The Annekenstein Monster

I was watching Seabiscuit last night, and one of the characters said “The sky’s the limit!” in reference to his future. The movie primarily takes place in the 1930’s, and I was struck by the thought that, in that era, the sky really was the limit. Yes, people could dream about being on the moon, and space flight obviously was as potential then as it is possible now… but in real terms, the sky was the limit, we couldn’t go higher.

That got me wondering if people still say “The sky’s the limit” when they are talking about things that have no boundaries or limits. I think they do. Heck, I may even say it myself. If so, we are limiting ourselves.

I say it’s time do away with “The sky’s the limit”. It’s time has passed. We should, however, replace it with something similar, just so people will still have a limit to strive towards.

How about: “The Galaxy m104‘s the limit!”

I usually have lunch on Mondays with my good pal Dave S. Usually, he drives us around.

Today, Dave calls to confirm the usual arrangements, but this time I
suggest that I drive. I have our car. I’ll drive today. Today Dave gets to take it easy.

11:57am – When I get in my car, ready to pick him up, I remember that the right front wheel was low on air. I’ll have to get that taken care of right away. But first, I’ll get Dave, my friend.

12:02pm – So, I get him and advise him that I’d have to make a quick stop to fill the tire with air. No problem, friend. We’ll quickly stop at the Irving, get the air, and then move onto the dining and
adventure part of the lunch.

12:05pm – At an intersection, a car pulls up and the guy driving sees my tire is low. He winds his window down and points to my underinflated tire. I give him an “I understand and acknowledge”
thumbs up. This little incident disturbs me to no-end. It disturbs Dave in a ‘friend-helping-friend’ way.

12:07pm – A quick stop at the Irving, and I’m out at the front tire with air hose in hand. Delicately I unscrew the valve cap so as not to get my hands dirty. I daintly begin to fill the tire with air, but
before long, I notice a ‘hisssssssss’ sound emenating from the wheel. A quick search discovers that the rim is bent and the tire will not fill beyond a certain point. I hang my head in sadness, depressed at
the thought of this minor setback interfering with my lunch with my good friend Dave.

12:08pm – I inform Dave that our plans will slightly change. I recommend that I drop my car off for repair at a local garage. It is the garage that my father-in-law frequents, and is close-by eating establishments. Dave suggests that we go get his car, and he’d meet me at the garage. I say I’d rather just motor on to the garage, fearful that the tire may disintegrate at any moment. He concurs. I sense his concurrence is done moreso to placate my rising fears.

12:14pm – We arrive at the garage. I relay the situation of my vehicle to the mechanics, who, with great efficiency tell me that they cannot repair a bent rim. Can I get a used rim somewhere, and you guys fix that up? “No”, they say.

12:15pm – Synapses in my brain begin to crackle and burn as I think, at once, about: how this is ruining my lunch: is ruining Dave’s lunch; is much more bother than I’d like; why the mechanic guys just can’t
fix it or call someone who has the parts to fix it. I’ll pay whatever it takes to get it done, just get it done, okay! I want to eat lunch with Dave. Don’t you see? A mechanic tells me about a place that has used parts. “It’s called Eghsoh Ohfondh…” The frying synapses distort the name. “Okay” I say, defeated, and walk out.

12:17pm – I am at a loss as to what to do about lunch, when Dave suggests that he walk (rather than have me drive him, because he understands my delicate emotions regarding the imminent implosion of the front wheel) back to his work-place, pick up his car and meet me at the place where I’ll find my rim. Where is the place? I don’t know.

12:18pm – I walk back into the garage and ask the name of the place they just told me, and which I acknowledged I understood. “What’s the name of that place?” “It’s You’re a Moron Salvage Yard” was the
subtext of his answer.

12:19pm – Dave trudges off to his workplace. I begin my drive out past the airport, to the place where I will receive my used rim.

12:23pm – I realise that Dave doesn’t really need to pick me up. They won’t be doing the work at the auto supply place. (insert rim-job joke here) They’ll just sell me a used rim. The reason as to why a drive from Dave wouldn’t be necessary is far too complicated for me to get into here. Just suffice it to say that in that story, which involves a Japanese woman and a dead guy, situations conspire so that a car is
available to me, at my home.

12:27pm – I arrive at Island Auto Supply and walk in the door. Who do I see there but Graham (who is part of the Sketch22 show we’re putting on this summer), who is apparently searching for a mirror for his car. Small world, and the presence of Graham improves my mood. We chit-chat for a moment, about nothing.

12:29pm – I inform a guy at the desk of my situation, including model and year of car. “14 or 15?” he asks. I know that he means rim size, but all I can muster is: “huh?” “Are your tires 14 or 15 inches?” “Don’t know.” “Well, we’ll need to know that. But I’m sure we’ve got what you’re looking for.” Hooray!

12:30pm – I walk out to the car and spend far too long looking at the tire, to see an indication of tire size. I see R14-26-blah-de-blah written there, and assume that means 14 inch.

12:32pm – I inform the guy, who was very pleasant and helpful, by the way, that it is 14. He walkie-talkies to some guy in some back area, and begins doing something else. Feeling lost and alone, I seek out
the comfort of Graham.

12:34pm – while speaking to Graham, the guy yells “Hey, bud.” “Yeah?” “No 14 inch rims.” “Okay.” Sigh.

12:37pm – Dave arrives. I tell him that I’m sorry, but I probably didn’t need him to drive all the way out there, and that I’d drive home and take the Japanese woman’s car to work. Dave suggests he follows me to my home, just in case the other car is not there. I say okay. I drive my car, Dave follows, to my home.

12:42pm – We arrive at my home, and the car is there. On the drive home, I figure that it’s best to have Dave drive me back to work. That would leave the Japanese woman’s car for my wife. If she is able to find a rim, she could go pick it up.

12:47pm – After informing my wife of the situation, I get in Dave’s car and we drive back in town. Dave goes through a Wendy’s drive-thru, and we order an order each. Oddly, for my order, I have trouble hearing the girl over the speaker, yet Dave was able to understand her. For his order, Dave had trouble understanding her, yet I was able to.

12:59pm – We arrive at my workplace. Dave thanks me for picking him up for lunch today.

1:03pm – I eat my fries, drink my pop but am in no mood to eat meat.

My wife called all across the island today, in search of a 14” rim. Nobody had one. She tracked one down in Truro, and it’ll arrive here tomorrow.

In the meantime, I want to thank Dave for his unyielding support today in an adventure that wasn’t very exciting yet full of turns.

My wife much prefers it when my face is glabrous. Someday, I want to my whole head to be glabrous. But if I ever take it to the point where my whole body becomes glabrous, by choice, please shoot me.

I wrote this years ago. With the upcoming Festival season only days away, I thought it’d be a timely post.
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Every year after the opening of yet another production of the musical Anne of Green Gables, our admittedly wet morning newspaper rushes to print a brand new review of the show. This review seems inter-changeable with previous year’s reviews, as it appears to follow the same format, style and substance, heaping praise, and little or no negative criticism on the same production highlights, year after year. Why go through the motions of writing a new review, year after year, on a show that basically changes little each year… it’s like having a food critic review McDonald’s restaurant once a year; you’re gonna get the same meal every time. The only thing that changes each year is the people putting your Big Mac together and nuking it.
So, why have a (ahem) critic, year after year, review a show that basically doesn’t change, when the only new comment one can make from season to season is in reference to the colour of Gilbert’s trousers?
As a time-saving device, here follows a template review, free for use by The Guardian, in which only the names of the current year’s actor’s need to be inserted. Now every year they can simply print this same review and forego the pretence of reviewing each production. To make this review as Guardian-like as possible, spelling and grammatical errors have been inserted.

The Anne of Green Gables Reusable Review

[Choose from one of the following headlines]

“The Same Anne As Last Year, Only Better”
“Top Notch Perfofmances Highlight Anne”
“Liberals Claim Road Jobs As Tory Patronage”
“Anne of Green Gables Concert Enjoyed By All”
“Gee I’m Glad You’re You, Anne of Green Gables”

Last night’s opening night perfofmance of Anne of Green Gables last night marked the beguining off the [insert season number]th season of Canada’s Favourite Muscle at the Confederation Centre, in Charlottetown, and by the thunderous standing ovation it received in the end by the packed house that were there on its feet clapping, it seems we loved the red-headed orphan as much, if not more than, as ever.
The young woman, [Insert actress name], who played, Anne Shirley and she suited the role perfectly. [Insert “Anne Shirley” actress, first name only], who studded musical dance and acting in [insert Upper Canada city name], was thoroughly believable as the sprightly young orphan, especially in the second act, Act Two where she was even more so, and when she got older and matured, she has a magnificient sinking voice.
Off the other perfofmances, Elizabeth Mawson once again shine in the roll of Marilla, and was wonderfully stern and unflinching in the role of Marilla. It wood be hard to imagine anyone else other but than Elizabeth Mawson playing the role of Elizabeth Mawson played for so long, and made it her own. That she played for over thirty years and made it her own. Matthew was [‘again’, if applicable] played by [insert actor name] and he instantly douched the members of all the audience in the heart with his gently, warm, and humorous portrayal of the kindling, soft-spoken man. I did thought, however, that [insert ‘Matthew’ actor, last name only] did occasionally tend to go for the laughs a few two many times, suck as wipping the dirt off of his boots and and, while funny, this sometimes took away from his kindliness and the dramatic of the play. My one miner disappointment, one I seem to make every sumner, would half to be with the actor who played Gilbert, [insert actor name]. While he is a very compotent dancer, and very light on his feet, I felt his acting wasn’t as strong as was his dancing was, but he did have a very good job, nonetheless, and didn’t detract from the top notch perfofmances of the others.
A special nog must go out to Island actress [insert actress name] who played [insert name of minor Lady of Avonlea character], one of the Ladies of Avonlea. She did a terrific job with her line, and make us all proud of her to be an Islander.
The sets and costumes never looked bitter any year before than they did last night’s, as it was a freshly painted and brightly lit show. And it was expertly directed by [insert name of choreographer], who kept the pace lively and fats-packed.
By the looks of lat’s night show, and passed seasons, and if they are any indignation, we still have a very special thing here, in Anne of Green Gables, and that Anne of Green Gables is a show that should make Islanders, and Canadians alike, proud to be Islanders.

-30-

Last night, Karyn was supping on lobster with her father, so I gave Cameron the choice as to where he and I’d go to eat for supper. He, of course, chose Wendys.

Anyway, we were sitting there eating, and the table behind us was occupied by a mother, father and little girl. Sometime into our meal, the girl begins to whine, which turns into sobs. The mother tells her to stop it. She doesn’t. More whining crying. The father sternly (as fathers are wont to do) advises the girl to smarten up. She doesn’t. Even more whining and crying. It is unclear as to what is troubling the girl, but my impression is that it was something trivial.
A couple more protestations and warnings from the parents fall on the girl’s deaf ears (no, she wasn’t really deaf. It’s an expression…).
Then this, from the father: “do you want to go to the car? I’ll take you to the car. Okay, let’s go”, followed by inactive muscles that make no effort to go to the car.
And then, it came. From the mother. The emptiest, most desperate warning in so many parents’ litany of threats. The statement that is so absurdly impossible to conceive that even the dullest, youngest child doesn’t fall for it: “Okay, if you don’t stop crying, we’ll never eat here, ever again!”
Of course, she doesn’t stop crying. Because she sees her parents, heavier than the sun. She sees them scoff down the double burgers with cheese, and Mega-Biggie Size Fries and the Gargantuan Pop. She sees them inhale their food, and oh so love it.

She is not dumb. So she continues to cry.

For the record, I don’t believe I’ve ever made that particular threat to Cameron. Never promise something you cannot deliver. That’s my motto.

I am only continuing to post American Idol reviews because I have strange need to see this to its completion. Can’t wait til the awful show is finished.

The problem with only three singers left is that, to fill out an hour, they have to sing three songs each. And that means three sets of dischordant combinations of notes, emitted without emotion through the mouth, via vocal chords (sorry, I meant ‘songs’) from The Hawaiin Tourism Campaign.
Anything that I could say about the singing talents of the remaining three, I’ve said before, and last night showed me nothing new. Jasmine was awful. Diana was bubbly soda pop that is already getting flat and stale. Somebody put a cork in that bottle, please. Fantasia showed exactly why she is the only person remaining in the competition who deserves to succeed.

Clive Davis was great as a judge. When Randy doesn’t come back next year, they should give Clive his spot. Of course, they won’t because he’s old and nobody from The Idiotic Masses of America™ cares what he says. They’ll want Randy replaced with a cute boy. Speaking of cute boys, I got worried when Paula “stupid” Abdul told Fantasia that she doesn’t even need this competition anymore. TIMoA, were you listening? That means vote for someone else.

“don’t need this show”?? What the hell does that mean for the relevance of the stupid show? Why bother following through then? Get down to the final two or three, to hell what The Idiotic Masses of America™ ultimately decide. Push the one who has the most potential to make money for people. That’s what they did last year with Clay Aiken. I’ll bet most people actually think he won the American Idol competition last year. He came second, but he really did win it. Ruben is pretty much just a sandwich again. And an area code.

So, it doesn’t matter who gets kicked off tonight. I’ll be shocked and amazed if it’s Fantasia leaving, but then, I’d be shocked and amazed if she makes it to the final two. Stupid The Idiotic Masses of America.
Wherever she winds up, she’s the only one from this show that anybody’ll be talking about in a year from now.

And you can take that prediction to the Bank of Hawaii.

I hate to sound like a school girl.

But, oh. my. god.

You WILL fall in love with this video. (you may not fall in love with the fact that it’s Real Video)

The song is “Bad Luck” by Royal City

On a now defunct PEI themed web-board, I created an online game for the members of that board. We called it SurvivorPEI, and it followed, pretty much, the formula of the television version of Survivor. Two teams (eventually merged into a remaining group of individuals) of about 12-16 players competing in (sometimes whacky) challenges of my creation. Challenges that could by played entirely over the internet. The winner receives immunity, the losing team (or individuals) votes one of their own off.
We played it twice before, and each time was incredibly fun and always interesting. It was lots of hard work keeping the games moving, too the point where, despite the fun, I vowed to myself that I’d not ‘host’ another one.
Well, I’m hosting another one. Over at PEIinfo on their forum, we’ve just started a new ‘season’. I’ve changed the name of the game to Cut-Throat Island this time around. We are currently in the second round, where each team must send me instructions on How To Shower. The first round challenge was a google-based test: each team’s individual members had to send me a three-word google search that, when combined with all the other team searches, came as close as possible to 10,000,000 results.

The two teams this round are Zambooka and Axis of Feeble (names chosen by the players). Zambooka currently has 5 players, having lost one by losing the first round challenge. Axis of Feeble is still at the full complement of 6 players. Most players are Islanders, but there is one forum regular who is from California who is also playing.

If you’re interested, drop by the forum and keep updated on who gets their Throat Cut, and who connives enough to remain to the bitter end.