Category: Quick and dirty

Irrational irritations and other unnecessary issues (19/1/2016)

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Bloody hell, tuesday already? Almost slipped by me. Changing work schedules have messed up what day of the week I think it is. Anyway. I wanna have a quick chat to you all about skateboarders.

Now, I have nothing against most skateboarders. I’ve known and been friends with a lot of skateboarders over the years I’ve been kicking around this planet. I have a lot of respect for a talented skateboarder, with their ollies and kick-flips and well-tuned senses of balance. Hell, I respect untalented skateboarders even more. Falling off a skateboard can be a hilarious affair for everyone else and anyone willing to still climb back onto that narrow piece of plywood (or whatever skateboards are made out of) after a plummet deserves a nod. What grinds me the wrong way, however, is people who simply must travel any distance, no matter how short, on their board. I mean, after a while it just becomes unpractical.

Case in point, a couple of nights ago I was getting off the skytrain (still the most pretentious name for a public transport system around) and there was this kid who got off at the same station, from the same carriage, using the same door as me. A kid with a skateboard. A kid who promptly dropped his skateboard to the ground and rolled on it over to the stairs down to the street, a distance of roughly three metres. No, really, three metres, maybe three and a half, at a painfully slow pace made slower by the fifteen or so people who’d climbed off the train with us and were also converging on the stairs. I was halfway down the stairs by the time the kid managed to pick up his board and start his own descent. And I couldn’t help but think, “why didn’t you just fuckin’ walk it?”

And I get that if you love doing something you want to do it whenever humanly possible, but that doesn’t necessarily mean you should. You don’t see cyclists riding their bikes up and down the platforms (well, I did once, but he more just stood on one of the side pedals and pushed). Just because someone can parkour their way down the side of the building doesn’t mean that they don’t occasionally use the stairs. And sometimes just because you’ve got your skateboard handy doesn’t mean you have to use it. Fucking walk it.

And with that, I’ll take my leave. Have a good week everyone.

Reviewing the Old School: Labyrinth (1986)

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There was this moment on Tuesday when I actually managed to be in the kitchen at the same time as a bunch of my housemates. Odd working hours, a fucked up sleeping and eating schedule and a propensity on my days off to eat out for meals that aren’t breakfast make this a rarer occurrence than it is for a lot of other people I know. But there we were, chatting in the kitchen while waiting for our turn to use the kitchen-top/stove/table. Inevitably, the conversation turned to David Bowie’s very recent, very unfortunate passing. We talked about the music. And we talked about the movies. He had an impressive number of roles, but the one that I think best covers what David Bowie was and remains to many is Labyrinth.

“Of course,” said my French housemate after a moment of what I can only assume were internal translations, “it’s a classic.”

And, rewatching it again with her yesterday evening, I can’t help but agree.

Released in 1986 it tells the story of Sarah, played by Jennifer Connelly, whose brother Toby, played by Toby Froud (who actually now apparently works in creature effects and design), is kidnapped by Jareth the Goblin King, played by none other than Ziggy Stardust himself. She’s then given thirteen hours to solve the titular Labyrinth or lose her brother forever (as he will be turned into a goblin himself, and they just have the worst manners).

This is one of those films that, in my occasionally humble opinion, just ticks so many of the right boxes. The creature designs are as clever and hilarious as everything done by Jim Henson era Jim Henson Company (and again, directed by the man himself), but still maintain a level of nightmare fuel that means they still feel like a threat to our intrepid heroes. The set designs are whimsical but surreal, always familiar but always something else. Something other. The characters are fantastic. The self-aware coward Hoggle who finds courage through friendship, the yeti(?) Ludo who commands the stones themselves, Sir Didymus and his frightened mount. David Bowie just rocking it as the Goblin King. Camp enough to pull off what was a bizarre hairdo even in the eighties, but with genuine sex-appeal and enough gravitas to be menacing. Playing a character like Jareth is such typical Bowie, with his many stage names and changing personalities, and he does it so well.

I feel like the best character, though one easily lost in the background of colourful and unique characters is Sarah. She immediately regrets her wish when the Goblin King steals her little brother, but doesn’t spend any time moping. She sees the Labyrinth and simply goes, “well, better get started then.” She’s kind, but not to a fault. Clever, imaginative and has a great deal of common sense. She starts the film an aggrieved teenager (one that the audience can see has no real reason to feel aggrieved), like all teenagers, obsessed with the childish things from a perceived better age. By the end of the film, she’s grown up and moved on, with a clearer view of life and fairness (or that a lack thereof is inevitable but not insurmountable). She also realises that becoming a grownup doesn’t mean giving up all her childish things and ways. There are some things you must do alone (like, y’know…), but not everything. It’s a coming of age story, but a far more subtle one than you see in a lot of coming of age stories these days (especially the ones meant for young women with their “THIS SOCIETY IS A METAPHOR FOR HIGH SCHOOL AND THE PROTAGONIST IS SPECIAL AND UNIQUE JUST LIKE YOU” messages being about subtle as a steel-cap boot to the crotch). Sarah neither starts or ends the film perfect, but she better than what she was by the final scene.

And lastly, but definitely not leastly, there’s the music. Good god there’s the music. I don’t talk about music very often in these posts, that’s something I’m trying to fix because it’s so often a vital part of what makes films so great, even if they’re not musicals like this. The score of the film is atmospheric and dark, punctuated by songs that are wonderfully bright. And it is the bright songs that stay in your head after the film is over, and sit there, bouncing up and down excitedly. Songs like Chilly Down and Magic Dance. The soundtrack is fantastic, but it is those songs that stick with you (and play through the ending and credits), a conscious choice I expect. Just, listen. It’s great.

It’s a classic film, a combination of talents that resulted in something that can be watched and enjoyed by everyone even thirty years on. Give it a watch.

Reviewing the old school: The Mummy (1999)

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The first of two ‘Reviewing the old school’ posts this week, since I skipped the one before New Year.

One of the first questions that occurred to me when I sat down to write this was “do they make movies like this anymore?” Short answer is “yes” with a “but.” Long answer is the same except with a more drawn out “but.” Like a “but” that takes seven syllables to say.

I watched this movie so many times when I was a kid, alongside its sequel The Mummy Returns (which will eventually get its own review). For good reason. It’s an incredibly fun film and at the time I was too young to be concerned with little things like “cultural appropriation” and “white-washed casts” (now I’m too nostalgic to be overly concerned, if I’m being honest, and this film isn’t even close to the worst example. It is an example though, and that is always worth a mention). The story is largely what you’d expect it to be. High Priest has sex with Pharaoh’s mistress. High Priest murders Pharaoh. High Priest is turned into mummy. Three thousand years later he’s accidently brought back to life by a librarian, her brother and bodyguard/guide. He then proceeds to eat a bunch of cowboys, ’cause a half-dozen or so of the ten plagues of Egypt and kidnap the Librarian to bring back his dead girlfriend (the above mentioned Pharaoh’s mistress). Hijinks ensue.

The CGI and special effects hold up remarkably well considering that the age of the film. Most of the time when we actually see the titular mummy it’s at night, in the dark, hiding the worst of it. The instances where the mummy sucks out the cowboys soul juices occur off screen. We see the shadow against the wall, zoom in on a minions cringing face, hear a scream and the mummy’s roar, then get to see the practical effects results. Even the larger CGI set-pieces use practical effects and good common sense to great effect. A moment at the end has a computer generated sandstorm chasing a real-life biplane. A fight against the also-mummified priests of Imhotep (the mortal name of the immortal mummy) and reawakened warriors involves plenty of computer-animated characters leaping all over the place and crawling across the ceilings, but also some excellent costuming, simple animatronics and stuntwork. The result is a film that never takes you out of the moment, even at its most glaringly fakest.

What makes this ‘undead-boy meets girl and tries to sacrifice her to ancient gods’ tale so compelling is really the characters. Rachel Weisz is fantastic as Evy, the proud librarian who finds her self-confidence and saves the day at least twice by being the smartest, most educated person in the room. Brendan Fraser plays an excellent world-weary tough-guy in Rick O’Connell, with enough sarcasm to come off as witty but not so much that cynicism becomes his defining trait. John Hannah as Jonathan (Evy’s brother) again plays a well balanced character. As the good guys ongoing comic relief character, he’s a lying, cheating, thieving coward. He’s also loyal, quick-thinking, smart and obviously cares deeply for his sister (needing assurances from O’Connell that they’d rescue a recently captured Evy before escaping from a mob into the sewers). Oded Fehr, despite playing a Berber stereotype, does it with a great deal of gravitas and sincerity (he has a fantastically dramatic voice), but there’s also a moment when he’s strapped to the wing of an airplane grinning like a schoolboy. And you don’t doubt that grin for a moment, you don’t doubt that despite the danger he’s someone doing something incredibly, exhilaratingly novel and enjoying every second of it. On the other side of things Kevin J. O’Connor as the greedy, survive-at-the-expense-of-everyone-around-you Beni is easy enough to dislike, but you still sorta hope he makes it out at the end of the film.

The only character who didn’t work in my opinion was the villain, Imhotep, the titular mummy, played by Arnold Vosloo. I don’t know why. Nothing against Vosloo, he was competent enough, but I just never found him all that intimidating when he was in his human form. Might’ve been because costuming had him running around in just his budgie smugglers and a bathrobe for a lot of it. Hard to take a guy seriously when he looks like he’s just coming back from reading by the hotel pool.

Even the minor characters are great and memorable. The Americans have little to do aside from become fodder for the raging mummy and not a huge amount of screentime, but they’re each distinct and memorable. Erick Avari as Dr. Bey get’s only a few minutes and just a little bit of dialogue, but they’re good minutes and he receives an epic end. Bernard Fox plays an epically named, alcoholic Royal Air Force pilot who goes faces death with a maniacal laugh. Omid Djalili plays one of his more intentionally irritating characters, but doesn’t last long enough in the film to be a mark against it, showing a great deal of restraint by the writers and directors who could very well have decided they needed even more comedy relief. Enough time to be funny, not enough to become baggage.

So yeah, great film. Would recommend you watch.

And on that note, I want to segue back to the question I asked (and answered) at the beginning. Do they still make movies like this anymore? Fun action-adventures driven less by plot than by memorable characters and witty banter. Seems like these films hit their peak at the turn of the century then sorta died out (following a similar trajectory to Jackie Chan’s presence in Western films). But yeah, they do. The Pirates of the Caribbean franchise is still going strong. Thing is, the last PoC was pretty lousy, the next PoC is probably gonna be worse and of the original trilogy it’s only the first that’s really remembered fondly. Keeping with Johnny Depp vehicles, Alice in Wonderland and The Lone Ranger were both pretty terrible in their own ways. Prince of Persia was an attempt that was, ultimately, not memorable at all. A lot of G-rated stuff, I guess, but even then. Seems like a lot of the films that should be taking a similar tone to The Mummy are instead taking themselves way too seriously. And the ones that aren’t are made by people like Adam Sandler.

I guess you could look at the harder stuff. You could make the argument that Quentin Tarantino’s making some great action-adventures with memorable characters and snappy banter, but there’s a whole lot more violence and swearing. I got no fucking problem with that, but I’m disinclined to let kids I’m with watch Django Unchained ’til they’re old enough to understand what ‘revenge fantasy’ means.

Animation still scratches the itch, I guess. And now that I think about it, the superhero films (the MCU ones, not the DC/Warner Bros ones… yet) probably fit the bill pretty well. But still, it’s different. Y’know what? This requires more thought. I think this needs a post all its own. I’ll get back to you.

In the meantime watch The Mummy. It’s a fun film, good action, great characters. An easy way to kill an hour and half.

Irrational irritations and other unnecessary issues (5/1/2016)

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Happy New Year everyone! And welcome to 2016. Hopefully it’ll be better than 2015. Well, I had a decent year last year (the excitement of moving to another country and all that) but it seems that much of the world seemed to have a pretty shitty time of it, with the terrorist attacks and police shootings and Donald Trump and more than a couple of natural disasters and endless civil war and all the places failing to handle the refugee crisis (Australia included, but I’m looking at you large swathes of Europe. Germany’s cool though). Others had a decent year as well. Change of leadership in Canada seems to spelling good things, everyone around here seems pretty excited. Change of leadership back in Oz as well (the lion got the boot and the tin man took over). Change of leadership in Myanmar. But regardless we should always hope that tomorrow is an improvement over today. ‘Cause that is progress and we don’t want to stop progressing no matter how great things are.

Anyway, NYE has come and gone and there’s plenty to get irritated and outraged about (unnecessarily of course). Like all the end of year “best of…” lists. And “worst of…” lists. And “I think I’m creative so I’m still gonna make a list but I’m gonna give it a stupid theme, ‘cause that’ll be hil-ar-i-ous!” lists. Or people talking up their New Years Resolutions. Or other people talking down New Years Resolutions in general ‘cause they aren’t into that conformist bullshit, man. What’s really getting to me this year has been the number of Facebook and Instagram posts talking about how this year is going to be all about themselves.

It’s the weirdest fucking thing. Like, they’re posting these pseudo-profound sounding statements and e-cards with “I am going to invest in myself” and “It will all be about improving myself” with the odd hint of “in loving myself more I will be able to love others better” on a few rare occasions. That last one’s got the air of “so I’m not going to be a completely selfish bastard.” Because that’s what a lot of these posts seem to be implying. That they’re going to be selfish bastards this year who only give a fuck about their own improvement and well-being.

Here’s the thing though, I know these people aren’t. I wouldn’t be friends with them if they were. Christ, who would? I mean, it’s something I saw a lot of in the tail end of 2015, posts on Facebook and Tumblr telling people to worry about themselves first and other people second. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing considering the number of anxious and generally-in-a-bad-situation people there are who need the boost to their confidence and self-esteem. Funny thing is a lot of those people making those posts are the types who very obviously care about the confidence, self-esteem and mental well-being of others. Certain irony to that, yeah? What’s more, saying that you’re going to take the time to work on your own physical and mental health is great, people need to do that regardless of what time of the year it is.

But please, for the love of all that’s holy, don’t do this by bragging about what a self-centred arse you’re planning on being. ‘Cause I know you’re not a self-centred arse, but others might not.

Irrational irritations and another unnecessary issues (22/12/15)

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Christ, it’s almost Christmas. Doesn’t really feel like it, if I’m to be perfectly honest. None of the usual stuff I’m used to on the other side of the world. It’s cold instead of hot. People are starting to talk about the upcoming Superbowl instead of the Boxing Day Test. Everybody’s eating Turkey, instead of chops, snags, seafood and all the other things that you toss on a barbecue. Everyone seems a lot more concerned about what Jesus would and would not approve of. I kinda feel like he wouldn’t approve of the narrow-minded view most of those people seem to think he’d have. Then again I come from a culture with a different perspective on the holiday.

Might actually snow on Christmas day. I’ve never had a white Christmas. That’d be pretty cool. Something that’s the same on this side of the ocean as it is on the other?

Christmas crowds. Fuckin’ nightmares, aye? I think the problem is that what happens around Christmas is you have thousands of people who don’t normally leave the house, or their very small circle of safe and comfortable spaces, suddenly forced to join the rest of society. And they just don’t have a bloody clue what they’re doing. It’s like how weekend rush hours are always so much difficult and frustrating than weekday rush hours, ’cause so many of the drivers only drive on saturdays and sundays so at the very least don’t have the etiquette down. And like weekend drivers, many Christmas shoppers cause unnecessary delays, slow down traffic and create bottlenecks.

Working hospitality you see a bit of it, and more. Lot of people are attending Christmas, holiday and end-of-year parties that don’t go out a whole lot. They aren’t used to not being dickheads towards staff, not understanding how bars and restaurants work and not understanding how to tip properly. I haven’t had to deal with it much but a lot of people I know have. And it’s annoying to hear. Because a lot of this shit should be common knowledge, but apparently isn’t. Ehhh. That’s life.

Anyway, that’s all I wanted to mention today. ‘Cause it’s the holidays and I’m feeling lazy. So I’ll be finishing by saying that if you’re joining a Christmas crowd and you aren’t quite sure what you’re doing, look for people who do and try and copy them. Might make life for the rest of us a little easier, so is worth a try. Do it for Jesus.

Anyway, happy Christmas or whichever holiday you happen to celebrate. The Hindu festival of Holi kicked off recently, and looks just beautiful. If you aren’t celebrating a particular holiday, have a great time anyway. Talk soon.

Reviewing the old school: Die Hard (1988)

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So I wanted to do a Christmas movie this week since, y’know, Christmas. Took me a little while to decide which one, since there are quite a few of them (many of them actually pretty shit). Then I remembered I hadn’t watched the original Die Hard in a while, and the choice was made. I procured a copy, ordered a curry and sat back to watch what remains one of my favourite action movies ever.

Released in 1988, the film stars Bruce Willis as John MccLane, an NYPD cop visiting his estranged wife at her work Christmas party (in an incomplete skyscraper in Los Angeles). Then a bunch of mostly European thieves masquerading as terrorists take all the party guests hostage. Hijinks ensue.

But you should already know all this, because you should have already seen this movie by now. In all honesty this should be on that 1001 Movies to See Before You Die list if it isn’t already. It’s a classic action film that holds together incredibly well nearly three decades later (holy shit Die Hard turned 27 this year). The fight scenes are appropriately brutal, the set pieces are spectacular and the coincidences never feel as contrived as they do in a lot of other films (including, if I’m being honest, Die Hard 2). The music, as well, is fantastic. It’s something I hadn’t really paid much attention to until I rewatched it this week, but it manages to add tension in the necessary scenes and avoids the unnecessary synth-rock that’s left the soundtracks to so many other movies from the 80s so dated. Best of all it manages to keeps a Christmas theme going throughout the film.

It’s little stuff like that which makes this movie so much fun and the it never treats the audience like an idiot. It talks through particular scenes without feeling like it’s spoon-feeding us through Bruce Willis’ conversations with the Hans Gruber (the villain), Al Powell (his lifeline on the outside) and himself (you’re only crazy if there’s someone around to hear you). It also has a surprisingly high opinion of intelligent characters. John MccLane is not an idiot. He’s good at improvising and working through problems. Alan Rickman’s Hans Gruber is witty and charming, very capable of getting his hands dirty, able to think clearly, rationally and keep an eye on the prize throughout. Idiotic behaviour, however, usually results in the death of that idiot, as we see with Ellis and the FBI agents Johnson and Johnson (no relation). Going in guns blazing doesn’t work, and I wish more action movies would take this lesson to heart.

There are flaws, of course. Holly Gennaro, played by Bonnie Bedelia, has little to do aside from being someone for John MccLane to save. Reginald VelJohnson’s character Sergeant Al Powell tells a story about shooting an unarmed 13 year old boy, meant to garner sympathy for the cops, comes off a little sour given recent events (and probably should have given contemporary events as well). Some guns never seem to run out of bullets until it suddenly ‘matters’. The territorial police commissioner trope, furious about property damage and glass, is a little overdone. As is the henchman who just will not fucking die.

But it’s easy to overlook these flaws. Especially ’cause this movie gave us Alan Rickman. I mean, yeah, Bruce Willis was also a fairly fresh face known for his TV and commercial work propelled to Hollywood fame by this film, but he didn’t play Severus fucking Snape in the Harry Potter films. Without Die Hard Rickman may have remained a relative or complete unknown. And that would have been tragic.

So, yeah, watch this film if you haven’t already. But I expect just about everyone likely to read this already has, so, watch it again I guess? Yeah, watch it again.

Have a Happy Christmas (or Chanukah or Winter Solstice or just a grand public holiday for the many people who don’t celebrate it). Let’s see if I can think of a good New Year movie for next time.

Irrational irritations and other unnecessary issues (8/12/2015)

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So it’s December in Vancouver (and the rest of the world that uses the Gregorian Calendar for that matter) and apparently that means rain. Quite a bit of it in fact. Funnily enough I’d be willing to make the claim that it’s a bit similar in Australia, except the rain would be part of a tropical storm in the worst cases and a spectacular thunderstorm after a scorcher of a day in the best. Vancouver doesn’t seem to get thunderstorms. I miss them quite a lot. Ah well, not here to talk about thunderstorms. No, umbrellas are the topic today.

More accurately people who use umbrellas but have the spacial awareness of a three year old driving a ute (pick-up truck for my non-Aussie readers). Y’know, the kind of people who just don’t seem to give a shit exactly where they’re swinging their temporary shelters, and the potentially eye-taking spikes that hold the whole thing together, making you wish they handed out goggles (“they do nothing”) whenever you left cover and turning a walk down the street into a Matrix scene where you’re performing amazing contortions in order to avoid these people’s twirling hexagons of doom. In slow motion of course.

And getting past these people is no easy feat. Unsurprisingly the kind people who have no idea where their umbrellas are swinging are also the kind of people who have two speeds: so slow they couldn’t even get next door in any time-frame that could be referred to as “soon”; and stationary. So staying behind them is never an option for us busy, go-getting millennials. But try and overtake them at your peril, because they always seem to choose the moment you’re right beside them to suddenly veer towards you while laughing raucously, sending the sharpest point of the six or seven they’re carrying into your unprotected ear. Your poor, soft, fragile ear. The bastards.

And don’t expect it to be any safer when their umbrellas are down. No, that simply means there’s more power behind their thrust and swing. If it’s a long umbrella, probably gives them more reach as well. And since they’re not limited by the need to keep the thin synthetic membrane stretched across four to nine spears between them and the rain, they have much more freedom to include their umbrella in grand expressive movements that are a danger to everyone within two metres. No, you’re never safe from these people, not as long as they’re permitted to carry such deadly instruments.

Now, I know these aren’t bad people. Simply unaware. And some people have a valid excuse, they’re tired or sick or thought they were in fact carrying rather large novelty candy canes. But please, when you’ve got your umbrella up this season try and be a bit more aware of the people around you. Try not to stab anyone in their poor, fragile ears.

Irrational irritations and other unnecessary issues (24/11/15)

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Evening all. Or afternoon. Or morning. Whatever time I post this/you read this. How we all doing? Bloody cold over here. Really bloody cold. Not as cold as a lot of other places in Canada, but still lower than what I’m used to.

So, something I’ve noticed as more and more people are wearing hats to stave off the cold, is the number of people who don’t take them off. Fedora, snapback, tuke (that’s “beanie” in Canadia, aren’t they kookie?), stetson, flatcap, whatever. People wearing hats will enter a restaurant, a bar, someone’s home, a police station, whatever, sit down at a dinner table, bar top, warm rug in front of the fire, interrogation table, whatever, and not remove whatever headgear they happen to be wearing. And this annoys me.

Like, when did this stop being impolite? Was this ever impolite? I was always taught that it was impolite to wear your hat at any indoor table. You sit down, you pull it off. Shit, you go indoors you pull it off. Sign of respect and all that. I’m not sure exactly why, probably something Biblically related (I wonder if a monk’s tonsure runs in the same vein) or to show weakness. “I have pulled off my helmet because I trust that you will not bash my skull in while we are having tea” or something. Maybe it was an insult if you left your hat on, like saying “you can’t even heat your fucking castle properly so I have to keep my hat on, you pathetic excuse for a host. And the tea fucking sucked! I asked for Earl Grey, not Green! That is a completely different type of tea!” I really should search for the origins of taking your hat off indoors. Point is though that I was taught that if you aren’t eating or drinking or discussing the political ramifications of whether or not Her Majesty’s heirs are tea or coffee drinkers over a beer outside, in the blazing Australian sun (that’s about to turn into a blazing Australian thunderstorm), then you take off your goddamn hat. Allowances are also made for when you’ve been skiing for hours and it’s almost as cold inside as out.

But people don’t do that. They leave their hats on. At first I thought to myself that this was a Canadian thing. But then I trawled through my memories and realised that, no, I’ve known plenty of Aussies and others who left their hats on when they shouldn’t have. I’ve just noticed it more often now that I’m working in an industry where I see dozens of people sitting down to eat a day. And I’ve realised that people don’t take their hats off.

Maybe I was just taught wrong. Maybe I’m a focusing to hard on an Anglo-Judeo-Christian perspective on manners. But you know what, I’m still gonna pull my fucking hat off. Because it’s polite. Am I fuckin’ right, or am I fuckin’ right?

Irrational irritations and other unnecessary issues (10/11/2015)

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God I’m sick of hockey. A bit surprised I’m saying that. But I am. I’m sick of hockey. It feels good to say that, and I’ve been saying it a lot. Funnily enough, I’ve found a lot of Canadians (the maddest of the hockey-mad) actually agree with me on this.

Why am I sick of hockey? Why are we sick of hockey? Because it is on all. The fucking. Time. I mean seriously, even in the off-season Canadian sports news is dominated by the hockey. They talk about the upcoming draft season, changes to coaches and managers, replay “classic” games and, going by one muted exchange I tried to interpret while having a beer at a bar in Gastown, what brand of underwear one particularly bearded player wore beneath his uniform (it was an unusual sequence of images). Then there’s the draft, and that’s all anyone gives a shit about for a couple of weeks (especially as far too many people for my liking begin to construct fantasy teams). Then there’s the pre-season, which is where a bunch of the new players try to prove themselves by playing extra hard while the old players try to avoid injury by playing extra carefully. Then the season proper starts, which is about a month old about now, and that’ll go until the Stanley cup finals in, like, fucking May.

It goes from the middle of autumn to the beginning of summer. Then you get maybe two months where they’re just talking about the upcoming season and replaying old games and greatest hits, then the draft begins again.

The thing that gets me though, the thing that really gets me, is just how many games are on. Seriously, check out the NHL schedule for the regular season. There is a game, usually more than one, sometimes more than a half dozen, every fucking day except for a couple around Christmas and the like.

I was out the other night, having a drink at one of my usual spots. And the hockey was on, a couple of knots of people watching as the Canucks were being beaten by a team called the Penguins (I can’t help but feel like naming a team playing an exclusively Northern Hemisphere sport after an exclusively Southern Hemisphere type of bird is a little ridiculous). I asked the bartender if it’d cause a riot to change one of the TVs over to the cricket (Australia was spanking New Zealand in the first test at the time). She nodded seriously and said “probably.”

The game cut to commercial, then cut back with one of those… infographics I think they’re called? Just graphics? Anyway, bright red letters flew across the screen proclaiming “WEDNESDAY NIGHT HOCKEY” and I just began to crack up. Do they do that for every game? There was hockey on Tuesday, there’d be hockey on Sunday, there’d be hockey on Thursday, there’s hockey on every day. Did the person in charge of the graphics ever get it wrong? Did they ever forget to change it or had “[Insert weekday here] NIGHT HOCKEY” flashed up on people’s televisions by accident? So many questions, none of them I have any interest in learning the answers to.

Now I understand sports fandom. I’m an Aussie. We get it. And I’d guess that other countries have just as much of a problem with football (soccer). Shit, I’ve known a few people to care just a little too much about the Rugby League or AFL. But even the most diehard Rabbitohs fans would start to get bored if their team was playing every two or three days. Yes, even Russell Crowe. There’s just such an oversaturation of hockey that it’s become boring.

So yeah, I’m sick of hockey. And that’s a shame because, while I never developed any emotional investment in who wins or loses, I enjoyed watching the barely controlled chaos and violence.

And, hell, maybe if they actually paid proper attention to some other sports they might be able to field a decent rugby team.

Irrational irritations and other unnecessary issues (27/10/2015)

On By longandshortofitallIn Quick and dirty, Random but worthyLeave a comment

G’afternoon everyone. Getting right into today’s topic I’d like to talk about bagels. I bloody love bagels, those dense doughnut-shaped buns that form part of a balanced breakfast for millions of people everyday. Wonderful things. My basic breakfast consists of eggs, cheese, tabasco sauce and, of course, a bagel. But that’s really only since I moved to North America.

They’re not a huge thing in Australia. I mean, they’re around, you can definitely buy them. It wouldn’t be that hard to find a cafe that sells breakfast bagels filled with ham and cheese or other time-of-day appropriate fillings. But they’re not common like they are up here in Canada and the USA. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, of course. I haven’t seen the kind of variety in Canadian breads that I’d expect in an Australian bakery or supermarket. Like I don’t see focaccia or pita or Lebanese bread (fuck I miss really good Lebanese bread). And you’re probably more likely to find crumpets or (ahem) ‘English’ muffins on an Aussie table. But we don’t have a lot of bagels back home. And bagels are awesome. I just ate one before coming here to write this. It was delicious.

I guess what I’m trying to get at is that when I go home, eventually, in like a year or something, I’m gonna have to find a new source of bagels. They’ve been one of the best parts of moving to Canada, and I don’t think I’ll be able to give them up. Complain as I might about North American domestic beers and the lack of good Thai and Indian restaurants around, well, I can’t complain about their bread choices. Because bagels are amazing. Think I might go eat another in a moment.

So not so much an irritation today (though it might turn into that if I travel somewhere else and there aren’t any bagels), but that’s why we have the other part of the title. Tried to think of something Halloween related to talk about (I carved a pumpkin last night!) but couldn’t. So just think about how terrifying a world without bagels would be.

I fucking love bagels.