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Just in case it happens, I want to be ready. I want to have my three wishes all set, phrased in such a way that the devil or the genie cannot find any loop-holes to trick me. I’d hate to wish, for instance, for ‘good health’ and then be stricken to a wheelchair, unable to use my legs, with the genie saying ‘good’ is a relative term. I want my wishes to be locked-solid; to be unmistakable. I want it to be absolutely clear what I’m wishing for, and absolutely clear what I’ll get for my wishes.

For this, I humbly ask for your free advice. I would be grateful if any of you would look through my wishes and offer any suggestions, additions, deletions to them, with the goal of making them legally clear.

My three wishes, in their most basic form, are this:
1) I wish that I will never have to worry about money.
2) I wish that I will have good health, until the day I die a peaceful death.
3) I wish that I will be creative, clever and coherent until the day I die.

I am not locked into these wishes either. If someone has suggestions for better wishes, please let me know.

I just want to be ready, you know, in case the situation arises.

When I was growing up in Parkdale, our neighbourhood was, except for one girl, Norma, free of females of my approximate age. There were probably a dozen boys of my age. This made for a rather testosterone-fuelled environment. In fact, it was common to hear that the boys were going to go to Ginger McKay’s tractor junkyard and break some tractors, or that someone stole their mother’s smokes and people were going to meet at the back of the park (down by the manhole) to smoke them.

I say ‘common to hear’ because I seldom took part in such events. In fact, there were three of us, me and my two best friends, who chose not to go along with most of these deviant activities. As a result of our non-conformist decisions, we three were dubbed ‘The Fairy Gang’. I suppose if they were a more literate group, they’d have called us ‘The Faerie Gang’. This didn’t necessarily cause rifts or divisions amongst us, the kids of the neighbourhood. We all got along pretty well during times when they weren’t off causing havoc. We all played baseball, football together. We all played huge games of neighbourhood tag almost every summer night, and street hockey most every other night. We all got along well. It’s just that we three were sometimes referred to as “The Fairy Gang.”

Being upright and moral kids, we kind of embraced the handle, even though we understood the underlying implications. In fact, in later teenage years, when some of the kids upgraded their deviance to more serious vandalism and petty crime, there were some of the other kids who started hanging out more with us. They became unofficial members of The Fairy Gang.

One day, we were all playing football in the back field. It was the perfect field for playing football. A large rectangular, empty field of mowed grass that was contained within the center of our block. It was basically the field that was in back of everyone’s back yard. On this day, I was relegated to blocking and blitzing duty. I wasn’t pleased about this. I wanted to be a receiver, my usual position, but for some reason, I was blocking and blitzing.

Begrudging my position, I played half-heartedly, to the dismay of my team-mates. At one point, my lethargy and lack of effort caused me, instead of blitzing, to absent-mindedly pick up buttercups or dandelions. Of course, this behaviour was incongruous to a lineman on a football team, and it didn’t go unnoticed by Moe, the boy who was built like a tree trunk. He called me ‘Nature Boy’, and naturally, the nickname stuck.

So, here I am, Nature Boy of The Fairy Gang.

Unleash the drummer in you with this virtual drum kit.

A friend pointed out to me, in a rather off-handed way, that lately some people, seemingly of the Jewish faith seem to have a vested interest in Christmas. There are a handful of Jewish performers, notably Kathie Lee Gifford and Barbara Streisand, who’ve released Christmas albums. I assume David Berenbaum, who wrote the screenplay for “Elf” is Jewish. When this was pointed out to me, I didn’t really give it much thought.

And then, last night, I was watching TV and there was a commercial for Kay Diamonds. In it, a man whom I assume is Jewish (admittedly I assume this only because he has some of the physical attributes stereotypically associated with Jews) asks his girlfriend if she believes in Santa Claus. She says ‘Yes’ then he says: “He helped me pick this out” and gives her a diamond necklace in a jewellery-box.

I don’t put any weight or criticism on this, other than I just find it somewhat odd. Then again, I don’t believe in the Christian religion and yet I enjoy celebrating the season. I’ll have an album coming out shortly.

I’ve always been envious of those people who can comfortably cross their legs when they’re sitting down. Those with the long, Jimmy Stewart-thin pegs that fit together so well, one atop the other, knee above knee, top leg dangling all loosey-goosey.
Me, I’m blessed with a couple of work-horse legs, the trunks you call on when you need an anchor for the tug-of-war. I have the thighs of an ass. When I cross my legs, there’s no dangling limbs, no looseness at all. It’s all about contained pressure. The energy consumed to keep the top leg crossed over the bottom is enormous and barely worth the bother. There it trembles and quivers, the right ankle perched at right angle on the left knee, gravity thrusting its constant force down, down, down on the right knee which hovers over nothingness, unsupported. A coiled weapon, ready to be unfurled and sprung upon the unsuspecting, held back only by sheer force of will.
There’s no comfort in that friends.

So, I was browsing through the referring sites to this Monster and noticed for my first time some google search referrals, and I browsed through those. The search that caught my eye: “riff de la bum smell”

Plug that into your google search, and the Monster gets top billing. I feel so honoured, yet bad for the searcher, who, I assume, didn’t find what they were looking for here. Let me rephrase: I hope they didn’t find what they were looking for here.

I was listening to some music tonight, and Bud the Spud started playing, which reminded me of a sketch I wrote a long time ago, called The Church of the Blessed Sebago. Basically, it was a reverent recitation of Bud the Spud as if it was Gospel, written as bible verses. It was kind of a one-joke bit that never really went anywhere, and never really saw the light of day.
But the sermon did end with this Potato Grower’s Prayer, which I rather like:

“Our tuber, which art in red soil
How good thy taste baked.
Fried, mashed or broiled, thy will be sold
To Cavendish Farms as much as to McCains.
Give us this day our maximum yield
And forgive us our PVY-n
As we forgive Maine their transport embargoes.
And lead us not into land use dilemmas
But deliver us from erosion
For thy pay the mortgage, the power, the grocer
For ever and ever, Amen.”

The following is not a fully-realised socio-scientific theory. In fact, it has only been tested a few times. Hardly enough to warrant endorsement of its viability or validity from the scientific-sociological community. And each time the theory has been tested, I believe, the theorist has been inebriated. Then again, so too were the subjects. However, based on the amazing similarity of results in each test, the theory does seem promising.

The theory is this: Commenting to a drunk man (test subject) about his teeth will cause insane vocal ramblings and violent physical manifestations to emerge from the test subject.

Case Study #1: Test subject was situated near the planted cannon on the Cow’s corner. Pleasantries and cordialities were conveyed between the test subject and his group, and the scientist’s group. The scientist then mentioned, in a purely innocent and off-handed manner, that the test subject’s teeth appeared to be similar in size and stature to the teeth of actor Gary Busey. Test subject appeared not to recognise the Busey name, yet still became overwrought with fury and anger at the very idea. Subject’s flailings arms and legs were, fortunately, subdued by subject’s clique. Not so subdued were the subjects threats of violence to scientist as scientist continued his way to The Dip.

Case Study #2: Test subject was encountered on sidewalk outside the establishment known formerly as “The Playhouse”. After pleasantries and cordialities were conveyed between the test subject and his group, and the scientist’s group, the subject’s group began to cross the street to where the Petro-Can station is situated. At some point in this crossing, the scientist mentioned, again in a purely innocent and unprovoking manner, that the test subject had “Tignish Teeth”. There was a momentary lull in the experiment as the very concept of “Tignish Teeth” took its time to sink in. By the time the test subject made it across the street, it was presumed by members of his clique that “Tignish Teeth” is likely an insult. Upon hearing this, the subject was overcome with fury and anger and began to wildly flail his arms, legs, and limited vocabulary. Attempts by scientist to explain the definition of “Tignish Teeth” only seemed to infuirate the test subject even more, to the point where he was seemingly frothing at the mouth as he was loaded into the cab of his clique’s pickup.

Even though this theory is yet only a theory, please be careful when out clubbing. Do not comment on a drunk man’s teeth, no matter how innocent and innocuous you believe your comment to be.

I went to the Reel Island Film Festival’s presentation of RIFF Shorts 3 (this year’s third screening of shorts). I went because ‘Florid’, a movie I co-wrote and acted in, was being presented.
Let me tell you about ‘Florid’. It’s a 22 minute black comedy about 4 street bums who, deep in the middle of an Island winter, try to raise enough money to go and bum in the warm sun of Florida. It’s got a lot of genuinely funny laughs, some enjoyable performances, some pretty funny lines, and some really bizarre, ugly (intentional), and embarrassing (less so intentional) moments too. It’s a film many people seem to enjoy. But it’s not the best movie, story-wise. There are wide gaping holes, scenes missing, and the ending probably needs an interpreter. Yet, it is funny. However, because of its shortcomings, I believe ‘Florid’ would have trouble getting into most ‘Real’ film festivals.
Let me tell you about the RIFF Shorts 3. I would suggest that ‘Florid’ (yes, even after discounting any bias I have), and perhaps one or two others, were the creme of the crop. Most of the rest were pure claptrap. (Note to editor: remove ‘most of’). Probably an hour and a half, out of the two hours, was intolerable at worst, bland at best. From what I heard, the other screenings were comprised of just as many awful films too, with only a few worthwhile entries.
So, I once again ask: Why must PEI continue to celebrate mediocrity? Especially where artistic endeavour is concerned, Islanders sure seem content to support, and create, blandness. And with the unwritten “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” method of criticism in full effect and force on PEI, it’s sure to stay that way for some time. The worst offense someone could perpetrate on an Island theatrical production, for instance, would be to say something negative about it in public. The underlying reason for the fear of public criticism, I believe, is “We’re only a small island, and we’re not that good, so we don’t deserve to be held up to the standards of the rest of the world.” This, of course, is bullshit.
Another question: Why in the hell is this festival 5 days long? Where in the hell were they going to get enough content to warrant 5 days of screenings? (Tuns out they didn’t) I suppose someone was told Real festivals are 5 days long, so RIFF had to do the same to give the appearance of a Real film festival. Quality of content, be damned! If RIFF looks like a real film festival; if RIFF sounds like a real festival; if RIFF smells like real festival, then that’s the goal. That makes it easier to get funding for next year. Trouble is, the sound this year was terrible and the smell this year was shit.
Here’s what I’d do with next year’s RIFF: make it a weekend long, only. Get someone in who doesn’t have trouble saying “I’m sorry, your film isn’t good enough.”

Homestar Runner dot com is one funny site. And Teen Girl Squad, starring Cheerleader, So and So, Whats Her Face, and The Ugly One is hilarious.