Okay, I guess by now Palace of Justice has stuck in a few people's heads. (Sorry about that.) But it's not enough for me. I want to leave my mark on the world. A big one. Maybe not Crater Lake big, but at least as big as the buttock indentation on Randy Bachman's futon cushion.

So I make lists. My old list was, What do I want to accomplish before I die? It looked something like this:

2005. Hit single. Cover of Rolling Stone. (NOT Spin.) Musical guest on Saturday Night Live. Make out w/ Tina Fey. 10 Grammy nominations. Grammy date: Norah Jones? (Backup choice: Sporty Spice.) Win Best Hard Rock Alternative Performance. (Backup choice: Best Barbershop/Gospel Choir Performance.) Make out w/ Dixie Chicks. (NOT chubby one.)

2006. Write screenplay for cop buddy-movie. (Casting suggestion: Steve Buscemi w/ The Rock.) Cover of Premiere. Guest on Charlie Rose. Discuss Freudian themes in "Dude Where's My Car". 12 Oscar nominations. Oscar date: Scarlett Johansson? (Backup choice: Colleen from Survivor season 1.) Win Best Screenplay. Dedicate award to imprisoned Burmese dissident Aung San Suu Kyi. Host benefit concert in Bangkok. Liberate thirty million Burmese. Make out w/ Aung San Suu Kyi.

2007. Star in pornographic video.

2008-24. Coast on fame.

2025. First permanent resident of Moon Colony.

But I've missed my chance. Unlike the rest of you, who will have the luxury of slowly accumulating successes over the course of long careers, I have to make my mark fast, while I'm still young and supple, before my imagination dries up. Who wants to watch a thirty-five year old rock star with thinning hair and giblet arms?

Now I'm making a new, less-ambitious list. I've relinquished all expectations of fame. I've accepted that I'm never going to have sex with starlets, run for Prime Minister, or wear seventy-five-dollar shoes. My new list is simply to finish those projects I've already started. While the paramedics are waiting for my corpse to deflate - wandering around my apartment, drinking my leftover juice boxes, poking through the drawers - I want them to see some hard evidence that I've done something with my life. I don't want them to think, "Here's a loser who never accomplished anything." I want them to think, "Here's a loser who finished what he started."

So I've been sitting here all day trying to remember all the projects I've started, trying to decide which ones to abandon for good and which ones to dedicate my energy to completing. I've tossed out a lot. My rock opera about the Book of Revelation. My screenplay about the last man on earth (he spends most of his time masturbating). My play about Amor de Cosmos, the second Premier of British Columbia. Gone, gone, gone.

Now there are sixteen items left on my list. Come over to my place sometime, you can see it. I'll stick it on my wall. Once I'm finished with those sixteen items, I can die. Meanwhile, I'm obliged to keep on living; and, ergo, working. Oh, well.

Academy Awards.
Mon, 01 Mar 2004

I apologise for having ventured the suggestion that we hold an Oscar party. I wound up watching the show on my own last night, and it was awful. I guess it had been so long since I'd seen the ceremony that I'd forgotten how brutally embarrassing it all is: the PG-rated quips of Billy Crystal; the stars stumbling over their teleprompter lines like the dumb kid in your tenth-grade English class trying to read aloud from "Hamlet"; the Best Documentary Short-Subject winner seizing and brutally squeezing the life out of every last one of his forty-five seconds in the spotlight; and of course, the unrelenting predictability of it all. I mean, of course Charlize Theron was gonna win for Best Actress - she put on, like, forty pounds for her role. Weight gain = authenticity = great acting. Right? Every Oscar voter knows that. And of course Sean Penn was gonna win for Best Actor. Did you see how much he was screaming in that clip they played from "Mystic River"? Screaming = sincerity = great acting.

I did enjoy seeing "Lord of the Rings" win approximately five hundred awards. Back when Peter Jackson was making lowbrow splatter movies like "Dead Alive", who would've dreamt that Hollywood would someday be prostrating itself at his feet? But unlike Spielberg and James Cameron, he didn't have to go all serious and historical-epicky to win their respect; he's the same big goofy nerd he always was. His movie has trolls, for goodness' sake. Has there ever been a Best Picture winner with trolls? But I'm sure next year the Academy will resume its role as the arbiter of dignified good taste, and some epic featuring a dour Tom Hanks, a weeping Charlize Theron, and many screaming Nazis will sweep the honours.

Exercise bike.
Fri, 12 Mar 2004

Hey. Had a dream about you.

Well, it wasn't really about you, but you were in it.

I was at a party along with Jenn, Kurt, Warren, Stu, you, and a few other people. One of the games at this party involved some kind of exercise bike that was hooked up to a computer. If you pedalled the exercise bike long enough, and with a steady enough rhythm, you moved up through a series of levels that were represented by flashing animal icons on the computer screen - beaver, rat, duck, etc.

Stu rode the exercise bike the longest and reached the level of water buffalo. Everyone was pretty impressed. But then, after everyone had given up and moved on to a different room, I decided to try the game. I sat on the exercise-bicycle and pedalled away for hours. Finally I reached the level of water buffalo. But I just kept on pedalling, and I reached an even higher level, where I was summoned into the presence of a disembodied voice who asked me to design a Scrabble tile with a symbol that would represent all human knowledge. Rather than create a tile, I submitted a tiny slip of paper with the words "Who are we to contemplate infinity?" written on it. The disembodied voice acknowledged this as the correct answer, and I was declared the winner of the game.

Then I was returned to the party, where everyone was excited that I had won the game. All the girls kissed me on the lips. Then I went into another room, where I found you eating a giant doughnut. You were unaware that you had chocolate glazing and coconut crumbs smeared all over your face. I pointed it out and you laughed.

The great Third World tourism debate.

Tue, 29 Mar 2004
From: Dean Drobot

Dim sum was quite good. A lively discussion of tourism and globalization over some spicy squid and fish balls.

Tue, 29 Mar 2004
From: Warren Brooke

Around the Saskatchewan border, Michael launched into an airtight proof that Dean and I are both idiots and that globalization of culture is both natural and inevitable.

And, much like Sideshow Bob appearing on television in order to criticize the medium, it was kind of ironic that we were discussing the evils of tourism and the destruction of cultures while having dim sum. The introduction of Chinese culture into Canada hasn't eroded our Canadian-ness, but increased our options to include tasty squid and celebration buns for breakfast.

Tue, 29 Mar 2004
From: Dean Drobot

I still don't agree with Michael's argument (the one he gave at dim sum anyway) about globalization being inevitable and good. You can't compare the influx of Chinese to Canada to, let's say, the influx of wealthy Canadians into rural China.

I'm not sure what the Saskatchewan border argument was all about. I'd like to hear it.

Tue, 29 Mar 2004
From: Anne Ross

Oh, come on now. Michael has gone home long ago. One of the perks of globalisation; you can do your hours and then go home whether you did the work or not. Maybe one reason why Michael is pro-globalisation? Would he survive if he had to subsistence farm?

Anyway, I believe that if I were unlucky enough to be born in the third world I would be grateful for the opportunity to put a bone through my nose and eat bugs for the entertainment of rich western tourists. It might not be dignified, but trying to irrigate a half-acre of rocky farmland with nothing but a garden hose and a rusty spoon isn't too dignified, either. Or working in a shoelace factory for seven cents an hour. It would be nice if everyone in Canada were willing to pay an extra twenty bucks on their income tax to buy universal health care for the peasant farmers of Bhutan, but I don't think even Don Kossick is proposing that. Failing radical reform, what's left for all of us - peasant farmers, junior engineers, and rock opera composers alike - is to choose the most advantageous way of selling out to The Man.

As roving ambassadors from The Man to the third world, western tourists inevitably feel some guilt about their privileged status. This is a huge improvement. Forty years ago when white people went to southeast Asia it was to drop napalm on small men in black pyjamas. Now we go to take photographs and to castigate ourselves for our shallow materialism. I was too hard on Dean and Warren; they should go on feeling guilty, if they want to; it doesn't do any harm. Just so long as they keep going back and spreading their money around.

I can't remember whether this is the irrefutable argument I presented to Warren on the ride home. Perhaps it would have been wiser to remain silent just now, and allow the myth of my irrefutability to grow. Now that the emptiness of my rhetoric has been exposed, how will I ever trick you all into voting for Stephen Harper?

PS - I restrained myself from introducing a discussion of Roman tourists in the declining days of ancient Sparta.

Re: The great Third World tourism debate.
Tue, 30 Mar 2004
From: Warren Brooke

I can't remember what exactly was said, but I'll try to hit the highlights.

Basically, the whole premise was that "culture" is not a static thing and is continuously evolving. In itself, the changing of a culture is neither good nor bad and happens pretty organically as the people adopt new aspects that they find beneficial in their society and reject aspects of their culture that no longer appeal to them. The idea is that it is not our place to be the keepers of these "delicate" cultures either through demanding to see a monk in a crimson robe or a guy with a bone through his nose, or on the other hand by demanding that these "delicate" cultures be completely insulated from our Western influence. To say that we must be the stewards of every culture because we are rich is condescending to these cultures. Every culture will respond to both external and internal influences, but the response in itself is neither good nor bad.

Warren Brooke wrote:

To say that we must be the stewards of every culture because we are rich is condescending to these cultures.

I would add that the precious micro-cultures being absorbed into our global capitalist macro-culture bear many characteristics which are not really worthy of preservation. It's fun for western tourists to tramp through Vietnam and converse with cheerful Buddhist monks who think it's bad luck to be touched by a woman; it's not so fun, I would venture, for Vietnamese women. Similarly, a South American peasant ploughing his field by hand in a colourful costume may be authentic, but it's a little perverse to value his authenticity more than his right to drive a tractor. I won't even address female genital mutilation, burqas, or the public dismemberment of petty criminals.

RE: The great Third World tourism debate.
Tue, 30 Mar 2004
From: Olin Valby

I'm endorsing Michael's thesis on change. But there is the question of RATES of change. To what extent are other cultures free to effect some level of control over their cultural change? When their culture stabilizes somewhat, will they feel ownership over it? Will they feel ownership over the institutions which support their lives? I'm not in a position to answer these questions. I live in Saskatoon. I can barely figure out what folks think here. So it concerns me when I see people in Canada making cultural and economic decisions for people 8000 miles away. This isn't a cultural offering. This isn't a sharing and crashing of the bull's horns of culture. It's throwing darts blindfolded at an apple on a village woman's head. Not the best course of action - even if she too will pass onto worm fodder.

RE: The great Third World tourism debate.
Tue, 30 Mar 2004
From: Dean Drobot

First, I agree with everything that is being said. I would like to clarify that I am not the opposing view here. I seem to have been unfairly tagged as the opposition.

Wealthy cultures have no right to impose their ideals on the cultures of less developed regions. But they do. Both those who want to isolate the cultures, and the advocates of absolute globalization. Cultural evolution is natural and good. But it has to be on two-sided terms. It ought to be positive. And it should be sustainable. I guess I'm talking more about tourism than globalization, really. However, tourism (backpacking in particular) is sometimes the spearhead to cultural change.

A lot of people are mortified when their ideals of other cultures are shattered by reality. Hippies going to India to find inner peace from a romanticized culture that doesn't exist. Who are we to tell the Indians to get with the program? Seeing a Tibetan monk sip a Sprite and chew on a Mars bar while in prayer, the fact that you can get a Coke and Krazy Glue in the depths of the Laotian jungle, or that Starbucks is available in northern Thailand, or that Hill tribes wear Nike shoes, or that India has McDonald's all over the place...this blows the ideal image we seek. We have a romantic image of these places, and that image doesn't include Coke and a Filet-O-Fish. Who are we to say these people shouldn't have access to these things? We can't dictate what is best. We can offer what is available in our society and people can take what they want. My argument is that we, the wealthy, have the power to go to these places and impose what WE wish on them, not what THEY wish from us. As Mike said, we wish for a peasant in traditional dress, he just wants the money we bring so he can buy a tractor. Good on him. But it's not two-sided. There's not a lot of Cambodian subsistence farmers walking down 9A Street in Calgary, poking their heads in my window, and offering me $10 US to have a photo with me as long as I'm wearing hockey gear or a toque, like every other Canadian photo they have seen.

Is there a difference between going to Mexico and photographing the peasant and moving on, and going to Mexico and living in the peasant's house to mingle with and learn from him? What is exploitation? What is tourism? What is simple friendly curiosity? Where is the line drawn? Is it condescending to presume you should draw a line? Everyone draws the line in a different spot. Most don't think about the line at all.

I have talked myself around this issue ten times from Sunday and have no idea if there's an answer. I have in my travels offended a lot of people, bonded with many people, taken advantage of, and been taken advantage of. It's situational. My experience has been that developing cultures do whatever they need to accesss the wealth of visiting nations. They couldn't care less about the "cultural exchange". Flaunting wealth beyond these people's dreams is offensive in itself. But they sure could use the money you give. People come to depend on the income that tourism provides. People change their lifestyles to accommodate the entrepreneurial opportunities that rich visitors bring, local economies are bolstered, and if it's sustainable it can be positive. Or the tourism leaves in search of something more authentic. "This place is ruined, it's just like home". Then the money dries up and people are screwed. The lack of diversity in the local economy means everyone is now just as poor as before the tourists showed up, and probably worse off because they have lost the skills they had 5, 10, 30 years ago. Kids haven't gone to school because they can make more money selling Coca-Cola to tourists on the street. Farming ceased long ago because it's more profitable to spend your time making bracelets to sell to passersby than to plant tea. Rich tourists rip through poor countries fucking up the way of life...and often for the long term worst. Again, it's great if it's sustainable, but there needs to be diversification. Too often developing countries lack the experience to direct their own course in the face of an influx of wealth from tourism. If it's not guided along the best course to help the country move forward, then it can do a lot of harm.

It might not be our decision to make, but we should be held accountable for our actions. Particularily if we know that in the past we have fucked things up in similar situations. Who decides what's best? It's not for us to answer, but we, the ones with the power to go to these places, should take some responsibility, no? But we can't answer the question "are we wanted here?" because the answer to that question is complicated by our wealthy presence.

It's a complicated problem. I have no idea what the answer is. I really want to travel, spread my wealth, satisfy my curiosities, but I don't want to perpetuate damaging cycles. My curiosity shouldn't be at the expense of others.

Is it condescending to tell a homeless person that it's better if you take him for lunch rather than just give him $5? I have no idea.

Olin Valby wrote:

It concerns me when I see people in Canada making cultural and economic decisions for people 8000 miles away. This isn't a cultural offering . . . It's throwing darts blindfolded at an apple on a village woman's head.

I guess it's worth admitting that our opinions on this abstract concept of "change" are based on our underlying opinion of whether our civilisation is itself good or bad. I look at the world and see a gradual, steady evolution from savagery and religious nincompoopery toward prosperity, rationality, and peace. By contrast, Olin, seeing the same evidence, finds only a pellmell accumulation of garish distractions from the underlying emptiness of modernity. Different example: Olin sees another war in the Middle East and says, "War is terrible!" I see the same war and say, "Well, as wars go, this one wasn't so terrible."

Dean says it's not fair that we can go to Cambodia and gawk at the peasants, but the Cambodian peasants can't come gawk at us. True - this is absolutely unfair. But fifty years ago when white folks went to, say, China, it was to gawk at peasants. Now the children of those Chinese peasants are coming to gawk at us, and coming in ever greater numbers. Perhaps there is a downside to the rapid pace of change. If all those wealthy Chinese decide to buy SUVs, we could be in serious trouble. On the other hand, maybe one of the millions of Chinese kids who suddenly can afford to go to university will figure out how to run a car on salt water, and we'll all be saved. I'm an incorrigible optimist, believe it or not, and I tend to think the latter outcome is more likely.

RE: The great Third World tourism debate.
Tue, 30 Mar 2004
From: Olin Valby

Michael wrote:

Olin, seeing the same evidence, finds only a pellmell accumulation of garish distractions from the underlying emptiness of modernity.

Thanks Mike! I couldn't have said better exactly what I don't believe.

I do believe that many people are not willing to put effort into futher ameliorating all peoples' conditions. Agreed that there will always be strife. Agreed that on many levels it has gotten better. But never agreed that because it is better than before we should stop trying. This goes against everything that is good in life. The struggle, and the subsequent enjoyment, IS life.

I suspect that for each achievement we are proud of now...there were people saying "but it's already better than before." The point is that we all need to be free to stuggle. And free to enjoy.

I too am an optimist. I strongly dislike the belief that the world is empty and meaningless. That is a terrible way to view life.

But I will always struggle to add more good cheer into my life, and the lives of the people around me. That's the point. Small successes gained and given.

On a political note: I'm a pragmatist. That term is usually thrown around to justify a political decision..."it's a tough choice but someone has to make it"...but if I were making tough choices I wouldn't spend a billion dollars a week to improve the lives of a few who are suffering in Iraq (ignoring the question of US hubris) and instead focus on the 30 odd thousand children who essentially starved to death today. People are still being paid. Soldiers even. Just that they're delivering food. In some cases it will take guns to do...so be it.

Arguments are simplified because their proponents don't have the will to fully elaborate.

Read: I can't guarantee that everything I'm saying is true, but I can guarantee it isn't all wrong.

Olin Valby wrote:

. . . never agreed that because it is better than before we should stop trying.

Maybe my error was in understating the revolutionary pace of change in the last couple centuries. When you read Plutarch alongside Shakespeare, who came fifteen hundred years later, it's remarkable to see how little attitudes changed between the Roman Empire and Elizabethan England. Slavery, religious persecution, the disfranchisement of women, the indiscriminate slaughter of prisoners-of-war; these things were accepted unthinkingly.

Compare the pace of change within the last fifty years. I'll use war again as an example. In the one with Japan and Germany, Allied forces dropped incendiary bombs on enemy cities and wiped out more than a million non-combatants - a very medieval tactic. But few folks back home bothered to point out that this was, perhaps, a little extreme. Now Americans take great pains to engineer guided missiles that can collapse a bunker while leaving the houses across the street relatively undamaged. Quite apart from the relative merits of World War II and Operation Iraqi Freedom, this is a step up.

I'm not saying that war is now harmless and we should feel free to start as many as we want. Or that we should turn over the reins of government to Bill Gates and Ronald McDonald and wait patiently for the arrival of paradise on earth. I just feel it's important to point out, at a time when many argue that we're stampeding toward global catastrophe, that within the ever-widening circle of western civilisation, human beings are now more materially secure, well-fed, well-educated, and peaceful than at any previous time in recorded history. Maybe we're stampeding toward catastrophe, but the evidence could be just as easily read to indicate that we're stampeding (accidentally, mind you) toward utopia. Probably neither.

We can do better. Africa, the Middle East, and much of Central Asia are being left way behind. I quite agree, Olin, that it would be better to feed the starving millions than to drop bombs on the soldiers ostensibly protecting them. But many of the starving millions live in countries run by dictators, fascists, and genocidal madmen. Even if we devote our energies to helping the starving millions who live outside the countries run by madmen, sooner or later we're going to be confronted with the question of how to help the millions inside those countries. The "few who are suffering in Iraq" might be, relatively speaking, a few; but they were still suffering.

I'm sorry if I seemed to belittle your philosophy, Olin. Also I apologise to everyone for dragging the discussion from the relatively benign terrain of global tourism into the potentially touchy area of U.S. foreign policy. I promise to say no more about war, and let Olin or anyone else have the last word. I will, however, expand on my analogy about Roman tourists in ancient Sparta if anyone expresses the slightest interest. Anybody? Please?

RE: The great Third World tourism debate.
Tue, 30 Mar 2004
From: Warren Brooke

I didn't mean to brand Dean as a "bad guy" in any of this. Actually, over dim sum, Dean and I were discussing two sides of the very same point. Dean suggested that I go travelling after I graduate and I didn't know if I wanted to go abroad because I thought it was damaging to have rowdy backpackers streaming through a country just to gawk. Dean argued that culture is becoming a commodity, but added that he still wanted to travel because backpackers also bring benefits such as cash and jobs to people who need them.

On the trip home Michael basically said that it was good to consider our actions but feeling guilty for being rich and "implanting" our culture is beside the point. Cultural exchange is as inexorable as the advance of glaciers. The running of the bulls in Pamplona used to be a test of courage and manhood, but now it is a party for ten thousand drunken Australians. It's a shame that this festival has lost its cultural significance, but if not for the ten thousand Australians, it probably would have changed and evolved for other reasons.

I really liked the image of society stampeding towards a precipice juxtaposed against stampeding towards utopia. Maybe we're all just stampeding...confused, gotta go, scared, get on the road, frustrated, race to work and race home again, get a new car so I can do it faster, gotta find myself, and fast, gotta do more, gotta see more, gotta BE more...stampeding...panicked.

Or maybe we're all just fine. Hard to say. It's easy to convince yourself that you are nuts and that the world is falling around you. Maybe it's just as easy to convince yourself that you are happy.

Warren Brooke wrote:

It's easy to convince yourself that you are nuts and that the world is falling around you.

There's a school of conservative thought that maintains that the triumph of free markets and democracy over Communist totalitarianism marked the End of History - that the grand ideological struggles of the past have been finally resolved, and that (after a few remaining despotisms have been toppled) the world will settle into a permanent dull but prosperous peace. This is more or less the theory that animates certain ideologues in the current U.S. Administration, and of course it's an upbeat variation of the End Times delusion: it says, the struggle between Good and Evil has already occurred; we won; now get with the program.

In some respects, I find this theory compelling. Let's say the whole world were bound by a common economic and political system, and there were no remaining frontiers from beyond which the barbarians might invade. Let's say we reached the level of scientific knowledge that would allow us to avert any future comet strike or universal plague that threatened our prosperous peace. How, then, could the system be destabilised? Would that not be the End of History?

...But then, what if the End of History were to really suck? It's a little depressing to think that worldwide peace and prosperity might be achieved and some poor schmuck is still going to have to work for seven bucks an hour at the all-night 7-11. Or that even the wealthy will have nothing better to do with their time than go stare at plasticised replicas of Buddhist temples in the suburbs of Phnom Penh. This is the conundrum of "Brave New World", isn't it?

MICHAEL'S LONG-AWAITED SPARTAN TOURISM ANALOGY

The Spartans in the 5th century BC held pre-eminent power in the Greek world through the unshakeable discipline of their armies. That discipline was founded on a kind of oral constitution called the Rhetra, which governed everything from the use of money (gold and silver coins were banned) to immigration (foreigners were banned) to the decorative carving of wood (banned). Under the Rhetra, children were raised communally and taught to endure brutal hardships, like being whipped by older boys, without displaying any sign of weakness or pain.

Five centuries later, Sparta was just another small town in the Roman Empire. When Plutarch visited there, he witnessed demonstrations of the legendary Spartan fortitude, including young boys gritting their teeth as they were literally whipped to death. The Rhetra had been reduced to its goriest, most spectacular elements for the amusement of tourists.

I called this an analogy, but it's really more of a parable. I leave its interpretation to the reader.

The Republic.
Tuesday, April 13, 2004

Plato is alright when he's talking about concrete things, like countries and wars and women, but I haven't got much patience for the abstract discussions of Justice and Truth and how the Four Virtues correspond, in some elaborate way, with the different aspects of the human spirit. Most of which I've already forgotten, anyway, so I can't even explain what I'm talking about. It's interesting how Plato will have Socrates say something really outrageous, like how in the ideal state it will be necessary to control the mating of humans, like dogs or racehorses, in order to perfect the breed, and his interlocutors will say, "But of course, Socrates", or "Undoubtedly this is true, Socrates", and they'll move calmly on; but then he'll unwind something incomprehensible like the bit about the Four Virtues and the group will spend the next forty pages arguing every aspect of it. Less boring stuff, Plato! More juicy details about infanticide and naked gymnastics, please.

Black Francis.
Mon, 19 Apr 2004

The Pixies were in town. I think I've only heard one song by the Pixies - "Wave of Mutilation" - and it didn't impress me much. They were pretty big when I was in high school. I remember some of my aspiring hipster friends proving their bona fides by claiming allegiance to the Pixies. The band broke up in the early nineties to pursue solo projects. Now they've reunited for a series of concerts taking them through western Canada and the northern U.S. Their first show in a decade was in Winnipeg last week. Then they played in Regina on Thursday and Saskatoon on Saturday.

Kurt and his friend Chris Dally had tickets to both shows. After the Regina show they came back full of stories. "I snuck backstage," Kurt said, "And I looked through the window into their dressing room, and I saw Kim and I gave her the thumbs-up! Black Francis wasn't there, though. Then this skinny guy said, 'What are you doing back here?' So I said, 'Nothing', and I left."

Saturday morning, the morning of the Saskatoon show, I went to the Broadway Café for breakfast with Kurt, Jenn & Warren, along with Stu & Sheila, who'd driven all the way from Nelson to see the Pixies. We had to wait in the doorway because the place was packed and we needed a table for seven. Jenn pretended to use telepathy to make people pay their bill sooner, so we could have a table. While she was squinching up her face and trying to look telepathic, a big chubby bald guy squeezed past us and stood in the entranceway, trying to spot an empty table. "Frank," said Kurt. The guy didn't turn around.

"That's Black Francis," Kurt semi-whispered, pointing to the bald guy. "Fuck. That's Black Francis!" The bald guy pretended not to notice that he'd been recognised. After a few seconds he went in and sat at the counter. "Fuck, that was Black Francis," said Kurt.

"Why don't you go talk to him?" Jenn said. Kurt shrugged. "I'll go talk to him," Jenn said. Kurt grunted.

When a table finally came free, the rest of us sat down and Kurt went to talk to the bald guy. He was back after a few seconds. "What did you say to him?" we asked.

"I just said, 'Charles' - that's his real name - 'I think you guys are amazing and I just wanted to shake your hand.' Then I shook his hand."

"What did he say?"

"He didn't say anything. He just kind of went, 'Mrmm'."

For the rest of breakfast, we stared at the back of Black Francis' head. When he opened up the Globe & Mail, I announced, "He's reading the Globe & Mail." Everyone turned to stare at him. He flipped to an article about the Pixies' performance in Winnipeg. "That's so weird," I said. "He's reading about himself."

"Should I go buy a disposable camera?" said Jenn.

"No, just leave him alone," said Kurt.

"It must be a pain-in-the-ass being a semi-celebrity," I hypothesised. "You're not quite famous enough that you can take advantage of your fame to push people around and get free stuff, but you're not quite anonymous enough that you can go to a cafeteria without some jerkoff spotting you and making a big deal about it."

Kurt seemed to think that everyone in the restaurant knew who he was. "The waitresses must know," he said. "They're just acting cool."

After Black Francis paid his bill and left, Kurt asked the waitress what he ordered. "Who?" she said. "That chubby bald guy in the leather jacket," said Kurt. "Who was he?" "He's the lead singer of the Pixies." "Should I know who they are?" "They were big in the late eighties, early nineties." "What did they sing?" "They never really had a top forty hit."

"Huh," she said. "I wish I'd known. I could've made a fuss over him." She went away and we never found out what Black Francis ate for breakfast.

For the rest of the day, Kurt was excited about his brush with greatness. We went to the Vinyl Exchange so Kurt could pick up the new Modest Mouse album. I browsed the old jazz LPs and decided that I'd kind of like to own a record player. Later we went to play mini-golf.

Starter troubles.
Thu, 29 Apr 2004

Kurt wrote:

I can help you change your starter if you want Michael.

Michael dreams the final episode of "Friends".
Thu, 06 May 2004

Phoebe falls for a lovable regular joe, played by special guest-star Jim Belushi.

Joey inherits a chain of barbershops run by a wacky Chinese barber.

Chandler, fleeing from violent mobsters, submits a sketch to police showing a grizzled-looking guy with a beard. But, through a wacky misunderstanding, the sketch actually shows Jim Belushi (who used to have a beard, before it was shaved off by the Chinese barber).

Due to a faulty translating machine, Ross wackily misinterprets a conversation with the Chinese barber to indicate that Rachel is getting married to another man at midnight. He races off to intercept her.

Ross and Rachel get married in a moonlight ceremony on the beach. After the wedding, they hand out frying pans full of sausages and eggs to all their guests.

My secret identity.
Fri, 14 May 2004

Yesterday as I was passing by reception, Bobbi, the cuter, younger, blonder receptionist who started working here not long ago, called out my name.

"Hey, do you know Warren Cowell?" she asked me.

"Yes," I said, puzzled. (Warren Cowell, you may recall, was the director of the first rock opera.)

"Do you ride a bicycle?" she said.

"Not ordinarily."

"Oh. I thought I saw you biking up to Warren's place the other day, but I wasn't sure."

"No, it wasn't me," I said, still puzzled. "How do you know Warren?"

"He lives downstairs from me. How do you know Warren?"

"Well," I began, mentally sighing as I awaited the inevitable blank stare, "He directed a rock opera I wrote for the Mendel Art Gallery a couple years back."

"That was you? I saw that!"

"Really?"

"I was almost in that!"

"Really?"

"I work with Warren all the time. I do costumes and set design. He told me about the show, but for some reason I couldn't do it. I think I was working or something."

"You had to be on EI in order to apply."

"Yeah, that was it. That's so weird!" Then the phone rang and we both got back to work.

Later in the hallway, Bobbi stopped me. "I'm so much more intrigued by you now!" she said.

"Weren't you intrigued by me before?"

"Well, now I'm more intrigued by you." (Translation: no.) "I thought the show was really good. All that stuff you had going on. Loved the multimedia stuff. Did you write that?"

"Yeah," I said.

"Are you working on anything new?"

"Not really."

"That's too bad. Cos you know, Warren's back now" (from teaching English in Taiwan or Korea or someplace) "and we're looking for a project."

We talked for a few more minutes, and then I think she detected that I was eager to get back to my job, so she said, "Alright, I'll talk to you later," and strode back to her desk. I spent the afternoon re-installing applications on John French's computer and reorganising the storage room.

For some reason, the whole conversation made me uneasy. Since yesterday, I've kept my head down and walked hurriedly by whenever I've had to pass reception. I can't quite explain why, but I feel like I've been outed.

Bobbi offered to help me write an application for a grant from the Saskatchewan Arts Board - she claims she's written quite a few - but I just changed the subject. Maybe if I work up the nerve to talk to her again I can overcome this irrational feeling that her knowledge of my true identity is somehow dangerous. Meanwhile, I will continue to pose as a polite, earnest, hard-working young computer nerd when I deal with the other employees at Regional Headquarters.

Michael's dream.
Thu, 24 Jun 2004

I dreamt that I was pouring myself a bowl of cereal. It was a brand I'd never tried before, full of nuts and granola and dead bugs.

For some reason, contrary to my usual practice, I poured the milk in first. Then I poured in the cereal. First the nuts and granola and then the heavier insects splashed into the bowl. Among the insects was a huge bee. It was three inches long, with a massively distended abdomen and tiny stunted wings.

I was alarmed to see that the bee was still alive. It was paddling drowsily around in the milk, as if exposure to liquid had roused it from a long hibernation. It was so large that I could hear its mandibles clicking.

I took a few steps back and set the cereal box down. I thought that if I waited, the bee would drown in the milk, and I could eat it. Instead, the bee seemed to regain strength. After a minute or so, it was sufficiently recovered to attempt to fly. It coiled its body and flung itself into the air. But it was too heavy for flight. It achieved an altitude of several feet off the counter, then fell heavily to the kitchen floor. It crawled around for a few seconds, its wings buzzing, then launched itself again. Once again it managed only a few seconds of flight before being dragged back down to earth by its swollen abdomen.

The bee attempted to fly again and again, failing each time. Meanwhile I was watching from the kitchen door, waiting for the bee to die.

Post-wedding rock-n-roll roundup.
Mon, 28 Jun 2004

Hey, Olin.

Here's what you missed. As you probably know, Jenn & Kurt initially invited the band to play at their reception. Having nothing better to do, we agreed. A few weeks later, Jenn approached me to see if I'd like to sing at the actual wedding ceremony, too. "That's very flattering," I said. "But I'd hate to wreck your wedding by dripping sarcasm all over it."

"No, no, I don't want you to sing one of your own songs," she said. "I've got some Hawksley Workman tunes I want you to sing." So I set about teaching Andrew how to play "Sweet Hallelujah" and "Safe and Sound". Meanwhile, Jenn and Kurt (mostly Jenn) were trawling the internet for a third song to play during the ceremony. Something Jesus-y, so that the priest would permit it, but not too Jesus-y, so that Kurt could stomach it. I suggested a fado, or Portuguese folk song, but I was defeated by the poor selection of Portuguese folk music at the local library. Then I had the brainstorm of translating a classic pop tune - what we now call a "standard" - into Portuguese. But Jenn couldn't decide what song she liked best, and anyway I'm not sure if Father Remi would've gone for it.

Finally, with about three weeks remaining, and all our ideas exhausted, I gave up and wrote an entirely new song, which may be what Jenn was angling for all along. The lyrics are sufficiently ambiguous that Jenn was able to convince the priest that my intent was godly. In fact, at the wedding rehearsal, he seemed to be under the delusion that we were some kind of Christian rock outfit. After Warren completed his reading from I Corinthians, Father Remi turned to us and said, "Could I get a 'Hallelujah' at this point?"

"Sorry?" I said.

"Could I get you to sing a 'Hallelujah' here?"

"I don't know what that means."

He demonstrated a 'Hallelujah' for us. "Uh, we'll work on it," I said.

After the rehearsal, when everyone else had gone, Father Remi spoke to us privately. He seemed to have caught on that we weren't Catholic, but he was still under the impression that we had a little bit of the Lord in us. "I assume your background is Scripture," he said.

"Er?" said Dean.

"Ah?" said Andrew.

"Well, actually, we're just playing the songs Jenn requested," I told him. "But we can repeat the chorus from 'Sweet Hallelujah' after Warren finishes reading."

"That will be fine," said Father Remi. He was very nice.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. The song we wrote for Jenn & Kurt is called "The ballad of J and K". The premise is, Jenn has lived a good Catholic life and gets into heaven. But Kurt, the stubborn bastard, refuses to admit that he might have made a mistake. So he's forced to stand outside St. Peter's gate, while Jenn sits inside, listening to the angels chirping and (I left this detail out of the song) the saints endlessly blathering about how goddamn wonderful God is. So Jenn watches the gate, waiting for Kurt to finally accept Jesus and join her inside. It's romantic. I rather like it.

On a visit to Calgary in May, I brought my guitar and tried the songs with Dean playing along on charrango (for "Sweet Hallelujah") and banjo (for "Safe and Sound"). Dean was nervous cos he kept accidentally bending the strings on the banjo, making horrible thwonking sounds. He wanted to do both songs on charrango. I told him to keep his mouth shut and stay in line. When Dean got to Saskatoon, three days before the wedding, he was still nervous about the thwonking banjo. But when the three of us played together, everything fit together beautifully. Even the intermittent banjo thwonks weren't that distracting.

We rehearsed the wedding songs in the evenings, and the rock-n-roll songs during the afternoons in Jenn & Kurt's basement. Everything was good, except that I lost my voice screaming Teen Wolf on the very first day. Unfortunately, "Sweet Hallelujah" had some high notes which were a strain on my voice at the best of times. On the evening before the wedding rehearsal, we ran through the acoustic songs again, with me squeaking and choking through the high bits. To help out, Andrew sang the chorus with me. "Hey, that's pretty good," I said. "Why don't you do the main melody and I'll sing a lower harmony." So we tried that, and it worked. Then Dean tried singing along. "Hey, that sounds even better."

"I don't know if I can sing it and play at the same time," he said.

"No excuses, beanpole," I said. "You're singing if you know what's good for ya." So we wound up doing a three-part harmony during the chorus of "Sweet Hallelujah".

Then came the day of the wedding. I think Jenn & Kurt were a little surprised that we didn't embarrass them, ourselves, or the priest. In fact, everyone was highly complimentary about our performance. But once again I'm getting ahead of myself.

On the afternoon before the wedding, we dragged all our rock-n-roll equipment over to the church hall to check our levels. We arranged ourselves in what seemed like a logical configuration - drums in the middle, guitar and bass amps on either side, PA speakers up front. We plugged in and played a couple verses of "Bride of Bellamy", with Andrew listening from in front of the stage.

"I can't hear the guitar and the vocals are too loud."

So we turned up the guitar and turned down the vocals. We tried again.

"I still can't hear the guitar and the vocals are still too loud."

"Now the guitar is too loud for me and I can't hear the vocals," I said. "Can we move the guitar amp to the front and turn the PA speakers toward the back?"

So we tried that. The levels were better from the audience, but now Dean and I couldn't hear the guitar at all. Dean drummed randomly, trying to take cues from my singing. It sounded like hell.

By this time, everyone was in a terrible mood. Andrew stalked around muttering under his breath. "I don't know why we're wasting our fucking time," he said. "I should just give up music." Dean, meanwhile, looked like he was about to drift into a coma. I tried to be positive. "Don't give up on me now," I yelled, as our run-through of "Teenage sex bomb" disintegrated into random drum-bashing. We moved the guitar amp nearer the drums, which seemed to improve things, but by then it was too late to salvage our spirits.

As we packed up, I asked Dean and Andrew if they really wanted to go through with this. "I'm sure Jenn & Kurt would understand if we just called it off," I said. "I'm not sure they really wanted us to play that badly in the first place."

"Ah, we've gone to all this trouble already," said Andrew. "We dragged all our shit over here. We might as well play."

"How about this, then. We were gonna do eight songs. Instead, we'll just do four. After three songs, if anyone is still paying attention, we'll keep going. If not, we'll just ram through 'Teen Wolf' and get the hell outta here."

As it happens, we did wind up playing eight songs, including "Every Rose Has Its Thorn", which wasn't originally on the set list, but it felt like we needed to throw a slow-dancing song in there. The sound was pretty crappy, but no-one really cared. We had a small but enthusiastic cluster of dancers in front of the stage, and they clapped along to "Teen Wolf" and some of them even attempted to two-step to Brian Zerff and Brian Gash.

The other song we wrote for Kurt & Jenn seemed to go over pretty well. I got everyone to sing along with the [exasperated sigh] and the "Kuu-urt!" The bride and groom seemed happy, and they left halfway through our set to go have rock-n-roll-fuelled wedding sex. Overall it was a good day for the band. We thought we might wreck both the ceremony and the reception, and we wound up doing neither. Plus, I got to hang out with Jay and his girlfriend, and Scott and Jackie, and Elmo and Anita, and all sorts of other people I never ever see any more. I wish Jenn and Kurt would get married every year.

Super-Size Me.
Mon, 19 Jul 2004

I'm not sure about this "Super-Size Me" movie. I mean, I guess it's funny, in a "Jackass" kinda way, to see a guy eat nothing but McDonald's and pack on fifty pounds in a month. But the suggestion that the stunt somehow has larger sociopolitical implications strikes me as naïve. Is there anyone out there who really thinks eating Big Macs three times a day is going to have positive consequences for one's health? Is the documentary suggesting that McDonald's should be blamed because they don't emphasise in their promotional materials that eating a steady diet of hamburgers and soft drinks might be, like, fattening? Does everything have to come with a safety label now?

On that note, I spotted this sign while I was walking by the river the other day: "Warning - runoff from storm sewers is not recommended for consumption." Thanks for the advice, City of Saskatoon! Excuse me while I go play with dirty hypodermic needles.

RE: Super-Size Me.
Wed, 21 Jul 2004

"Super Size Me". Fortunately the director, although he spends a lot of time in front of the camera, doesn't go in for bombast and grandstanding, like...well, certain other high-profile documentary film directors I will decline to name. For instance, although he tries unsuccessfully to get an interview with a representative from McDonald's, he never bursts into the head office with a bullhorn, pushing a crippled kid in a wheelchair, harassing some underpaid receptionist, and acting like the people's hero when he gets thrown out.

I still disagree with the film's premise, which is that fast-food companies are somehow to blame for the poor health of lazy North American fatsos. McDonald's provides cheap, greasy food in preposterous portions because consumers demand it. This isn't because McDonald's is evil and wants to keep our cholesterol levels high. They're only responding to consumer demand. McDonald's would be just as happy selling fresh garden salad in a light vinaigrette dressing, if us lazy fatsos wanted it.

An analogy. For years, left-wingers have been saying that the greedy executives who run Hollywood were suppressing progressive voices in film, force-feeding the public amoral fantasies of militarism, greed, and sexual cruelty. But just watch. Now that the public has demonstrated its taste for hysterical left-wing documentaries, all sorts of hysterical left-wing documentaries will soon be appearing on the menu. As long as people keep consuming them, Hollywood will keep churning them out. And I think that's just fine - as long as I can go on enjoying my amoral fantasies.

I wish "Super-Size Me" had put a bit more emphasis on personal responsibility and a bit less emphasis on cartoons of Ronald McDonald as a sinister heroin dealer. But it was funny seeing that dude eat french fries till he barfed. I still kinda want to see "Jackass"...