Stay Strong, Lafayette

It's Thursday night.  It's summer.  It's too hot to stay inside and watch television.  Besides, there's nothing but reruns on, anyway.  Outside, it's too humid to tackle yardwork or go for a walk in the park.  Maybe hitting up a popular movie is the ticket.  A valid excuse to get out and socialize with friends and share a laugh or two.

You fight traffic, then struggle to find parking near the theater.  Pay for a ticket, buy popcorn and a soda, before settling in to watch the previews.  Your only concern is that no one taller than you sits in the seat in front of you and that no one plays with their phone during the movie.

It was a little over three years ago that there was a violent incident at a movie theater in Aurora, Colorado.  It was a midnight showing of the last Batman film, The Dark Knight Rises, so when a man appeared in the darkness dressed in tactical clothing, patrons thought it was a part of the show.  A special added treat to the movie's premiere.  Delight was quickly replaced by panic when the assailant opened fire on the crowd.  In the aftermath, twelve were dead and seventy more were injured.  The gunman was picked up outside the theater by police.  Subsequently, this past week, on July 20th, 2015, he was found guilty of twenty-four (24) counts of first-degree murder and one-hundred-forty  (140) counts of attempted first-degree murder.  Sentencing at the time of this composition has yet to be announced.  I believe Colorado has the Death Penalty and it'd do everyone involved a favour if the guilty party is promptly executed.  That's my opinion, anyway.

Three years has passed and I guess, we as a whole have become relaxed and complacent, once more.  Relaxing in our belief that the incident in Aurora three years ago, was a fluke.  A single event that wouldn't or couldn't be repeated.  Sadly, this is not the case.  Just as we once believed the Colombine High School shooting to be a one-time incident, we've sadly had many more in the fifteen-plus years since.  It is with great disappointment and sadness that I discovered that once again, a gunman has entered a movie theater and taken it upon himself to play God.

This time it is a movie theater in Lafayette, Louisiana.  Twenty minutes into "Trainwreck", the new Judd Apatow comedy starring Amy Schumer, a lone gunman began shooting into the crowd.  It's reported that of the one hundred plus people in the theater, three have died, including the gunman from a self inflicted gun shot, and seven more injured.  Thankfully, the number of dead and wounded isn't comparable to the tragedy in Colorado, but even if there is one person is injured, that's one too many.

The fact that this asshole, a 58 year old man, according to news reports, killed himself, begs the question, why did he not just kill himself without killing others?  Of all the reasons to desire historical recognition, it'll never make sense to me why these insane people need to do so with such havoc.  Survivors of the tragedy in Lafayette, as well as those in Aurora, Colorado, are affected, too.  While they don't have an imperfection blemish on their skin, the emotional baggage that is associated with an event like this, is equally burdening.  Survivor's guilt.

Very little has been shared with the media regarding the gunman in tonight's shooting.  Authorities say that he did have some criminal history, but the incidents were from some time ago.  Whether he was convicted of a violent crime yesterday or forty years ago, the fact that he had a criminal record at all, should have predicated that he not be in possession of a firearm ever again.

With the Presidential race beginning to pick up speed, the subject that should be at the forefront of everyone's platform is Gun Control.  It's heinous and offensive how many violent acts occur on a daily basis in the U.S., involving firearms.  People shooting people over $20 or the colour of their shirt or the colour of their skin.  It's insanity.  We have the audacity to claim ourselves to be civil, yet act so barbaric.  It leaves me scratching my head.

Even here at home, in Canada, where we do have gun control, there's still an uprising in gun-related crime.  While my hometown, Saskatoon (Saskatchewan), has never been free of crime, I have noticed a scary increase in gun-related crimes.  It's making me more and more fearful to leave the house to go to the corner store.  That being said, it's not as bad as the epidemic that plagues the United States.  Gun Control works.  Trust me.  You just need to go at it in an intelligent manner.

The second amendment of the United States Constitution protects the rights of all Americans to keep and bear arms.  This amendment was adopted on December 15th, 1791, two-hundred and twenty-four years ago, when the average man possessed a single shot musket that required to be loaded one lead ball at a time.  I'm sure that if the founding father's had possessed the forethought of there ever being guns like the AR-15 or AK-47 or even the Tec 9, just to name a few, I'm sure they would have erased that amendment or at least worded it differently.

Donald Trump has been in the news a lot, lately, mostly due to his negative and borderline insane comments in his bid for the Presidential nomination.  The man is clearly nuts, but deep down, I believe he's equally as intelligent.  You can't become a billionaire by being a complete idiot.  Idiocy usually tends to come after the fact.  That withstanding, I'd be interested in what he has to say about the necessity for Gun Control.  He doesn't strike me as the type to be afraid of anyone, even the NRA.

In the aftermath of the movie theater shooting, Train Wreck star, Amy Schumer sent a comforting message via Twitter: My heart is broken and all my thoughts and prayers are with everyone in Louisiana. The world shares that sentiment, sending positive thoughts to all those affected by this tragedy, tonight.

Dream On

What does actors Ian McShane (Deadwood, Death Race, John Wick), Lindsay Lohan (Mean Girls, Machete) & 90s rapper, Coolio (Gangsta's Paradise) all have in common?  Tell you in a second.

Lately, when I wake up, I have some random song playing in my head.  I've done some reading and it's most commonly known as an earworm.  A small annoyance that most people have and deal with in a number of ways.  Usually, if I have time, I'll dial it up on YouTube and turn it up.  This process works about 90% of the time.  The other ten percent, I'm forced to sing along to the song throughout my day.

Although annoying at times, it's vastly better than waking up to nothingness.  Blindly walking through my morning rituals and heading out the door.  In most cases, I'm still half asleep, I suspect.  There have been mornings, in the past where I will arrive to work and have no recollection of how I got there.  That's truly scary and I believe this happens to a great many people, too.  A steady stream of living zombies, sipping their coffee from a stainless steel mug, while staring at the road ahead, going through the motions that have been programmed into their brains on so many previous mornings.

On a truly perfect morning, I will awaken with a dream still fresh in my head.  If I were a smart person, I'd write this shit down right away, as I've concocted many interesting story and/or movie plots that I am certain would beat out most of the drivel that Hollywood pumps out on a weekly basis.  One time, even, I thought up a video game that would be killer in today's market, but alas, due to unpreparedness, it was lost, along with all those movie synopsis'.

Most times, though, my dreams are just plain f*cked up.  I recall one I had as a child, in which I was scooped up by King Kong and tossed into his mouth like a handful of candy.  That was the beginning of the dream, the remainder was my falling falling falling down to his stomach, along with truckloads of bananas.  F*cking retarded, but I was only six or so, so cut some slack, you judgmental mother....  This morning's dream was not as juvenile as that, but it ranks high in the retarded category.  I had to write it down and share it in the only forum I could, my blog.

The day had begun as most of mine do, these days.  I'm unemployed with no prospects on the horizon.  Somehow, I learn of a movie being shot on location in a nearby small town and before I know it, I'm employed with that movie production.  It's not a glamorous job.  I'm not an assistant to the director or performing in anyway.  Instead, I'm a "babysitter", of sorts, to one of it's stars, actor Ian McShane, famous from the TV show Deadwood and a plethora of movies (check out his IMDb page, it's quite a list).  A part of Mr. McShane's demands is that he is not to be disturbed, at all, by nonessential interaction on-set or off.  My task is to run blocker for him throughout the daytime and another fella takes the night.  My time with the actor is blanketed over with a montage of different scenarios of my performing my duties and either receiving a look of approval or disdain.

The last scene of my dream, before I awoke took place in the small town.  It was a cool grey morning, the ground damp from rainfall overnight and the skies were sullen with shades of grey.  I waited for the British actor to be dropped off by his overnight assistant.  I kept the engine running in my late model Honda Civic (which is strange, as I don't own such a vehicle).  I have the heater turned up to ensure Mr. McShane steps into a warm environment.  Although he's from a country notorious for equally shitty weather, I'm taking no chances of setting the man off.

I'm waiting in an empty lot, filled with pea-sized gravel, backed up against the wall of a neighbouring building.  I have an excellent view of the predetermined pick-up spot.  Across the street is the Post Office which doubles as an RCMP outpost.  Next to the small red brick building is a lone police cruiser.  It's a brand new Ford Explorer, the same model used by the police in the city, only it's a dark blue instead of the usual white.  It's at this time that I suddenly realize I have to take a dump.  I know my body well enough to know that this isn't something I should be shirking off to do at a more convenient time.  I check the clock and see that I have a few minutes to spare and quickly rush across the street into the Post Office, which is open because it's also a police station.

I don't see any people, nor do I see a public washroom, but instead I see a janitor's closet.  I peek my head inside the door and am pleased to see a toilet.  It's not been flushed by the previous visitor, but it's only pee so it's not as disgusting as walking in on a bowl filled to the brim with shit.  I do a courtesy flush and go about my business.  When I come out, I'm confronted by a redheaded lady with short hair cropped close to her head.  She's pleasant and doesn't reprimand me for shamelessly fouling their janitor's closet, but instead offers me a coffee and some small talk.

I'm not familiar with this small town, other than it's a few miles outside of the city where I live.  It's located just off to the side and unless you specifically have business to contend with in it, it's just a flash in your peripheral as you whisk by on the highway.  However, the redheaded lady proceeds to tell me about an event that was scheduled to take place that day.  It had a specific name, but I can't remember what it was.  The memory of this dream is already beginning to fade as I type these words.  What I can remember of the day, however, is this.  The day had something to do with Lindsay Lohan.  She had come to the small modest town some years previous and had a day named in her honour.  Although she'd never return to share in the honour, the townspeople celebrated this day, faithfully, in the years since.  I guess small towns need to celebrate whatever notoriety they can get, and I wondered if Ian McShane would be getting a day named in his honour, too, despite his refusal to be bothered by anyone not associated with the picture being filmed.

We sipped our warm beverages as she told me an amusing Lindsay-related anecdote.  I periodically glanced to the street to see if Ian McShane had arrived yet, all the while smiling and nodding my head.  She told me that Lindsay had visited a local hairdresser and requested that she get her hair done like that of rapper Coolio.  Of course, the people of the town were unfamiliar with the rapper and had comedically searched high and low for reference material while Lohan danced about, singing "Gangsta's Paradise".  She laughed at the absurdity, while I smiled and nodded, failing to see the humour.  It was then I saw Ian McShane being dropped off and I excused myself to go meet the actor.

This is when I woke up and decided to share it with my blogosphere.  I wish I could elaborate on this more.  I wish I could remember most, if not all, of my dreams.  As I stated, I've had some brilliant dreams and a lot of stupid ones, too.   If I could recall them all, it'd be an amusing new blog I could share with people.  Share some of my "insanity", so-to-speak.  

Comedian Bert Kreischer is able to do something call: Lucid Dreaming.  This is a process where he can, not only recall his dreams, vividly, but also control his actions in those dreams.  If he wakes up prematurely, he's able to go back to sleep and enter that same dream again and continue to control it's outcome.  I don't know how he does it, but it's something I wish I could do.  Bert Kreischer inspires me in many ways in life and this just adds to the list.

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I doubt that the actor Ian McShane is the dick that he was in my dream.  Quite the opposite, I'm sure.  Lindsay Lohan, on the other hand, I believe would be that rude (and equally dumb)...

Dream on, everybody.

Young At Heart Don't Mean Shit!!!

I've always believed that we are as young as we feel.  Hell, I've been twenty-nine years old more than once.  To be honest, I literally have to do math when asked what my chronological age is, I've celebrated twenty-nine so often.  That withstanding, my real age is beginning to catch up to me.  My knees hurt every winter, as do my neck and feet.  I frequently get migraines and my back hurts almost all of the time.  As well, there's a whole host of other ailments 'n' shit creeping up on me.  Yep!  It's true;  Young at heart, doesn't mean shit, anymore!!

The latest medical test that I've just learned that I'm going to have to endure, is something called a Cystoscopy.  For those not familiar, I didn't know what the f*ck that is, either.  Thank goodness for the interweb, as I quickly got  onto Google and looked it up.  The definition of cystoscopy reads: An endoscopy of the urinary bladder via the urethra.  That's a shit load of medical speak for what translates to: My lying on a table and medical professionals applying a freezing agent on my junk then shoving a tube up the pee-hole of my ding-dong.  The pamphlet that was sent with the notice I received in the mail, claims that I'll feel very little discomfort, if any, during the one-and-a-half to two hour procedure.  I call "bullshit" on that...!  Especially, when you consider that the aftermath is the feeling of pissing fire and blood for the duration of a few days.  Holy f*ck!!

So in mid-summer, on the morning of July 28th, while all of you are enjoying the hot summer weather, lying by the pool or in the shade, sipping on an ice cold lemonade or mint julep, I'm going to be flat on my back, in a funky-smelling hospital examination room, enduring the nervous shaking hands of a medical student rasping my dick with a pipe cleaner.  It's fun-f*cking-times, for Jeffy!!!

Black Hawks Are Huge

I understand that the Black Hawks are huge in Chicago.  The Black Hawks have been pretty popular in Chicago for decades, but today, especially, they're huge.  I mean, the Black Hawks are really huge.  I heard that the Black Hawks are SO huge in Chicago, that one should not be surprised if the City of Chicago throws a big parade in celebration of how huge the Black Hawks are in Chicago.  It might even be difficult to distinguish what's bigger.  The Black Hawks or the celebration.

It would not surprise me in the least if people, coming from miles around, were to flock to Chicago because of how huge the Black Hawks are today.  I've always heard that size doesn't matter, but after last night's showing, I'd venture a guess and say, size DOES matter.  After all, it's not every day that Black Hawks win the prestigious Lord Stanley's Cup.  That's big for anyone, especially a Black Hawk.

This blog may offend some people.  Not everyone is a fan of the Black Hawks,  I've even heard it mentioned that the Black Hawks scared some folks.  That they were bigger than expected.  Calgary fans, maybe... The Flamers as they're called, I believe, may be fans of the Black Hawks, but that's merely speculation.  I wouldn't want to assume.  I, myself, not a fan of the Black Hawks, I don't "play" for that team, based on a nut allergy...  Plus, I'm not gay.  I'm not saying you necessarily need to be gay to be either a Calgary Flamer or a fan of the Black Hawks, who, by the way, are really huge in Chicago, today.

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All kidding aside, CONGRATULATIONS to the Chicago Black Hawks for their Stanley Cup Win!

The Affable Behemoth

A fond memory from childhood, was watching the children's television program, "The Friendly Giant".  It was a mainstay of the CBC, first airing in the fall of 1958 and remaining on air for twenty-seven years.  Entertaining children, and then their children, and their children, then their's and their's and so on, with fun songs and stories.

At the start of every show, Friendly would position some wood chairs around a fireplace (as shown in the center picture), suggesting that a viewer and their family might like to come for a visit, to enjoy the festivities firsthand.  As a small tyke, I'd hoped on more than one occasion, that our family might take a vacation, traveling the vast distance to Friendly's castle.  With my nose pressed up against the TV, I'd choose which chair I'd be seated in and determine where my parents and sister would sit.  Even though I was awash with the magic and fantasy of it all, I did question the position of the chairs and fireplace with regards to where Friendly and his friends put on their show, often remarking how awkward it would be to have crook our necks all the way back to look virtually straight up.  The way Friendly handles those "over-sized" chairs, they still dwarf in his hands, therefore his size is much larger than that of a regular giant. We were like ants to him.  I'm certain that the fabled giant, who faced off against Jack when he climbed that beanstalk would appear quite puny if standing side-by-side with The Friendly Giant.

It wasn't just my small brain that questioned the logistics of the show.  As I grew older and smarter, I started to question everything about the show.  For instance, Friendly's sidekicks.  A giraffe and a chicken.  Growing up on a farm, I did get to see some large roosters and hens, but I've never seen a cock of giant proportions like Rusty the Rooster.  There was definitely some radioactive testing or some kind of shit going on in the late 1940s and early '50s in whatever far off land this was where Friendly and his gargantuan brood lived.  The one thing that badgered me, though, all the way through my childhood, adolescence and straight into adulthood, was: Why was the rooster kept in a burlap bag, hanging on the wall?  

The fifteen-minute program, aired commercial free, twice between ten o'clock in the morning and half past ten.  At 10:30am, was Mr. Dressup.  A former understudy to Mr. Rogers, Ernie Coombs had moved to Canada, eventually creating the longest running (29 years) children's program "Mr. Dressup".  Four thousand episodes which would eventually bridge the gap between "Friendly Giant" and "Sesame Street".  I never much cared for the show, myself, but we only had two networks to choose from and CTV never aired kids's shows, so "Mr. Dressup", it was.  Now, if you thought I questioned a lot of stuff about "The Friendly Giant", well I found "Mr. Dressup" was really f*cked up.

Mr. Dressup was a man who was in his forties who lived alone, but hung out with Casey, a redheaded child, who was NOT his son, nor related to him in ANY way, who lived in a tree house with his dog, Finnegan, for a number of years.  (Both Casey & Finnegan, were puppets, so some suspension of belief is supported).  Mr. Dressup entertained viewers with arts and crafts and songs and even some plays, complete with costumes that mysteriously and magically would appear in his colourful chest that he fondly referred to as the Tickle Trunk.

Twenty-two years after the show's debut, Judith Lawrence, the puppeteer who worked both Casey and Finnegan, retired.  Rather than replacing Lawrence, the story was told that Casey, along with his dog, began going to school, thus explaining his absence.  A much more sinister and suspicious mind would believe that Dressup simply grew tired of his young playthings and disposed of the bodies in a ditch somewhere.  Although, upon closer inspection, the Tickle Trunk might have disclosed a few more secrets than just colourful costumes and props.

As for the whereabouts of the cast of "The Friendly Giant".  Gerome the Giraffe passed away, shortly after the shows final airing in 1985.  Though he possessed an amazing singing voice, the giraffe had a three pack-a-day smoking habit and died from complications due to throat and lung cancer.  Bob Homme, the actor who portrayed Friendly, passed away in 2000.  Rusty the Rooster survived them all, retiring to a small town outside Toronto, with his same-sex partner Calvin the Cowboy, before passing away in 2011 at the ripe old age of 56, which is quite old for a chicken.  Here's a picture of Rusty and his partner of more than forty years,   As you can see from the photo, Rusty was into rough sex and was the bottom in the relationship.

Jurassic World - A Brief Thought

"One for Jurassic Squirrel." I said, plopping my card down on the counter.  The girl at the kiosk paused for a moment then giggled.

When I first heard that there was going to be another entry into the Jurassic franchise, I guffawed at the prospect.  I was a fan of the original, recalling the awe I felt experiencing that cinematic magic for the first time.  The second film, "The Lost World: Jurassic Park" even had some moments that were enjoyable.  The third installment sucked balls.  So naturally I thought a fourth would be worse.  What has transpired, however, is completely the opposite.

I began to get on-board with the concept when it was announced that Star Lord.., er, I mean, Chris Pratt was going to be the main star.  Following that, the previews began to whet my pallet.  So with great earnest, when the opportunity arose to see an early showing of the movie tonight, one day before "Jurassic World" is unleashed on the planet, I jumped at the chance and let me tell you what.., I was not disappointed.

Nowadays, most movies are spoiled by the theatrical previews, which tend to show most of the movie highlights within the preview, which most often leaves intended audiences disappointed.  That is not the case for Jurassic World.  If the previews have impressed you thus far, I don't want to spoil the fun for you, but what you've seen in the previews and commercials, occurs within the first half hour or so, leaving the remainder of the film to surprise and shock and impress the heck out of you.  The version I saw tonight was in 3D.  I don't think it's a movie that necessarily requires you to don the annoying glasses, but it didn't hurt the experience, either.  SPOILER ALERT...  I flew out of my chair more than once, rising about a foot or so, straight up, accompanied by a yelp then followed by laughter.  "Jurassic World", shocked and frightened me, much to my delight.

These days, it's rare to go to a movie and be completely surprised by what I see on the screen.  This movie completely surprised me and I love it for that.  On my FOUR STAR Rating System, I give this movie a SOLID FOUR STARS.  I'd give it a higher rating, if I could.  So go see this movie this weekend.  You will not be disappointed.

Bill Cosby Can Eat Shit

I don't know if it was the sudden untimely deaths of Buddy Holly, Richie Valens and "The Big Bopper", J.P. Richardson, who all died in a catastrophic plane crash on February 3rd, 1959 that began the rumour that celebrities die in threes, but during my short tenur on this earth, I've bore witness to many triads of celebrity deaths.  They may not always occur on the same day, as the did on that fateful even in early 1959, but rest assured, when one death is announced, two more are sure to follow.  This has always seemed to be the case, as far back as I can remember.  Memories have grown foggy and I can't seem to recall many specific examples, but I'm sure if you Google this fact, many familiar names will jog your memory, as I'm sure it would mine, if I were to take a moment to look.

With every death announcement, I've always, secretly, and sometimes not so secretly, hoped the next name announced would be that of Bill Cosby.  I've never liked Bill Cosby.  Always thought him to be a giant gaping asshole.  A snarky f*ck, sporting a holier-than-thou attitude,  He claims to never swear, but that snide look he wears on his face like a mask, always screams "F*CK YOU!!"  So, with every celebrity passing, I have always hoped the Grim Reaper would come a knockin' on Bill's door, but alas, Mr. Cosby always slips by, like the greasy piece of shit that he is.

In 2009, when the passing of Johnny Carson's long-time sidekick, Ed McMahon, was announced on June 23rd, oh how I crossed my fingers for the next personality's name to be that of Bill Cosby, but sadly, it was 70's blonde bombshell, Farrah Fawcett and The Prince of Pop, Michael Jackson, who would be named next, both dying on the same day, June 25th.  Bill Cosby was overlooked on that occasion, but at least a child molester [Jackson] was taken that day.

In April of last year, within a few days of one another, Bob Geldof's daughter, Peaches, comedian John Pinette, and legend of the silver screen, Mickey Rooney, all passed away.  Another trifecta that spared Mr. Cosby.

I may seem a little harsh towards Bill Cosby, but as I've stated, my dislike of the man has existed for decades.  I've never ever liked or respected the man.  I've always viewed his time on this earth as a complete waste.  It's only recently that the truth about this man has come to the fore-front and everyone can recognize him for the piece of shit that he is.  It's only now, that I've come to understand why the Grim Reaper or the "Powers That Be" have chosen him to remain upon this realm, and it's for the man to stand up for his (alleged) sins.  We have to say "alleged", but we all know the truth.  Fifty-plus women coming forward isn't a coincidence, but evidence of a sociopath.

Today, we mourn the passing of three more celebrities.  The first is an actor named Ron Moody, who won a Golden Globe Award and was an Academy Award Nominee for the role of Fagin in the movie, "Oliver!"; The second personality who passed today was professional wrestler and Hall of Famer, "The American Dream" - Dusty Rhodes, who was a legend among his peers and will be sorely missed by friends, family and fans, alike; Lastly, but not least, a true Hollywood legend, Christopher Lee, who was best known for his role as the infamous Count Dracula, but made notable appearances in the James Bond film, "The Man With The Golden Gun", as Saruman in the "Lord of the Rings/Hobbit" movies, and as Count Dooku in Episode Two and Three of the Star Wars prequels.

All have left a huge wake with their absence, but fingers crossed, we can only hope that Bill Cosby won't be too far behind.