Donald Trump Makes Classic Movies Come to Life!

(Reposted from an article I wrote for QuietMike.org from May 3, 2016)

I’m a fan of old movies. They used to be a way to escape daily living for a couple of hours. No matter what genre, from comedy to drama to mysteries and even musicals, you could immerse yourself in the celluloid world and forget your cares and worries. But now those old movies are coming to life in a scary way and we have Donald Trump to thank for it.

As someone who lives in Canada, I don’t have a horse in the political race, but I can’t help but watch from the outside at the bizarre circus that is the current Republican primary campaign. It doesn’t make a difference whether you’re a liberal or conservative, Democrat or Republican, these are just odd times. And it reminds me of two of my favorite films, Meet John Doe and The Music Man.

Meet John Doe is a classic Frank Capra comedy drama from 1941. It stars Gary Cooper and Barbara Stanwyck. Stanwyck plays a newspaper columnist on the verge of losing her job. She must come up with a catchy story that will save her career so she decides to create one about a fictional unemployed man who is going to commit suicide on Christmas Eve as a protest against all that is wrong in 1940’s America. She writes the story, which becomes a hit, but since it’s fake, they have to come up with this fictional John Doe (for the purposes of this story, let’s call him Donald Trump).

In walks Gary Cooper, a down-on-his luck former baseball player who is roped into this idea of being the man of the people. It’s an interesting premise. The only problem is, somewhere along the way John Doe begins to believe what has been created for him as his popularity soars. Sound familiar?

There are those who believe Donald Trump never really thought he was going to be the Republican nominee when he descended down that escalator last June. I mean, who could take his rhetoric seriously? He promised to build a wall thousands of miles long across the southern border with Mexico. He called Mexicans rapists and murderers. And he constantly touted his resume like a carnival barker. This couldn’t be for real?

But here we are almost a year later with many educated people on both sides of the aisle sweating profusely and wondering how the country got to this point where a guy who insults everybody, talks about his manhood in televised debates, and is so thin-skinned that he is single-handedly blowing up Twitter with his venomous bullying, seems to have wrestled control of The Grand Old Party away traditional conservatives and even Tea Partiers.

Is it possible that, like John Doe, Trump just got in way over his head and he’s starting to believe the hype from the unwashed masses that swallow his unfiltered verbiage? Like the Cooper character is he just a simple bumpkin who, by tapping into the psyche of the common man, now believes the hype will take him to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue?

Or is it more Machiavellian? Instead of Meet John Doe, perhaps we’re talking expert conman here, like Professor Harold Hill in The Music Man. That 1962 musical film based on a Broadway show follows the story of a travelling salesman, played by Robert Preston, who worms his way into the hearts of a small town in Iowa, convincing the townsfolk that underneath the idyllic world they call home is a den of sin that will hypnotize and take over their children, leading them astray. The only way that sin could be stopped is by starting a marching band, complete with expensive instruments and uniforms; items that Professor Hill himself is more than willing to sell them.

Hill warns of problems that aren’t there. Oh yes we have trouble, right here in River City, with a capital “T” and that rhymes with “P” and that stands for “Pool” (apparently billiards is the gateway to depravity).

Like Hill, Donald Trump sees problems where there aren’t any. U.S. census figures show more Mexicans are leaving America then are coming into the country. In the five year period between 2009 and 2014 the net loss was 140,000 more Mexicans heading south. So why do we need that wall again?

The repetitive nature of a Trump stump speech is lots on bluster, but little on facts. He’s an amazing businessman so he’ll fix the economy faster than humanly possible. He’s an amazing negotiator so he’ll make better deals with allies and foes alike. He’ll rebuild the military and defeat ISIS. But how will he do it? He never says. It might as well be with 76 trombones leading a great parade and 110 cornets close at hand.

While I can easily get lost in an old classic film, I know the difference between fiction and reality. What I’m worried about is neither Donald Trump nor his growing army of staunch supporters can separate the real world from fantasy. Trump’s race to The White House is not only a movie the world doesn’t want to see; it’s a film that shouldn’t ever get made.

Elizabeth Forever – Long To Reign Over Us

Growing up in a Commonwealth country, it was customary in grade school to rise every morning, turn to a portrait very similar to this one, and beg to the Almighty that this woman not only be spared, but live an extraordinarily long time at the top of her game. It’s amazing the power of suggestion coming out of the mouths of babes. For here we are, decades later, and Elizabeth Alexandra Mary, of the house of Windsor, is still going strong as Queen Elizabeth II.

This has been quite a year for her. She once again became a great-grandmother, after the birth of Princess Charlotte Elizabeth Diana on May 2nd. If you’re tallying up offspring, The Queen has four children, four grandchildren and five great-grandchildren. With the addition of Charlotte, who’s now fourth in line to the throne (bumping Prince Harry down to fifth) future succession to the monarchy is quite secure. Not that she really needs them.

On September 9, 2015, Her Majesty will do something few had thought possible when she first ascended to The Throne many years ago on February 6, 1952. She will become the longest reigning British monarch, surpassing her own great-great-grandmother, Queen Victoria, who occupied that lofty position for 63 years and seven months (or for those of you who are really anal, 23,226 days, 16 hours and 23 minutes).

Now, some nitpickers might question that date. That’s because they like to technically start a monarch’s run from the date of their Coronation, which in the case of Elizabeth was on June 2, 1953. But remember, a monarch automatically claims the throne the minute their predecessor assumes room temperature. In the case of the 25-year-old princess’ father, King George VI, that was February 6, 1952 (it must be bittersweet to realize the anniversary of a lifelong gig also coincides with the death of a beloved parent).

For well over 60 years now, Queen Elizabeth has been a pillar of strength to her loyal subjects, and she really doesn’t show any signs of slowing down. While surpassing her heralded ancestor is indeed an amazing feat, one might foresee this Queen could possibly rule forever. Just think about other milestones she could hit. In 2017 there will be people officially hitting retirement age who will not have known any other Monarch. In 2026, she could be the first Monarch to hit 100!

Plus the chain reaction of a Royal Highness who is high in years brings new meaning to the term “elder statesman.” When the day comes that she is no longer with us, her son Charles, the world’s longest serving and oldest intern, will reach the throne. And as of this moment the grandfather of two is, at 66, one year past retirement age, still waiting for his job.

That got me wondering about those who followed Victoria. When she died in 1901 her son, King Edward VII, got the high chair at age 59, still younger than Charles. He reigned for less than a decade before his son, King George V, took up the mantle in 1910 at the age of 44. George V lasted a little over a quarter century, leaving the throne open for King Edward VIII in 1936 at the age of 41. But he abdicated in less than a year to run off with that American home wrecker, the twice divorced Bessie Wallis Warfield Simpson.

That action caused a shift in lineage, and in a monarchy that always likes to have “an heir and a spare,” the “B” team took up the mantle; with the current monarch’s father, George VI, becoming King in 1936, three days shy of his own 41 birthday. He ruled for only 16 years as his health declined. To hear his wife Elizabeth (later the beloved Queen Mum) tell it, a combination of her brother-in-law’s abdication for “that woman” and World War II, hastened her husband’s death (I’m willing to bet that if you could talk to the Queen Mum in the afterlife and you spoke fondly of Mrs. Simpson, you’d end up with at the very least, singed off eyebrows).

So that brings us back to our long reigning, globetrotting, extremely healthy Monarch who clearly isn’t gathering any dust (although her kids are). As someone who was born six years after her reign began, I have not known any other Monarch and I’m beginning to wonder if I ever will. Elizabeth II clearly has the stamina of the Energizer bunny. She could be around forever. But I can’t help but wonder if the secret to her success is the collective prayers of six generations of Commonwealth grade-schoolers who started each day in class praying for her longevity and salvation. You can’t underestimate the power of children. God Save The Queen!

That’s the Stuph – the way I see it.

What I Learned On The Web This Week - 003

In the third edition of What I Learned On The Web This Week, we continue to look at some of the things I’ve discovered while surfing the Internet.

This week, I’ve learned about what people will do with and for animals, from the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona, Spain; to an annual Dung Throwing Contest in Russia; to using snails for a facial in Tokyo; to a dog groomer in California who dyes canines.

Enjoy.

That’s the Stuph - the way I see it!

What I Learned On The Web This Week - 002

In the second edition of What I Learned On The Web This Week, we continue to look at some of the things I’ve discovered while surfing the Internet.

This week, I’ve learned about the dangers of sharks, both in the water and in the air; and why some people feel the need to jump them or pull them out of the water.

Enjoy.

Original material for this segment can be found on YouTube at:

Happy Days Jumping The Shark

Sharknado Official Trailer

That’s the Stuph - the way I see it!

What I Learned On The Web This Week - 001

This is the inaugural edition of What I Learned On The Web This Week. A look at some of the things I’ve discovered while surfing the Internet.

For those who think the Internet only consists of cat videos here are a few other things to ponder.

This week, I’ve learned about the resilience of bovine lust, the overwhelming desire to jog under difficult circumstances and the attempts of outdoor culinary prowess. Enjoy.

Original material for this segment can be found on YouTube at:

Russian dashcams capture meteors

Russian car hits amorous cattle

Darth Vader jogger

Hot enough to fry an egg

That’s the Stuph - the way I see it!

Multiple Mayor-Go-Round

You know you’re getting older when you start to verbalize about “the good old days.” You wax poetic about when times were allegedly better.

Perhaps this is what Montreal’s municipal officials had in mind when it was decided that this city needed a third Mayor in seven months. The Charbonneau Commission into political corruption is taking the summer off, but its effects have been wrecking havoc like a slow moving tsunami.

First there is an unseen earthquake in the middle of the ocean, and then a wave slowly builds and works its way towards land. Next comes multiple warnings of the damage that might be hitting landfall, followed by a plethora a naysayers who believe it's just "Chicken Little" hype and then, WHAM! The wave hits and politics as we know it is wiped out! Politicians will spend the summer cleaning up, but in the fall, the ground in the middle of the ocean should be rumbling again.

And with that let’s welcome in Mayor Number 3. If you’re keeping score at home, he is Laurent Blanchard, a two term city councillor who was the Chairman of the Executive Committee. He now has the thankless task of steering this rudderless ship until November when voters go to the polls to pick yet another Mayor. This came about because the last interim Mayor, Michael Applebaum, resigned amid his arrest on corruption allegations, lasting just over six months. It’s like watching a reality show that uses tax dollars.

But what makes this new guy interesting, is that he seems to remind us Baby Boomers of the better days of our childhood. He looks a lot like Captain Kangaroo!

Is this the city’s plan? To lull us back to the 60’s; a time period we have scrubbed and polished clean of all its problems, as we reminisce through rose coloured glasses? After all, the 60’s brought us prosperity. Montreal was still the envy of the rest of the country, even Toronto. We were still Canada’s largest city. We got a shiny new Metro system; Expo 67 was THE party of the decade; the Montreal Canadiens claimed half of all Stanley Cups award in the ten year period; Major League Baseball was coming to Canada for the first time with the beloved Expos; infrastructure, and the suburbs were built up at a dizzying pace. And while the roads weren’t necessarily paved with gold, at least they were paved regularly.

During this time as kids we had Captain Kangaroo, a grandfatherly gentle soul who shared wisdom, along with his pals Mr. Green Jeans, Mr. Bunny Rabbit and Mr. Moose. I still have fond memories of the early mornings, setting up the TV table while still in my PJ’s, enjoying a breakfast of pancakes, wondering when Mr. Moose’s riddles and knock-knock jokes would release of torrent of ping-pong balls to fall on the Captain’s head from the sky. Those were good times.

Perhaps it’s a desire for those simpler times that have brought us another grandfatherly gentle soul who will guide us through the summer and early fall, as we wonder who the ping-pong balls will fall on next.

Boomers will no doubt remember the theme song. Check it out as it plays over a gallery of photos showing Montreal’s new mayor.

Who knows, perhaps this is the beginning of a new renaissance for the City of Montreal; a fresh start. Because, if there’s one thing I learned from daily doses of watching Captain Kangaroo, it’s that the future is always bright if you just think good thoughts.

That’s the Stuph – the way I see it!

Death Of The Dart

The Chrysler Corporation, which was itself on death’s door not too many years ago, found a Sugar Daddy to save it, in the form of Italy’s Fiat. Now on somewhat solid road, the car company has brought back from the dead one of its most remembered nameplates, albeit this time on an Italian chassis.

The return of the Dodge Dart has more than a twinge of nostalgia for me. I grew up in a Chrysler family. Our first car was a 1970 Dodge Dart (pictured below). It was our first days of freedom and the last days of public transit for us.

Though only 12-years-old when this car came into my life it was almost entirely my choice of vehicle. I loved the Chryslers of my youth, enjoyed the sport model of the Dart that was driven by TV’s Mannix, and had major sway on my Dad who really knew nothing about cars (and truth be told, knew very little about driving them too).

I made every decision in the choice of that first car, with the exception of the colour. My mother chose that, which is why we ended up with the hideous hue with the equally hideous name of “Light Citron Metallic.” Depending on the time of day, season and climatic conditions it either looked green, gold, silver, lemony or light tan. This would have been a great colour for a getaway vehicle because no two people could ever describe it the same way.

But I loved that car and we had it for five years, which means it was the first car that I could legally drive when I got my license at 16 (oh, thanks to my Dad, I had already been driving that car regularly on the road for three years and have Super 8 film to prove it. Let’s just say it was a different time and leave it at that!)

But five years later we traded up to a more mid range 1975 Dodge Dart. Again, I had complete say on this deceptively fast family sedan with a .318 V8 under the hood. However, once again Mom picked the colour. Not wanting to beat around the bush with a choice that could look somewhat green (unless it was cloudy or dark outside), she went full bore with her favourite colour, which is green. (For the record, green is NOT my favourite colour. On the contrary, it is a colour I do not like at all).

This car was my baby. I got up early in the morning to drive my father to work, then took the car to school. I picked my Dad up after work, then went to my job as a theatre usher after that. On the weekends, once I made sure to take Mom to the supermarket for groceries, I was free to roam the world in that Dart.

That car, which was affectionately known as “Betsy” was everything to me. And I put her through a lot. In the eight years I had her, she saw almost 300,000 miles (long before the days when we counted distance in kilometres). At the time of her death I was living in Brockville, Ontario working at a small radio station (two and a half years of my life I will never get back. I went there to cut my salary in half and double the Black population. A story I may or may not share another day).

During my Brockville days, I drove Betsy home every weekend. It was a two hour plus drive to Brockville, but only a 90 minute drive back to Montreal (I told you, I didn’t like Brockville and the Dart did have a .318 V8).

That car had been through a lot, least of all my adolescence. I can truly say that with all the car had endured, it stood up to the challenges. And at the risk of sounding old, they don’t make them like they used to.

To say I was distraught at the loss of my beloved vehicle might not be too far off the mark. But I got through my grief by placing an obit in the Brockville daily newspaper, The Recorder and Times (apparently they would let you write anything in the classifieds as long as they saw the money . . . . again another sad story for another day).

The obit (pictured below) was entitled Goodbye Dear Friend. If you can’t read the actual newspaper clipping, which I still hold near and dear to my heart, here’s what it said:

We respectfully direct your attention to the following unfortunate incident. A 1975 Dodge Dart, a.k.a. “Betsy”, a.k.a. “The Little Green Mean Machine,” passed on into the great metallic unknown on Monday, February 21st. She was eight years old. Its demise was diagnosed as acute complications due to old age. The Little Green Mean Machine is survived by H.D. Holder of Montreal, its one and only owner; and Peter A. Holder, principle driver. She led a long and productive life of faithful service and will be missed by all concerned. She is currently a 3,200 pound green cube in Montreal. All donations to the CAA will be greatly acknowledged.

What can I say? We all grieve in different ways.

So in this millennium, as a once venerable automotive giant looks to its past to try and rebuild for the future, with ad campaigns and much hype over the return of a treasured nameplate, I will quietly applaud them for their attempt. But I will also look back fondly, with a smile, (and maybe a tear) knowing that the glory days of my youth were truly enhanced by my relationship with that 1975 Dodge Dart.

And I hope that out there somewhere is another teenager, with or without a sense of history for the name, who might fall in love with a Dodge Dart of his own and begin the journey on the highway of memories.

That’s the Stuph – the way I see it

Deaf, Blind & Extremely Dumb, Because Of A Smart Phone

Thanks to modern technology, it would appear that people don’t have the attention span they used to (right about now, there are many who have already stopped reading this).

In this day and age folks usually have their faces buried in some sort of electronic device, going from one file, one game, one tweet to another, never taking the time to look up and absorb what is going on around them.

I’m guessing you could commit a major crime in a crowded place and if all these people with their devices didn’t actually take a picture of it, no one would be able to give authorities an actual description of what took place.

Just this week, within the span of about ten minutes, I was reminded of how insular people have become, in two separate situations. In the first one, I got into the elevator at my office on the ground floor and pushed the button to go to the 7th Floor. Just before the doors closed, a guy, whose face was fixated on his Smart Phone walks into the elevator and looks up long enough to press the button for the 6th Floor.

The doors close, the elevator rises and a recorded voice, in two official languages, announces that we have indeed reached the 6th Floor. But our young friend, who probably still hadn’t noticed that I was in the elevator, is just standing there in front of the open doors. It was only as the doors closed in on him that he looked up long enough to realize that his floor had now come and gone. We then rode up one floor to mine. As I got out I turned to him and said, “Gee, I guess you missed your floor. Too bad there isn’t an app for that!”

What could be so important during the less than 30 second trip that one hasn’t even noticed that the elevator has stopped on their floor? Has their Smart Phone rendered their senses numb? Can they not hear the ding of the elevator or the recorded voice? Does their peripheral vision not pick up the added light of the open elevator doors? Hasn’t their personal motion sensor let them know that the elevator is no longer moving? Does their Smart Phone contain nuclear launch codes?

I know I could have probably been a little more helpful and gently reminded him that he was at his floor, but for all I know that could have probably scared the dear boy into a coronary.

The second incident came as I was walking toward our office doors. I ran my pass card across the sensor to get in, just as I noticed a colleague coming the other way. He too had his face buried in an electronic device, thumbs all a flutter, as he walked like an unmanned drone towards the now open portal. With my hand holding the open door, I stood back and actually watched him bounce off the door frame trying to get through. Would he have not even tried to open the door if I wasn’t holding it? How do people navigate around like this on a daily basis?

And a few days later I noticed that Twitter was down. When it came back, there was a story that crossed the wires saying the service was out for five minutes; a whole 300 seconds. The plethora of Facebook comments during that time and for the half hour after Twitter was back up were written with the urgency of a person who had just witnessed a puppy locked in a hot car.

And speaking of cars, at the beginning of the summer, I was stopped at a traffic light. I was at the corner, but not in the pedestrian lane, yet a young woman, basking in the glow of her Blackberry, crossed in front of me and actually bounced off my hood because she wasn’t looking at where she was going. But she did manage to pull herself away from the screen long enough to give me a dirty look because I had the audacity to sit at an intersection in a stationary vehicle and didn’t back up into the car behind me so that she could cross the street by rote! Horses with blinders see more than these people do.

I’m beginning to understand how the Israelites felt, following Moses around the desert for 40 years. He probably spent too much time staring at the tablets to pay attention to where he was going.

There was a common phrase older folks would use, but I never had any time for; “Stop and smell the roses.” Nowadays, nobody even notices the roses, unless it’s a YouTube video showing the flower bloom in time lapse photography.

That’s the Stuph – the way I see it

Twas The Time Before Idiocy

Many years ago, during the Nixon administration in the U.S., Vice-President Spiro Agnew once called the press “the nattering nabobs of negativity.”

Perhaps that chestnut of a phrase, which was actually penned in a speech for the Veep by William Safire, could be applied today to the folks who wish to reign over language and culture with the sanitization that is political correctness.

How else could you explain the idea of taking a poem that is a Christmas classic, written by Clement Clarke Moore back in 1822, and changing it for the sake of appeasing today’s sensibilities of removing anything a child might see or hear that has a negative connotation?

I am referring to Twas The Night Before Christmas, also known as A Visit from St. Nicholas. Recently a Canadian publisher removed all references of Santa’s smoking from the 200 year old verse. In the updated version you will no longer see the line, “The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, and the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath."

While I have no doubt that the publisher did this with good intentions, altering the work of a classic poem to fit with modern times is censorship at worst and just plain wrong in the world of common sense.

I know smoking in today’s culture is considered a heinous, cancerous culling of the herd, but if we are to continue down this dangerous path of rewriting artistic history, where will it end?

Well, let’s stick with Mr. Moore’s work, shall we? This is a 14-verse poem and the offending puffing doesn’t take place until the 11th verse. There are things to worry about right from the start.

In the first verse we learn that the house might have mice. Surely this isn’t a healthy environment to bring up a child. These little rodents carry disease, after all.

In the second verse the children are dreaming of sugar plums. This is just the gateway to an obese society.

To me, the most offensive part of the poem shows up in the eighth verse. This is where we first learn as children that Santa Claus specializes in breaking and entering. In today’s world we spend a lot of time concerned about security. We lock our windows and doors at night, set the alarm, and some keep weapons near or under the bed. Yet, we seem to welcome a jolly old elf who sneaks into our house at midnight. Shouldn’t this be a bigger concern than his personal vices?

And let’s not forget the elephant in the room here. Santa’s fat! With a sleigh full of toys his girth is overtaxing the strength of a mere eight tiny reindeer. Isn’t this animal cruelty? (And by the way, he also wears fur from head to toe!)

And speaking of reindeer, there are those who say that this method of traveling might be a greener, less polluting way to ride. Well, have you ever been in a parade following the horses? Now imagine they could fly?

And what do we really know about this Santa character anyway? He spends his time with elves, he knows each and every child, keeps meticulous lists on them, but has no kids of his own. Don’t we usually call somebody in cases like this?

Okay, in the last paragraph, I mixed up two Christmas classics, Twas The Night Before Christmas with Santa Claus Is Coming To Town. But I did for a very valid reason. If we continue to sanitize works like a 200 year old poem, then how can a song that only dates back to the 1930’s survive the politically correct wrecker’s ball?

How about we just let the classics stand on their own merit and read them to our kids? If the little darlings have questions about the content, use it as a teachable moment and move on, all the while marvelling at how forward thinking your little DNA project has become. After all, you’re in for a lifetime of tough questions and teachable moments with your kids anyway, so what’s one more?

As a child I never questioned Santa’s smoking (and I come from a family of non-smokers) or even his annual breaking into my living room. Personally, I was more freaked out about the Tooth Fairy sneaking into my room and going under my pillow, while I was sleeping on it! But that’s a therapy session for another time.

That’s the Stuph – the way I see it

Fifteen Digits

A while back I wrote a blog piece called Krazy For Kindle where I espoused upon the joys of using the electronic e-reader. The Kindle has given me the opportunity to read more and just about anywhere. I read in waiting rooms, in the checkout line of supermarkets, while I’m waiting in fast food lines, or when I’m dining by myself during lunch or dinner hours from work. I sometimes even get into the longer lines at Costco, just to have a chance to read a little more. There’s never any down or boring time when my Kindle is handy.

But the Kindle is only valuable, if there is something worthy to read. So I want to share with you a summer time novel that I just finished which was a joy to read from cover to cover (or is it pixel to pixel now). That book is by screenwriter Nick Santora and it's called Fifteen Digits.

Nick Santora has spent a career expertly weaving compelling story lines with complex characters for television. So it's no surprise that he does it with his second novel, Fifteen Digits (his first novel was called Slip & Fall).

As a screenwriter Nick has written and/or produced for The Sopranos, The Guardian, Law & Order, Prison Break and Lie To Me. He also co-wrote, created and executive produced the A&E television series Breakout Kings. All projects with a history of richly developed characters.

With Fifteen Digits, Nick delves into the modern world of white collar crime. In a world where more criminals are working computers rather than weapons, this tale of insider trading and the surprising perpetrators involved, is a tightly wound, fast paced novel.

Its slow build brings you into the lives of those involved. You get to understand their wants and desires and learn what drives them. By the time you reach the plotting and execution of the crime, you HAVE to know what happens to these characters and how their actions affect those around them. And you'll be surprised which directions the roller coaster ride will follow as you try to read faster and faster to absorb this thriller.

Not only is the story compelling, but Santora has a way of turning a phrase that makes you smile, if not laugh out loud; welcomed levity for a story that has a somewhat dark underbelly.

To get a little bit of a taste for the story, take a look at this trailer that Nick has put together, and has expertly cast with Jimmi Simpson, from his own Breakout Kings as Jason Spade, the spoiled-son of a law partner who hatches a get-rich-quick scheme with consequences. It was this trailer that made me immediately hit “buy” on Amazon.com and purchase my Kindle copy; and that was a purchase well worth not only the price, but my time in reading it.

I’m looking ahead with this story. With Nick’s writing skills and his extensive background in crafting highly charged, engaging television, I’m hoping that this trailer, which he directed, will lead to Fifteen Digits being fleshed out cinematically so that we can watch the entire story unfold.

But in the meantime, I completely recommend the book Fifteen Digits. Some people might call it the perfect summer read, but that statement just robs the other seasons of an enjoyably juicy tome.

That’s the Stuph – the way I see it

Candy Is Dandy, But Costly

I have probably spent more time in a darkened movie theatre than most people. I grew up being a major film buff. As a teenager I spent six years working in cinemas in jobs from usher to projectionist. And one of my first gigs in the media was as a movie critic. So I have a bit of experience sitting in the dark, feet on a sticky floor, watching still pictures bounce off the wall at 24 frames per second. In my theatre working days I also sold quite a bit of merchandise at the concession stand. Because of this, I find a current lawsuit in the news rather amusing.

In the state of Michigan a class action case has been filed against the AMC Theatre chain. It would appear that a penny-pinching patron is upset because of the high cost of movie snacks and the double whammy of the movie house denying him the ability to bring his own soda and candy in. Oh, the horror!

The 20-something plaintiff says he’s tired of movie theatres taking advantage of him. He's suing because he believes the chain is in alleged violation of Michigan's Consumer Protection Act.

While I cannot dispute that movie snack prices are outrageous, I can also state from personal experience that this has always been the case. Let’s go back to the simple days of my youth when everything was cheaper (no, a loaf of bread wasn’t a nickel; that was in my Dad’s day!)

In the outside world (that would be any corner store) I could get a ten ounce Coke for fifteen cents and a bag of chips for a dime – total expenditure, one whole quarter. In the movie theatre that I worked at, that quarter wouldn’t even get me the same sized drink. That was 35 cents (and that drink was considered the small cup, which we kind of hid away because we were prone to selling larger ones). The bag of chips was 50 cents. So, you see, the movie theatre mark ups were disproportionately high then too.

In today’s world, it’s not only the mark ups that are high, but the size of the containers the food comes in. Soft drink cups so large that they have an undertow, and popcorn containers big enough to require a gas station pump to add the butter, seem to be the norm. And with those big containers, naturally comes even bigger prices.

Analysts recently reported that for every dollar spent on candy and soda in movie theatres, 85% is pure profit. Another study shows that $30 worth of raw popcorn is worth as much as $3,000 to movie theatres.

And contrary to what some in the general population believe, theatres don’t really make their money on the ticket prices, as most of that goes back to the studios. Theatres clearly get their biggest bang for their buck playing the role of pusher to the sugar junkies that line up like Pavlov’s dogs at the mere scent of popcorn in the air. Believe it or not, the high cost of the food is what’s actually keeping the ticket prices where they are (and many believe they are also high enough as it is already).

Going back to my movie working days, we were very cognisant of understanding on which side our popcorn was buttered. I was a master at making popcorn. The trick was making about three or four batches the normal way in those big industrial machines; then adding another batch that was heavily laden with popcorn salt. When you mix them all together that salty kernel you popped in your mouth was like a time released capsule designed to make you want to drink more (and possibly stroke out a diabetic).

So I understand the anger some might feel about being gouged at the candy counter. And I sympathize with the fellow that feels so strongly about the prices that he wants to sue. But conventional wisdom doesn’t believe this lawsuit has any legs. And for me, I believe the reasons for failure are two-fold. One, nowhere does it say that you have to buy snacks; and two, how did we get to a point in society where people can’t even last 90 minutes without eating?

When I go to the theatre, I fill up on entertainment, not snacks. Movie theatres probably hate me, because all they’re getting out of my wallet is the price of admission.

That’s the Stuph – the way I see it.

Ben Patrick Johnson & The "It Gets Better Project"

Fans of "The Stuph File Program" and also of my old radio gig, know Ben Patrick Johnson as "the voice" of the show. He is an amazing L.A. based voice talent, plus he is an author, activist and over the years he's also become a good friend.

Ben put together a touching video that speaks from his heart about taunting and discrimination. I urge you to see it and pass it along, because if there's anything I've learned, it's that you don't have to be a member of a particular group in order to feel it's pain. History has shown that if it can happen to any group, it can happen to you too. This in the wake a recent suicide of a young man. Before you check out the encoded video, here is Ben's preamble, in his own words:

"There has been much reporting recently about gay teen suicides following taunting or abuse. Whether there's a sudden uptick in incidents or whether a heightened sensitivity to the subject matter has caused news outlets to run more stories is a matter for discussion. But many of us in America, and perhaps most surprisingly in the gay community, are seeing the magnitude of this problem for the first time. Some of us have been struggling with how to respond. Journalist Dan Savage came up with an idea. It's fantastic, even if it's just a jumping-off point. He calls it the IT GETS BETTER Campaign.

He's encouraged adult lesbians, gay, bisexuals and transgenders to post videos on YouTube talking directly to LGBT teens, especially those who feel trapped in bad situations. Dan asked us to talk to the teens about the various traumas around being gay we faced growing up, and how we now have rich adult lives."

So now that you've seen his words, hear his voice:



That's the Stuph - the way I see it

The World Has Finally Stopped Turning

It was just last week that the world has stopped turning. Oh, don’t panic. I’m not talking about some apocalyptic catastrophe on this third rock from the sun, nor have I flashed forward on the Mayan calendar. I’m talking about the cancellation of a venerable daytime television drama.

After 54 years on the air, CBS and Proctor & Gamble have turned out the lights on As The World Turns. For the last 48 years, I have been a faithful viewer (and if you read my last blog piece about customer service, then you know that the beginning and end of my love affair with the show that fans in the know simply call ATWT, coincides with the beginning and end of my love affair with Timex).

I remember following the trials and tribulations of the Hughes and Stewart families while at the feet of my mother who watched the show from before my birth. It was a comfort to me to grow up with so many of the characters.

In the final years it was easier to keep track of the show. VCRs and PVRs made it possible to never miss an episode. Back in the day it was a race to get home from school to literally catch it live, as what the actors did in their New York studio was instantly beamed out to the living rooms of North America.

I was what some would consider a rare breed. The heterosexual male viewer, who was not afraid to share his passion for daytime drama with any and all who wished to listen. Oh, I’ve known my share of closeted male fans. The guys, who claimed to have never watched an episode, yet would occasionally drop the name of a character in a knowing way.

And, as with the drama, a lot has happened in life over that span of time. Man has landed on the moon, a losing war was waged in Vietnam, the fight for civil rights was won, and, most chillingly, a live broadcast of ATWT was interrupted to alert viewers to the fact that “three shots were fired at President Kennedy’s motorcade in downtown Dallas” (and yes, I was watching it that day too, at the tender age of five).

Years later, as I progressed in my broadcasting career, I had the opportunity to interview many of the long standing cast members of the show. It was Don Hastings, the portrayer of Dr. Bob Hughes for 50 years, who recounted the story of being in the studio on November 22, 1963. The actors were not informed of what had taken place in the Lone Star State. Producers and the director wanted to keep the cast focused. It was only because a security guard was listening to a transistor radio that the actors were finally clued in to the harrowing details of that day.



In 1996 I was fortunate enough to travel to New York to spend three days on the set of the show. To millions this is no big deal. To me, it was like travelling to Mecca. I set foot on the studio floor and watched as actors I literally grew up admiring, rehearse their lines and then tape the show. It was marvellous to be so close, just outside of camera range, seeing this talent unfold.

Many people have derided the work on daytime drama or soaps, even other actors. But you’re not going to find harder working actors, directors and writers. Nowhere else is an actor expected to memorize and perform so much dialogue in a single day, shoot it and then repeat the process the next day. There are no repeats in daytime drama. It’s shot, it’s aired, it’s gone.

I’m going to break ranks with other soap fans now and show my personal bias to a deeper problem than just the loss of ATWT from the airwaves. It’s the plight of the New York actor. I happen to believe (and you’re free to debate this) that the quality of acting that comes out of New York is superior to that of the other coast. I’ve always thought that New York based daytime drama had actors and Los Angeles based daytime drama had television stars.

The New York actor would do the heavy lifting of a daytime soap and would somehow still find the time to do an off-Broadway play, a night time drama and maybe a commercial or two. Take a look at shows like Law & Order. The guy, who played a cabbie or doorman on that show, usually had more acting experience then the second lead of an L.A. based night time drama.

Well, with ATWT recently cancelled, Guiding Light cancelled last year, All My Children moved to L.A., and yes even Law & Order gone, there is now a dearth of choice acting opportunities for some of the best journeyman actors on the planet (One Life To Live is the only remaining soap based in New York).

So while I lament on having to go cold turkey from my daily fix, I can only hope that the cast and crew of ATWT are aware of the joy they brought to millions of views and that their hard work hasn’t gone unnoticed. That this talented bunch finds the gainful employment they so richly deserve. But most importantly, I pray that opportunity will somehow find a way to knock on the door of the myriad of New York actors who are currently in a drought of epic proportions. Let’s hope that their acting world will continue to turn.

That’s the Stuph – the way I see it

Cold Plague

Okay, so it has been awhile since I had the chance to post here. I’ve been a little busy with work and all, plus there is still the matter of my convalescence from recent tendon surgery involving my right knee (it’s coming along slowly, but nicely, thanks for asking).

There are many things that I wanted to write about, but I think this time around I’ll just deal with water. I’m sure you’ve seen many news items of late telling us how much water we should be drinking. I’ve never been a big water drinker. At its best water is colourless, odourless and tasteless, which means I have no use for it. It’s never been a thirst quencher for me.

But as creatures made up mostly of water on a planet that is mostly covered with water, it might be understandable as to why we are preoccupied with the substance. With two thirds of the planet somewhat wet, we still send spacecrafts to other orbs in search of more water. We can’t seem to get enough of the stuff.

This brings me to Dr. Daniel Kalla. He is an emergency room physician in Vancouver who, when he’s not busy saving lives in his chosen profession, he’s scaring us to death with medical thrillers in his creative profession. His latest book, his fifth, is entitled Cold Plagueand, as you can guess by my preamble, it deals with water.

I’ve had the pleasure of interviewing Dan on several occasions on the radio and he’s always been an engaging and fun guest. His previous titles include Pandemic, Resistance, Rage Therapy and Blood Lies.

Let me pause for a moment to tell you a little secret about my interviewing style. When it comes to authors, I never read the book before conducting the interview. I find as a listener when I hear a conversation with two people who have travelled the same literary journey, I feel like someone who has entered a cocktail party and wandered over to a conversation that has already begun. I don’t know what’s being discussed.

I much prefer to engage an author in the discussion of their writing technique, their background and mostly their personality. An author without personality only writes technical manuals and they rarely get interviewed – or read.

Besides leaving the listeners in the dust, the other drawbacks I find to reading before talking is one of two reactions – either I loved the book and will gush profusely about the work, or I hated it and will have to feign interest (the latter is infinitely more difficult because in my mind I would be saying to myself that I’m only spending 20 minutes with this guy but reading his book took days off my life that I’ll never get back!)

Since I talk to a lot of authors, people think I get a lot of reading done. Sadly, that is not the case. I’ve already stated the reason why professionally, but also my schedule is so crammed with work for the nightly radio show and for the television show I host that I don’t get much recreationally reading done either.

But, Cold Plague is a book that I cleared a lot of my schedule for because I couldn’t wait to read it. If I had read Dan Kalla’s latest book before interviewing him it would have been a gush fest. That’s why I’m leaving the gushing to posting here on the blog.

Reading a medical thriller as I continue with my physiotherapy, being manipulated by torture specialists, might be considered ironic, but I found this book compelling. It deals with what could be considered the purest water ever found, hidden for millions of years, miles under the Antarctic ice.

Yes, it’s man’s preoccupation with water again. With water so pristine – untouched by human industrialization – just think of the natural healing powers it must contain; think how rich those who found it could be if it were marketed to the masses.

But is it a coincidence that this therapeutic water is being consumed during the same time as a cluster of new cases of mad cow disease in France? Is the human outbreak of the trifecta of rapid onset symptoms of Alzheimer’s, Parkinson’s and schizophrenia somehow connected? And what does that mean for the rest of the world if we as a society can be done in by a simple water bottle? Those are some of the questions you’ll be asking yourself as you take the rollercoaster ride that is Cold Plague, along with the book’s hero, Dr. Noah Haldane of the World Health Organization.

Cold Plague has short, crisp chapters with the excitement building with each page turn. Without spoiling anything, I was halfway through the book, telling myself how much I enjoyed the pace, when I was suddenly rocketed into a different direction that I had not expected and I was now compelled to finish the book as fast as possible to find out what happened. I just couldn’t put it down. The sun was coming up, birds were chirping and I was still reading.

When I talked to Dan I asked him how he comes up with his thrillers. He said that as a doctor, he wrote what scares him. I don’t know if it’s a good idea to know what scares doctors but Cold Plague certainly has a chilling effect. As I said, I don’t drink water, but it got to me.

While I don’t usually like to pigeonhole books into reading seasons, I have to say that Cold Plague could be one of the ultimate reads of the summer. It’s perfect for a lazy day in the backyard, on the porch or even at the beach, when you’re relaxing on a deck chair enjoying nature and hydrating with some nice bottled water . . . on second thought, just enjoy the book, skip the water.

That’s the Stuph – the way I see it.

From Crime To Crime

This is the week that I have started physiotherapy to rehabilitate my knee after my recent surgery. I have had to endure this procedure before at the hands of therapists who no doubt would have worked for the Nazis in the 40s. As I grimace through the contortions while they manipulate my limb (ironically, it was an unplanned contortion that got me in this mess in the first place) I take little solace in the fact that I can read while they torture me.

The reading I have chosen to undertake at this time is an excellent collection of short stories written by Dennis Palumbo entitled From Crime to Crime: Mind-Boggling Tales of Mystery and Murder.

I would like to think it was sheer coincidence that I would read such a tome while plotting my revenge on those all too willing to cause me pain. The truth of the matter is I have been eager to read this book for some time.

Dennis Palumbo was recently a guest on our radio show on a couple of occasions; an interesting gentleman who has had more than one interesting career. Formerly, he was a Hollywood screenwriter, working on such television shows as Welcome Back Kotter. He also penned one of my favourite movies of all time, My Favorite Year (a DVD I will now make the point of picking up).

Dennis gave that all up to become a psychotherapist in Hollywood, a profession in a town where there is no shortage of patients. But he hasn’t given up writing completely, thus his latest collection of short stories.

If you are a fan of the old “drawing room mysteries” then you’ll love this collection. There are twelve stories in the book, but the first nine deal with the same core characters; a group of friends who call themselves “The Smart Guys Marching Society,” a collection of amateur sleuths who resemble the author and his closest friends.

There is a therapist, an actor, a journalist and a lawyer, plus rounding out the group is Isaac, an older pseudo relative of the therapist’s wife who has joined the group that meets every Sunday at the therapist’s house for food, guy talk and the solving of the occasional mystery.

Let me throw out a hackneyed term that many use when reviewing a great book. This book is a true page turner! There were times when I had other things that I needed to do yet I found myself saying, “Just let me read one more story!” I honestly couldn’t put it down.

All of the clues for the stories are laid out for you to try and figure out the crime. I felt quite superior when I figured out the “who” in the first story, even though I didn’t get the “how,” and of course I then proceeded to go 0-for-the-rest-of-the-book! Still, it was an enjoyable read all the way through and I even laughed out loud a couple of times, which really confounded my physiotherapist.

As I mentioned, the last three stories have nothing to do with “The Smart Guys Marching Society.” While I did enjoy them, especially one dealing with a young Albert Einstein, I found myself wanting to read more of the exploits of the crime solving quintet, whom I began to think of as real friends that I got to know. Without giving anything away, I think my favourite story was one that dealt with a lovely young lady, a truly unique and bizarre crime and a yacht. That’s all I will say.

Since most of the stories had food involved, I will liken this book to a great restaurant meal. You have the first nine stories which are akin to your main course. After enjoying the experience you then find yourself with a handful of delectable mints which themselves are quite enjoyable, but they don’t take away from your enjoyment of the meal. It’s a restaurant that one anticipates they get invited back to for another meal soon.

I hope there will be more of “The Smart Guys Marching Society” in the future. Heck, I’d even kill to get more stories out of them and right now I’m thinking that physiotherapist would make a pretty good looking corpse.

That’s the Stuph – the way I see it.

St. Evan

It has been awhile since I have committed myself to writing an entry onto this blog. Sometimes we have a situation where life just gets in the way and time marches on while you are sitting on the sidelines.

I suppose I could come up with a host of excuses as to why I have neglected to write. After all, the experience is enjoyable, the feedback so far has been pretty good, plus it keeps me creatively busy, which is a good thing. As the saying goes, “idol hands are the devil’s play tools.”

Ironically, in my very first posting earlier in the summer I gave my reasons for starting this blog and I also mentioned the inspirational friend who kept pushing me to start it.

His name is Evan Berle and in addition to being my computer guru and regular radio show guest he’s a close friend and confident as we often debated each other on the various aspects of our lives and the issues of the world.

Since Evan was a computer whiz and a self described geek I often called him St. Evan, the patron saint of all things computers. I even named an ftp directory that I use every day “St. Evan.” Almost everything I know about modern personal computers I learned from him. He was also the webmaster who created the blueprint that became my website.

Evan and I would talk on the phone several times a week. On Saturdays we would have an expanded conversation, sometimes talking well beyond an hour. Talking to Evan was one of the joys that I looked forward to regularly.

While his computer experience was invaluable, and for almost 20 years it was something that I grew to depend on greatly, it’s his personality, his friendship and those long discussions that I grew to depend on even more. It’s that latter aspect of his friendship that I will miss the most. That’s because two weeks ago, Evan Berle passed away at the extremely young age of 51.

Evan was taken from us due to lung cancer. From diagnosis to death the time was quick – about five months. Ironically, Evan, who was a long-time smoker, had given up the habit almost a year ago. He was proud of himself for the change he had made and how much better his quality of life would be without the dreaded death sticks. I marvelled at how he managed to kick the habit without too much muss or fuss. If only he could have done it sooner.

I mentioned that Evan was a frequent guest on our radio show. That’s how we met. I was looking for someone to be a regular contributor to the show to discuss computers and take questions from our listening audience. Evan came highly recommended.

Over the years I have had the chance to talk to literally thousands of guests on the air, yet I can count on one hand the ones who have become personal lifelong friends. Evan was at the top of that very short list.

I guess it started with his easy going manner and the simple things in life that he got pleasure out of. Leading the list of pride and pleasure for Evan were three names; David, Joey and Mitch – his sons. All three are fine young men who, needless to say, have lost a great deal – but I can see in them the kindness and humanity that was Evan.

I mentioned that we could spend hours talking on the phone. There was always one thing that could cut those conversations short – a visit or call from one of his sons. Evan was amazingly proud of how his boys turned out and he should be. He would gush about them and never hide expressing his love for them – something that you don’t often hear men do.

The other love of his life was Anna; the woman he found and grew to love after the break-up of his marriage. He would often bring up how much Anna meant to him – again a trait that most guys don’t express to other guys in casual conversation.

A couple of Saturdays have now gone by and it is finally sinking in that I will never talk to Evan again. I won’t hear his words of wisdom. I won’t be able to take advantage of his sage advice. And don’t get me started on the invaluable tech support that has ceased to exist.

One of the things Evan and I would often debate is the topic of religion, especially as to how it has played itself out in the never ending Middle East conflict. Though as an adult I am not a regular church goer, I am a strong believer of my Christian faith and the upbringing that I had within the church. Evan, who was raised as a Jew, was not religious at all but rather, he was a non-believer – an interesting fact since his two youngest sons are extremely religious, observing a completely Kosher lifestyle.

Perhaps it is the lack of belief that I got a kick out of teasing him about, even naming an ftp directory after him with a religious moniker. Evan will truly be missed by all those who love him and sadly, I can only think of him now as St. Evan.

That’s the Stuph – the way I see it.

Carifiesta 2007

The sites and sounds of Carifiesta 2007 hit the streets of Montreal on Saturday as the participants swayed to the rhythms and the beats of the Caribbean.

Montreal is a vibrant city that loves its festivals and street fairs. Carifiesta is nestled between the Montreal International Jazz Festival and the Just For Laughs Montreal International Comedy Festival.

In this, the 33rd event to grace our streets, the costumes once again dazzled as the participants gyrated their way down Rene Levesque Blvd with costumes either skimpy and revealing in nature or elaborate, heavy and grandiose in design.

I've had the pleasure of covering the event for television for several years and it's always nice to see how the event has progressed, despite some of the internal turmoil it has had over the years.

Before the start of this year's event I bumped into an old friend, Matthew Cope, who is a screenwriter, photographer and journalist. He is someone that I learned a lot from in the early part of my career.

Matthew's pictures from just before the start of this year's Carifiesta are the ones that grace this posting but they only scratch the surface as to what this event is and what it means to the community.

The picture above for instance is Lenore Caterson. For three decades she has been one of the major highlights of the event, the undisputed queen of Carifiesta. Her costumes are elaborate and are usually quite heavy and like the adopted motto of the post office, she manages to dance her way through rain, sleet and dark of night, not to mention high heat, heavy humidity and strong winds.


These two pictures above however show the future of Carifiesta. Each year there is a junior carnival leading up to Carifiesta where youngsters can also strut their stuff in costume. As it has been in the past, the junior participants of today are the ones who become the "mas" leaders of the future, guaranteeing a strong base for the survival of this event in the future.

As with any event that draws a large crowd, there is of course police and security. What's different in 2007 from three decades ago is the city has begun to understand the unique qualities of Carifiesta and its community, and there certainly is a subtle change in the "face" of some of the officers assigned to the detail. Not only are they officers of colour with Caribbean backgrounds (something that didn't even exist on the force way back when), but after speaking with a few of them and some folks in the crowd it was clear that they seem to enjoy and appreciate the duty as did many of the revellers.

Montreal's Carifiesta is part of a greater series of such Caribbean events in North America that include Toronto's Caribana plus similar events in Ottawa, Boston and Miami just to name a few.

The recently formed World Carnival Commission, whose president is Henry Antoine, the Executive Director of Montreal Carifiesta, is working hard to bring many of these festivals together working in collaboration with the original venue - the granddaddy of them all, February's Carnival in Trinidad. If the organizational skills needed to pull this off are successful, it bodes well for the future of not only Carifiesta but the growth of such events throughout North America.

It's a proud time for the Caribbean community.

That’s the Stuph - the way I see it.