Transformers: Revenge of the Falling Asleep

Well here's another victim of the writers' strike, and another arrogant director who thinks he can make up for poor writing with bombast and eye candy. This was a rambling mess of a movie that droned on for what seemed like forever. The characters were less than sympathetic. In fact, through most of the movie, I was hoping Megatron would simply step on the main characters and put them (and me) out of misery.

Director Michael Bay shows his low opinion of women by his casting choices and the way they are portrayed in his films, and this one is no exception. Megan Fox is a total mindless bimbo, who Bay admits he cast for her body and not for her acting. Wow.

My family thinks I'm too elitist in my taste in movies. I respond, is it too much to ask to be entertained by a movie? It doesn't even have to be smart or original. Just keep me interested for two hours. This movie couldn't even do that. Lousy, lousy, lousy.

A tale of two apologies

I'm a Canadian. That makes me somewhat of a connoisseur of that timeless art form known as the apology. As the title of this blog makes clear, I'm all about apologies. And I want to take a minute to look at two recent apologies that made it into the news.

First up, the Letterman/Palin feud.  Letterman tells a joke about Palin's daughter getting knocked up by A-rod and all hell breaks loose. This joke (like most jokes of the post-modern era) draws on and assumes a certain pop-culture knowledge in its audience. In this case, that Sarah Palin's 18-year-old daughter Bristol got pregnant and that Sarah is now a grand-mum (You betcha!) The joke went off track when it was revealed that it was Palin's 14-year-old daughter, Willow, and not the of-legal-age Bristol who was at the Yankee game, and thus by extension, the joke must be about Willow.

It is up to you whether you feel that Dave made a tasteless joke about Palin's 18-year-old, or a crass and unforgivable comment about her 14-year-old. Knowing Letterman's track record, I'd believe the former, because that's exactly where my mind went when he joked about A-rod. There was certainly precedent for Bristol getting knocked up, so I gave a slight chuckle and we move on. But let's consult the apology. Or should I say apologies.

Dave spent a total on-screen time of 10 minutes (non-consecutive) apologizing about this flap. This is a show where commercials can cost $1 million a minute, and in show business, 10 minutes is an eternity. I won't hype up the value of the show too much- this is the home of stupid pet tricks, after all. Nevertheless, for anyone offended by the joke, Dave spent a considerable amount of time apologizing.  He said, "I had, honestly, no idea that the 14-year-old girl, I had no idea that anybody was at the ball game except the governor, and I was told at the time she was there with Rudy Giuliani," Letterman said "It’s not your fault that it was misunderstood, it’s my fault. ... So I would like to apologize, especially to the two daughters involved, Bristol and Willow, and also to the governor and her family and everybody else who was outraged by the joke" (Emphasis mine).

He also spent considerable time admitting that his jokes are tasteless. Does he have to do this? No. He's Dave freaking Letterman. His biggest competition just bowed out and threats of boycott actually earn him more ratings than anything else. He doesn't really have to apologize. He certainly doesn't need to spend 10 minutes on it. But he does, and in doing so, I feel he demonstrated his integrity.

When Letterman delivered his joke, the sirens went off. The Palin camp went crazy. The local pitch fork and burning torches rental agency ran all out of stock, such was the ire of the crowd. Imagine, then, the stirring of the crowd for the comments that demanded an apology from prominent South Carolina Republican Rusty DePass. Commenting on a report of an escaped gorilla from the zoo, DePass declared on his facebook page, "I'm sure it's just one of Michelle [Obama]'s ancestors- probably harmless."

Like the Letterman comment, where you didn't know if he was talking about Willow or Bristol, some people will read that statement and find therein a sarcastic commentary on the theory of evolution, while others will find this to be nakedly racist. I don't know DePass's track record, so I can only go on his response to the flap (no pitch forks here) that arose when he dropped this little nugget. His apology is as follows:

"I'm sorry as I can be if I offended anyone. The comment was clearly in jest." Somewhere Don Imus is smiling.

So we have two insensitive remarks, followed up by two apologies (three if you count both of Dave's). Both of them rely on one's interpretation of the comment to determine if it was it a misstep or the verbal equivalent of driving full speed into an iceberg. To me, an apology aficionado, I look at the sorries and I see straight through to the intent. Are we seeing someone crying, throwing himself at the mercy of the court, or do we see OJ's smug smile as he tries the black glove on?

Judge's verdict: In the case of Letterman, I see someone who doesn't take his job too seriously. He's a clown, he knows he's a clown, and when he sprays the wrong person with water from a seltzer bottle, he knows he's stepped over the line. I felt it was pretty obvious that he was alluding to Bristol's pregnancy when he made his joke, but when he realized the damage it caused, his apology was sincere.

In the case of DePass, we must recognize that he is no Letterman. He doesn't have millions of viewers tuning in to hear his thoughts every night. But he is a mover and shaker in the GOP and is just as responsible for what he says as everyone else. His verdict: the apology he gave had all the enthusiasm of a Jon and Kate date night (more post-modern humour). I am sick to death of the bullshit "I'm sorry if I offended anyone" lines. If you offended anyone? You clearly offended someone, or else you wouldn't be apologizing. So why not dust off the kneepads you use for the rest of your GOP buddies and give a heartfelt apology buddy? To me, this unenthusiastic, 18-word apology isn't worth the paper it's written on (and it's cyber space!) I just see another racist comment from another sad, blue-haired southerner, who incidentally looks like Bill O'Reilly's uncle.

Maybe you see it another way. If so, I'm sorry.

You're the birthday, you're the birthday, you're the birthday boy/or girl!

It's Dara's birthday today! She's 28, now solidly in a race towards her 30s (no worries, kiddo. I'm warming it up for you).

Unfortunately, her day has not been as perfect for her as I would have liked, but we're stretching out the festivities over four days, and I know she's aware of just how loved she is! Life has been providing Dara with some challenges lately (not the least of which is her difficult husband). These are never fun to overcome, but if anyone can do it, I know Dara can. She's strong and smart, not to mention dedicated and very talented! My wish for her birthday is that she sees these qualities in herself.

Love you babe! I hope you have a great day, and an even better year.

Generation Why?

It's been interesting for me, indeed for the rest of the world, to watch as the so-called "Millennial" Generation (aka Generation Y, aka the kid who's sending you a text right now) grows up and fills the boundaries that will define itself. Every generation has its own set of defining characteristics: the Boomers were the hippy-cum-yuppy generation, selling out the ideals of the 60s to build the corporations of the 80s, the X-ers were the lost generation, a minimalist generation that venerated TV shows, songs and movies about nothing, and the millennials are proudly crafting their image as the entitled generation.

There are of course some famous examples, including the recent Miley Cyrus tantrum, when the members of Radiohead refused to be paraded around in front of her just because she wanted it, and every single episode of the almost-physically-painful-to-watch "My Super Sweet 16" is filled to the brim with entitled little brats complaining that their gigantic party wasn't gigantic enough, or their brand new BMW wasn't BMW-ish enough. And I can almost hear all the mothers click their teeth with disapproval at this sort of thing, as they finish the pedicure on mother-daughter day, gulp down their chai lattes, hop in the Jag and head on over for a mother-daughter tan (that skin won't turn to leather on its own, you know).

But these are the idiots you see on TV; exaggerated versions of the home-grown me-me-me kids you're lucky enough to encounter every day. These are the kids for whom the rules do not apply; kids who see every challenge not as a challenge but as an opportunity for Mom or Dad to do it for them; kids who have never heard the word no; whose primary form of communication involves single letters that replace entire words ('c u l8r'); and kids who would rather be somewhere else, no matter where they are. Always.

And it's obviously not only the millenials who are the problem; it's their parents. Like the parents who follow up with hiring managers about the status of their son's resume, or the parents who approach their daughter's office manager, inquiring why she recently got passed over for a promotion. And while the kids complain about the gigantic party and the BMW, someone has to be paying for all these things. Parents: j'accuse! 

Of course, not everyone fits the profile of their generation, and so not every millennial is a selfish brat. There are all kinds of helpful, selfless millenials. And even the millennials are known as being more world concious and committed to things like charity and the environment. But despite the good, I think we have to prepare ourselves for a long period of annoying, self-entitled little shits ruling the planet. At least until they grow up and start saying no to kids of their own.

Life and Death in Canada

It's been a while since I've blogged, owing to some recent major life changes. Now I'm sitting at the Ministry of health (these titles always sound so Orwellian to me), and that gives me time to catch up a bit. 

And that's really what I've been doing this past month: catching up. First, I had to get caught up on school work. I got behind by three weeks, just waiting for my bags to arrive, and my schedule to slow down. But after weeks of burning at 100%, I'm glad to say that things are starting to slow down a bit. I finally caught up on school work, and now I'm staring down the barrel of a big project and an exam. And then, rest!

I've also been catching up with friends and family. Unfortunately, I haven't been able to get to everyone yet. Conflicting schedules and long drives have kept me from seeing some loved ones, but I'm getting there.

On the home front, Dara and I decided to move into an apartment, in the very building we once lived less than four years ago (we got a two-bedroom this time, though). We agonized over this decision for many reasons, but in the end, we were compelled to move back to our old place, right on the subway line!

On paper, it may seem like we're moving backwards. We're living in our old place, and I'm working at the BCE place building (now Brookfield Place), just like I was years ago. But while the details may seem similar, we've made some changes and things are different. I went away a single customer service agent, and came back a married appraiser. In any case, we were quite content with our old neighbourhood, and are quite content to be back there again. Two drawbacks: common laundry facilities and no central air. We deal.

And finally, I cannot comment on the events of the past weeks without mentioning the passing of our dear Papa John, Dara's maternal (and my adoptive) Grandpa. Papa John left us last month after a long struggle in the wake of a series of debilitating strokes. True to his fighting RAF roots, Papa fought for a long time before passing on a cold February day.

He was one of the kindest people I have ever met. I have always said that, though I am different from Dara and her family, clinging to my dubious claims of Jewish heritage (hey, my Grandma's maiden name is Hirschfield, and my Dad is Jewish... that's gotta count for something, right?), Dara's family has always made me feel welcome. Non-blood relatives always remark at how close this family is. I say "non-blood relatives," instead of outsiders because, people who know this family are always invited into it; there are no outsiders.

I mention this because, as Patriarch of this great body of loving people, Papa John had more than a little to do with how the family conducted themselves. He raised a great family, and he will be remembered by them always.

I look to him as a model because, like me, Papa was raised without his Dad. Despite this fact, as his kids attest, he was a great father and a great Papa. He always greeted me warmly, with a kindly "hello Dear," and as was attested during the funeral, he had no shortage of good investment advice.

For all these reasons and more, I will miss Papa John. But I'm very glad to have met him and to have been, however small, a part of his life.

The job so far

A few people have been asking me about my first week at my new job, so I thought I'd be lazy and direct them here, where I can reach a wider audience. I'll still keep it brief, and may repeat some parts, but here's how it's going so far:

My week started inauspiciously, when I missed my connecting flight. This put me on the landing strip about three hours before my orientation began. So that first day, I went sans sleep. Incidentally, this way probably better than the alternative, which would have had me landing on Sunday night, sleeping, and then trying to acclimatize to the new time zone.

So the first day of new-hire orientation was pretty straightforward. Probably the strangest thing about this day was that Dara--the girl who's as afraid of driving as I am of flying--drove me to training. Twice! The second day of orientation went until 1:30, then I hopped on the subway to go down to the new office.

I got down to Deloitte (11th floor on the Brookfield Place), and met a bunch of people. This early into the job process, there's not much to say other than:

1) the office is a labyrinth. At this point, I can find the kitchen, the IT department, my desk, and the bathroom (which I can call a washroom again!) The office is very pro-environment (recycling bins is a no-brainer, but also biodegradable cutlery, and reports printed on both sides of the paper... weird).

2) I probably can't talk too much about the report I'm working on, but let's just say the scope is quite a bit larger than what I worked on at my last company.

3) I've had every lunch this week provided for me, which I'm not used to, but was convenient.

4) The simplest things, like setting up voicemail, faxing, setting up signatures, are more complex in big companies (at least this one). But, there are also many efficiencies that are very interesting to note.

This is my first time working at a big company. For many out there, it's old hat, but I've found it interesting. By my nature, I'm not comfortable in new situations, meeting new people. But I've also pushed beyond my roots, and I constantly shake things up, so that I haven't been 'comfortable' in a while. But I think it's good. It can take you to new places.

So this is my new place now.

Sorry if this seems scattered. I'm watching SVU while typing. Sam Waterston is better as the ADA; he's just not political.

Financial Crisis: a flow chart

A friend of mine recently turned me on to this flow chart, which clearly and candidly describes the processes that occured to get us in our current economic mess. It's a quick, sobering read.