Thinking about comedy yesterday reminded me that while SCTV was often good, CODCO was always great.

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Interesting discussion on CBC's The Current on the intents and effects of comedy. Whether anyone on CBC radio should ever try to be funny might be a question for another time (tip: First ask yourself, "Am I from Newfoundland?") But I'm reminded of something that happened to me a while ago, when I was feeling very low and happened to catch an SCTV re-run on TV. The skit was Scenes From An Idiot's Marriage, with Martin Short channeling Jerry Lewis through a screen of Bergman's classic style. And I distinctly remember by mood shooting upwards like an elevator rising from the basement to the penthouse suite. If I ever do meet Mr. Short, I feel I owe him a drink.

(Image: cover design of The Art of Comedy, by Paul Ryan, Back stage Books, 2007.)

Adventures in Recycling

Like many St. John's residents, our household is all up for recycling. Don't mind the sorting, the shifting schedule, the odd time some passerby grabbed one of the bags, picked through to take what they wanted, and left the rest in the middle of the street. No matter, we were ready and willing to do our part. Our problem is logistics: specifically, getting our environmentally correct hands on the bags. First off, they were passed out as the collectors came around. Very handy for all. Then came a stage when you had to go to City Hall. Well, a slight inconvenience, but no major deal. Then you had to go to a depot located around the Avalon Mall. This was a problem. It wasn't on any bus routes and we have no car so that meant dialing the family's personal 911 (my mom) and getting there that way. OK. Then, some weeks ago, mom picked me up and off we went to the recyclers. We came to the site - but they had moved. No one knew where. We called city hall. They sort of knew where, and gave us directions to a spot right on the other side of town. We drove there. No sign of it. We asked people working in the nearby gas stations and strip malls. They didn't know. We drove around some more. This was starting to take as much time as driving to Gander. Called city hall again. And again. At last found someone who could pinpoint the new locale - only she was afraid they might be closed. She gave me a number. I called. They were closing, but were so moved by my sudden bout of sobbing that they promised to stay for an extra ten minutes. We finally found them and they were very nice I must say and gave us not one, not two, but three times the usual supply of bags. However they are running out now, and apparently the recycling people have moved again. No one knows where. This is not use-friendly, people!

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All hands outside! Time to fuel up on that Vitamin D.

(Image: www.topnews.)

Stone of Destiny

Caught this flick over the weekend, a nicely-scaled caper film inspired by The Taking of the Stone of Destiny by Ian R. Hamilton, QC. Good to see a heist movie that skipped the obligatory "insert film loop of empty hallway into security camera montage, thus fooling TV watching guard." I keep expecting some real night watchman to jump up in the theatre and shout, "Guys, that doesn't work! It never worked!"

(Image: www.mac/scottish-history.)

Between the storm closures and our report deadlines the office feels a bit like: (Image: ww.jpeg.)

Parent-Teacher Meetings

When my daughter was in elementary school, I spent nearly as much time in the classroom as she did. Field trips? I was there. Storybooktime? That was me behind The Polar Express. The Annual Talent Show? I still have the clipboard and the program template. Then came junior high, which passed in approximately ten minutes, and now high school, the second year of high school in fact, and it's all fallen away - no volunteering, no clue as to classmates, not even sure of the principal's name. The only remaining ritual is the Parent-Teacher Meeting, which takes place tonight. Parenting evolves like anything else, I guess. Here's one checklist to see if you're ready for the experience.

(Image: www.dkimages.com.)

Rig

I'm supposed to be polishing an essay, and I'm really really supposed to be editing the next issue of the N. Q. (about a third already filed! and we have a sweet idea for the cover!), but I can hardly stop reading Rig, Mike Heffernan's oral history of the Ocean Ranger. (The magazine ran an excerpt last summer.) Gripping, immediate, very well composed.

(Image: www.answer.com.)

Weekend Domesticity

Editing the N. Q. is, as you would expect, a whirlwind of glamour. Theatrical debuts, gallery openings and book launches highlight our datebook. Why, we're even thinking of organizing a gala (don't tell the Prime Minister). Still, there are times when even the most madcap-gal-about-town amongst us needs some downtime, and this weekend it looks like we'll go domestic all the way. Really scrub that shower. Finally launder those gym clothes. Make cookies, maybe this brown sugar cookie recipe.

(Image: www.plan59.)

I Googled "Most Beautiful Painting in the World", and here's what projected itself through cyberspace in reply. It is by Goya, called El Perro Semi-Hundido (1820): called "disturbing and undecipherable", here is another description.

(Image: www.espanolsinfronteras.com.)

It's Only Weather

And we are Newfoundlanders and Labradorians, we can take it. And it is sunny today and the wind not quite pitched to skin ya. Still, as a source of comfort, this looks like a lovely supper for a cold day.

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In Morris Panych's Earshot, the sole character confesses he dislikes public transportation, "because it's so, what's the word?...public." I don't particularly mind that part, although some passengers can be quite dynamic, what with proudly announcing their place of birth to everyone who boards, or reviewing their grocery list (white sliced bread, margarine, a pineapple) with the patient bus driver who also makes a special stop to deposit them as close as possible to Sobey's. And riding the bus is an excellent venue for catching up on your course reading - something you should never do while driving, by the way.

(Image: www.esquire.com.)

Apostrophes Imperiled

You may have noticed a few years back that when Tim Horten's was acquired by an American franchise the apostrophe was removed from the name: Tim Hortens. Well, there was some grammarian gripping at the time but now comes a real anti-apostrophe onslaught, led by, of all people, the British. More specifically, the Birmingham city council, which in a one fell swoop has slashed the apostrophes from all its street signs. They say an address like "Earl's Court" signifies possession, which is inaccurate and outdated. Bollocks, cry the pro-apostrophists, counter-charging that the city council is equating proper grammar with elitism. As the linguist battle rages we'll hope the ripples don't cross the pond to threaten our capital city's apostrophe!

(Image: onthemarkwriting.files.)

Earshot

If you're looking for a theatrical fix this weekend and you're out and about in St. John's you should catch Earshot, C2C Theatre's latest, starring the irreducible Charles Tomlinson. Showtimes are 8pm with a pywc matinee at 2pm tomorrow.

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Was lucky yesterday to catch the film that Roger Ebert hopes will win the Best Picture Oscar: Gus van Sant's biopic of Harvey Milk. Among the good things about this solid film (nuanced and spot-on performances from Sean Penn and Josh Brolin, a note-perfect soundtrack, intercut footage of the actual people and events depicted) was watching a gentle person make such an impact with his guts, smarts and sense of humour.

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A couple of years ago, I staged a one-actor play, Your Only Life, at the Halifax Fringe Festival. It was September, and downtown was filled with students from Dal and St. Mary's. I rented a room from a well known Nova Scotian actress (so cool Daniel McIvor wrote a role for her), found my way to the YWCA downtown (being a gym rat who gets nervous when she can't locate the nearest available elliptical machine), and, oh yeah, figured out where the theatre space was. As I walked up the stairs that first night, I was very lucky to meet two guys from New Zealand who were touring their improv show. There is no better way to get through the Halifax Fringe Festival than with a couple of New Zealanders - or to navigate many other situations, I imagine. Plus they'd actually heard of Newfoundland (because of Captain Cook). I was reminded of them yesterday at a Philosophy/Language lecture yesterday. Now these sessions are usually hermeneutics this and Heidigger that, blah blah, but yesterday there was also talk of something called Flight of the Conchords, and I must say they sound hilarious.

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Yesterday was Candlemas Day, which means we're halfway between the winter and spring equinoxes. (Equinoxi?)

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As the storm began to gather itself in yesterday afternoon, I hopped on the #15 bus and went to the mall to catch Slumdog Millionaire. Everything you have heard about this wonderful film is true - be warned there are some distressing, but not gratuitous, scenes - and you'll be wanting to soundtrack too I reckon.

(Image: huffingtonpost.com.)