The ad for the new Gillette razor features a bunch of mooks bursting into men's rooms and giving the razor to half-naked men to try. One of the selling points is that it doesn't give you a lot of "tug and pull."
I say I like the tug and pull.
But then, I'm not talking about shaving.
The ad for the Hyundai Essence has got to be the fruitiest wish-fulfillment fantasy I've ever seen.
First of all, where do they get the names for these cars? Essence is kind of okay, but when I was in Korea I saw names like "Nubira" or "Terracan" or "Musso." Do they just throw a bunch of Scrabble tiles on the floor until they get something that looks like a word?
The ad for the Essence features a quartet of mooks who find a magic wand and conjure up the car. They change the colour, drive down the road, and the mook with the wand zaps himself into another car full of pretty girls.
If you're any kind of man at all, the Essence is not the kind of car you conjure up. Think of Steve McQueen in "Bullitt" or Gene Hackman in "The French Connection." Now those are the kinds of car, and that's how you drive it! At top speed through the city, dodging other cars and pedestrians, chasing down some killers to a shootout or a fiery demise!
Not meandering down the avenue, head bopping to some adman's idea of a jaunty tune.
That's for fags.
Brmmm-mmmm-mmmm-mmmm.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Old History, Repeating Itself
I used to work in a restaurant in the late seventies/early eighties. It was an interesting time. The guys who owned the restaurant, located in downtown Calgary, were an Englishman and a Catholic schoolteacher. The Englishman, who I'll call "W," was custom made for the business. He could talk, and talk interestingly (and incessantly), about anything. He was the perfect host, who could regale customers with stories, make them feel comfortable, and make them feel like they'd visited the homiest, most welcoming place on earth.
The schoolteacher was more laid back, and offered a quieter presence that tended to soften some of his partner's rougher edges.
But behind closed doors...
W could be a tyrant. His temper was quick to explode if anything was not done just right. If you've ever seen Gordon Ramsay in an episode of "Hell's Kitchen," you will know what I am talking about.
For the most part, he was a good boss, and I enjoyed working for him. The work was pretty easy to do, even when we were busy, because I had been trained well and knew what to do. But everybody makes mistakes, and even I got yelled at every once in a while.
One of the things that used to irritate me was changing the tape in the machine that piped music into the restaurant. Every single goddamned time I was walking toward it, W would come around the corner and ask, "Why's there no music playing?"
He was like Sybil telling Basil to put that picture up.
I worked there until 1982, when the city took all the land in the surrounding area and razed everything on it to the ground in order to build a shiny new City Hall. I was sorry to see it go, even though the area was not what you might call "Park Row."
Eastern downtown Calgary at the time was fairly down-at-heel. In the next block from our restaurant were two hotels, the Queen's Arms and the Monarch. They sat on two corners with an alley between them, and there was only a superficial difference between the two. They were home to the less advantaged of the city, and the bars were usually full of blue-collar types drinking their fill and then some. It wasn't a place I would go to alone, but it was okay if you had backup.
Yeah, they're gone now, too.
Down the other way was the St. Louis Hotel, a favourite haunt of then-reporter Ralph Klein. He used to come to our restaurant when he was running for mayor, and even after he won. I've seen him in his cups after hours a few times.
Further down was (and still is) the King Edward, the King Eddy, which now hosts a blues bar famous all over the city. Good music and thirst-quenching drinks.
W was full of plans for a new restaurant, of course, and it seemed like the natural thing when he asked me to come along and help to say yes.
I was going to Mount Royal College (now University), indifferently studying journalism, and I dropped out to work in the restaurant business full time. I thought I was getting in on the ground floor of something big. W said he was going to open pretty much the same place, only bigger and better. Yeah, he could talk, all right.
He decided before he could open this big glittering palace of an eatery, he needed to build up his bank account by opening a fast food joint. We looked around and then looked around some more for a place to set up shop and settled on an old, abandoned gas station. We rented the place from Shell Oil, whose place it was, and set about turning the service bays into a kitchen and the customer service area into a dining room.
We did quite a good job, and we did it all by ourselves; W, myself, and a kid who used to cook for us in the old place. And what a long, back-and-heart-breaking job it turned out to be. In the old place, there were a lot of targets for W's anger, but now there was only two, and boy did we get it.
It seemed like every day or every hour something would set him off, and we'd have to suffer through a tongue-lashing describing in intimate detail just how stupid we were, and how dense we had to be to make whatever mistake we had just made.
We were all under intense pressure to complete the job, and to drive ourselves as hard as we possibly could in order to finish, and get the restaurant up and running as soon as possible.
It makes me tired now just thinking about it.
Somewhere along the line, I burnt out, and lost all my enthusiasm for the resaurant business in general, and W in particular. We parted ways soon after the burger joint (called "Big Dick's," after Big Dick Turpin. No really) opened.
I've had other bosses with tempers like W's, and I was able to examine them more dispassionately, after my previous experience and a little time to think.
Remember the movie "Full Metal Jacket?" If you haven't seen it, you should. The drill instructor who lashes the recruits into fighting men is a perfect example of what I am talking about. He mercilessly berates the recruits until they are quite literally crying.
But he doesn't do it out of enjoyment. He's trying to break down their resistance to his instruction in the swiftest and most brutal way imaginable. He doesn't want to destroy them completely, merely remake them in the Marine Corps' image, and make them into trained, efficient killers.
He does a pretty good job at it until one of the recruits snaps and shoots him through the chest.
So I can see W's (and other bosses like him) point of view. And once you've seen behind the curtain, it's hard to ignore the little man working the controls of the Great and Powerful Oz. The giant head and the fire and the smoke are just special effects, used by an ordinary guy to fool you into doing what he wants the way he wants it.
I became impatient with superiors who used the rant in an effort to cow me. I started to see them as petty and mean, without the imagination to see that I was an intelligent human being who could follow instructions and do the job without all the pyrotechnics. It was their failing, not mine.
I remember when I was working as a security guard at a large office building. For some reason, it was the night guards' job to stock the washrooms with paper, towels, soap, etc. The super would come in the morning and make a quick check before relieving you.
One day I got quite a dressing down for not refilling one of the soap dispensers. When I went to do that (and I couldn't leave until I did), I saw that it was over half full, but not completely full.
What the fuck?
When I got back from completing my arduous task, the super went on and on, and questioned my dedication to the job, and asked me just what I expected if I tried to get by with such ineptitude.
I quietly agreed with him and told him I would ask HQ to move me to another site.
I didn't see any point in arguing with the mook, who was in a postion of authority, and clinging to his little bit of power like a limpet. Pointing out that he was a fucking idiot might bring some personal satisfaction, but it would be professional suicide.
What was the point? What could I say to this person, who I had just lost all respect for, that would change his thinking that he was right and proper to treat me like shit?
I didn't think it would do any good at all to waste my breath. Over at "What The Kimchi?," Flint and I get comments from all kinds of fucktards. Arguing with them is like banging your head against a brick wall. You can't change their thinking, and all you get is a head covered with bumps and bruises.
My mother is a lot like those bosses. I love her because she's my mother, but I don't like the person she is. At this point in time, she is very disappointed in me, mostly because (like my father) I am a very quiet man. She doesn't like the quiet, and can be very cruel when she makes snide comments about it. I've taken to distancing myself from her, rather than arguing with her. And I try not to think of her as being too similar to those idiots I used to work for.
All of us in our family have had arguments and differences like this with her. My sisters have sometimes gone for months and years before they make up with her. I suppose my mom and I will make it up some day.
But until then, I'll have to stay away from "The Wizard Of Oz" and "Full Metal Jacket."
The schoolteacher was more laid back, and offered a quieter presence that tended to soften some of his partner's rougher edges.
But behind closed doors...
W could be a tyrant. His temper was quick to explode if anything was not done just right. If you've ever seen Gordon Ramsay in an episode of "Hell's Kitchen," you will know what I am talking about.
For the most part, he was a good boss, and I enjoyed working for him. The work was pretty easy to do, even when we were busy, because I had been trained well and knew what to do. But everybody makes mistakes, and even I got yelled at every once in a while.
One of the things that used to irritate me was changing the tape in the machine that piped music into the restaurant. Every single goddamned time I was walking toward it, W would come around the corner and ask, "Why's there no music playing?"
He was like Sybil telling Basil to put that picture up.
I worked there until 1982, when the city took all the land in the surrounding area and razed everything on it to the ground in order to build a shiny new City Hall. I was sorry to see it go, even though the area was not what you might call "Park Row."
Eastern downtown Calgary at the time was fairly down-at-heel. In the next block from our restaurant were two hotels, the Queen's Arms and the Monarch. They sat on two corners with an alley between them, and there was only a superficial difference between the two. They were home to the less advantaged of the city, and the bars were usually full of blue-collar types drinking their fill and then some. It wasn't a place I would go to alone, but it was okay if you had backup.
Yeah, they're gone now, too.
Down the other way was the St. Louis Hotel, a favourite haunt of then-reporter Ralph Klein. He used to come to our restaurant when he was running for mayor, and even after he won. I've seen him in his cups after hours a few times.
Further down was (and still is) the King Edward, the King Eddy, which now hosts a blues bar famous all over the city. Good music and thirst-quenching drinks.
W was full of plans for a new restaurant, of course, and it seemed like the natural thing when he asked me to come along and help to say yes.
I was going to Mount Royal College (now University), indifferently studying journalism, and I dropped out to work in the restaurant business full time. I thought I was getting in on the ground floor of something big. W said he was going to open pretty much the same place, only bigger and better. Yeah, he could talk, all right.
He decided before he could open this big glittering palace of an eatery, he needed to build up his bank account by opening a fast food joint. We looked around and then looked around some more for a place to set up shop and settled on an old, abandoned gas station. We rented the place from Shell Oil, whose place it was, and set about turning the service bays into a kitchen and the customer service area into a dining room.
We did quite a good job, and we did it all by ourselves; W, myself, and a kid who used to cook for us in the old place. And what a long, back-and-heart-breaking job it turned out to be. In the old place, there were a lot of targets for W's anger, but now there was only two, and boy did we get it.
It seemed like every day or every hour something would set him off, and we'd have to suffer through a tongue-lashing describing in intimate detail just how stupid we were, and how dense we had to be to make whatever mistake we had just made.
We were all under intense pressure to complete the job, and to drive ourselves as hard as we possibly could in order to finish, and get the restaurant up and running as soon as possible.
It makes me tired now just thinking about it.
Somewhere along the line, I burnt out, and lost all my enthusiasm for the resaurant business in general, and W in particular. We parted ways soon after the burger joint (called "Big Dick's," after Big Dick Turpin. No really) opened.
I've had other bosses with tempers like W's, and I was able to examine them more dispassionately, after my previous experience and a little time to think.
Remember the movie "Full Metal Jacket?" If you haven't seen it, you should. The drill instructor who lashes the recruits into fighting men is a perfect example of what I am talking about. He mercilessly berates the recruits until they are quite literally crying.
But he doesn't do it out of enjoyment. He's trying to break down their resistance to his instruction in the swiftest and most brutal way imaginable. He doesn't want to destroy them completely, merely remake them in the Marine Corps' image, and make them into trained, efficient killers.
He does a pretty good job at it until one of the recruits snaps and shoots him through the chest.
So I can see W's (and other bosses like him) point of view. And once you've seen behind the curtain, it's hard to ignore the little man working the controls of the Great and Powerful Oz. The giant head and the fire and the smoke are just special effects, used by an ordinary guy to fool you into doing what he wants the way he wants it.
I became impatient with superiors who used the rant in an effort to cow me. I started to see them as petty and mean, without the imagination to see that I was an intelligent human being who could follow instructions and do the job without all the pyrotechnics. It was their failing, not mine.
I remember when I was working as a security guard at a large office building. For some reason, it was the night guards' job to stock the washrooms with paper, towels, soap, etc. The super would come in the morning and make a quick check before relieving you.
One day I got quite a dressing down for not refilling one of the soap dispensers. When I went to do that (and I couldn't leave until I did), I saw that it was over half full, but not completely full.
What the fuck?
When I got back from completing my arduous task, the super went on and on, and questioned my dedication to the job, and asked me just what I expected if I tried to get by with such ineptitude.
I quietly agreed with him and told him I would ask HQ to move me to another site.
I didn't see any point in arguing with the mook, who was in a postion of authority, and clinging to his little bit of power like a limpet. Pointing out that he was a fucking idiot might bring some personal satisfaction, but it would be professional suicide.
What was the point? What could I say to this person, who I had just lost all respect for, that would change his thinking that he was right and proper to treat me like shit?
I didn't think it would do any good at all to waste my breath. Over at "What The Kimchi?," Flint and I get comments from all kinds of fucktards. Arguing with them is like banging your head against a brick wall. You can't change their thinking, and all you get is a head covered with bumps and bruises.
My mother is a lot like those bosses. I love her because she's my mother, but I don't like the person she is. At this point in time, she is very disappointed in me, mostly because (like my father) I am a very quiet man. She doesn't like the quiet, and can be very cruel when she makes snide comments about it. I've taken to distancing myself from her, rather than arguing with her. And I try not to think of her as being too similar to those idiots I used to work for.
All of us in our family have had arguments and differences like this with her. My sisters have sometimes gone for months and years before they make up with her. I suppose my mom and I will make it up some day.
But until then, I'll have to stay away from "The Wizard Of Oz" and "Full Metal Jacket."
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Magic
Spoiler Alert! I will be discussing "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part Two."
I saw the latest (and last) "Harry Potter" movie recently, and I wanted to talk about the disposition of some of the magical objects in the film. I don't want to recount the entire plot, but some explanation of the action is necessary. Harry and his friends are hunting magical objects called horcruxes, in which the evil Lord Voldemort has hidden parts of his soul. Harry has to destroy these horcruxes as part of a plan to eventually kill Voldemort.
It turns out one of these horcruxes is part of a collection of objects known as the Deathly Hallows, ancient magic so old their origins are the stuff of legend. The three objects are the Elder Wand (so powerful it cannot be defeated), an invisibility cloak, and an Immortality Stone. The latter object was made into a ring, and passed down through Voldemort's ancestors until he made it into a horcrux. The piece of soul inside the ring was destroyed, but Stone's ability to grant immortality was not. Harry used the stone to recall the shades of his parents (just before Voldemort killed him), and then dropped it in the Enchanted Forest. He later said that he was not going to seek it out again or tell anyone where it was. He felt that leaving a powerful magical object lying in the middle of a forest would be insurance enough that no-one would ever find and use it again.
The Elder Wand had been used by Professor Dumbledore, and it was buried with him. Voldemort desecrated Dumbledore's grave to steal it. He felt the wand would ensure his victory over Harry in any magical duel, in vain as it turns out.
In the book, Harry uses the wand to repair his own badly damaged instrument, and then returns it to Dumbledore's grave. In the movie, Harry snaps it in two and throws th pieces away. I guess snapping the most powerful wand in two is as easy as breaking a dried up old twig.
Now don't get me wrong, I'm a fan of Harry Potter, the books and the movies. I started reading them in Korea, and they helped pass the time, especially when I was trapped in that Junkpile.
But getting rid of magical objects by snapping them in two or leaving them in an apparently deserted area is just not going to fly with me.
It reminds me of an episode of "Angel," where the vampire comes across a ring that allows him to walk in daylight. He eventually destroys it by smashing it with a rock.
Destroying magical rings is not that easy. Just ask Frodo.
I am a fan of "The Lord Of The Rings," too. That book is an epic tale of adventure, swords, and sorcery. The basic plot element is the destruction of an instrument of great magic (and great evil), the evil Lord Sauron's Ring of Power.
When the disposition of the Ring is debated at the Council of Elrond, some urge that it should be used against Sauron, but that plan is rejected because the ring is evil, and will turn any user to evil.
Some suggest that the Ring be thrown into the sea, but that is also rejected. The Ring and Sauron are connected. While one endures, so will the other. Sauron cannot be defeated even if the Ring were cast into the sea, and it would still be possible for him to find it eventually, and then he would be unstoppable.
Others say that it should be sent into the West, where powers greater than Sauron dwell. But they would not take it. For good or ill, it must remain in Middle Earth.
The only option open to them is to destroy it. Because of its great power, the Ring can only be unmade by casting it into the fire from which it came, in the volcano known as Mt. Doom, located in the midst of Sauron's realm of Mordor. So Frodo the hobbit undertakes the Quest, and succeeds after many perils and adventures along the way. Great stuff.
But it just goes to show you that magical objects cannot be disposed of so easily. Any writer in the field of fantasy must take this into consideration, or risk seeing their story founder on an unbelievable or inconceivable plot point.
I saw the latest (and last) "Harry Potter" movie recently, and I wanted to talk about the disposition of some of the magical objects in the film. I don't want to recount the entire plot, but some explanation of the action is necessary. Harry and his friends are hunting magical objects called horcruxes, in which the evil Lord Voldemort has hidden parts of his soul. Harry has to destroy these horcruxes as part of a plan to eventually kill Voldemort.
It turns out one of these horcruxes is part of a collection of objects known as the Deathly Hallows, ancient magic so old their origins are the stuff of legend. The three objects are the Elder Wand (so powerful it cannot be defeated), an invisibility cloak, and an Immortality Stone. The latter object was made into a ring, and passed down through Voldemort's ancestors until he made it into a horcrux. The piece of soul inside the ring was destroyed, but Stone's ability to grant immortality was not. Harry used the stone to recall the shades of his parents (just before Voldemort killed him), and then dropped it in the Enchanted Forest. He later said that he was not going to seek it out again or tell anyone where it was. He felt that leaving a powerful magical object lying in the middle of a forest would be insurance enough that no-one would ever find and use it again.
The Elder Wand had been used by Professor Dumbledore, and it was buried with him. Voldemort desecrated Dumbledore's grave to steal it. He felt the wand would ensure his victory over Harry in any magical duel, in vain as it turns out.
In the book, Harry uses the wand to repair his own badly damaged instrument, and then returns it to Dumbledore's grave. In the movie, Harry snaps it in two and throws th pieces away. I guess snapping the most powerful wand in two is as easy as breaking a dried up old twig.
Now don't get me wrong, I'm a fan of Harry Potter, the books and the movies. I started reading them in Korea, and they helped pass the time, especially when I was trapped in that Junkpile.
But getting rid of magical objects by snapping them in two or leaving them in an apparently deserted area is just not going to fly with me.
It reminds me of an episode of "Angel," where the vampire comes across a ring that allows him to walk in daylight. He eventually destroys it by smashing it with a rock.
Destroying magical rings is not that easy. Just ask Frodo.
I am a fan of "The Lord Of The Rings," too. That book is an epic tale of adventure, swords, and sorcery. The basic plot element is the destruction of an instrument of great magic (and great evil), the evil Lord Sauron's Ring of Power.
When the disposition of the Ring is debated at the Council of Elrond, some urge that it should be used against Sauron, but that plan is rejected because the ring is evil, and will turn any user to evil.
Some suggest that the Ring be thrown into the sea, but that is also rejected. The Ring and Sauron are connected. While one endures, so will the other. Sauron cannot be defeated even if the Ring were cast into the sea, and it would still be possible for him to find it eventually, and then he would be unstoppable.
Others say that it should be sent into the West, where powers greater than Sauron dwell. But they would not take it. For good or ill, it must remain in Middle Earth.
The only option open to them is to destroy it. Because of its great power, the Ring can only be unmade by casting it into the fire from which it came, in the volcano known as Mt. Doom, located in the midst of Sauron's realm of Mordor. So Frodo the hobbit undertakes the Quest, and succeeds after many perils and adventures along the way. Great stuff.
But it just goes to show you that magical objects cannot be disposed of so easily. Any writer in the field of fantasy must take this into consideration, or risk seeing their story founder on an unbelievable or inconceivable plot point.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Saturday Night Live's Seventh Season
I just finished watching Saturday Night Live's seventh season, which I downloaded from Demonoid. The video quality isn't that great. It was recorded on a VCR, and then made into a torrent, so the picture has downgraded a bit. There're even parts where the tracking isn't done properly.
But overall it's watchable, and the seventh season is probably my favourite. This was the season where the show came back from the dead. Some may argue whether that's a good thing, but that's not what I want to talk about.
The sixth season of SNL had been very bad. There was a new cast, new writers, and a new producer that managed to run the show into the ground in only eleven episodes. Dick Ebersol was brought in to produce one final show and then shut it down until the next season.
The only survivors from that series were Eddie Murphy and Joe Piscopo. Ebersol wanted to hire John Candy and Catherine O'Hara away from SCTV, but Candy turned him down and O'Hara backed out after meeting Michael O'Donoghue.
O'Donoghue, a writer from the first five seasons, basically returned to kill the show. He wanted to give it a Viking funeral, and tried to instil "danger" back into the writing process. His volatile personality guaranteed that his tenure would be short-lived.
The fourth show was the nadir. Donald Pleasence was the host, and he featured in a sketch that highlights an amputation and gallons of spurting blood.
The musical guest was a punk rock band called "Fear." Their performance reminded me of the episode of SCTV's "Mel's Rockpile," where he had a punk band perform. Mel, the lamest host ever, announced that there would be a "slam dance." All the dancers slammed into each other with great ferocity, and Joe Flaherty screamed, "Have you no consideration for the women!"
That was funny, but "Fear's" performance was not. They were booked on the show at the insistence of John Belushi, who also made a surprise cameo that night. It would be his last appearance on the show before his death the following spring.
There were, however, a lot of great musical performances that season from The Kinks, Rick James, The Go-Go's, Meatloaf, the Allman Brothers, Lindsey Buckingham, and John Mellencamp. Elton John sang his John Lennon tribute, "Empty Garden," and the Charlie Daniels Band did "The Devil Went Down To Georgia." Johnny Cash did a selection of his greatest hits.
On the Christmas show, Bill Murray hosted, and made a midshow announcement about the Polish government's crackdown on "Solidarity." An interesting bit of social commentary thrown into a comedy show. But then, SNL always prided itself on its satire of America's fools and their foibles.
There was a lot of fun made of Ronald Reagan, depicted as the clueless idiot he was in real life. His administration was shown to be the "Bizarro World" from Superman comics. This was the beginning of the end of the cold war, but the times were still pretty tense. They even did a Dr. Strangelove sketch.
The comedy could be very sharp at times, sometimes too sharp for comfort. Towards the end of the season, they conducted a phone-in poll to decide the fate of a lobster dubbed "Larry." Callers voted whether to spare the lobster or boil and eat him. At first, it looked like he was for the pot, but the final tally spared his life.
Then, on the next week's show, Eddie Murphy read a letter from a woman in Oklahoma who doubted that Larry had survived the show, especially the way Murphy was "waving him around." She also commented, "I thought those people didn't like seafood."
Murphy's response to her racist comment was to reveal Larry's boiled body, announced that his stay of execution had been revoked, and ate him.
The last show of the season was my favourite. Olivia Newton-John was the host, and she sang some hits from her "Physical" album. I was hot for Olivia at the time, I'll tell you.
But the best part was when Graham Chapman interrupted a sketch as the Colonel, telling them it was "too silly," and obviously ripped off from Monty Python.
Chapman was on the show to promote the film "The Secret Policeman's Other Ball." An NBC station had recently refused to air the trailer for the film, saying it was "too objectionable, even for [SNL}."
They then played the trailer, and invited Chapman to comment. Chapman read NBC's objection, which said that the American flag displayed in the ad was "rumpled" and "defaced in one corner." While the flag was a bit wrinkled, it wasn't defaced. There was a birdcage in front of it, and the censors might not have gotten a good enough look to see it.
I think what really cheesed them off was the poking of fun at the Moral Majority and the fact that Chapman was wearing a tutu, nylon stockings, and a garter belt.
Chapman made an eloquent apology, saying he never meant to offend anyone, or do anything to break the strong bonds between Britain and America by defaming the flag.
He then stood up to reveal he was wearing a star-spangled g-string.
It was an hysterical moment, typical of the humour of that season, which marks it in my memory as one of SNL's best.
At the end of the show, when everyone was waving goodbye, Piscopo announced that Eddie was going off to San Francisco that summer to make a film with Nick Nolte. This film was, of course, "48 Hrs," and it made Murphy a big star.
In fact, the shows in this torrent were re-presented on Comedy Central with the subtitle "The Eddie Murphy Experience," and include a few taped reminisces from him about his time on the show.
Well, it wasn't the first time that a cast member grew larger than the show, and it wouldn't be the last. Murphy's success overshadowed that of Piscopo and fellow cast members Tim Kazurinsky, Mary Gross, Christine Ebersole and SCTV alumni Robin Duke and Tony Rosato. It's too bad, as they all helped make the seventh season one to remember.
But overall it's watchable, and the seventh season is probably my favourite. This was the season where the show came back from the dead. Some may argue whether that's a good thing, but that's not what I want to talk about.
The sixth season of SNL had been very bad. There was a new cast, new writers, and a new producer that managed to run the show into the ground in only eleven episodes. Dick Ebersol was brought in to produce one final show and then shut it down until the next season.
The only survivors from that series were Eddie Murphy and Joe Piscopo. Ebersol wanted to hire John Candy and Catherine O'Hara away from SCTV, but Candy turned him down and O'Hara backed out after meeting Michael O'Donoghue.
O'Donoghue, a writer from the first five seasons, basically returned to kill the show. He wanted to give it a Viking funeral, and tried to instil "danger" back into the writing process. His volatile personality guaranteed that his tenure would be short-lived.
The fourth show was the nadir. Donald Pleasence was the host, and he featured in a sketch that highlights an amputation and gallons of spurting blood.
The musical guest was a punk rock band called "Fear." Their performance reminded me of the episode of SCTV's "Mel's Rockpile," where he had a punk band perform. Mel, the lamest host ever, announced that there would be a "slam dance." All the dancers slammed into each other with great ferocity, and Joe Flaherty screamed, "Have you no consideration for the women!"
That was funny, but "Fear's" performance was not. They were booked on the show at the insistence of John Belushi, who also made a surprise cameo that night. It would be his last appearance on the show before his death the following spring.
There were, however, a lot of great musical performances that season from The Kinks, Rick James, The Go-Go's, Meatloaf, the Allman Brothers, Lindsey Buckingham, and John Mellencamp. Elton John sang his John Lennon tribute, "Empty Garden," and the Charlie Daniels Band did "The Devil Went Down To Georgia." Johnny Cash did a selection of his greatest hits.
On the Christmas show, Bill Murray hosted, and made a midshow announcement about the Polish government's crackdown on "Solidarity." An interesting bit of social commentary thrown into a comedy show. But then, SNL always prided itself on its satire of America's fools and their foibles.
There was a lot of fun made of Ronald Reagan, depicted as the clueless idiot he was in real life. His administration was shown to be the "Bizarro World" from Superman comics. This was the beginning of the end of the cold war, but the times were still pretty tense. They even did a Dr. Strangelove sketch.
The comedy could be very sharp at times, sometimes too sharp for comfort. Towards the end of the season, they conducted a phone-in poll to decide the fate of a lobster dubbed "Larry." Callers voted whether to spare the lobster or boil and eat him. At first, it looked like he was for the pot, but the final tally spared his life.
Then, on the next week's show, Eddie Murphy read a letter from a woman in Oklahoma who doubted that Larry had survived the show, especially the way Murphy was "waving him around." She also commented, "I thought those people didn't like seafood."
Murphy's response to her racist comment was to reveal Larry's boiled body, announced that his stay of execution had been revoked, and ate him.
The last show of the season was my favourite. Olivia Newton-John was the host, and she sang some hits from her "Physical" album. I was hot for Olivia at the time, I'll tell you.
But the best part was when Graham Chapman interrupted a sketch as the Colonel, telling them it was "too silly," and obviously ripped off from Monty Python.
Chapman was on the show to promote the film "The Secret Policeman's Other Ball." An NBC station had recently refused to air the trailer for the film, saying it was "too objectionable, even for [SNL}."
They then played the trailer, and invited Chapman to comment. Chapman read NBC's objection, which said that the American flag displayed in the ad was "rumpled" and "defaced in one corner." While the flag was a bit wrinkled, it wasn't defaced. There was a birdcage in front of it, and the censors might not have gotten a good enough look to see it.
I think what really cheesed them off was the poking of fun at the Moral Majority and the fact that Chapman was wearing a tutu, nylon stockings, and a garter belt.
Chapman made an eloquent apology, saying he never meant to offend anyone, or do anything to break the strong bonds between Britain and America by defaming the flag.
He then stood up to reveal he was wearing a star-spangled g-string.
It was an hysterical moment, typical of the humour of that season, which marks it in my memory as one of SNL's best.
At the end of the show, when everyone was waving goodbye, Piscopo announced that Eddie was going off to San Francisco that summer to make a film with Nick Nolte. This film was, of course, "48 Hrs," and it made Murphy a big star.
In fact, the shows in this torrent were re-presented on Comedy Central with the subtitle "The Eddie Murphy Experience," and include a few taped reminisces from him about his time on the show.
Well, it wasn't the first time that a cast member grew larger than the show, and it wouldn't be the last. Murphy's success overshadowed that of Piscopo and fellow cast members Tim Kazurinsky, Mary Gross, Christine Ebersole and SCTV alumni Robin Duke and Tony Rosato. It's too bad, as they all helped make the seventh season one to remember.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Family Weekend
Our family assembled at the hospital in Red Deer at 9:00 a.m. for a meeting with the various therapists helping rehabilitate my mom, to hear their assessments of where we are and where we're going from here.
In order to get there for the meeting, I got myself up, shat, showered, and shaved, and then fixed breakfast for my dad and brother. I guess we were kind of late, because dad was shoving us out the door before we could even clean up from breakfast. I didn't even have time to put makeup on my infected areas.
We met my sister there in my mom's room and went round to the conference room. There was a supervisor, a physical therapist, an occupational therapist, and a different kind of occupational therapist.
The physio guy said mom was making good progress, but would like to work with her for another month (at least). The occupational gal talked about her mental progress, and mentioned a previous test done just when she'd been moved out of ICU. It had a fairly low score. We think it was because she was still fairly disoriented and full of drugs. This o.g. said mom still wasn't 100% and wanted to get her doing tasks like cooking and so on to make sure that she could operate at home okay. There was some talk of how my mom tries to do too much, which I can see. She's always on the go, always thinking about what needs to be done, what needs to be done next, and what needs to be done after that.
My dad said later that he didn't like this woman or her assessment. He thought she was too negative. I was willing to defer to her judgement, and didn't find too much wrong with what she had to say.
The third therapist just talked about getting mom involved in the various activities they did on the ward as a way to help facilitate her re-entry to the world outside.
So, as far as the hospital goes, mom is about a month away from coming home for good.
She did come home that day, just for the weekend. She wasn't up to doing a lot, as she was just too physically handicapped. She could wheel herself around in a wheel chair. She could walk with a walker. She could climb stairs but slowly.
She wasn't feeling too good the whole weekend, and slept a lot of the time, or laid down on the couch and watched TV. We tried to get her to maybe come outside onto the deck or maybe take a walk, but couldn't entice her.
My sister went to pick up our oldest sister that night, and they came back on Saturday. Friday, I barbecued steaks, and my older sister made a curry on Sat and then a pork roast for Sunday dinner. We all ate well.
Mom and dad slept in their room, I continued to sleep in my room, and my brother has been sleeping in the Batman-cave. My sisters slept in a cabin at the golf course which a friend of my dad's leant us. My sisters said it was a real nice place.
There was a lot of laughter, tomfoolery, and reminiscing about old times.
But now it's over. My sister's went to visit mom in the hospital (she returned there Sunday night), and from there, they'll be heading home (one to Vancouver, and the other to Lloydminister).
I've been cleaning up and doing laundry this afternoon, while my brother gets ready to sell some barn wood and my dad does yard work.
It was all right, as family weekends go. They don't happen very frequently these days, so we try to enjoy them as much as families who know where everyone's buttons are can.
In order to get there for the meeting, I got myself up, shat, showered, and shaved, and then fixed breakfast for my dad and brother. I guess we were kind of late, because dad was shoving us out the door before we could even clean up from breakfast. I didn't even have time to put makeup on my infected areas.
We met my sister there in my mom's room and went round to the conference room. There was a supervisor, a physical therapist, an occupational therapist, and a different kind of occupational therapist.
The physio guy said mom was making good progress, but would like to work with her for another month (at least). The occupational gal talked about her mental progress, and mentioned a previous test done just when she'd been moved out of ICU. It had a fairly low score. We think it was because she was still fairly disoriented and full of drugs. This o.g. said mom still wasn't 100% and wanted to get her doing tasks like cooking and so on to make sure that she could operate at home okay. There was some talk of how my mom tries to do too much, which I can see. She's always on the go, always thinking about what needs to be done, what needs to be done next, and what needs to be done after that.
My dad said later that he didn't like this woman or her assessment. He thought she was too negative. I was willing to defer to her judgement, and didn't find too much wrong with what she had to say.
The third therapist just talked about getting mom involved in the various activities they did on the ward as a way to help facilitate her re-entry to the world outside.
So, as far as the hospital goes, mom is about a month away from coming home for good.
She did come home that day, just for the weekend. She wasn't up to doing a lot, as she was just too physically handicapped. She could wheel herself around in a wheel chair. She could walk with a walker. She could climb stairs but slowly.
She wasn't feeling too good the whole weekend, and slept a lot of the time, or laid down on the couch and watched TV. We tried to get her to maybe come outside onto the deck or maybe take a walk, but couldn't entice her.
My sister went to pick up our oldest sister that night, and they came back on Saturday. Friday, I barbecued steaks, and my older sister made a curry on Sat and then a pork roast for Sunday dinner. We all ate well.
Mom and dad slept in their room, I continued to sleep in my room, and my brother has been sleeping in the Batman-cave. My sisters slept in a cabin at the golf course which a friend of my dad's leant us. My sisters said it was a real nice place.
There was a lot of laughter, tomfoolery, and reminiscing about old times.
But now it's over. My sister's went to visit mom in the hospital (she returned there Sunday night), and from there, they'll be heading home (one to Vancouver, and the other to Lloydminister).
I've been cleaning up and doing laundry this afternoon, while my brother gets ready to sell some barn wood and my dad does yard work.
It was all right, as family weekends go. They don't happen very frequently these days, so we try to enjoy them as much as families who know where everyone's buttons are can.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Thursday, July 21st
It's been an interesting week here. On Monday, my brother arrived from Texas. He drove from there to here in four days. He is a driving machine. He travelled from San Marcos to Salina, Kansas (about 800 miles) his first night of driving. I say night, because it was too damn hot to drive during the day, so he would wait until mid-afternoon, and drive until 3:00 the next morning.
I remember driving down to Texas with him a few years back. We took a little more time, because I wanted to make some stops along the way. We visited the Little Bighorn Battlefield site, Mount Rushmore, the Crazy Horse Memorial, and Dealey Plaza (my second visit). One night, he drove about 500 miles in one shot.
He is up here to do a little business. he takes down old barns and sells the wood for people to make rustic decor. My brother also uses some of the wood to carve artworks or make boxes. He took up carving about eight years ago, and has gotten quite good at it. Right now, he's in a mermaid phase, but he also does rattlers, buffalo, and these kind of fishhook type necklaces.
This year, I'm helping him market his stuff by offering it for sale on Kajiji and maybe Craig's List.
On Tuesday, my mom came home for the first time since her accident. Her glasses were broken in the crash, and she's been seeing double, so she came in to see an optometrist. She then spent the night before going back to the Red Deer hospital the next day.
She's been slowly improving. She was even able to climb the stairs into her house. She has to walk with a walker, of course, and spends most of her time in a wheelchair, but she is definitely improving.
Mom has expressed a lot of frustration at the slow rate of her recovery. When we try and tell her just how far she has come, sometimes she sits still for it, but she can get pretty low at times. It's a job to keep her spirits up.
Today I mailed the last bit of paperwork I needed to turn in for my application to university. I just need a letter of reference and a description of my work in the classroom from a colleague in Korea. He's taking his time about getting it in, so I may have to prod him a bit.
I may be foolish trying to get my Education degree since Alberta has been firing teacher's left and right, but I guess we will see once I have it, eh? Maybe European employers will find me more attractive. I sure hope so.
I watched a movie called "Ironclad" this evening. It was recommended by a friend in Korea. It's set in England just after King John signs the Magna Carta. Pissed at having to kowtow to the barons, John (played by Paul Giamatti)raises a mercenary army and begins slaughtering anyone who signed the charter.
One of the barons, played by Brian Cox, hires some mercenaries of his own, including a Templar played by James Purefoy, and holds a strategic castle until the French arrive to drive John and his mercenaries off.
In reality, the castle fell to John, and the struggle raged across England for another year before John died of dysentery while fleeing the French. It wasn't until much later that John's son Henry finally succeeded in driving the French out and claiming the throne for himself.
But the movie was fairly entertaining, not the least for it's gory battle scenes, in which limbs are chopped off, blood sprays everywhere, and one man is nearly split in two by a broadsword. The movie's depiction of the savagery of battle, the mud and the blood prevalent during those times, and the struggle between people fighting for freedom against a tyrant was well done.
Tomorrow, our family is meeting with the doctors to discuss our mother's future. The whole family will be together for the first time in four years.
I remember driving down to Texas with him a few years back. We took a little more time, because I wanted to make some stops along the way. We visited the Little Bighorn Battlefield site, Mount Rushmore, the Crazy Horse Memorial, and Dealey Plaza (my second visit). One night, he drove about 500 miles in one shot.
He is up here to do a little business. he takes down old barns and sells the wood for people to make rustic decor. My brother also uses some of the wood to carve artworks or make boxes. He took up carving about eight years ago, and has gotten quite good at it. Right now, he's in a mermaid phase, but he also does rattlers, buffalo, and these kind of fishhook type necklaces.
This year, I'm helping him market his stuff by offering it for sale on Kajiji and maybe Craig's List.
On Tuesday, my mom came home for the first time since her accident. Her glasses were broken in the crash, and she's been seeing double, so she came in to see an optometrist. She then spent the night before going back to the Red Deer hospital the next day.
She's been slowly improving. She was even able to climb the stairs into her house. She has to walk with a walker, of course, and spends most of her time in a wheelchair, but she is definitely improving.
Mom has expressed a lot of frustration at the slow rate of her recovery. When we try and tell her just how far she has come, sometimes she sits still for it, but she can get pretty low at times. It's a job to keep her spirits up.
Today I mailed the last bit of paperwork I needed to turn in for my application to university. I just need a letter of reference and a description of my work in the classroom from a colleague in Korea. He's taking his time about getting it in, so I may have to prod him a bit.
I may be foolish trying to get my Education degree since Alberta has been firing teacher's left and right, but I guess we will see once I have it, eh? Maybe European employers will find me more attractive. I sure hope so.
I watched a movie called "Ironclad" this evening. It was recommended by a friend in Korea. It's set in England just after King John signs the Magna Carta. Pissed at having to kowtow to the barons, John (played by Paul Giamatti)raises a mercenary army and begins slaughtering anyone who signed the charter.
One of the barons, played by Brian Cox, hires some mercenaries of his own, including a Templar played by James Purefoy, and holds a strategic castle until the French arrive to drive John and his mercenaries off.
In reality, the castle fell to John, and the struggle raged across England for another year before John died of dysentery while fleeing the French. It wasn't until much later that John's son Henry finally succeeded in driving the French out and claiming the throne for himself.
But the movie was fairly entertaining, not the least for it's gory battle scenes, in which limbs are chopped off, blood sprays everywhere, and one man is nearly split in two by a broadsword. The movie's depiction of the savagery of battle, the mud and the blood prevalent during those times, and the struggle between people fighting for freedom against a tyrant was well done.
Tomorrow, our family is meeting with the doctors to discuss our mother's future. The whole family will be together for the first time in four years.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Planking, Again
We all know what planking is. Mooks take a picture of themselves lying prone on top of something, and then post the picture somewhere. It was just something stupid for mooks to keep themselves occupied with until an Australian man fell to his death from a seventh story balcony.
You would think that death would put the kibosh on a fad, but planking has resurfaced in the form of some players on the Winnipeg Blue Balls of the Canadian Football League doing it while celebrating a touchdown.
The TSN comooktaters were nonplussed. They had no idea what the celebration meant. It wasn't until later that they explained what had happened to us viewers.
Duh, hello! My name is Stig!
I guess some research gnome, or someone who was awake and aware and alive on this planet, told the comooktaters what it was all about.
The teeth and hair who do news, sports, opinion, etc. are not really reporters in the original sense of the word. Reporters used to do research on a topic for a story, and usually knew what they were talking/writing about.
My parents watch the news on Global Calgary morning, noon, and night. When I question the need to see the same goddamn story over and over again, my mom tells me she's waiting to hear the weather report.
Weather reporters are even more unreliable than the ones who do the news. To be wrong that percentage of the time while doing your job... well, I should be so lucky.
I tell my mom that I could do their job just by looking out the window.
But I digress.
One Global newsreader was commenting on a Youtube video. They play one as a regular part of their newscast. Yes, Youtube videos (especially ones about kitties) are news.
The newsreader made an off the cuff comment about the video, and then said that what he said might be true, he didn't know.
I thought, you're a reporter, and you don't know? And then I remembered, ah, teeth and hair. He doesn't report the news, he just reads it off a teleprompter. It's too bad his ad-lib showed his ignorance.
So the Blue Balls players and the TSN comooktaters were probably not aware of the death that had taken place when they decided to go ahead and air their ignorance.
I thought what the players were doing was not really planking, as they were laying on the ground. If they really wanted to plank, why didn't they climb up onto the goal posts?
Planking has even shown up in the comic strip "Betty." Her son discovered it and tried it out for himself.
I guess his research into the topic didn't extend to the dying part, either.
Well, it was a lot of fun, and we all had a jolly good laugh.
Until the next death.
You would think that death would put the kibosh on a fad, but planking has resurfaced in the form of some players on the Winnipeg Blue Balls of the Canadian Football League doing it while celebrating a touchdown.
The TSN comooktaters were nonplussed. They had no idea what the celebration meant. It wasn't until later that they explained what had happened to us viewers.
Duh, hello! My name is Stig!
I guess some research gnome, or someone who was awake and aware and alive on this planet, told the comooktaters what it was all about.
The teeth and hair who do news, sports, opinion, etc. are not really reporters in the original sense of the word. Reporters used to do research on a topic for a story, and usually knew what they were talking/writing about.
My parents watch the news on Global Calgary morning, noon, and night. When I question the need to see the same goddamn story over and over again, my mom tells me she's waiting to hear the weather report.
Weather reporters are even more unreliable than the ones who do the news. To be wrong that percentage of the time while doing your job... well, I should be so lucky.
I tell my mom that I could do their job just by looking out the window.
But I digress.
One Global newsreader was commenting on a Youtube video. They play one as a regular part of their newscast. Yes, Youtube videos (especially ones about kitties) are news.
The newsreader made an off the cuff comment about the video, and then said that what he said might be true, he didn't know.
I thought, you're a reporter, and you don't know? And then I remembered, ah, teeth and hair. He doesn't report the news, he just reads it off a teleprompter. It's too bad his ad-lib showed his ignorance.
So the Blue Balls players and the TSN comooktaters were probably not aware of the death that had taken place when they decided to go ahead and air their ignorance.
I thought what the players were doing was not really planking, as they were laying on the ground. If they really wanted to plank, why didn't they climb up onto the goal posts?
Planking has even shown up in the comic strip "Betty." Her son discovered it and tried it out for himself.
I guess his research into the topic didn't extend to the dying part, either.
Well, it was a lot of fun, and we all had a jolly good laugh.
Until the next death.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Dealey Plaza
(April 5, 2002 Chautauqua)
The first time I saw President Kennedy, he was dead. I don’t remember hearing about his death (I was only four), but I remember my mother keeping me inside to watch the funeral. The sight of the flag-draped coffin stuck with me throughout my life, and spurred my interest in finding out what happened in Dallas on November 22nd, 1963.
While I was visiting my brother in Texas at the beginning of the year, one of the places I most wanted to see was Dealey Plaza. I had to go alone, as my brother and his wife were both working. I took the bus from San Marcos to Dallas. I cannot describe my excitement when the bus exited the freeway, and pulled into the city. The plaza was only a few blocks away from the bus station, and I made my way there on slightly unsteady legs. The dream of a lifetime was about to be fulfilled.
My first view of the Texas School Book Depository and Dealey Plaza
As I turned the corner and beheld the Texas School Book Depository for the first time, all I could think was, “ I’m really here. I’m really here. I’m really here.”
The sign reads: Dealey Plaza
Birthplace of Dallas
Within this small park was built the first home which also served as the first court house and post office. The first store and the first fraternal lodge.
Dedicated to the pioneers of civic progress by order of the Park Board
I passed the marker that explains that Dealey Plaza is the place where Dallas began. It is the site of the first buildings that made up the town that grew into the city. The entire Plaza and the buildings surrounding it have now been designated as a National Historic Site. It has not changed very much at all since that day, the day President Kennedy died.
This picture shows (l to r) the Grassy Knoll, the Depository, the Dal-Tex Building, and the County Records building
The Depository is the building where the official government findings say that Lee Harvey Oswald shot at, and killed, the President. Most of it is now filled with city government offices, but the sixth floor, where investigators found the “sniper’s nest,” is a museum, dedicated to displaying artifacts and information about what happened.
I was able to stand only a few feet from that window, and examine the view that a shooter might have. There is a display of the FBI’s model that was used in their investigation; there are cameras, which took the various photos of the assassination; there are short documentaries about the events of Nov. 22nd, Kennedy’s life, and world response to his death.
This is the point of view of witness Howard Brennan, who said he saw Oswald take the last shot
Of course, everybody knows that the official story is no longer believable, and that a conspiracy took the president’s life. This becomes apparent after a viewing of the “Zapruder film.” Abraham Zapruder was a Dallas dress manufacturer, and his film shows the assassination in its entirety. Using the film as a “clock,” it becomes apparent that the timing of the shots is all wrong, if you are trying to conclude that one man did it alone.
There were three spent shells found on the sixth floor, and the government had to account for them all. A bystander, James Tague, was wounded by fragments of a bullet that struck the curb near him. President Kennedy was struck in the head by another bullet, leaving a single bullet to account for all the remaining wounds, which included not only wounds in President Kennedy, but Texas Governor John Connally.
An FBI demonstration of how a gunman used Oswald’s rifle includes the number of seconds it takes to fire, reload, and fire again. A careful examination of the “Zapruder film” shows that Kennedy was wounded before Connally. The time it took for Connally to react to being shot is too long for it to have been the same bullet that struck Kennedy, and too short for it to have been from the same gun. Obviously, at least one other man was shooting that day.
The Grassy Knoll. This is where the bullet that hit Kennedy in the head came from
Then there is the shot that struck Kennedy in the head. Kennedy’s body is flung back and to the left. The laws of physics prove that the president must have been shot from the front and to the right. Many bystanders heard at least one shot from the so-called “Grassy Knoll”, and one even reported seeing (and smelling) gun smoke.
Zapruder's POV. Right by the truck's front wheel, there is an "X" on the road that marks the spot where the presidential limousine was when JFK was struck in the head
There are many mysteries surrounding the events of November 22nd, and a lifetime of investigation has only been scratched at the surface by this article. Indeed, there is a library’s worth of books about Kennedy, and his death. I know, because I’ve read most of them.
My trip, as I said, was the fulfillment of a dream of a lifetime. President Kennedy had dreams, and he instilled those dreams not just for many Americans, but people around the world. His words inspired many of them to accomplish great deeds, and do much good work. It’s true that some aspects of Kennedy’s personal life leave a lot to be desired, but doesn’t the dream ask us to never mind all that, and at least try to live up to a higher ideal?
The first time I saw President Kennedy, he was dead. I don’t remember hearing about his death (I was only four), but I remember my mother keeping me inside to watch the funeral. The sight of the flag-draped coffin stuck with me throughout my life, and spurred my interest in finding out what happened in Dallas on November 22nd, 1963.
While I was visiting my brother in Texas at the beginning of the year, one of the places I most wanted to see was Dealey Plaza. I had to go alone, as my brother and his wife were both working. I took the bus from San Marcos to Dallas. I cannot describe my excitement when the bus exited the freeway, and pulled into the city. The plaza was only a few blocks away from the bus station, and I made my way there on slightly unsteady legs. The dream of a lifetime was about to be fulfilled.
My first view of the Texas School Book Depository and Dealey Plaza
As I turned the corner and beheld the Texas School Book Depository for the first time, all I could think was, “ I’m really here. I’m really here. I’m really here.”
The sign reads: Dealey Plaza
Birthplace of Dallas
Within this small park was built the first home which also served as the first court house and post office. The first store and the first fraternal lodge.
Dedicated to the pioneers of civic progress by order of the Park Board
I passed the marker that explains that Dealey Plaza is the place where Dallas began. It is the site of the first buildings that made up the town that grew into the city. The entire Plaza and the buildings surrounding it have now been designated as a National Historic Site. It has not changed very much at all since that day, the day President Kennedy died.
This picture shows (l to r) the Grassy Knoll, the Depository, the Dal-Tex Building, and the County Records building
The Depository is the building where the official government findings say that Lee Harvey Oswald shot at, and killed, the President. Most of it is now filled with city government offices, but the sixth floor, where investigators found the “sniper’s nest,” is a museum, dedicated to displaying artifacts and information about what happened.
I was able to stand only a few feet from that window, and examine the view that a shooter might have. There is a display of the FBI’s model that was used in their investigation; there are cameras, which took the various photos of the assassination; there are short documentaries about the events of Nov. 22nd, Kennedy’s life, and world response to his death.
This is the point of view of witness Howard Brennan, who said he saw Oswald take the last shot
Of course, everybody knows that the official story is no longer believable, and that a conspiracy took the president’s life. This becomes apparent after a viewing of the “Zapruder film.” Abraham Zapruder was a Dallas dress manufacturer, and his film shows the assassination in its entirety. Using the film as a “clock,” it becomes apparent that the timing of the shots is all wrong, if you are trying to conclude that one man did it alone.
There were three spent shells found on the sixth floor, and the government had to account for them all. A bystander, James Tague, was wounded by fragments of a bullet that struck the curb near him. President Kennedy was struck in the head by another bullet, leaving a single bullet to account for all the remaining wounds, which included not only wounds in President Kennedy, but Texas Governor John Connally.
An FBI demonstration of how a gunman used Oswald’s rifle includes the number of seconds it takes to fire, reload, and fire again. A careful examination of the “Zapruder film” shows that Kennedy was wounded before Connally. The time it took for Connally to react to being shot is too long for it to have been the same bullet that struck Kennedy, and too short for it to have been from the same gun. Obviously, at least one other man was shooting that day.
The Grassy Knoll. This is where the bullet that hit Kennedy in the head came from
Then there is the shot that struck Kennedy in the head. Kennedy’s body is flung back and to the left. The laws of physics prove that the president must have been shot from the front and to the right. Many bystanders heard at least one shot from the so-called “Grassy Knoll”, and one even reported seeing (and smelling) gun smoke.
Zapruder's POV. Right by the truck's front wheel, there is an "X" on the road that marks the spot where the presidential limousine was when JFK was struck in the head
There are many mysteries surrounding the events of November 22nd, and a lifetime of investigation has only been scratched at the surface by this article. Indeed, there is a library’s worth of books about Kennedy, and his death. I know, because I’ve read most of them.
My trip, as I said, was the fulfillment of a dream of a lifetime. President Kennedy had dreams, and he instilled those dreams not just for many Americans, but people around the world. His words inspired many of them to accomplish great deeds, and do much good work. It’s true that some aspects of Kennedy’s personal life leave a lot to be desired, but doesn’t the dream ask us to never mind all that, and at least try to live up to a higher ideal?
Thursday, July 14, 2011
The Alamo
This post was previously published in The Chautauqua. Consider it a supplement to the "Davy Crockett" post.
The Alamo (March 15, 2002 Chautauqua)
Well, I’ve written about the mysterious east for three articles. It’s time, I think, to visit an area closer to home.
At the beginning of the year, I spent a week visiting my brother in Texas. One of the many tourist attractions we visited was the Alamo, in San Antonio.
There is not much left of the original site, except for the church, and part of the barracks attached. The grounds have been planted with huge cypress trees, and carefully tended for the tourists that flock to the site.
The Alamo was originally a Spanish mission, founded in 1718. Its purpose was to help convert the Indians to Christianity, and maintain the Empire in North America. The mission lasted until 1793, when it was closed, and the land was distributed among the mission Indians.
What made the Alamo famous was the siege and battle that took place in February-March 1836.
The causes that led to the battle were the tumultuous changes in the government of Mexico. The Spanish were thrown out in 1821 after three hundred years of colonialism. The governments that followed were weak, and quick to change. Settlers were needed to hold the land, and generous terms were offered to any that were willing to come. They had to swear allegiance to Mexico, according to the constitution of 1824.
In the years that followed, the population swelled, but they became disgruntled with the seemingly cavalier treatment of their concerns. They thought they were under-represented in the government, and this led to the belief that their lands and livelihoods were in jeopardy.
A convention met, and independence was declared. A small force of Mexicans were holding the Alamo, and they were attacked and driven out by the Texans. This battle brought the entire Mexican Army, under the dictator Santa Anna, north to retake Texas.
The battle began on February 23rd , and lasted for thirteen days. 189 men held off an army numbering 4000. The final assault took place in the early morning hours of March 6th, with Santa Anna commanding from his headquarters. Lieutenant Colonel William Barret Travis commanded the Texans from a post on the north wall. Legendary frontiersman Davy Crockett commanded a group of Tennessee volunteers near the church. Travis’ co-commander, James Bowie, was ill, and awaited the end in one of the barracks.
On the thirteenth day, at the sound of a bugle, three attacking columns of Mexican infantry moved in simultaneously – with one column attacking near a breach in the north wall; another the area of the chapel; and the third scaling the west barrier. The final assault lasted ninety minutes with every defender dying at his post as room after room “was carried at the point of a bayonet.”
The battle can be counted as one the most dramatic and violent of all time. The rallying cry, “Remember the Alamo!” helped stiffen the defense of Texas, and the main army was able to defeat Santa Anna and win independence for the new nation.
The church has become a shrine, and male visitors are asked to remove their hats while inside. There is a museum, and many displays of the weaponry, the clothing/uniforms, and personalities that contributed to the battle.
A very worthwhile place to visit for any who are in the area.
The Alamo (March 15, 2002 Chautauqua)
Well, I’ve written about the mysterious east for three articles. It’s time, I think, to visit an area closer to home.
At the beginning of the year, I spent a week visiting my brother in Texas. One of the many tourist attractions we visited was the Alamo, in San Antonio.
There is not much left of the original site, except for the church, and part of the barracks attached. The grounds have been planted with huge cypress trees, and carefully tended for the tourists that flock to the site.
The Alamo was originally a Spanish mission, founded in 1718. Its purpose was to help convert the Indians to Christianity, and maintain the Empire in North America. The mission lasted until 1793, when it was closed, and the land was distributed among the mission Indians.
What made the Alamo famous was the siege and battle that took place in February-March 1836.
The causes that led to the battle were the tumultuous changes in the government of Mexico. The Spanish were thrown out in 1821 after three hundred years of colonialism. The governments that followed were weak, and quick to change. Settlers were needed to hold the land, and generous terms were offered to any that were willing to come. They had to swear allegiance to Mexico, according to the constitution of 1824.
In the years that followed, the population swelled, but they became disgruntled with the seemingly cavalier treatment of their concerns. They thought they were under-represented in the government, and this led to the belief that their lands and livelihoods were in jeopardy.
A convention met, and independence was declared. A small force of Mexicans were holding the Alamo, and they were attacked and driven out by the Texans. This battle brought the entire Mexican Army, under the dictator Santa Anna, north to retake Texas.
The battle began on February 23rd , and lasted for thirteen days. 189 men held off an army numbering 4000. The final assault took place in the early morning hours of March 6th, with Santa Anna commanding from his headquarters. Lieutenant Colonel William Barret Travis commanded the Texans from a post on the north wall. Legendary frontiersman Davy Crockett commanded a group of Tennessee volunteers near the church. Travis’ co-commander, James Bowie, was ill, and awaited the end in one of the barracks.
On the thirteenth day, at the sound of a bugle, three attacking columns of Mexican infantry moved in simultaneously – with one column attacking near a breach in the north wall; another the area of the chapel; and the third scaling the west barrier. The final assault lasted ninety minutes with every defender dying at his post as room after room “was carried at the point of a bayonet.”
The battle can be counted as one the most dramatic and violent of all time. The rallying cry, “Remember the Alamo!” helped stiffen the defense of Texas, and the main army was able to defeat Santa Anna and win independence for the new nation.
The church has become a shrine, and male visitors are asked to remove their hats while inside. There is a museum, and many displays of the weaponry, the clothing/uniforms, and personalities that contributed to the battle.
A very worthwhile place to visit for any who are in the area.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Hiroshima Trip
During my second year in Korea, I began writing a column about my adventures for The Chautauqua, a Central Alberta newspaper. The stories I wrote about Korea will appear on "What The Kimchi?" while my adventures outside Korea will appear here.
First up is my trip to Hiroshima.
Hiroshima: City of Peace (February 15, 2002 Chautauqua)
Being an English teacher in Korea offers many opportunities to travel throughout South-East Asia. There are many cheap package tours available, but you have to book early. Most Koreans love to travel, and prepare well in advance.
My trip to the Japanese city of Hiroshima began in the Korean port of Pusan, the country's second largest city. I took the ferry from there to the port of Fukuoka, on one of Japan's smaller islands. You board the ferry at about 6:00 in the evening, and set sail almost immediately. The ferry arrives some time during the night, but anchors outside the harbour until next morning. Seeing the full moon rise over the Sea of Japan, while you are in the middle of a fishing fleet whose lights stretch to the horizon and beyond, is quite a sight.
Japan is an expensive country to travel in, but the trains are very fast. Hiroshima itself has an antiquated, but efficient, trolley car system that will carry you anywhere inside the city at a reasonable price. There are many sights to see, including the castle and some beautiful parks.
The main sight is, of course, the Peace Park which preserves memorials to the many victims of the atomic bomb dropped on the city on August 6, 1945. I'm not sure I can do justice to the place, so I will just try to describe what was there. The first stop was a memorial to the "Mobilized Students". These kids were taken out of school to help with repairing any bomb damage, and to do road work, and help with the defenses in case the Americans landed. Quite a few were involved in various tasks when the event happened.
Just to the north is the A-bomb Dome, which anyone will recognize from pictures they might have seen of this city. It used to be the prefecture office building, and is close to Ground Zero. The Japanese have spared no effort to keep it as close to what it looked like after that day.
There were a lot of foreigners around, of course, but there were also a lot of school kids being herded through on school trips. It's good to think that they are being kept informed about what happened there. Let's hope they learn the lesson.
Across the river is the Peace Park, which is chock-a-block with memorials to the various types of individuals who were affected by the blast. There is a flame, which will be extinguished when the last bomb is destroyed, and a cenotaph containing a list of all the victims' names. There are places for those who wish to remember and pray, and there were quite a few who were taking advantage.
The culmination of the tour is the museum, which contains detailed exhibits about life in the city from its founding to the present day. There were pieces of the city preserved for display, and quite a lot of the stuff was close enough to touch. There was a step taken from the front of a bank building with the shadowy outline of whoever was waiting for it to open that morning permanently burned into the stone. Eerie.
The most pathetic displays were the personal possessions (including clothes) of the victims. The descriptions were mournfully the same. These people were going about their daily lives when it happened. What is left shows us how they lived, and how they died. It is a sobering moment to see a child's lunchbox, the lid pushed back, with nothing but ashes inside. So many of the displays speak of people finding this stuff later, with nothing else left to mourn or bury. Sad.
After that experience, I took the time to relax in one of the cities many parks. On a hill overlooking the city, I had the chance to wind down, think a bit, and realize that life does indeed go on. It may be trite, but to put into words all of the feelings that went through my mind that day is very difficult. You had to (and we all should) be there.
First up is my trip to Hiroshima.
Hiroshima: City of Peace (February 15, 2002 Chautauqua)
Being an English teacher in Korea offers many opportunities to travel throughout South-East Asia. There are many cheap package tours available, but you have to book early. Most Koreans love to travel, and prepare well in advance.
My trip to the Japanese city of Hiroshima began in the Korean port of Pusan, the country's second largest city. I took the ferry from there to the port of Fukuoka, on one of Japan's smaller islands. You board the ferry at about 6:00 in the evening, and set sail almost immediately. The ferry arrives some time during the night, but anchors outside the harbour until next morning. Seeing the full moon rise over the Sea of Japan, while you are in the middle of a fishing fleet whose lights stretch to the horizon and beyond, is quite a sight.
Japan is an expensive country to travel in, but the trains are very fast. Hiroshima itself has an antiquated, but efficient, trolley car system that will carry you anywhere inside the city at a reasonable price. There are many sights to see, including the castle and some beautiful parks.
The main sight is, of course, the Peace Park which preserves memorials to the many victims of the atomic bomb dropped on the city on August 6, 1945. I'm not sure I can do justice to the place, so I will just try to describe what was there. The first stop was a memorial to the "Mobilized Students". These kids were taken out of school to help with repairing any bomb damage, and to do road work, and help with the defenses in case the Americans landed. Quite a few were involved in various tasks when the event happened.
Just to the north is the A-bomb Dome, which anyone will recognize from pictures they might have seen of this city. It used to be the prefecture office building, and is close to Ground Zero. The Japanese have spared no effort to keep it as close to what it looked like after that day.
There were a lot of foreigners around, of course, but there were also a lot of school kids being herded through on school trips. It's good to think that they are being kept informed about what happened there. Let's hope they learn the lesson.
Across the river is the Peace Park, which is chock-a-block with memorials to the various types of individuals who were affected by the blast. There is a flame, which will be extinguished when the last bomb is destroyed, and a cenotaph containing a list of all the victims' names. There are places for those who wish to remember and pray, and there were quite a few who were taking advantage.
The culmination of the tour is the museum, which contains detailed exhibits about life in the city from its founding to the present day. There were pieces of the city preserved for display, and quite a lot of the stuff was close enough to touch. There was a step taken from the front of a bank building with the shadowy outline of whoever was waiting for it to open that morning permanently burned into the stone. Eerie.
The most pathetic displays were the personal possessions (including clothes) of the victims. The descriptions were mournfully the same. These people were going about their daily lives when it happened. What is left shows us how they lived, and how they died. It is a sobering moment to see a child's lunchbox, the lid pushed back, with nothing but ashes inside. So many of the displays speak of people finding this stuff later, with nothing else left to mourn or bury. Sad.
After that experience, I took the time to relax in one of the cities many parks. On a hill overlooking the city, I had the chance to wind down, think a bit, and realize that life does indeed go on. It may be trite, but to put into words all of the feelings that went through my mind that day is very difficult. You had to (and we all should) be there.
Monday, July 11, 2011
The Thing From Another World
I stayed up late last night and watched the original movie from 1951. I remembered it as a tight little movie that moved the story along at a brisk pace. This version, presented on the Turner Classic Movie channel, had some extra scenes added. They dealt mostly with the characters and their development. They weren't bad, but their quality varied wildly from the other scenes, and they kind of slowed the action down a bit.
The movie is based on a novella called "Who Goes There?" by John W. Campbell, Jr. In this story, the Thing is a creature that can assume different forms, a device that was used in John Carpenter's 1982 remake.
In the '51 version, the Thing was a manlike creature played by James Arness, who later gained fame as Marshal Matt Dillon on the long-running TV series "Gunsmoke."
The action takes place in an isolated science station in the Arctic, which the military men take over in order to fight the Thing. One of the themes of the film is the opposing views on how to handle the Thing. The military wants to destroy it before it destroys them, while the scientists want to reach out and make friends with it. Think of what we can learn from it, and so on. The head scientist even uses the station's blood supply to start growing a new crop of Things in the lab.
The Thing's description as more vegetable than animal causes the reporter in the story to call it a "super carrot." Mad Magazine's parody took this and ran with it. The Thing is drawn as a large carrot with arms and legs and big sharp teeth.
That the Thing's vampiric nature doesn't seem to phase the scientists makes it easier to side with the soldiers and their efforts to kill it.
Many later science-fiction movies would swing the other way, making the military the villains, and the scientists who want to make contact more sympathetic. Easy to do when the aliens look like Michael Rennie or a wrinkled teddy bear, but more difficult when they arrive with heat-ray equipped tripods or burst out of your chest.
The '82 remake, as noted, is more faithful to the original story. The action is still in an isolated science station, but this time it's located in the Antarctic.
There's no science vs. military subplot, just the paranoia that overtakes the men as they wonder who's human and who's a Thing.
The special effects, by Stan Winston and Rob Bottin, are spectacular. Since the Thing can adopt any form, the transformations it undergoes highlight its alien nature. It can imitate a man or a dog, or attributes of both of them in one body. It can shift to avoid an attack, and grow as many mouths or claws to defend itself as it needs.
It's a classic film, despite some aspects to the character of MacReady, played by Kurt Russell. The post's helicopter pilot, he spends a lot of time drinking liberally from a whisky bottle, even just before a flight.
Don't drink and fly, MacReady!
Also, not much attention is paid to the consequences of breaking windows in the station or going outside improperly dressed. The subzero weather'd finish them off pretty quickly.
Still, it is a classic, and both films are an excellent way to add some tension and genuine fright to your late night viewing.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Sports
I like watching sports, not playing them. Sometimes I wish I had been more active when I was little, but I always had more interest in reading.
In winter, there's hockey. As a Calgarian, I follow the Flames. And now that it's summer I'm cheering for the Stampeders of the Canadian Football League. A lot of my friends follow American football, but I don't care for it. It's almost as boring as soccer.
I'm not much for following each player and knowing their stats, etc. That's more Flint's area of expertise. I've spent many an afternoon listening to him while we sat on the deck at Dunkin' Donuts. I've always thought he should be running the league, if not a team. He'd be a lot better than mooks like Bettman.
Hell, even I'd be better than Bettman.
One of the things I like about watching sports (live or on television) are the fans. I'm a people watcher. When I attended Stampeder games, my friends and I sat above one of the entrances to the stands so we could watch people coming and going. Great for girl watching, too. Whenever an especially pretty one would go by, my friends would call out, "Nice shoes!"
You can sometimes see the fans at televised games behind the players or coaches. I've often thought that the cameramen should concentrate more on the fans than the players. Sometimes it's just a pretty girl, or a fan of an opposing team behind the home team's bench, or it's just a mook doing something silly like texting instead of watching the game.
When you see a player on the bench at a hockey game, you run the risk of watching him spitting or blowing his nose onto the ice.
The cameramen also close in on a football player on the bench, especially after he has made a good play. The player tries to say something into the camera, but he's usually too out of breath to make any sense. And the mooks in the booth doing the commentating (the "commooktaters") are talking at the same time.
Sometimes they have useful things to add to the conversation, but more often than not, it's just drivel. There's nothing more irritating than listening to someone talk endlessly about the game you're watching, especially if your team is losing. It seems like they are cheering for the winners.
In winter, there's hockey. As a Calgarian, I follow the Flames. And now that it's summer I'm cheering for the Stampeders of the Canadian Football League. A lot of my friends follow American football, but I don't care for it. It's almost as boring as soccer.
I'm not much for following each player and knowing their stats, etc. That's more Flint's area of expertise. I've spent many an afternoon listening to him while we sat on the deck at Dunkin' Donuts. I've always thought he should be running the league, if not a team. He'd be a lot better than mooks like Bettman.
Hell, even I'd be better than Bettman.
One of the things I like about watching sports (live or on television) are the fans. I'm a people watcher. When I attended Stampeder games, my friends and I sat above one of the entrances to the stands so we could watch people coming and going. Great for girl watching, too. Whenever an especially pretty one would go by, my friends would call out, "Nice shoes!"
You can sometimes see the fans at televised games behind the players or coaches. I've often thought that the cameramen should concentrate more on the fans than the players. Sometimes it's just a pretty girl, or a fan of an opposing team behind the home team's bench, or it's just a mook doing something silly like texting instead of watching the game.
When you see a player on the bench at a hockey game, you run the risk of watching him spitting or blowing his nose onto the ice.
The cameramen also close in on a football player on the bench, especially after he has made a good play. The player tries to say something into the camera, but he's usually too out of breath to make any sense. And the mooks in the booth doing the commentating (the "commooktaters") are talking at the same time.
Sometimes they have useful things to add to the conversation, but more often than not, it's just drivel. There's nothing more irritating than listening to someone talk endlessly about the game you're watching, especially if your team is losing. It seems like they are cheering for the winners.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Thursday, July 7
We had a terrific storm here today, one of the worst I've seen in a while. I saw the clouds boiling up when I went for my afternoon walk. They were coming from the southwest and spreading out across the town. I wondered if I would get home before it broke (I did).
It was humid, as well. Reminded me of Korea a bit, though it was nowhere near as bad as that.
It started to rain just as I got home, about three o'clock. It wasn't raining too hard at first, but it gradually picked up speed as the clouds began to swirl around the area, and the lightning began to flash. The time between flashes and the following thunder got smaller and smaller, and at one point it was almost a continuous roar.
The rain really picked up, and hail started to fall, as well. I went out back and turned the rain barrel over, so it would catch the runoff from the gutter.
It was full in about five minutes.
The rain continued until about six. It would slack off and then return, more furious than before. My dad was worried about the hail denting the roof of his new vehicle, but it came through okay.
It wasn't until later that we heard a tornado had touched down 10-15 miles south of town. A friend of mine has a cabin near there, but he says they didn't receive even a drop of rain.
It reminded me of the first issue of "The Dark Knight Returns," when a terrible thunderstorm hit Gotham just about the time that The Batman returned from a ten year absence.
"Like the wrath of God, it's heading straight for the city."
I was going to suit up and wreak havoc on the underworld, but the rum tasted good, and then the pizza arrived.
Maybe tomorrow.
It was humid, as well. Reminded me of Korea a bit, though it was nowhere near as bad as that.
It started to rain just as I got home, about three o'clock. It wasn't raining too hard at first, but it gradually picked up speed as the clouds began to swirl around the area, and the lightning began to flash. The time between flashes and the following thunder got smaller and smaller, and at one point it was almost a continuous roar.
The rain really picked up, and hail started to fall, as well. I went out back and turned the rain barrel over, so it would catch the runoff from the gutter.
It was full in about five minutes.
The rain continued until about six. It would slack off and then return, more furious than before. My dad was worried about the hail denting the roof of his new vehicle, but it came through okay.
It wasn't until later that we heard a tornado had touched down 10-15 miles south of town. A friend of mine has a cabin near there, but he says they didn't receive even a drop of rain.
It reminded me of the first issue of "The Dark Knight Returns," when a terrible thunderstorm hit Gotham just about the time that The Batman returned from a ten year absence.
"Like the wrath of God, it's heading straight for the city."
I was going to suit up and wreak havoc on the underworld, but the rum tasted good, and then the pizza arrived.
Maybe tomorrow.
Why I Live Alone
I like Jerry Seinfeld. I think he's very funny.
In one of the bits I really like, he talks about the difference between living alone and with another person.
When you're alone, you're the president, the king, the dictator-for-life. You do what you want to do, when you want to do it. But when you live with another person, you become part of a vast decision making body that examines the issue from every angle before tabling the discussion for further review at some point in the distant future.
Since coming home, I've had to live that difference.
When I was in Korea, I became used to a certain schedule, one that did not involve getting up early and attacking the household chores with a will.
It's not that I won't help out around the house, but I'm not a mind reader. If somebody wants me to do something for them, all they have to do is ask.
And then when I do go ahead and do something, do you think it would kill a person to say thank you? Well, I guess it would.
If I cut the grass, I get shown the single blades that I missed.
If I dust, I'm told that a person could write their initials on the surfaces.
If I iron, the wrinkles I missed are catalogued and added to the list.
I remember once getting all excited and cleaning my house from top to bottom because my folks were visiting. My mom straightened me out when she got there. It was so dirty (in her eyes), I should've been ashamed to allow anybody to see it.
Sheesh.
I guess I should've expected it. My mom cleans the house to get it ready for the cleaning lady.
So I like to live on my own, go at my own speed, and live by my own rules.
Now, as to why I've never married, that is another series of posts.
In one of the bits I really like, he talks about the difference between living alone and with another person.
When you're alone, you're the president, the king, the dictator-for-life. You do what you want to do, when you want to do it. But when you live with another person, you become part of a vast decision making body that examines the issue from every angle before tabling the discussion for further review at some point in the distant future.
Since coming home, I've had to live that difference.
When I was in Korea, I became used to a certain schedule, one that did not involve getting up early and attacking the household chores with a will.
It's not that I won't help out around the house, but I'm not a mind reader. If somebody wants me to do something for them, all they have to do is ask.
And then when I do go ahead and do something, do you think it would kill a person to say thank you? Well, I guess it would.
If I cut the grass, I get shown the single blades that I missed.
If I dust, I'm told that a person could write their initials on the surfaces.
If I iron, the wrinkles I missed are catalogued and added to the list.
I remember once getting all excited and cleaning my house from top to bottom because my folks were visiting. My mom straightened me out when she got there. It was so dirty (in her eyes), I should've been ashamed to allow anybody to see it.
Sheesh.
I guess I should've expected it. My mom cleans the house to get it ready for the cleaning lady.
So I like to live on my own, go at my own speed, and live by my own rules.
Now, as to why I've never married, that is another series of posts.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Davy Crockett
I just finished "The Gates Of The Alamo," by Stephen Harrigan. I read it when it first came out, and this was the second time. I made a mistake by reading it after The Shaara's Mexican War/Civil War books. I should've read about the Alamo first, to keep the historical storyline straight.
Oh well.
It was a bit different than I remember. The character of Edward McGowan was much more a reclusive person than I had thought. I really identified with this man who had basically closed himself off from society while he pursued his own interests. I wish I had been able to find my joy that way. I think I would be really happy living away from all the mooks and fools that daily plague me, only coming out to share some ribs, rum and cigars with Flint.
Ah, that would be the life.
So after reading about the Alamo, I had to download some movies about Davy Crockett, starting with Walt Disney's version. Not bad, if a little truncated. Three one hour episodes were cut down to a ninety minute film. They got most of the highlights of his life, and the final battle was okay.
A little bloodier than I would've expected from a Disney product, but that was okay, too.
Next up was John Wayne's version of the event. There was a lot of speechifying liberally sprinkled about, as Wayne took the opportunity to wedge in his own views about liberty, America, sacrifice, etc.
The climactic battle is suitably epic. The set was built in Texas, away from the city, and you can see all the money that Wayne lavished on the production up on the screen.
The next film is the 2004 remake, with Billy Bob Thornton playing Crockett. I saw this when it first came out. Thornton did a good job, I thought. I remember the scene where he's been captured (rather than being killed in the battle), and Santa Anna has ordered his immediate execution.
He looks up with a sideways grin and says, 'I'm warning you, I'm a screamer."
I think they kill him off-screen.
I went to see the Alamo in 2002 while I was visiting my brother. They say it's the most popular tourist destination in Texas. I also went to Dealey Plaza, and that was pretty popular, too. But the Alamo is very much a shrine. They make sure you take your hat off and everything.
It's very clean and well-maintained, a far cry from what it must've looked like after the battle. Some historians talk about the savagery that took place. Santa Anna had warned the defenders there would be no quarter, and the Mexican troops used their bayonets to slaughter them all. They even killed a young boy in their frenzy, though they did spare a woman and her child, as well as Travis's slave.
I wonder if the Mexicans thought about opening up a tourist shop there? But of course, they didn't keep it very long, did they?
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Tuesday, July 5
I didn't do a whole hell of a lot today, other than follow Flint and AnonyJohn through several blogs.
My mom went to University Hospital in Edmonton to see her surgeon and find out what he had to say. There were a lot of x-rays taken, and an ultrasound to make sure no blood clots were lurking in the shadows.
My nephew and my sister met her there. Dad and I gave the trip a miss. Me because mom and I are still having... differences, and dad because he was ordering new glasses.
It's about a two and a half hour trip from here to there (one way), and we still didn't get answers to some questions we have. About a month ago, he told us that my mom's left shoulder socket had been fractured in three places. He said it needed replacing, and then the surgery got put off. At first, we were told because it was her blood pressure (too low), and then we were told something else, I forget what.
This time no discussion of what might or might not be done at all. He came in, said his piece, and was gone as soon as my sister turned around.
He's very good (we're told) but he's also very busy.
At least my mom got the go ahead to start walking on both legs, and supporting herself with her arms. They told us when this happened two months ago that she would be flat on her back for six months. Shows how much they knew about my mom. She is one determined lady.
So it looks like she'll go to Red Deer hospital for rehabilitation as soon as a bed opens up. They say this Unit 35 that they have there is pretty good, and mom was happy for the couple of weeks that she was there.
My sister is down here visiting her. It's always nice to see her, though she does sometimes act like my mom, especially when she's grilling me about why I don't have a job yet.
Sigh.
The trees are shedding that white fluff this week. Every time I go outside, I can feel a tickle on my nose. Those fluff are attracted to it like bees to nectar. I used to be quite stuffed up in spring, but I have a good nasal spray that keeps my nose clean.
It's been raining a lot, and I was interested to see a yellow residue left behind when the puddles dried up. Ah yes, the dreaded yellow dust. The Communist Chinese plot to poison us all.
I know I'm being selfish by staying away from my mom, but sometimes I need a break. And at least I'm aware I'm being selfish. There was a great scene on "The Big C" last week. The main character, Cathy, finally blurted out to her friend that she has cancer, and the friend's response was to think about how this experience was going to change her.
My mom went to University Hospital in Edmonton to see her surgeon and find out what he had to say. There were a lot of x-rays taken, and an ultrasound to make sure no blood clots were lurking in the shadows.
My nephew and my sister met her there. Dad and I gave the trip a miss. Me because mom and I are still having... differences, and dad because he was ordering new glasses.
It's about a two and a half hour trip from here to there (one way), and we still didn't get answers to some questions we have. About a month ago, he told us that my mom's left shoulder socket had been fractured in three places. He said it needed replacing, and then the surgery got put off. At first, we were told because it was her blood pressure (too low), and then we were told something else, I forget what.
This time no discussion of what might or might not be done at all. He came in, said his piece, and was gone as soon as my sister turned around.
He's very good (we're told) but he's also very busy.
At least my mom got the go ahead to start walking on both legs, and supporting herself with her arms. They told us when this happened two months ago that she would be flat on her back for six months. Shows how much they knew about my mom. She is one determined lady.
So it looks like she'll go to Red Deer hospital for rehabilitation as soon as a bed opens up. They say this Unit 35 that they have there is pretty good, and mom was happy for the couple of weeks that she was there.
My sister is down here visiting her. It's always nice to see her, though she does sometimes act like my mom, especially when she's grilling me about why I don't have a job yet.
Sigh.
The trees are shedding that white fluff this week. Every time I go outside, I can feel a tickle on my nose. Those fluff are attracted to it like bees to nectar. I used to be quite stuffed up in spring, but I have a good nasal spray that keeps my nose clean.
It's been raining a lot, and I was interested to see a yellow residue left behind when the puddles dried up. Ah yes, the dreaded yellow dust. The Communist Chinese plot to poison us all.
I know I'm being selfish by staying away from my mom, but sometimes I need a break. And at least I'm aware I'm being selfish. There was a great scene on "The Big C" last week. The main character, Cathy, finally blurted out to her friend that she has cancer, and the friend's response was to think about how this experience was going to change her.
Monday, July 4, 2011
Shut The Hell Up!
Have you ever been caught in a conversation that just won't end?
Some people seem to think that because they can form words, they just shouldn't stop. I do not have the gift of gab. I can make a pithy comment every once in a while, but my main forte is listening.
Being a teacher, you have to talk. When I told my friends that I was going to Korea to teach conversational English, they all fell about laughing. I'm not sure if they believe it even yet.
I've listened attentively in school, upon occasion. I've also tuned out when I decided the teacher had nothing more to tell me. I try to be aware of those moments in the classroom when I'm losing them, and switch to doing something else to keep their interest and energy up.
Some people miss those signs, or ignore them. I've had bosses who start talking, just as I'm ready to leave for the day, and continue to chat about this and that before launching into another of their interminable anecdotes.
Sure those stories are interesting the first time you hear them, but it's hard to stifle the yawn during that second or third time.
And then you start thinking that maybe body language will help. So you maybe check your watch quickly, or shift what ever you're carrying to a more comfortable position, or start looking at the door.
But some people even then keep on yammering away, oblivious to your distress. They are fairly launched now, and nothing short of a nuclear explosion is about to stop them.
So then you start looking for that break in the torrent of words, so that you can insert your "Well, it's about that time, isn't it?" But there is no break. The person has become so enamored of their monologue, they believe the glazed eyes and slack-jawed expression is due to awe at their acumen and insights.
And so you drift away, into the land of imagination. What about a swift kick into this guy's groin? Will that shut him up? Maybe I could just start screaming profanities and what I really think of him and his stupid fucking stories.
There used to be a TV show from England called "Billy Liar," about a boy who had these kind of daydreams during his dull, suburban life. They only made one series of that show, and it's a pity. It was a fairly standard British comedy, but the daydreams almost gave it a Python-esque quality.
Eventually the torrent of words is interrupted, or the guy decides that he wants to go, and you're set free. Free to go home, but all the while thinking that you wish the guy would just learn to shut the fuck up.
Some people seem to think that because they can form words, they just shouldn't stop. I do not have the gift of gab. I can make a pithy comment every once in a while, but my main forte is listening.
Being a teacher, you have to talk. When I told my friends that I was going to Korea to teach conversational English, they all fell about laughing. I'm not sure if they believe it even yet.
I've listened attentively in school, upon occasion. I've also tuned out when I decided the teacher had nothing more to tell me. I try to be aware of those moments in the classroom when I'm losing them, and switch to doing something else to keep their interest and energy up.
Some people miss those signs, or ignore them. I've had bosses who start talking, just as I'm ready to leave for the day, and continue to chat about this and that before launching into another of their interminable anecdotes.
Sure those stories are interesting the first time you hear them, but it's hard to stifle the yawn during that second or third time.
And then you start thinking that maybe body language will help. So you maybe check your watch quickly, or shift what ever you're carrying to a more comfortable position, or start looking at the door.
But some people even then keep on yammering away, oblivious to your distress. They are fairly launched now, and nothing short of a nuclear explosion is about to stop them.
So then you start looking for that break in the torrent of words, so that you can insert your "Well, it's about that time, isn't it?" But there is no break. The person has become so enamored of their monologue, they believe the glazed eyes and slack-jawed expression is due to awe at their acumen and insights.
And so you drift away, into the land of imagination. What about a swift kick into this guy's groin? Will that shut him up? Maybe I could just start screaming profanities and what I really think of him and his stupid fucking stories.
There used to be a TV show from England called "Billy Liar," about a boy who had these kind of daydreams during his dull, suburban life. They only made one series of that show, and it's a pity. It was a fairly standard British comedy, but the daydreams almost gave it a Python-esque quality.
Eventually the torrent of words is interrupted, or the guy decides that he wants to go, and you're set free. Free to go home, but all the while thinking that you wish the guy would just learn to shut the fuck up.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Viagra vs. Cialis: The Ads
I saw Cialis ads quite a lot while I was watching Flames hockey last winter, as they were one of the sponsors. Their ads feature a middle-aged couple arriving late for some kind of social engagement because they were fucking.
The Viagra ads that I saw at the same time were a bit different. They featured middle-aged men only. No women. The men in the ads were doing manly stuff, like hiking, building a house with their bare hands, and driving slowly along a scenic highway.
The latest ad features a middle-aged man driving a truck and pulling a horse trailer. He gets stuck in the mud, and uses the horses to pull himself free so he can be home in time for dinner. Or sex. It's not clear as again, there's not a woman in sight.
Both of the Viagra ads are coloured blue. Everything you see in the ads is blue. I read when Viagra first came out that a side effect was to make you see everything through a blue filter. Are the makers of the ad trying to suggest that is a good thing?
Because I'd rather see things clearly and be fucking a woman than seeing everything as blue, doing manly things, and not fucking at all.
The Viagra ads that I saw at the same time were a bit different. They featured middle-aged men only. No women. The men in the ads were doing manly stuff, like hiking, building a house with their bare hands, and driving slowly along a scenic highway.
The latest ad features a middle-aged man driving a truck and pulling a horse trailer. He gets stuck in the mud, and uses the horses to pull himself free so he can be home in time for dinner. Or sex. It's not clear as again, there's not a woman in sight.
Both of the Viagra ads are coloured blue. Everything you see in the ads is blue. I read when Viagra first came out that a side effect was to make you see everything through a blue filter. Are the makers of the ad trying to suggest that is a good thing?
Because I'd rather see things clearly and be fucking a woman than seeing everything as blue, doing manly things, and not fucking at all.
Sunday, July 3rd
Got up at 7:00 to get ready for church. My dad gives me a lift, and he has to be there by 9 to open the door, so...
I like to give myself a couple of hours to get ready in the morning. Shit, shower, shave (well, I am going to church), and 20 minutes to put ointment on the infected areas. Then it's time to get the coffee organized. I can't understand people who get going without coffee, like my dad. And I can't understand people who are ready to go as soon as their feet hit the floor, like my mom (before the accident).
I like to have a bit of music to listen to first thing, but my folks like to have either news or daytime TV screaming at them at the top of their lungs. Way too much, way too early. I set my desktop up in the basement in order to get away from the noise. I now have a Batman-cave.
Sweet.
But I digress.
After breakfast, we're off to church. I took my laptop along so I could check my e-mail and facebook while I waited for the service to begin. I asked my dad what the password to log on to the wireless network was, and he didn't have a clue. He's had a laptop at the church for over a year, and he's never logged on to the internet. My folks are computer-illiterate. I used to ask my mom for help with this and that, but now I do all their 'puter stuff. I have to restrain myself from sighing heavily whenever I hear them wail for assistance.
My dad's brother and his wife showed up for the service, as they were visiting mom later. My aunt sat way too close to me. There's such a thing as "personal space" and she was ignoring it.
I used to play with their kids quite a lot when I was little, but we've all drifted apart, and now I'm lucky if I see them at Christmas.
My aunt has this voice that is difficult to describe. I think of it as unctuous times ten. It takes her hours just to say "How are you?" it comes out so slowly.
My uncle takes a long time to say anything, as well, but that's genetic. I have it, too. My uncle entertains you while you're waiting for his side of the conversation by showing you all of his teeth in a big wide grin. He just grins and grins and then makes a manly type of joke about your muscles or something.
Sigh.
After lunch, we went out for lunch to the local golf course. We sat out on the deck, but a rainsquall forced us back indoors. This year has been the wettest and coldest I've experienced in a long time. One of the local town bigwigs is worried about how high the river is, and what havoc it will wreak on the greens if it breaks its banks.
After lunch, I got my dad to drop me off at home. I didn't want to go to the hospital partly because I would be bored stiff by their conversation and partly because mom and I are having a bit of a disagreement at this point in time. These things happen, and have been occuring more often of late. This time it's because I don't hide how bored I am at their conversation.
My mom hates how quiet my dad and I are. She likes to talk, and I can see that it's sheer torture for her to be alone with us. Eventually it gets to her and she snaps. It's not pretty, and I tend to absent myself rather than actually try to take her on.
My sisters say I should try to distract her or turn it back on her by laughing or something. It's something they can do because they're both extroverts. My brother, as well. But me, I'm quiet. I go quiet and stay quiet. I withdraw into my shell like a turtle.
So me and mom won't be speaking for a while.
I got home and finally did my e-mail and facebook, watched a few movies, had dinner with dad, and watched my Sunday shows, "Treme" and "Top Gear."
I like "Treme" which I think just finished its second series. It's about New Orleans after Katrina. Much of the focus is on the music that the city has to offer, but there's also a lawyer chasing down crooked cops, and a chef who had a restaurant, lost it, and is just getting back on her feet. Anthony Bourdain is credited as one of the scriptwriters, and there are a lot of celebrity chef cameos.
"Top Gear" is just fun to watch. Sure, there's a lot of car talk, but it's done with a lot of British wit. These guys know their cars, and they have a lot of wit, so it works out well.
Tomorrow my mom visits the surgeon to see if she will be allowed to put weight on her broken leg. Not sure if I'll be going along.
We'll see.
I like to give myself a couple of hours to get ready in the morning. Shit, shower, shave (well, I am going to church), and 20 minutes to put ointment on the infected areas. Then it's time to get the coffee organized. I can't understand people who get going without coffee, like my dad. And I can't understand people who are ready to go as soon as their feet hit the floor, like my mom (before the accident).
I like to have a bit of music to listen to first thing, but my folks like to have either news or daytime TV screaming at them at the top of their lungs. Way too much, way too early. I set my desktop up in the basement in order to get away from the noise. I now have a Batman-cave.
Sweet.
But I digress.
After breakfast, we're off to church. I took my laptop along so I could check my e-mail and facebook while I waited for the service to begin. I asked my dad what the password to log on to the wireless network was, and he didn't have a clue. He's had a laptop at the church for over a year, and he's never logged on to the internet. My folks are computer-illiterate. I used to ask my mom for help with this and that, but now I do all their 'puter stuff. I have to restrain myself from sighing heavily whenever I hear them wail for assistance.
My dad's brother and his wife showed up for the service, as they were visiting mom later. My aunt sat way too close to me. There's such a thing as "personal space" and she was ignoring it.
I used to play with their kids quite a lot when I was little, but we've all drifted apart, and now I'm lucky if I see them at Christmas.
My aunt has this voice that is difficult to describe. I think of it as unctuous times ten. It takes her hours just to say "How are you?" it comes out so slowly.
My uncle takes a long time to say anything, as well, but that's genetic. I have it, too. My uncle entertains you while you're waiting for his side of the conversation by showing you all of his teeth in a big wide grin. He just grins and grins and then makes a manly type of joke about your muscles or something.
Sigh.
After lunch, we went out for lunch to the local golf course. We sat out on the deck, but a rainsquall forced us back indoors. This year has been the wettest and coldest I've experienced in a long time. One of the local town bigwigs is worried about how high the river is, and what havoc it will wreak on the greens if it breaks its banks.
After lunch, I got my dad to drop me off at home. I didn't want to go to the hospital partly because I would be bored stiff by their conversation and partly because mom and I are having a bit of a disagreement at this point in time. These things happen, and have been occuring more often of late. This time it's because I don't hide how bored I am at their conversation.
My mom hates how quiet my dad and I are. She likes to talk, and I can see that it's sheer torture for her to be alone with us. Eventually it gets to her and she snaps. It's not pretty, and I tend to absent myself rather than actually try to take her on.
My sisters say I should try to distract her or turn it back on her by laughing or something. It's something they can do because they're both extroverts. My brother, as well. But me, I'm quiet. I go quiet and stay quiet. I withdraw into my shell like a turtle.
So me and mom won't be speaking for a while.
I got home and finally did my e-mail and facebook, watched a few movies, had dinner with dad, and watched my Sunday shows, "Treme" and "Top Gear."
I like "Treme" which I think just finished its second series. It's about New Orleans after Katrina. Much of the focus is on the music that the city has to offer, but there's also a lawyer chasing down crooked cops, and a chef who had a restaurant, lost it, and is just getting back on her feet. Anthony Bourdain is credited as one of the scriptwriters, and there are a lot of celebrity chef cameos.
"Top Gear" is just fun to watch. Sure, there's a lot of car talk, but it's done with a lot of British wit. These guys know their cars, and they have a lot of wit, so it works out well.
Tomorrow my mom visits the surgeon to see if she will be allowed to put weight on her broken leg. Not sure if I'll be going along.
We'll see.
Me
I returned home from Korea last August. I already had a job lined up in England, so I was only looking at a quick stopover at my folks' place until the UK visa process was completed.
Well, that job blew up in my face when the person I was dealing with asked me to send him some money.
What the fuck? I thought.
This guy was promising me 3,000 pounds a month, plus health care, plus 1,000 pounds vacation pay. He would pay for my ticket over there, pay the immigration lawyer, set me up in an apartment in his house with a computer and a car and on and on and on.
He didn't ask for money right away. We went back and forth, and I sent him copies of my resume, degree, passport info page and so on. It was about three weeks into our correspondence that the "immigration lawyer" made the request for some money that he would use to open a bank account for me. He claimed that he had to show immigration that I actually had money in-country before they would approve my visa.
My spider-sense started tingling right away, and I checked with the British Embassy here in Canada to make sure that the rules about immigration did not have this requirement. It didn't take very long to confirm this, and I stalled the "lawyer" while I took all my information about these people to the RCMP.
They knew right away, as soon as they heard about the request for money, that something was fishy, and confirmed (a while later) that none of the e-mail addresses checked out.
I wrote the guy and told him I wasn't sending him any money as the rules didn't require it, but he kept insisting. Finally, he called my house and asked me point blank, "Are you sending the money?"
"No," I said.
"Then I'm going to cancel the visa?" he sort of half-questioned.
"Okay," I replied, and he hung up.
I haven't heard from him since.
Bummer.
I was looking forward to working in England and travelling through Europe, just as I had travelled Asia while I was in Korea.
I should have been suspicious, though, considering the guy was offering me all this money and extras. I mean, I'm a pretty good teacher, I think, but there are loads of people out there who have a lot more paper (in the way of education degrees) to show any potential employer. All I have is experience.
So I was stuck for a job. My mom was going in for a hip replacement in October, so it was decided I should stay around the house and help out for a bit before moving on.
And then, when I did start up the job search again, my mom crashed her car real good and was on the brink of death. I couldn't leave then, so a lot of my plans got put on hold.
And now I am looking for work again. I haven't really put a lot of effort into it, as I have been concentrating on returning to university this fall in order to get my education degree. Make my resume that much more attractive, get a job in Europe or here at home.
But the past few months or so, Alberta teachers have been laid off in the hundreds. There's just not enough money in the provincial budget to justify teachers' salaries. We all know from the budget battles in the States recently how cushy a job teachers have, and how much of taxpayer dough they suck up in their half-a-day, two-months-of-vacation-per-year lifestyle.
It's been quite a year, I can tell you. Things are waiting on this university application. I'm pretty confident, but if things don't work out, I guess I'll be looking at the overseas postings again.
Well, that job blew up in my face when the person I was dealing with asked me to send him some money.
What the fuck? I thought.
This guy was promising me 3,000 pounds a month, plus health care, plus 1,000 pounds vacation pay. He would pay for my ticket over there, pay the immigration lawyer, set me up in an apartment in his house with a computer and a car and on and on and on.
He didn't ask for money right away. We went back and forth, and I sent him copies of my resume, degree, passport info page and so on. It was about three weeks into our correspondence that the "immigration lawyer" made the request for some money that he would use to open a bank account for me. He claimed that he had to show immigration that I actually had money in-country before they would approve my visa.
My spider-sense started tingling right away, and I checked with the British Embassy here in Canada to make sure that the rules about immigration did not have this requirement. It didn't take very long to confirm this, and I stalled the "lawyer" while I took all my information about these people to the RCMP.
They knew right away, as soon as they heard about the request for money, that something was fishy, and confirmed (a while later) that none of the e-mail addresses checked out.
I wrote the guy and told him I wasn't sending him any money as the rules didn't require it, but he kept insisting. Finally, he called my house and asked me point blank, "Are you sending the money?"
"No," I said.
"Then I'm going to cancel the visa?" he sort of half-questioned.
"Okay," I replied, and he hung up.
I haven't heard from him since.
Bummer.
I was looking forward to working in England and travelling through Europe, just as I had travelled Asia while I was in Korea.
I should have been suspicious, though, considering the guy was offering me all this money and extras. I mean, I'm a pretty good teacher, I think, but there are loads of people out there who have a lot more paper (in the way of education degrees) to show any potential employer. All I have is experience.
So I was stuck for a job. My mom was going in for a hip replacement in October, so it was decided I should stay around the house and help out for a bit before moving on.
And then, when I did start up the job search again, my mom crashed her car real good and was on the brink of death. I couldn't leave then, so a lot of my plans got put on hold.
And now I am looking for work again. I haven't really put a lot of effort into it, as I have been concentrating on returning to university this fall in order to get my education degree. Make my resume that much more attractive, get a job in Europe or here at home.
But the past few months or so, Alberta teachers have been laid off in the hundreds. There's just not enough money in the provincial budget to justify teachers' salaries. We all know from the budget battles in the States recently how cushy a job teachers have, and how much of taxpayer dough they suck up in their half-a-day, two-months-of-vacation-per-year lifestyle.
It's been quite a year, I can tell you. Things are waiting on this university application. I'm pretty confident, but if things don't work out, I guess I'll be looking at the overseas postings again.
Saturday, July 2, 2011
My Mom
My Mom had a serious car accident a couple of months ago.
She had been visiting my sister at her farm, and was on the way home when it happened. She had just left Camrose, where she was going to stop for coffee. The accident happened about 15-20 minutes south of there, just past the road to Duhamel.
The road was curving to the left, and according to the witness, she just went straight. There were no other vehicles involved, and the witness saw no animals on the road. There weren't even any skidmarks, just a track from the right wheel going down the embankment for about 5 metres, and then pits and divots where the car began to roll. It rolled down the embankment, through a barbed wire fence, and on into the middle of some field. I'm a lousy judge of distance, but she must have rolled about 50 - 75 metres.
If you Google "Single vehicle rollover near Camrose," you can go to the Camrose paper's website and see a couple of pictures of the car where it finally came to rest. The pictures don't really do it justice. The RCMP showed us some pictures that gave some idea of the distance and severity of the accident. Going to the site was a sobering experience, as was crawling around inside the vehicle retrieving my mom's things. Her cell phone survived the accident. The EMS had found her bottom teeth, and we found her top teeth under the front seat. The bottom teeth had a small crack that was repaired.
She's wearing them now.
The RCMP officer figured she must have gone to sleep, but I don't really believe that. She must have been distracted by something in the car, like changing a CD or spilling the coffee. Maybe she had a blackout or a stroke. Probably we'll never know.
The witness talked to her while she was still in the car, and so did the EMS when they pulled her out.
She gave them my dad's phone number, but we didn't get a call until almost four hours after the accident. By then STARS Air Ambulance had already taken her to the University Hospital in Edmonton.
My nephew lives in Edmonton, so he was the first to arrive. We got there a couple of hours later, and got the list of injuries from the doctor. Her left shoulder was broken three times. Her right elbow wasn't just dislocated, it was smashed. She had two ribs on her left side and six ribs on her right side broken. Her pelvis was fractured three times, and her right leg was broken in two places.
There were also a variety of cuts and cruises. When we first saw her, she was covered from neck to toe with a kind of blowup cocoon. There was a breathing tube in her mouth, and all kinds of wires and tubes attached to her body.
It's a miracle she survived.
She has a personal directive that states the sort of life-saving procedures she received were not to be performed. She would have died without them. The directive was not with her, and all the procedures completed by the time we got there. The doctor told us that everything was fixable, but it would be a long journey back.
She has come a long way since the accident, and we are anticipating that she will be given the go ahead to put some weight on the right leg next week, and begin to walk.
She did have some low periods where she questioned whether she should have survived the accident, but now she is looking forward to that first step so she can come home.
She had been visiting my sister at her farm, and was on the way home when it happened. She had just left Camrose, where she was going to stop for coffee. The accident happened about 15-20 minutes south of there, just past the road to Duhamel.
The road was curving to the left, and according to the witness, she just went straight. There were no other vehicles involved, and the witness saw no animals on the road. There weren't even any skidmarks, just a track from the right wheel going down the embankment for about 5 metres, and then pits and divots where the car began to roll. It rolled down the embankment, through a barbed wire fence, and on into the middle of some field. I'm a lousy judge of distance, but she must have rolled about 50 - 75 metres.
If you Google "Single vehicle rollover near Camrose," you can go to the Camrose paper's website and see a couple of pictures of the car where it finally came to rest. The pictures don't really do it justice. The RCMP showed us some pictures that gave some idea of the distance and severity of the accident. Going to the site was a sobering experience, as was crawling around inside the vehicle retrieving my mom's things. Her cell phone survived the accident. The EMS had found her bottom teeth, and we found her top teeth under the front seat. The bottom teeth had a small crack that was repaired.
She's wearing them now.
The RCMP officer figured she must have gone to sleep, but I don't really believe that. She must have been distracted by something in the car, like changing a CD or spilling the coffee. Maybe she had a blackout or a stroke. Probably we'll never know.
The witness talked to her while she was still in the car, and so did the EMS when they pulled her out.
She gave them my dad's phone number, but we didn't get a call until almost four hours after the accident. By then STARS Air Ambulance had already taken her to the University Hospital in Edmonton.
My nephew lives in Edmonton, so he was the first to arrive. We got there a couple of hours later, and got the list of injuries from the doctor. Her left shoulder was broken three times. Her right elbow wasn't just dislocated, it was smashed. She had two ribs on her left side and six ribs on her right side broken. Her pelvis was fractured three times, and her right leg was broken in two places.
There were also a variety of cuts and cruises. When we first saw her, she was covered from neck to toe with a kind of blowup cocoon. There was a breathing tube in her mouth, and all kinds of wires and tubes attached to her body.
It's a miracle she survived.
She has a personal directive that states the sort of life-saving procedures she received were not to be performed. She would have died without them. The directive was not with her, and all the procedures completed by the time we got there. The doctor told us that everything was fixable, but it would be a long journey back.
She has come a long way since the accident, and we are anticipating that she will be given the go ahead to put some weight on the right leg next week, and begin to walk.
She did have some low periods where she questioned whether she should have survived the accident, but now she is looking forward to that first step so she can come home.
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