Likes on Wednesday - Corner Gas

Are you guys always this sarcastic?

'Nothing else to do.

And thus began my love affair with "Corner Gas."

I started watching this little Canadian gem about a month ago after my youngest daughter (all of 3 months) established her sleep schedule. She nods off every night between 11 and 11:30 which is when "Corner Gas" aires, and my wife and I stumbled upon it and were charmed immediately. It's now to the point where we both catch each other humming the theme song (dammit, it's catchy).

"Corner Gas" has aired for four seasons on Canadian National Television, as far as I can figure. The basic premise reads like the bastard child of Garrison Keilor and Jerry Seinfeld - Brent (show creator Brent Butt - yes, Brent Butt, it's right there on the show's credits) is the owner of Corner Gas located in rural Saskatchewan. Adjascent to his station is a diner. Brent's parents live near by, as does his childhood friends, local law enforcement and other random characters. That's it. The comedy comes not from the situation but from a mix the most laid back sharp dialogue I've ever heard and a collection of very well defined characters.

It's the characters that make the show immediately charming. Let's face it - Corner Gas is nothing complex but the read-throughs must be amazing. If you were to read an average episode in script form, my guess is it would do very little for you. For example:

Oscar: (on buying a new wheelbarrow) That's why I'm waiting for next week's money.

Brent: Next week's money?

Oscar: Yeah. This week's won't quite cover it so I have to wait for next week's.

Hank: What is this next week's money? Is it like a pension or something?

Oscar: The money Emma gives me.

Brent: Mom has you on a budget? That's adorable.

Oscar: It's not adorable and it's not a budget. I get so much money every week and that's it.

Hank: So it's more like an allowance.

Oscar: Oh very funny smart guy. It's not an allowance. It's a set amount of money that Emma dolls out at a set time every week.

(pause)

Holy Hell! I'm on an allowance.

Not all that funny, huh? Now check it out - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5eOe_pXt8v4

See! Isn't that the most charming damn thing? Watch other clips. They're charming too!

I've decided there are three main reasons I'm hooked on this show like John McCain is hooked on scary looking ladies.

1) The decided un-Hollywood looking cast. Aside from the fact that Brent Butt looks like a Dick Tracy character, everyone on the set is remarkably and attractively unspectacular (although I wouldn't kick Gabrielle Miller out of bed for eating crackers, as the saying goes). There's not a sprayed-on tan, surgical enhancement or overly toned body in the bunch. It's charming and it also makes it easier to believe these are authentic rural folk, which is essential to the show having any charm on you at all.

2) The absence of a laugh track allows the jokes to crawl under your skin and explode long after the shelf life of an average joke. It's hard to explain because it's not that the jokes are difficult to "get," on the contrary, many are simple. It's the ease in which the jokes flow, the delivery that's decidedly unforced. There are no rimshots, no pauses for chuckles, just a stream of jokes that range from cute to boarderline brilliant, all inviting you to laugh at your own pace.

3) The whole rural thing. I'm a rural guy, as much as I might want to fight it and I relate to the lyric "that's why you can stay so long when there's not a lot going on." Amen, Brother Butt. I'm with ya, on the tone, on the jokes, on the trip. Good work.

Ruining Stuff

They say if you love what you do you'll never work a day in your life.

As I develop experience that is kinda sorta turning into wisdom, I think I have a caveat to this sage old advice - if you do things you love for work, eventually they will become as much work as they are fun.

Tonight, I was part of what I'd call a wild success. The Grand Island International Film Festival (http://www.gifilmfest.org/) showed Casablanca at the Grand Theater and on a Tuesday night we pulled just under 200 people. It was a great showing and it will allow us to fight another day, financially. It was a great movie in a great theater for a great audience. Great night, right?

Well, yeah, but it was also a night where I didn't sit down to watch Casablanca. I was helping in the booth and with concessions, I was taking tickets and co-MCing the proceedings before the movie, and I was running around chatting with folks. All in all I saw about 20 minutes of the flick that I consider to have the best screenplay ever written. It's a movie that's pure romance and intregue, a fantastic film that I love to sit down and watch and I didn't sit down and watch it. I was working, more or less.

I've done this my whole life. I like ice cream, but working at a Dairy Queen aint that sweet. I worked in TV for half an hour before I realized the guts of that are not pleasant. I like movies and wrote about them for 7 years before realizing I wasn't terribly good at it, comparably. I tend to do things I love and after a while they sorta turn into work and aren't strictly in the domain of fun anymore.

I don't think that's completely a bad thing - I could be doing things I didn't give a hoot about and probably suffer for it. Still, it's curious and I would have loved to watch Casablanca tonight.

Picture Monday - Flower Dog

We were making cookies last week when my two wiener dogs (and my mother-in-law's wiener dog) started begging for scraps or whatever else was going to fall from the table, so I threw a fist full of flower on one of the dogs. In my mind, it was a warning - quit sitting up and begging. To them it was "hey, someone's getting food, beg harder."

I only flowered one dog, and would have liked to flower the others, but no good. I was stopped. Still, the one pooch looks sorry for begging, no?

Pick Your Future

It's part of the unwritten rule of the faithful that there are specific times during a church service where your attention is appreciated, but not required. Yes, you listen to the sermon, yes, you sing the songs but when everyone is filing through for communion, it's OK to let your mind wander.

Which brings us to Sunday's service. The way our communion works, the front rows go first, and everyone behind moves up as the line progresses. It's a simple that can be done without firing one synapse or utilizing one brain cell. It's clockwork, but someone forgot to tell the gentlemen in the Blue Blockers.

I'll back up. For a couple weeks I've been watching this older gent who attends our service regularly. He's always clad in Blue Blocker sun glasses (medical? style choice? only he knows for sure), is about 6-foot, probably pushing 80, stocky and never seems to enjoy the fact that he's attending church. In fact his disdain is palpable, so I started to watch him. Today, the pastor issued the communion prayer and Mr. BB started digging for green gold. Hard. He was like Bruce Willis in Armageddon, he was drilling so hard. John Holms had nothing on this guy (over the line? Sure was!). Then he wipes it underneath the pew.

Then, communion. Everyone in his row gets up, and he only starts to get up once it's his turn. He doesn't anticipate, he waits for the clockwork to get to him, and then he starts the long, laborious task of getting to his feet and out of the pew. The whole ordeal took probably 45 seconds, but 45 seconds can significantly screw up the machinery of communion. And it did. The line to the right, where Mr. BB was holding up the line, shriveled while the left line flourished. When all was said and done, his 45 second obstinance added that time onto the communion ritual. Yes, it's small, but there's no denying the middle finger with a booger on it that he was waving at everyone.

The reason I bring up Mr. BB at all is it makes you wonder what sort of old person you'll turn into, presuming you make it that far. There are times I feel that life has broken me down a bit, but I can't imagine a life where such odd little defiances are necessary to feel empowered. Was this, really, the only place and time Mr. BB could make a man out of himself - by holding up the line and smearing God's house in his own crusty snot juice (over the line yet again!!!).

Or, the possibility exists that he said "screw it" to life a long time ago and lives his life as a third grader in an old man's body. You have to admit, the ideal if not the execution has a certain appeal.

I hope when I'm old dignity will have come my way in a small measure, but I somehow doubt it. I'm not a person with whom dignity gets along. I'm much more disaster prone than to think one day people will take me seriously because I'm old, accomplished or not. But I sincerely doubt you'll catch me holding up the line for the blood of Jesus.

Anticipation, Redux

Part of me is dreading the upcoming "Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull." My friend Chad pointed out, quite correctly that the movies maintain a law of diminishing returns. If the trend holds, the flick will be the worst of the four (don't get me started on "Temple of Doom," my favorite of the series but a film that, I will concede, is inferior to "Raiders of the Lost Ark" in every conceivable way).

I'm dreading it because, from the sound of things, it's just going to get goofy - aliens, bastard children with goofy names, Ray Winstone (whom I love, BTW). But I'm actually getting up early tomorrow so I can watch the first trailer on Yahoo Movies. I'm not sure when it will be posted, but if I can catch it before work, I'm gonna do it.

The trailer has already been spoiled all over the web, but I still can't wait. If the character is about anything, it's about myth, so I don't feel so terribly guilty about desperately wanting to see Harrison Ford back in the fedora.

Also, this poster would completely kick ass if the same artist hadn't already done the Star Wars prequels, which bring memories of the evil George Lucas, not the good one who pitched "Indiana Smith" to Steven Spielberg on the beach. Still, Cate Blanchet looks spectacular as a commie dominatrix, and once that theme starts playing, I'm sure all will be forgotten.

Bad Media Day

Can someone tell me what the hell is wrong with Newsweek?

Today, in the middle of reading a story about how the neo cons hate John McCain, I was compelled to put the piece down out of disgust. The story started with quotes (obtained by Newsweek) by Ann Coulter and went on to quote Rush Limbaugh, Sean Hannity, Glenn Beck and other media figures of the extreme right wing of the Republican party.

Why put the article down? Follow me here for a minute.

In the first two pages of this article on John McCain, one of two people who will be competing for the presidency of this country, they quoted a woman who called John Edwards a faggot, a drug-addict hypocrite windbag who is chiefly resonsible for the lowering of political discourse in this country, the premeir irrational screaming talking head among wingnuts and a Moron convert who once promised to broadcast an abortion on his radio talk show, only to play a clip of Al Franken's radio show (who explained the tasteless stunt by comparing himself to Lenny Bruce). In other words, the story was stacked with sources who no serious journalist in their right mind would listen to.

The argument might then be "But these are the neocon powerful. Who else are you going to talk to?" Senators. Representatives. The president or his staff. Joe Liberman. Mitch McConnell. Dan Carlin. Robert Scheer. Harry Reid. William Kristol, if it comes to that (even though no one should take him seriously, either). You don't talk to entertainers, many of whom have IDENTIFIED themselves as entertainers as opposed to serious political pundits and visionaries. By quoting Ann Coulter, you are validating her and I, de facto, am giving her attention. So I put the article down.

I'm totally engrossed in the presidential election right now, but stuff like this takes the wind out of my sails pretty damn quick. But, I had some good news - the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue came today (with my sweetie, Brooklyn Decker getting significant play), so I put down newsweek which was trying to entertain me as oppose to inform me in a subtle way, and picked up something that appealed to my basest elements in a forthright and straightfoward manner. When I need political coverage, I think I'll go on-line in the near future until Newsweek gets their shit together.

Picture Monday

While I've taken a lot of good pictures in my life, some of which I'll share in the coming weeks, I can't think of one I've taken that Samuel Beckett would be proud of. But, there's a first time for everything.

The background: My friend Matt found a "Choose Your Own Adventure" book in a Barnes and Noble, which was a nostalgic thrill. I found this page and made him hold it up and - Instant Nihlism.