Category Archives: Uncategorized

That was a pretty straightforward Oscars telecast, don’t you think?  Jon Stewart had some pretty funny lines, but mostly seemed irrelevant to the proceedings.  I don’t think he really won the room over.  Don’t think there’s any special reason to invite him back for another hosting gig next year, though.  I liked the Daily Show-like negative personal-attack ads for some of the nominees, but on the whole, the comedy-entertainment portions of the evening were nothing special.
Dolly Parton still looks fabulous.  Of course, I don’t want to imagine what she’d look like close up, outside of her wig and makeup and girdles and happy-go-lucky stage-persona.  Shudder.
Only two surprises in the night, I suppose.  “Hard to be a pimp” winning was a surprise to me, and I guess Crash winning Best Picture was a surprise to a lot of people too.
Not to some of the 30 people who took part in The Annekenstein Monster Oscar Pool, however.
Here, then, are the results:

Three submissions came in after I had closed the pool, so I didn’t even look at those.  Sorry.

3 correct:  Calico Cat
6 correct:  Kratz & Orca (one submission, two names), Kris, Mary
7 correct:  Uberdiva
8 correct:  Frankie
9 correct:  Chester Pryne
10 correct: Tracy, Graham the Conquerer, Coda
11 correct:  Paella, Laura, Steverino, Sprague
12 correct:  DaveS, Rob MacD, Third Dead Girl, DW
13 correct:  Dylan Miller, DaveM, J-Ro, Peeshie
14 correct:  Fraser, Elvira ‘I Know Popcultured Sucks’ Kurt, Armchair Knowitall, Dina
15 correct:  Ghislaine
16 correct:  Matt, RhiannonJF
and with an excellent 18 correct:  Curt

Truly an astounding feat, Curt.  Well done.  If you want two tickets to see Sketch22 this summer, send me an email, and I’ll send you off some kind of redeemable print-off, or something that says you won two tickets to the show.

Thanks everyone, for playing.  See you all next year.

I’m not accepting anymore entries for The Annekenstein Monster Oscar Pool.

Good luck to everyone who cares.

Blog Party brings bloggers together by providing blog resources all in one place, and just a click away…  the link to click is www.blogparty.net.

I am posting this because they have a contest where a blogger will win $250 by linking to their site.  So, that’s what I’m doing.

Alright, okay.
This is the final reminder to join in The Annekenstein Monster Oscar Pool.

Click that link above, answer the questions and submit.  If you win, you could win great prizes, like:

An announcement on this site that you won!
A moment of consideration of your existence by the dozen or so people who might read your name in that announcement!!!
And, I’ve just decided, the winner will win (if it doesn’t end up being more of a pain than it’s worth) two complimentary tickets to the very next Sketch22 performance (currently scheduled for this summer).

View this clip on Vimeo

Last summer, my son and his friend and I decided we’d experiment with making people appear and disappear on video. So, we did this, and added a bit of music to make it, like, you know, artsy.

Since it’s getting closer, I thought I’d once again post the link for you to go to enter The Annekenstein Monster Oscar Pool.
It’s as simple as clicking on the radio buttons of the films you think are going to win each category.  And the joy you’ll receive in winning will be immense.  Hell, even the joy you receive in coming in last will be worth it.

So, click this link, and make your picks.  Click send and I’ll receive your list.  It won’t be as good as my list, but I’ll tally it anyway.

Here’s who’s entries I already have:

DaveS
Paella
Fraser
Kris
My Own
Elvira “I know popcultured sucks” Kurt
Tracy

Surely you can make better picks than these losers.  Give it a try.

Johnny Cash sings a child-friendly version of “Don’t Take Your Guns To Town” on Sesame Street. You know, taking out the guns and the killings and such. Because, well, it’s for kids.

And now the conclusion of Episode 21 of The Adventures of Mythical Super Hero Anne:

5.

            Mythical
Super Hero Anne, now back in her Toshomiko costume, kneeled beside her fallen
adopted parents, and best friend. 
“Oh, my friend, Diannakiro,” she said, with tears in her
eyes.  “My adopted father,
Matthewsan.  And my adopted
father-sister, Malirra.  How I grieve for
the loss of you all!”  But what was
this?  Miracle of miracles!  They were reviving!  All of them, alive!  “Oh, thank heavens!  You’re all safe.”

            Matthewsan
rose to his feet, and helped Malirra up as Toshomiko helped Diannakiro
rise.  “What happened to us?”
asked Matthewsan.

            “My
mind is all out of shape,” said Diannakiro, rubbing her bum where
Gilzilla’s rock had hit her.

            “My
friends,” said Toshomiko, “Gilzilla knocked you unconscious.”

            Matthewsan
gasped.  “Gilzilla was here?!  Are you okay, Toshomiko?”

            “Yes,
I am fine, thank you to you.”

            Matthewsan
looked about the apartment, surveying all the damage the great battle had
caused. “Mythical Super Hero Anne, the mythical super hero girl, must have
come and destroyed Gilzilla before he had the chance to finish us off
properly.”

            Malirra
rubbed her head and said, “Malirra say, ‘Now we suffer from amnesia, and
cannot remember a thing about the ordeal.”

            “Malirra
is wise and correct,” said Toshomiko, going to her to comfort the wise old
woman.  “The three of you do have
amnesia.  Yes, Mythical Super Hero Anne
was here, and she did ward off Gilzilla in a great fight.”  All three of Mythical Super Hero Anne’s human
friends gasped as they tried to imagine what surely was the immensity of the
battle.  “But he is not dead,”
continued Toshomiko.  Further gasps, this
time of fear and dismay.  “While you
were unconscious, Mythical Super Hero Anne searched for him, but I fear she did
not catch him, as he went back to the sea. 
She hopes to catch him soon.”

            “Ahhh,”
said Matthewsan, nodding his head, “that is why she did not stick around
to check on our injuries.”  He
picked up some paper mache that used to be part of the wall between the living
square and kitchen square, and studied it, trying to figure out the role it
played in the fight.  “I only wish
that I could have seen the battle, or at least could have met Mythical Super
Hero Anne.”

            “That
is true,” said Diannakiro.  “I,
too, wish that I could one day meet the mythical super hero, known as Mythical
Super Hero Anne.” 
Toshomiko/Mythical Super Hero Anne looked at Diannakiro, waiting for the
knowing wink that, before the battle, would have accompanied such a
remark.  But none came.  It
seems they all really do have amnesia.

            “Yes,”
said Toshomiko.  “I hope I can see
her one day, myself.  But I as well, was
knocked into a state of dizziness, and so her identity must remain a
mystery.”  Toshomiko looked around
the room at her injured loved ones. 
“But now we are all tired and injured and we must rest.  Come, Malirra, we must go to bed.”

            “Malirra
say, ‘Bed is the place for sleep and fun. 
Fun for two, and sleep for one.”

            Everybody
laughed at Malirra’s joke. 
Toshomiko/Mythical Super Hero Anne breathed a sigh of relief that
everyone seemed to be in good spirits after their ordeal.  She breathed another sigh of relief that now
no one knew her true identity, which would help her protect them in the
inevitable future battles she would have with Gilzilla.  And this time she would try extra hard to
keep her secret.

            “We
may be injured and have amnesia, Toshomiko,” said Diannakiro, still giggling.  “But at least your adopted father-sister
is still wise and witty.”

            “She
is wise and witty,” agreed Toshomiko, “but we are all more
tired.”

            “Malirra
say, ‘We are all tired and injured, but not so tired and injured that we will
not work tomorrow.”

            Everyone
nodded.

            Toshomiko
looked at everybody, happy that they were all safe.  “And Mythical Super Hero Anne will work
forever!”

            Everybody
had another laugh and then went to bed, Matthewsan, Malirra and Diannakiro
resting themselves for tomorrow’s workday, Toshomiko/Mythical Super Hero Anne
resting herself for tomorrow’s workday, and for future adventures.

 

The End

 

[Join Mythical Super Hero Anne and all
the gang next month for another exciting chapter, Part 22,  “Gee, I’m Glad I’m No One Else But
Mythical Super Hero Anne”.  ed.
note.]

The new TV ad for T** H*****’* puzzles me.  Puzzles me in why they chose that (based on a true) story as the basis of their ad.

Here’s the story:
Kid plays street hockey and father tells him that he should be spending time on things other than hockey. Kid is forced to come in and stop playing street-hockey.  It’s obvious that the kid doesn’t like his father telling him not to play hockey.  The father, based on the inflections of his voice, seems lile something of a disciplinarian.  He rules the roost.
Kid grows up, and is nothing like his dad, because he encourages his son’s hockey career by going to the rink and watching him play.  Kid gets surprised at the rink to see his father arrive and sit with him.  Father gives son a coffee (double double).
“Why are you here, Dad?” asks the surprised son.
“To see my grandson play.” says the father, coldly.
“You never came to watch me play.” says the son.  It’s obvious that this has caused him some sadness in his life.
“Yes I did” says the father
“What was the name of my team?”
The father doesn’t answer (because I believe he doesn’t know) but offers a picture as proof that he at least knew that his son played on a team.
The father, still emotionally cold to his son, goes on to cheer on, and show pride in, his grandson.
Through flashbacks, we realise that the father secretly came to the rink to watch his son play, bringing coffee each time, we assume, for himself and a janitor.  Only the son didn’t know this.  All these years the son thought his father disrespected the son’s decision to continue playing hockey.
All these years, the son must have born resentment to his father for his stubborn attitudes towards his son’s desire to play hockey.
In the end, though, the son smiles and thanks his father for coming.  We’re led to believe that, from now on, father and son will be closer.
I understand that this is supposed to be touching.
My wife cries when I watch it, and I know of others who’ve stated the emotional impact of it.  To me, though, I see the father as something of a prick.  Why couldn’t he have acknowledged his son’s passion for hockey before now?
What kind of sad, pathetic home life did the son have growing up?  Obviously loving the game of hockey, but not receiving any encouragement for it from his father.
Why did the father need to keep it a secret, all these years, from his son that he watched him play?  Stupid pride?
The only sentimental moment of the ad, for me, is when the son decides to forgive his father.  When he says “thanks for coming”.  He could have said something like “you old prick!  Do you realise how hurtful it was, everytime I played hockey, to look into the stands and NOT see you?  Do you have any idea how many times my heart was broken a bit more by your absense?  And now you come here, with a dish-water detergent tasting luke-warm coffee and expect me to be glad you’re here?”
He could have said that.
Now that would be a great ad.  That would be a cupful of story.

I’ve known Urban Carmichael for almost two decades.  I didn’t know him well, but well enough to stop and talk with him and share stories and jokes.  I considered him a friend, as did, I assume, a whole host of people in the PEI arts community.  Yesterday, our friend Urban died after a long battle with cancer.
One of my earliest memories of Urban was when we were both in a play that Dave Moses wrote, The Kelly Murder.  An historical drama based on the murder of a black man in Charlottetown.  It was a large-cast affair, and both Urban and I had small parts.  Urban’s character was one of the first to appear on stage, and in the blackout of that first performance, as we all waited for the show to start, Urban uttered a noise that could be heard by all.  I believe it was “rabbit” that he said, but that was up for debate.  To this day, I don’t know if Urban’s utterance was intentional, or if it came from nerves.  For many of us in the nervous cast, his Rabbit cut through our nerves, made us laugh and allowed us to relax a bit.
From that point on, whenever Urban would see me, his “Hi” to me would invariably be:  “G’day, Rabbit!”  and I’d repeat it back to him.

I was fortunate enough to see Urban perform a couple of weekends ago at Madly Off In All Directions, and spend some time with him backstage.  I was very much impressed with the quality of his humour that night.  While his presentation was a bit off (not much), due, no doubt, to his frail state of health, the material was sharp and funny and poignant and personal.  And current.  As a writer of comedy myself, I envied Urban’s ability to write jokes.

A couple of years ago, I had created a character, Moe Gorman, who is an honest but untalented local singer/songwriter.   Moe’s voice kind of emulates Urban’s unique, high-pitched lilt.  I was always a bit worried that because Moe’s voice was Urban-esque, that people would think that I was making fun of Urban and commenting negatively on what I thought of his talents.  Of course, I wasn’t.
I don’t think Urban ever saw me perform as Moe, but I would have liked him to see it.  I think he would have appreciated Moe. 
Next time I perform as Moe, I’ll be dedicating it to you Urban.  I am proud to have called you a friend.

Goodbye, rabbit.