This falls under the category of pee-your-pants funny.

The 80s were just funny--that's why.

Check it.

Et-tu, Sally Brown?

I vaguely remember a Peanuts comic strip from the 1980s (probably) which depicts Charlie Brown's younger sister writing an abusive letter to some unidentified correspondent (my guess is Linus): "You're a nidiot! You are also an ucklehead." I feel like the ucklehead today. Basically, the situation is this: I've been waiting for a particular piece of mail to arrive, and this is the week it's supposed to get here. So today while at work I suddenly had this "feeling" that it had arrived, so I headed home to check. Now, I did have time for this, and I ended up having a nice lunch at home instead of paying for one at work, but the problem is that it's about -1000 degrees outside, so I nearly froze off parts of me that I'd really like to keep. The only thing in my mailbox was a bill for the previous tenant and a mental image of the gods pointing and laughing at me. Now I have to head back to work. At least this time I'll put a few more layers on. Next time I receive such "feelings" I ought to remind myself that the delights of anticipation are a lot more pleasurable than the realities of forcing myself to walk outside in such horrible weather for absolutely nothing.

New this season

Several years ago, when Christopher Guest's film A Mighty Wind was first released, I went to see it at the movies and added a tub of popcorn that cost more (at least it seemed) than the actual ticket. I got a ginormous kick out of it, downloaded part of the soundtrack, and anticipated the day I'd see it again. But J. didn't want to see it again (he ended up seeing it twice more without me), so for the longest time my Mighty Wind needs remained unmet. Till now.

The other day I was at the drug store buying something--like toothpaste or knee socks or extra-strength Sudafed--and I noticed that they had copies of the film on DVD for a mere $9.99. For some reason they had them behind the counter, so I had to ask the clerk if she could throw in a copy for me, feeling a bit like the episode of Degrassi High in which Joey Jeremiah buys condoms because he somehow believes that a new female classmate (Spike's friend, whose name I don't remember) who is rumoured to no longer be a virgin will automatically have sex with pretty much anybody--including him. (Thankfully said misconceptions were quickly nipped in the bud.) Anyway, yesterday while taking a break I figured I'd start watching the film again. So I'm sitting there, rubbing my hands in gleeful anticipation, waiting for this viewing of the film to capture the wit and whimsy of my original viewing three-and-a-half (I think) years ago.

And it didn't. I just didn't feel it.

So now I'm starting to wonder if I've grown too mature or stuck-up or elitist to appreciate a mockumentary about folk singers, or if perhaps the difference is that I watched it alone instead of in an anonymous sea of people. Is laughter infectious? Or driven by peer pressure? It makes me wonder if anything is lost for viewers in this DVD generation. If watching a film in a theatre is a communal activity, then of course watching a DVD by yourself will be the exact opposite. (I suppose if you're more popular than I am, or if you watch films and TV shows that other people might enjoy--and I probably wouldn't include The Facts of Life in that category, even though the DVD sets of the first three seasons have fascinated me, almost car-crash style--then there's some mid-ground between isolation and community.) In other words, sure, DVDs sell, but what exactly are we buying? Or, rather, what's the point of buying a DVD that I probably won't want to watch again?

In other news, I've recently watched the first two seasons of Slings and Arrows on DVD. I really like this show--when Canadian television is good, it's really good, and this is a great example. What I especially love about Canadian television pertains both to good Canadian television and its inevitable counterpart--bad Canadian television: the fact that it's the same seventy people who show up on all these shows. Last year I went on a bit of a Street Legal kick because reruns were airing at supper time on Bravo!, and I watched in amazement as half the cast of Road to Avonlea showed up as guest stars, as did what's-his-name from Da Vinci's Inquest. In fact, I'm pretty sure Uncle Alec played three different roles. It kind of makes Canadian television seem like one big extended family of actors, writers, producers, directors, and crew. But if so, why don't more people watch?

This is my first post here in about five or six months. You'll notice that previous post is called "I suck at blogging." Nuff said.

I suck at blogging

Clearly I suck at blogging. There--I said it. We're all on the same page. Cancel the affidavits. In my defense, I've spent most of the summer traveling, finishing my dissertation, discovering Joni Mitchell, packing, moving to a new province (guess which one?), and just trying to juggle 5,000 things at once, as per usual. Things are well, though, although I'm not quite out of the woods just yet.

My friend Kevin recently wrote in an e-mail that I haven't yet had the chance to respond to (sorry, Kev!): "Whilst channel surfing the other night, I fell upon a show called 'Celebrity Duets'. Immediately taking this as the most compelling proof that the apocalypse is upon us, I thought I'd send word out to those I care about."

Oddly enough, my friend James sent me a link that indicates that signs of the impending apocalypse has been with us for many a moon. I quote his e-mail: "This is a video of Rock Hudson and Bea Arthur singing a duet about drugs. It'll make you want to snort, shoot, sniff, pop, and don an evening gown." (Here I am quoting other people's e-mails without their permission--think of the endless copyright infringements!) The link can be found at http://www.ebaumsworld.com/newsletter/issue22/duethigh.html. I don't know where it's from or whether it's a serious song or not, but I laughed so hard while watching it that I spontaneously spawned kittens.

In other news, James has a new blog, which can be found here.

That's all for now. Keep out of trouble, readers, whoever you are.

From this week's The Onion

I know this picture is pretty sacriligeous, but I still find it hysterically funny. It's from this week's The Onion.

Pigeonophobia, anyone?

Overheard in the park the other day: man eating a sandwich and addressing a pigeon that flocked nearby: "Go home! You're not wanted here. Go home!"

I went home and telephone PETA on the pigeon's behalf. I mean, that pigeon's human rights have been taken away, and it's inhumane. Why, isn't that pigeon protected under the Charter or Rights and Freedoms??

Now I'm just being silly. Carry on, blog people; carry on.

Cone of wuh?

Today Catherine wrote (in an e-mail, not on her blog) something about a "Cone of Silence" at her work where secrets are kept and that something I had mentioned to her would be kept "on the DL" (which I intuitively knew meant "down-low"). Which one of us is the bigger nerd?

Cone of silence. Must be a pretty big cone, then. I mean, I'm picturing one of those dog cones, but it's gotta be bigger than that, right? Help me out, somebody.

Brinji's Place

My old pal Brin is now blogging again, thanks to my incessant nagging. Let's all visit him at http://spaces.msn.com/brinji/. He has a very moving and solemn opening post, which prompts me to develop schpilkes in my ginektigazoink.

Talk amongst yourselves--I'm too verklempt to say anything else.

Ratty boxer shorts and the politics of social change

I was flipping channels while setting my VCR to tape something in the morning, and I realized I was watching part of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. The hetero schlub that the boys were charged with transforming this week was a wannabe actor who, as far as I could glean, had mild cooking and picking-up-after-himself issues. Within about 15 seconds, the blond one (unfortunately I seem to have difficulty telling them apart) was trying to persuade the hetero schlub to consider dressing in brown instead of black. They then cut to footage of the guy dressed in a beater and boxer shorts, nonchalantly trying on outfits while the remaining fab four lounged around in various poses on his bed.

This struck me as rather odd. Is this meant to be a sign of progress? While I have a hard time with the stereotypes that get perpetuated by the series--imagine what your impressions of all women would be the only television series that featured any was Sex and the City--I do recognize that part of what Queer Eye does is depict straight men having serious discussions about becoming better, more refined people without feeling repulsed or threatened because they have five gay men as guests in their home. (There--see? It's nothing to be afraid of. They're not actually going to give you gay.) If people need to see a TV show with non-threatening gay-straight interaction in order to develop the imaginative capacity to contemplate the same, then I'm all for it--after all, popular television can be a powerful medium for effecting social change.

But tonight's episode just seems a bit too implausible. I think it's great that more and more straight guys are quite comfortable hanging out with gay friends without batting an eyelash. Still, I wonder how many straight guys would feel totally at ease changing in and out of clothes in front of five gay men, four of whom are lying on his bed, watching with their mouths open (the camera even zoomed in for some stunned reaction shots). Is this a sign that homophobia is that over? If so, why is everybody still freaking out about same-sex marriage?

I saw a spoof of Queer Eye on SNL once--the fab five decided to give Santa Claus a complete makeover. Elijah Wood played the one who's an alcoholic--I forget his name--the one who's carrying a champagne glass in every scene he's in. Anyway, the boys were constantly making dirty jokes about Christmas packages, candy canes, and the south pole as they proceeded to deck Santa in an elegant red vest. In tonight's episode, while this wannabe actor with puppydog eyes strutted his stuff in a pair of ratty boxer briefs, there was nothing but awed silence. That and a quick recap of the wardrobe decisions that had just been made in that scene (black--out; brown--in), just in case the viewers at home have the attention spans of gnats.

But maybe I'm reaching too much into things. After all, I hear that only three of the fab five are actually gay. (Guess which ones--I think you'll be pleasantly surprised.)