Skipping House Tonight

I started to write this entry this morning at 8:04 A.M. I know the exact time because the fetal alcohol teen from up the hall starts screaming at that exact time each day. I can pretty well track his progress of having breakfast, dressing, Lunar Jim, then he walks down the hallway, banging his head against the wall every 2.5 seconds on his way to the short bus. I wish I could keep a regular schedule.

Anyway, Carl went out and bought a new VCR/DVD player for the apartment. I almost kissed my sister's Brazillian. I'm going to tape shows from now on and watch them at my leisure. Hello 20th Century!

My sister Stella's been whining and limping around the house lately; a visit to the doctor revealed she has an "infarction" whatever that is and how you get it, I don't know.

She and Carl were supposed to start school today but apparently her pain and his lack of initiative prevented them from going. So they lounged around, all day watching a four DVD special package of Mexican cartoons they bought at Wal-Mart.

My friend Wendall came over and, as we played computer monopoly in the bedroom, he told me about another friend who was involved in a charity called Performing Arts Lodge. Apparently its an old age home for actors. They had a fundraiser and tried to get donations from the local production community.

Now when I was involved in the community, here and elsewhere, (ed. old fart alert!) the community was pretty tight and we helped each other out all the time. (You need a sound guy for a day? I've done sound. I've got 20 feet of film leftover if you want it, that kind of thing.) But that appears to have gone by the wayside.

They tried to get the Halifax Film Company to donate, but apparently on none of their telephones can they dial out to return calls and their e-mail system does not include a "reply" button.

I remember when I was a member of the Atlantic Filmmakers co-op it became a running gag trying to get Salter Street Films (Michael Donovan's first company) to donate services, guidance, money, day old muffins. They were just too busy spending their LFP/CTF, NSFDC money (that's taxpayer money, folks). It was just too taxing to have to deal with "filmmakers" and their ilk.

(Though I do remember crashing one of Salter Street's Christmas parties. Rick Mercer made me a cosmopolitan which is still MY drink. Really all-round nice guy. But I ate so much shrimp, puked in Bill Niven's office. That guy's a class act. I knew he was pissed but he was still gracious. Not so much, and understandably so, after I puked again over his new Christmas sweater. You can never get the essence of regurgitated shrimp out of wool.)

Now I give Michael Donovan credit, he did win an oscar and he was one of the first, if not the first, to get the tv and film industry up and running from nothing in this province. But let's set up some scholarships, mentorships or something to encourage young talent. "Let my people go!" (ed. Totally inappropriate quote.)

Enough about that (ed. stop talking about people who have worked hard and forgotten to give back to the community that gave them so much.)

As you can see, I now have an editor to try and keep me on track with this blog. Fair enough...Wendall!

I haven't watched much Canadian TV since Saturday (actually I did watch a clip of 22 Minutes from their website and it was pretty good. This new guy Gavin Crawford is pretty funny. But I couldn't find any clips of Greg Thomey. Where is he? This part is way too long for brackets.) but I'll try this week.

Meanwhile my interest in Mexican cartoons has wained. They all seem to be about wrestling. So I'm just looking out the window to collect my thoughts. (ed. you would need a tiny little bucket.)

As I look at the bus stop across the street I can't help but think that after a certain age and/or poundage women should not wear those low riser jeans. And no man should ever wear them

Also, white people should never, ever have dreadlocks. I know you feel cool but you really just look stupid. (and I know that girl from 10, but she had more than cornrows to look at.)