely to fart on myself.  So better consciousness of my surroundings and my pet peeves will likely decrease.  If only it were so easy...

Smoke & Mirrors - Chapter Three: The Escape Plan

Earlier this year, we were all shocked by the news of actor/comedian, Robin Williams have committed suicide by way of hanging.  He killed himself in the very same manner as my favourite pro wrestler, Chris Benoit.  Aside from Benoit's horrific acts that preluded to his suicide, the act of hanging oneself in the manner than these two individuals settled upon, has baffled me in the time since.  Neither one hung from a height, but instead, wrapped the belt around their necks then leaned into the hanging.  I apologize for the graphic detail, but suicide isn't a natural behavior.  At some point, the body's natural instinct for survival is going to set in and (should) override the predetermination of the suicide, but this never seemed to be the case.  I can't remember if Chris had any drugs or alcohol in his system at the time of his demise, and I never heard anything about Robin.

I'm no stranger to the contemplation of suicide.  I'd be remiss if I said that the thought had never crossed my mind.  It has, but it's only been twice..., I think.  Maybe three times.  Hopefully, through investigation in this chapter of my shitty little life, I'll be able to recall the exact number.  Although, I'm certain it's only been twice.

The first time, was a fleeting thought.  More of a "I'll show them", sort of mentality.  It was following the incident with my dad.  I had moved into the city, living with my aunt.  She worked out of town, so I had the apartment all to myself.  A lot of free time on my hands and most of it spent alone with my thoughts.  I do recall that at the time, I was reeling from the idea of a father beating his own son black, blue and bloody.  I couldn't wrap my head around it.  I'd never come to the "Jeckyll & Hyde" revelation until many years later.  Sadly, it was after his death.  I'd already made my peace with him and, in my opinion, we'd become friends.  However, at the tender age of seventeen, my brain was not fully developed yet, so my intelligence was still lacked.

One day, in a fit of depression, anxiety, anger and whatever else was in my head, spicing that stew of negativity, I came up with a plan of revenge.  I planned to kill myself, just so I could see the guilt on my father's face when he came to realize that he was the reason I had killed myself.  The plan, I thought, was foolproof.  That is, until I realized that I couldn't see the look of shame and guilt on his face, if I were dead.  I quickly discarded that plan, choosing life instead.

The second time I'd contemplated suicide was almost six years ago.  I got fired from a job, due to a violent reaction to a comment that a fellow worker had said (ironically) about my father.  I'm ashamed of my actions and I refuse to share those details in this forum, but suffice it to say, it was pretty f*cking bad.

Everyone's opinion of me was going to be, and I'm sure has been, forever altered.  Especially, after some of the embellishments I've heard over the years.  They were not kind and painted me in a much worse image than what had happened in reality.  I was brought up on charges of assault and faced real jail time, it was that bad.  Thankfully, I sought anger management straight away and that coupled with conflicting stories from the victim and the single witness, in addition to my honest and yes very unflattering description of events, helped me avoid jail and anything that would scar my permanent criminal record.  We settled by way of a mediator and a written apology, which I spent a full week of writing and re-writing to make it sound as honest as possible.  I really was sorry.

However, in the initial hours following the assault, I knew that a person of whom I cared for deeply would hear of my downfall and embellished facts of the matter and I thought that if she thought me to be a monster, that I couldn't live on from that.  Thankfully, I contacted her a day or two following my dismissal and everything was copacetic.  Our friendship would remain intact and suicide was never an option after that.

Lately, there seem to be a cornucopia of reports of people, young and old, committing suicide as a way of escaping their problems.  After my initial contemplation and realization, I never even considered suicide after that.  Other people venture into drugs and alcohol as a way of coping with stress and anxiety.  Having been a witness to how alcohol affected my dad, I strayed away from alcohol and drugs never seemed to be an option.  Instead, I dove head first into adventure.  I was a famed archaeologist, fighting the Nazi plight.  I was a scoundrel of a space pirate, battling the evil empire with my large hairy companion and a feisty princess at my side.  I was also a race car driver, a pirate, a nerdy high school kid who scored the hot cheerleader.  It seemed like week-to-week, I was a different charismatic character and sad thoughts and anxiety and loneliness was never a factor again.  Not for a few more years, anyway.  Whenever I'd feel low, sad or depressed, I'd escape to the movies and for two hours, I didn't have to be me, anymore.

Dreamscape

Sometimes life just seems more fun and interesting on "the other side".  When I close my eyes at night, I'm whisked away to a distant, yet sometimes familiar place, where I'm everything I ever hoped I'd be and am accepted by all as an equal or better.  Unlike my waking hours when it seems like all I am is a number.  Something, not someone, to be used and abused for all I'm worth, then discarded like a piece of trash or a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of their shoe.

I'm not crying up a storm, here, sobbing "woe is me".  I'm satisfied, somewhat, for my lot in life.  I find my job fulfilling, though unappreciated most days.  It's just everything else that I wish I could have different.

When I dream at night, it seems like all my hopes have come true.  I'm popular with the ladies, even sought after on occasion.  Hell, I'm popular with everyone.  My opinions and ideas matter.  It's freakin' awesome.  Sometimes I think, if I didn't have so many responsibilities here, it'd be nice to slip into a coma.  Life seems more fulfilling and interesting "over there" anyway, and adventurous.

I remember a dream I had a few years ago, where I was white water rafting with the WWE's Undertaker (whom I was referring to by his real name, Mark Callaway), Stephanie McMahon, and Triple H (Paul Levesque).  We'd stopped for lunch at a small cafe along the river, and when I went to use the restroom, I was jumped by three hoodlums who wanted my ball cap. (I guess not all is perfect in this world...)  Mark, or I mean, Undertaker was quick to help a buddy out and stomped their asses into the ground.  Yahoo!

My dreamscape is a wondrous place.  It sort of resembles Heaven in the movie "What Dreams May Come", a far and spacious place, uncluttered by modern amenities, yet there are pockets of familiarities.  City streets that somehow exist but don't clash with the beauty of the landscape.  They're invisible until you look around and see you're surrounded.

Last night, for some reason, I dreamed about work, but it wasn't my workplace that I recognized.  It was completely different, yet my co-workers were all there.  I was working along side one of the blokes I worked with this week, and instead of treating me like a useless f*ck as he was doing yesterday, he treated me as a equal even requesting my opinion on a pending project.  My ideal scenario, wouldn't be to dream of work for the rest of my existence, but there's worse things to be dreaming about.

For instance, there's a recurring dream I have from time to time, where I'm stuck in this house or building.  The structure itself changes ever once in awhile, but the premise remains.  I can run, walk, whatever, there's no getting out.  No matter the route I choose, different every time, there's no escape and I end up back where I began.  Of all my dreams, this one, I fear, is the closest to my real life.

Not to mention the nightmares that I have sometimes.  I'm fast asleep, but an uneasy feeling wakes me up.  I look up and see a small girl clad in a white dress, standing in the doorway of my bedroom.  She's motionless, quietly staring at me as I sleep.  My cat is usually nowhere to be found, which is understandable, as I don't really want to be there either.  I don't do anything and I say nothing.  I close my eyes again and go back to sleep.  Now I'm fairly certain this is a dream and not an actual occurrence.  As far as I know, there's never been a small child who resided in this house.  Plus, I've had this dream on a number of occasions at a number of my residences.

I guess I just view these dreams as a form of escape.  When life gets me too down, here, I can close my eyes and escape to someplace wonderful.  I did the same as a kid, too.  My childhood was not that easy.  Growing up in an alcoholic home, life is rarely easy.  I didn't have it as bad as some kids, but I felt the brunt of a lot of hate and mistreatment.  I guess that's why I fell in love with the cinema, as a young kid.  I saw it as a way to escape from my day-to-day life, and be somewhere or someone else.  I guess that's why as an adult, I continue the practice, watching way too much television and viewing a f*ck-of-a-lot of movies.  At last count, I can't remember how many movies I have in my collection.

That being said, I can see on the wall that I need to get some shit done and bills to pay.  After all is said and done...; Life is but a dream.., sweetheart.