presence

Watching iguanas mate was far more engaging than watching the show the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences put on last Sunday night. The lack of presence in the evening's hosts made for a lame, awkward, laggy, unoriginal, stale, drawn out, bore of a show.

It wasn't the films or the music or the theme or the presenters or the acceptance speeches or the sound editing you don't care about that made the Oscars suck.

It was the hosts.

James Franco and Anne Hathaway did a poor job. It's not entirely their fault. Shame on Oscar for thinking it can get away with hiring actors as hosts. Is it because nobody wants the job? Previous hosts have included some very funny people with presence, timing, and charm. The stuff you can't teach. Over the last decade hosts have included comics such as Ellen Degeneres, Steve Martin, Chris Rock, Whoopi Goldberg, David Letterman. But the majority of the job in its 83 year history, has been filled by Bob Hope, Johnny Carson and Billy Crystal. Icons.

Presenters are off the hook because they're only up there to present, announce, get lost. However some have more presence in that category than others, even for a short while. Justin Timberlake and Mila Kunis were off, Robert Downey Jr. and Jude Law were funny, Kirk Douglas was old and funny.

The Academy's history reads in part, that it is, "Dedicated to the advancement of the arts and sciences of motion pictures, the Academy’s corporate management and general policies are overseen by a Board of Governors, which includes representatives from each of the craft branches."

Wonderful.

But, if it's dedicated to advancement, why is it going backward? It started heading south in 2009 with Hugh Jackman as host. Albeit a talented actor, Wolverine is not a standup comic, nor a talk show host. But he was more entertaining than this year. I still wonder if midway through the show someone called Billy Crystal at home and said, how fast can you get here? He's that good. When he took the stage he was comfortable, engaging, witty, and funny. You wanted to watch him.

Billy Crystal is all those things. He is also present. He performs. He listens. He reacts. I heard a reporter on the radio say, "It looked as if Franco was watching a show he was also hosting." The man was distracted. And full of himself. And not funny. Fail.

I agree with Jesse Wente's (cbc.ca) take. "You know something is wrong when one of the funniest jokes of the night is from a hologram of Bob Hope 60 years ago," he said.

But it was nice to see Trent Reznor win and Melissa Leo drop the f-bomb and Christian Bale forget his wife's name. Who does that? I thought he was king of the assholes since the fit about the lighting guy. This bumps his status to Emperor. Was he caught up in the moment? You might forgive someone else, but a jerk who is a jerk is still a jerk. A real prize, that one.

Receiving the award is in itself, a present. A prize. To receive a symbol of excellence recognized by 6,000 people in a Members Only club, who choose the best of the best, by voting on secret ballots. Kind of underground and clandestine when you get right down to it. And the winner ends up in a club of its own. Everlasting glory, fame and a not so little gold statue for the mantlepiece, coffee table, den, bookshelf, kids room.

"Since the initial awards banquet on May 16, 1929, in the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel’s Blossom Room, 2,701 statuettes have been presented." (oscars.org)

Still, I'm glad I don't have cable. I would have felt ripped off from such lousy value. I watched the show on the TV in the gym in my building. Then after an hour and a half workout, I went back to the apartment and caught snippits on a website that was streaming it for free. I saw enough.

Jennifer Westaway (cbc.ca) summed it up diplomatically. The show was "polished and predictable."

I'm also glad Inception didn't win.

pineapple express

Another postcard competition, another story under 500 words...

____________________

You coast along Pacific Ocean Highway in your rented gold Lancer sipping a latte. Twisty roads through stunted brown hills take you to your destination. For once, you are not lost and find the address on the first try. A satellite truck is parked in the driveway. You are here so Dave Thomas ⎯ the non-Wendy's one, of the Mackenzie brothers’ fame ⎯ can do live interviews with Canadian entertainment reporters for a Red Cap beer promotion. It is mid-May and Bob and Doug’s 24th anniversary. He is laid up in an easy chair because of recent surgery on his Achilles tendon. This, he says, is something he wishes on no one. A blonde woman wearing yoga pants and a hot pink T-shirt makes brief appearances to bring him orange juice.

The event takes a turn for the worse because⎯ you learn five minutes before the first interview⎯Verizon does not provide an analog signal in these rolling Malibu mountains. The truck operator panics. Your cursing trumps his as you trouble shoot your way through the unforeseen mess that is beyond your pay scale. You take the cameraman’s suggestion of the scenic route back to your hotel in Santa Monica.

You buy a pint of strawberries from a fellow on the side of the road. He writes his phone number on your map. You are flattered, not bothered. He too, is looking for adventure this afternoon. You thank him for the berries.

You take Topanga Canyon Road and stop to call your sister. She didn’t know you were in California and you enjoy a quick chat because you were both huge Six Feet Under fans – addicts to be precise—and you are near to where Aunt Sarah lived in her wooded, artsy make believe home.

LAX is the only place you have ever seen cinnamon Tic Tacs. You buy six boxes. Your flight is delayed. You dip into your travel snacks early. A recyclable Whole Foods container filled with brussel sprouts, orzo, roasted garlic, walnut bits, dried cranberries.

On the flight you watch The Bucket List. During the part in the movie where they go skydiving you are flying over the same exact place. You also, are a skydiver. You think, what are the odds?

You land safely back in Vancouver and pass through customs unscathed. He is there waiting for you, holding a pineapple. No time to buy flowers, he says. He will cook catfish for dinner and grill the fruit to go with it.

You already knew that.

As you cross the bridge on the drive home you think about how you like to travel. How even the muddled trips where jobs go awry have a curious appeal. You run a hand around the back of his neck, touch his hair and smile. His eyes soften. You like to travel. But you love to come home.

fishhooks and fudgsicles

Another CBC Flash fiction, Stranger Than Fiction story. 250 words. Theme: Childhood memories

__________





If you walk for almost half a kilometre, and are four feet tall, the water in Good Spirit Lake in Southeastern Saskatchewan is still only chest high.

My sister and I would wade out with the orange canoe until our dad could barely see us. On board was one half of a pair of walkie-talkies he had picked up at a yard sale. We dropped our lines and waited for perch.

One cloudless July morning, my sister, sitting in the front of the canoe, cocked the rod back at exactly the right angle and wedged the jagged piece of metal through the thin skin on the crown of my head. The pain? No worse than a split lip or a black eye. But the mess. So. Much. Blood. I thought I was a tough kid until I took a fishhook in the skull.

The screaming started when I saw the dark, thick liquid spilling over my glasses. Given the distance we were out and the fact I was rendered incapacitated, it was my sister’s adrenaline fueled paddling that got us back as fast as her teenage biceps could manage. We rushed through the expanse of shallow water while our dad ⎯ an award winning St. John Ambulance instructor ⎯ sent encouraging messages over the cheap walkie. Safely on the beach, my Snoopy T-shirt ruined, he stopped the bleeding then bought us fudgsicles.

We agreed it was a good thing mom stayed at the campsite with the dog.

perception

Howler monkeys poop in their hand and chuck crap at you if they think you are eyeing them too closely. But the annoying creatures on the ground continue to press their luck with silver machines that point and beep and flash and snap.

A seeing eye dog sees for two. Perceiving the planet for someone who was given four out of five.

Along with Canadian Olympian gold (among others) medal winner Clara Hughes, 1 in 5 Canadians will experience a form of mental illness at some point in their lives. (Canadian Institute of Health Research, www.letstalkbell.ca). You wouldn't think it to look at her. Or us. You wouldn't think people shining on the outside are screaming on the inside.

This month it's Egypt. Soon there will be another political disagreement between right and left or North and South. It will stem from differences of opinion, value and perception. Then there will be another after that. And another and another and another...

"I really think it's a great time to be an amputee," is a line from a video I produced. A young woman from Oklahoma trying out her new bionic hand. (touchbionics.com/tv?video=lindsey) The editor and I giggled every time we heard it, but for her, it was the truth. This invention made things a whole lot better. Positive and inspiring and not something you hear everyday.

100 sled dogs die senselessly. There is only one way of to perceive that. If only shit could be thrown where it is needed most.

A mother will perceive her child to be full of talent, beauty, intelligence and wisdom. Even if the child is bedridden with a disease that inhibits them from feeding themselves. Another mother will leave her newborn in a shopping mall's bathroom toilet.

—Synonyms.
1. awareness, sense, recognition.

In 2008, HSBC launched a marketing campaign entirely based on perception. "In each “Different Values” ad, created by JWT, New York and London, a single image repeats three times, with a different one-word interpretation imposed over each photo. In one, the words “style,” “soldier,” and “survivor” overlay the photo of the back of a gender-neutral shaved head." (hsbcusa.com/ourcompany/pressroom/2008/news_10292008_hsbc_campaign.html)

The campaign continues to change, paring it down to two photos in stead of three. Using words like "traditional vs. trendy" and "good vs. bad" over images of hennaed hands, a tattooed shoulder, chocolate cake and papayas. If you've walked the hallway to a flight recently you know what I mean. The message is open to interpretation based on your investment style, cultural background and...perception. These posters however beg the question: Which is the positive and which is the negative? Well, it depends.
"It encapsulates our global outlook that acknowledges and respects that people value things in very different ways.” Tracy Britton, Head of marketing for HSBC Bank, USA, N.A said. (hsbcusa.com/ourcompany/pressroom/2008/news_10292008_hsbc_campaign.html)

Last week a cab driver in Ottawa told me how multiculturalism in Canada is not working. Trudeau ruined the country and Stephen Harper is doing a good job. The cabbie - not a real taxi driver but a retired guy driving a cab - pointed out that he was an immigrant himself 40 years ago. Now he is thinking of suing the federal government because the Anglo Saxon country he signed up for doesn't exist. "You can't have so many different people here who all expect to keep on with their cultures. Enough of this political correctness. Oh I am sick of it!" Then he helped me with my bags when we arrived at my destination.

Eating oatmeal and berries and nuts and seeds makes you "one of those health nuts"; direct is perceived as aggressive; ignorant equals stupid; drinking is acceptable but smoking pot is a problem; boards of directors never say "OK, we've made enough."; unruly kids are stamped with ADHD while their busy parents run to the pharmacy for the solution.

So we have options and opinions and agree to disagree on things a) black b) white or c) grey. There are almost seven billion of us and counting. Too many perceptions and not enough water.

It's mid February and there are houses on my street that still have Christmas lights up. This, it would appear, is flat out denial.

Looking in the mirror is pointless. You can never see what others see. Whether it's how they perceive themselves, what they see in you, or their idea about a monkey in tree tossing turds at tourists.

If through experimental forensic futuristic manipulation we evolve to a point where we are able to dissect the perceptions of our families, friends, enemies, animals, politicians, foreigners, lovers and acquaintances and they in turn, will understand ours...what a dull existence it will be.

But that's just my perception.