"Hi, I'm looking for Mr. Mark Hopkins?"
"That's me."
"Hello, Mr. Hopkins. First, I want to thank you for being a Rogers Wireless customer."
"No problem."
"As a Rogers Wireless customer, I wanted to let you know about the Rocket Stick, a Rogers device that allows you to access the internet..."
"I'm sorry, did you just say Rocket Stick?"
"Yes, I did."
"Who came up with that name?"
"I'm not sure. That's hilarious, you're the second person to ask me that today."
"Rocket Stick. That's ridiculous."
"You don't like the name?"
"No, it's fine, it's just... Rocket Stick? Seriously? Will it blast me onto the internet?"
"Well, yes, exactly! I... don't remember if I said this already, because you started asking me about the name, but it will give you up to 500 MB of high-speed wireless internet. I can send you the Rocket Stick for free, all you'll need to pay is the monthly fee."
"You know what, I've lead a pretty fulfilling life up 'til now, so I think I'm okay without a Rocket Stick."
"Are you sure? The Rocket Stick will help you sleep better at night!"
"Now that you mention it, my sleep has been quite troubled lately."
"You see? That's exactly what I was thinking, I looked at your name and thought, 'I'm going to call Mr. Hopkins and help him with his sleeping problems.' Aren't you happy that I called?"
"Delighted, really. But you know what, I think I'm going to have to pass on the Rocket Stick."
"Well thanks for taking my call, Mark, and I hope you find something to help with your sleep."
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Factor E
Since I'm already quoting, I figured I would toss this one into the mix, from a movie I haven't seen:
Well, I have this friend Mark. Well, he buys all these clothes from Bloomingdale's. But because he's from London, everybody on the Cape keeps talking about his "fabulous English look," which really is so good.
He was at a party up there last weekend and Norman Mailer walked up and punched him in the stomach. When Mark asked him why, he just said it was for wearing a pink coat.
I know I should have been happy for Mark that Norman Mailer punched him, but all I could think was, 'Will Norman Mailer ever punch me?'
I don't even have a pink coat.
Well, I have this friend Mark. Well, he buys all these clothes from Bloomingdale's. But because he's from London, everybody on the Cape keeps talking about his "fabulous English look," which really is so good.
He was at a party up there last weekend and Norman Mailer walked up and punched him in the stomach. When Mark asked him why, he just said it was for wearing a pink coat.
I know I should have been happy for Mark that Norman Mailer punched him, but all I could think was, 'Will Norman Mailer ever punch me?'
I don't even have a pink coat.
Reverie
I recently re-discovered the fabulous, partially-defunct Calgary band, Reverie Sound Revue, and I've been reveling in the awesomeness of their 6-song album for about a week.
One line, from the song "Rip the Universe", has been haunting me with its piercing accuracy.
"Everyone is kinda lazy / When it's time to kiss a lady"
Amen to that. Seriously.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Other Things that Pissed Me Off Today:
Minister won't confirm belief in evolution.
(Followed up with 'Minister clarifies stand on evolution', which somehow failed to quell my concerns.)
Pope says condoms not answer to fighting AIDS. "On the contrary, it increases the problem."
"Unmasking Choice" on the side of a truck, driving by as I enjoy a hot chocolate in Kensington.
I mean, fuckin' hell. Can't there be a moratorium on idiocy? Just until I die. Eighty years, tops.
(Followed up with 'Minister clarifies stand on evolution', which somehow failed to quell my concerns.)
Pope says condoms not answer to fighting AIDS. "On the contrary, it increases the problem."
"Unmasking Choice" on the side of a truck, driving by as I enjoy a hot chocolate in Kensington.
I mean, fuckin' hell. Can't there be a moratorium on idiocy? Just until I die. Eighty years, tops.
Bushwacked
George W. Bush ate dinner at Osteria De Medici last night. His five dining companions ate Alberta beef, but George decided on pasta.
This was deemed newsworthy by the Toronto Star, CBC and Canada.com.
It makes me mildly uncomfortable to know that one of the world's most reviled men spent yesterday evening in my neighbourhood, at a restaurant that I walk past almost daily. On the other hand, I've always found Osteria a bit pompous. I mean, c'mon. Who has valet parking in a strip mall?
Calgary, "perhaps the only city in Canada that would have him", was the first stop on Dubya's post-presidency speaking tour, a dubious honour at best. He spoke at a $400-a-plate, invitation-only, media-barred luncheon at the Telus Convention Centre. I didn't make the invitation list.
I first heard about Bush's impending visit in the Herald, but most of the reminders came from a fabulous group of people going by the name 'People Vs. Bush'. Over the past several days, they've organised a number of anti-Bush events, including a mock trial, a memorial wall, a rally and a film festival, and garnered a fair amount of media attention in doing so. (They actually invited Swallow-a-Bicycle to take part in the mock trial, but unfortunately I got the message too late.)
The protest rally on Stephen Avenue started at about 11:30 this morning. When I had arrived at work, a few hours earlier, the street was already swarming with police and well-dressed men in shiny black cars. When 11:30 hit, Johnny and I decided to check out the action.
As we approached, we could see that Stephen Ave was packed. We stopped before crossing Macleod ("There's no way I'm jaywalking," said Johnny, staring pointedly at the police van next to us) and, as we stared across the street, it was obvious that there were two distinct groups filling the street.
First, and most colourfully, were the protestors. They had signs and banners, demanding the truth behind 9/11 and justice for the victims of a reckless regime, denouncing illegal wars and state-sponsored torture. One woman was dressed like a Guantanamo prisoner, standing next to an elastic-propelled "shoe cannon". They chanted "Go home!", "Criminal!" and "Shame on you!"
Then, outnumbering the protestors almost 10-to-1, were the luncheon's attendees, stretched out in a line that started at the Convention Centre doors and went all the way down the block, then around the corner. Due either to massive oversight or sadistic planning, the luncheon's security measures had slowed entrance to a crawl. Access to the building was limited to a single door, and guests were subjected to searches so intimate that, when they were proved weaponless, they went scrambling for the wine bar to help forget the ordeal.
As a result, several hundred of Calgary's wealthiest citizens were left outside, single-file, waiting in the cold, being heckled, chastized, jostled and booed by passionate objectors.
Walking down that line was a surreal and somewhat terrifying experience, like walking past a living chain of cut-out dolls. The attendees were almost completely demographically homogenous: the vast majority were Caucasian men, between the ages of 40-70, and wearing identical navy-blue business suits.
If these are the people tugging on Calgary's political puppet strings, it's no wonder this city sometimes drives me fucking insane.
The reports say that over 1,500 people paid $400 a head to attend the luncheon, a fact that makes me ashamed and disgusted to call Calgary my home. Where is that money going? What about that man makes him worth a $400 ticket, makes him worth standing in the cold, being heckled by two hundred protesters?
In Johnny's neighbourhood, people had glued Bush's face to the soles of old shoes, tied them together and tossed them over phone lines. For the past several days, whenever he looked up, there was an unmistakable statement: "You're not welcome here."
This morning, Johnny opened his door to discover all the shoes had vanished. "They can't clear the snow off our streets," he grumbled, "but heaven forbid they offend George W."
Apparently Aldermen John Mar and Ric McIver were inside the luncheon, while I spotted Druh Farrell and Joe Ceci outside with the protestors. It occurs to me that the alderman I like (Farrell, Ceci, Pincott) must have a pretty damn hard job. Thank you, councillors, for your ongoing work.
In fact, Farrell and Ceci were among the only familiar faces in the crowd. I ran into Karen Ball from CADA, but... that was about it. I didn't even see Grant Neufeld! (though I'm sure he was there)
I was surprised. I had expected to see throngs of my artist friends, outraged that this war criminal was being welcomed in our hometown.
Now, granted, I was hardly committed to the protest myself. I wandered through the crowds, made some snide comments as I walked past the luncheon line-up, grabbed a breakfast wrap at Jugo Juice, and went back to work. As I walked back to the OYR office, I wondered, why wasn't I there in the midst of it? Why wasn't I hoisting a placard, yelling "Criminal!" with the rest of the crowd?
I don't know.
I hate the actions that Bush took while in office. I hate that he deemed Calgary to be the friendliest place for his first post-presidency appearance. I hate basically everything he represents. But somehow, the appeal of Excel spreadsheets and final reports overpowered my righteous outrage.
So that's me. What about you?
Why weren't you there?
This was deemed newsworthy by the Toronto Star, CBC and Canada.com.
It makes me mildly uncomfortable to know that one of the world's most reviled men spent yesterday evening in my neighbourhood, at a restaurant that I walk past almost daily. On the other hand, I've always found Osteria a bit pompous. I mean, c'mon. Who has valet parking in a strip mall?
Calgary, "perhaps the only city in Canada that would have him", was the first stop on Dubya's post-presidency speaking tour, a dubious honour at best. He spoke at a $400-a-plate, invitation-only, media-barred luncheon at the Telus Convention Centre. I didn't make the invitation list.
I first heard about Bush's impending visit in the Herald, but most of the reminders came from a fabulous group of people going by the name 'People Vs. Bush'. Over the past several days, they've organised a number of anti-Bush events, including a mock trial, a memorial wall, a rally and a film festival, and garnered a fair amount of media attention in doing so. (They actually invited Swallow-a-Bicycle to take part in the mock trial, but unfortunately I got the message too late.)
The protest rally on Stephen Avenue started at about 11:30 this morning. When I had arrived at work, a few hours earlier, the street was already swarming with police and well-dressed men in shiny black cars. When 11:30 hit, Johnny and I decided to check out the action.
As we approached, we could see that Stephen Ave was packed. We stopped before crossing Macleod ("There's no way I'm jaywalking," said Johnny, staring pointedly at the police van next to us) and, as we stared across the street, it was obvious that there were two distinct groups filling the street.
First, and most colourfully, were the protestors. They had signs and banners, demanding the truth behind 9/11 and justice for the victims of a reckless regime, denouncing illegal wars and state-sponsored torture. One woman was dressed like a Guantanamo prisoner, standing next to an elastic-propelled "shoe cannon". They chanted "Go home!", "Criminal!" and "Shame on you!"
Then, outnumbering the protestors almost 10-to-1, were the luncheon's attendees, stretched out in a line that started at the Convention Centre doors and went all the way down the block, then around the corner. Due either to massive oversight or sadistic planning, the luncheon's security measures had slowed entrance to a crawl. Access to the building was limited to a single door, and guests were subjected to searches so intimate that, when they were proved weaponless, they went scrambling for the wine bar to help forget the ordeal.
As a result, several hundred of Calgary's wealthiest citizens were left outside, single-file, waiting in the cold, being heckled, chastized, jostled and booed by passionate objectors.
Walking down that line was a surreal and somewhat terrifying experience, like walking past a living chain of cut-out dolls. The attendees were almost completely demographically homogenous: the vast majority were Caucasian men, between the ages of 40-70, and wearing identical navy-blue business suits.
If these are the people tugging on Calgary's political puppet strings, it's no wonder this city sometimes drives me fucking insane.
The reports say that over 1,500 people paid $400 a head to attend the luncheon, a fact that makes me ashamed and disgusted to call Calgary my home. Where is that money going? What about that man makes him worth a $400 ticket, makes him worth standing in the cold, being heckled by two hundred protesters?
In Johnny's neighbourhood, people had glued Bush's face to the soles of old shoes, tied them together and tossed them over phone lines. For the past several days, whenever he looked up, there was an unmistakable statement: "You're not welcome here."
This morning, Johnny opened his door to discover all the shoes had vanished. "They can't clear the snow off our streets," he grumbled, "but heaven forbid they offend George W."
Apparently Aldermen John Mar and Ric McIver were inside the luncheon, while I spotted Druh Farrell and Joe Ceci outside with the protestors. It occurs to me that the alderman I like (Farrell, Ceci, Pincott) must have a pretty damn hard job. Thank you, councillors, for your ongoing work.
In fact, Farrell and Ceci were among the only familiar faces in the crowd. I ran into Karen Ball from CADA, but... that was about it. I didn't even see Grant Neufeld! (though I'm sure he was there)
I was surprised. I had expected to see throngs of my artist friends, outraged that this war criminal was being welcomed in our hometown.
Now, granted, I was hardly committed to the protest myself. I wandered through the crowds, made some snide comments as I walked past the luncheon line-up, grabbed a breakfast wrap at Jugo Juice, and went back to work. As I walked back to the OYR office, I wondered, why wasn't I there in the midst of it? Why wasn't I hoisting a placard, yelling "Criminal!" with the rest of the crowd?
I don't know.
I hate the actions that Bush took while in office. I hate that he deemed Calgary to be the friendliest place for his first post-presidency appearance. I hate basically everything he represents. But somehow, the appeal of Excel spreadsheets and final reports overpowered my righteous outrage.
So that's me. What about you?
Why weren't you there?
Monday, March 16, 2009
Feminesque
Over at the Facebook page for Kabuki Guns Burlesque, a discussion about burlesque and feminism has arisen. After all the attention that my last burlesque post received, I figured there might be some interest! The post can be found here.
I'll be taking in quite a bit of burlesque in the next little while, starting with the KGB's Burlesque Fest on March 20, and then the Garter Girls at a fundraiser for the ACAD Feminist Book Club on March 27. Perhaps you can join me?
I'll be taking in quite a bit of burlesque in the next little while, starting with the KGB's Burlesque Fest on March 20, and then the Garter Girls at a fundraiser for the ACAD Feminist Book Club on March 27. Perhaps you can join me?
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Dudes
This weekend is insane.
Leaving aside the usual batch of Swallow-a-Bicycle insanity (Sexual Outlaws party tonight, Spark a Revolution rehearsal tomorrow), I'm performing in a staged reading of Gross Indecency: The Three Trials of Oscar Wilde tomorrow and Monday with Maple Salsa.
I'm acting. Ahhh!
This all started a few weeks ago, when Elan Pratt of Maple Salsa sent out an e-mail, saying that they were in search of nine (count 'em, NINE) male actors to do a staged reading in March. I hadn't acted in a while, and this sounded like a nice low-pressure, low-commitment way to get back into the game, so I signed up on the spot!
... and that's why I've spent about twenty-five hours over the past three weeks in the Theatre Calgary Rehearsal Hall with nine other dudes. Under the expert direction of Javier Vilalta, we can now read out of binders like nobody's business, and I'm confident that we will kick some serious Victorian ass on Sunday and Monday.
It's a long play, and there are long stretches where I have nothing to say or do, which has given me plenty of time to contemplate. And at some point I realised... I don't spend a lot of time with guys.
It's been months since I've had a "boys' night" of video games and beer. I don't watch hockey or soccer or (insert organized sport here). And when I do get together with buddies, it tends to be one-on-one catch-up time.
While a nine-man cast doesn't do much for Calgary's plentiful community of talented and underworked female actors, it certainly creates a unique environment.
The rehearsal hall isn't really representative of your typical male bonding experience (well, maybe it is... we spend a lot of the time half-dressed and stroking each other), but I've been delighting in the opportunity to spend time with dudes. Every time Brad asks me to check the hockey scores on my Blackberry, I mentally pump a fist in the air. As I convey the third-period stats of the Penguins vs. whoever, I am part of the inner sanctum of male-ness. I follow sports! I am man!
Then I nibble on one of Brad's bakery-fresh peanut butter cookies and squeal at its yumminess.
After one of our rehearsals last week, a few of us ended up at the Auburn (where we accidentally caught the first rehearsal of the Calgary division of the Sons of Negus, which pretty much ruled!) and, over the course of two beers and some unsatisfying hummus, we talked about comic books and movies and assorted nonsense. It was rad.
I socialise a lot, but I don't tend to hang out very much. After this show is over, I think I'm about due for a full-on guys' night.
Any takers?
Leaving aside the usual batch of Swallow-a-Bicycle insanity (Sexual Outlaws party tonight, Spark a Revolution rehearsal tomorrow), I'm performing in a staged reading of Gross Indecency: The Three Trials of Oscar Wilde tomorrow and Monday with Maple Salsa.
I'm acting. Ahhh!
This all started a few weeks ago, when Elan Pratt of Maple Salsa sent out an e-mail, saying that they were in search of nine (count 'em, NINE) male actors to do a staged reading in March. I hadn't acted in a while, and this sounded like a nice low-pressure, low-commitment way to get back into the game, so I signed up on the spot!
... and that's why I've spent about twenty-five hours over the past three weeks in the Theatre Calgary Rehearsal Hall with nine other dudes. Under the expert direction of Javier Vilalta, we can now read out of binders like nobody's business, and I'm confident that we will kick some serious Victorian ass on Sunday and Monday.
It's a long play, and there are long stretches where I have nothing to say or do, which has given me plenty of time to contemplate. And at some point I realised... I don't spend a lot of time with guys.
It's been months since I've had a "boys' night" of video games and beer. I don't watch hockey or soccer or (insert organized sport here). And when I do get together with buddies, it tends to be one-on-one catch-up time.
While a nine-man cast doesn't do much for Calgary's plentiful community of talented and underworked female actors, it certainly creates a unique environment.
The rehearsal hall isn't really representative of your typical male bonding experience (well, maybe it is... we spend a lot of the time half-dressed and stroking each other), but I've been delighting in the opportunity to spend time with dudes. Every time Brad asks me to check the hockey scores on my Blackberry, I mentally pump a fist in the air. As I convey the third-period stats of the Penguins vs. whoever, I am part of the inner sanctum of male-ness. I follow sports! I am man!
Then I nibble on one of Brad's bakery-fresh peanut butter cookies and squeal at its yumminess.
After one of our rehearsals last week, a few of us ended up at the Auburn (where we accidentally caught the first rehearsal of the Calgary division of the Sons of Negus, which pretty much ruled!) and, over the course of two beers and some unsatisfying hummus, we talked about comic books and movies and assorted nonsense. It was rad.
I socialise a lot, but I don't tend to hang out very much. After this show is over, I think I'm about due for a full-on guys' night.
Any takers?
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