All Choked Up

Sometime back in 1995, my friend Steven Neumann mock-choked me. I like how the gentle, easygoing smile on his face - typical of Steven - constrasts with my maniacal gurgling. I imagine his sister Susan probably shot this strange image. 

Fish Bones

Sometime in the summer of 1989, Sean created this work of ASCII art on the Atari 130 XE computer. I'm glad I took a photo, even if it is blurry. 

Camping in Leaf Rapids

Here's a photo of Dad (at left) with his cousin Hugh, standing in front of our tent trailer. Do they still make those anymore? It looks like Dad and Hugh are preparing to grill some hamburgers over charcoal; I'm sure they were delicious, but my favourite campground meal remains fresh-caught pickerel. In fact, that fish may be my favourite meal, period. To my palate, nothing has ever beat it for its juicy, savory, flavour.

To my shame, I never contributed much to those meals; I was a terrible fisherman, too squeamish to clean the fish, and I'm a dreadful cook. But I was sure good at eating the fillets. 

Prairie Beekeeping

I have a vague but vivid memory of visiting a beekeeping operation in southern Manitoba. Perhaps this image is from that day, although I'm not in it, or at least I don't think I am. This may have been shot by Mom or Dad or one of my aunts or uncles, presumably in the early 1970s.

The look of the hives and the surrounding greenery match my memories quite closely. I remember being fascinated by the texture of the honeycombs, which were waxy and soft. The honey itself was superb. 

Whither Gas Stations?

Earlier this morning I had my car filled with gas at Domo, one of the few service station chains that still employs people that pump gas and wipe your windows. While I was waiting for the fill-up to end, I couldn't help but imagine the days of gas stations with any employees at all will probably come to an end within the next decade or so. There's no technological barrier to eliminating employees entirely; we can already pay by debit or credit to unlock the pump, and if there really is a market for service, we must be pretty close to developing a robot arm that can flick open your fuelling port, twist off the cap, insert the spout and start pumping gas into your tank. When electric stations become commonplace, I imagine automatic fuelling will be even easier; just drive your car atop a charge pad, wave your debit or credit card in the general direction of the scanner, and you're done.

I had some trouble finding out how many gas station attendants remain in Canada; according to Service Canada, there are 2,800 in Quebec. I'm not going to do the math, but maybe that amounts to about 10,000 spread across the country, assuming each province and territory have roughly the same number of gas station attendants per capita.

Imagine you're camping in a national park a few years from now, and you notice your car is just about out of energy. You won't need to worry; you can just tell it to go charge up at the nearest station. Maybe the station will even pop your trunk and fill it with snacks, all without human intervention.

Of course, when all the jobs are being done by robots and software, few of us will be able to afford luxuries such as camping trips, vehicles and food, unless of course we decide, as a civilization, that we need to look at new paradigms to address the overwhelming wave of change that's breaking across us right now. What a time to be alive...on the cusp of utopia or cataclysm. 

Sudden (Near) Impact

Had the timing changed by a bare second last night, I might not be writing this today. 

Shortly after midnight, I was driving south on 178th, heading across the bridge over the Yellowhead. My driver-side window was rolled down so I could enjoy the warm summer night; I was listening to one of the many variations of the Mission: Impossible theme on my phone. 

I was moving at the speed limit, 60 kph, on a very fresh green light. I took note of a semi heading north, the only other traffic in my immediate vicinity; he moved into the opposite left-turn lane. 

Since I had the right-of-way, I naturally assumed he would stop to let me proceed. Instead, he moved into the intersection like he hadn't seen me at all. 

Earlier in the evening, the guys were explaining to Colin's son Avery that I cursed only under very specific conditions, and rarely. Last night gave me a new reason to bark a profane oath. 

"HOLLLYYYYY SHIIIIIITTTTTTTTTTTTT," I cried as I threw the car out of gear and stomped on the brake pedal harder than I've ever done before. The car's nose pitched downward so steeply that I thought my bumper was going to touch asphalt. There was a scream of protesting rubber, and I think that's what finally alerted the semi driver, who also slammed on his brakes. His cab bucked up and down violently. 

We came to rest in perfect time with the final two notes of the Mission: Impossible theme. I'd applied my brakes perhaps two or three metres before the stop line; my car came to a halt perhaps a quarter of the way into the intersection. The semi was about halfway through. My left front corner was about two metres away from his right front corner. That sounds like a long way, but had our reactions been delayed by even an instant, the outcome would have been very different. 

In silence, three or four seconds passed. The semi driver gave me a sheepish wave of apology; I waved back that I was okay. The light was still green; there was nothing more to do but proceed. 

It was the closest call I've experienced in many years. I feel grateful to be alive today, and particularly grateful to my Kia's brakes, which performed with spectacular, life-saving aplomb. 

Everything you are and everyone and everything you love can be taken away in an instant. Last night reminded me to relish every second. 

Crokinole Cowboys

The Spokespeople

That's me on the left, pointing at whoever shot this photo of me and two of my fellow delegates to the 1987 Forum for Young Canadians in Ottawa. I can't believe I willingly dressed in a suit for most of this week-long event. Being thin helped. 

Number 9

Sylvia and I married each other 9 years ago today; 8 years ago today we posed for this photo at Germaine's Luau on the island of Oahu, Hawaii. This image represents the tiniest fraction of the great memories we've built together, and I look forward to many more! 

Fanning the Flames

Here's another Centennial Flame photo I shot during my trip to Ottawa back in 1987. 

Flaming Flashback

I shot this image of the Centennial Flame in Ottawa in 1987. With film, no less! 

iMac Flashbac

Here I am sometime in the late 90s working on one of the first iMacs; this one was aqua-coloured. Presumably I was ghostwriting one gardening book or another. My desk at ATCO is even messier than this. Bruce or Jim probably shot the photo; I was trying to finish a roll of black and white. Yes, this was shot...on film. 

Flin Flon Flashback

Here I am at perhaps a year or two of age in the house in Flin Flon, which still exists today. The green couch and coffee table were with the family for decades, as was the piece of patio furniture on the right (I'm not sure why it's indoors in this photo).

The negative is in rough shape, but I've done my best to clean up the scan. It's still blurry, but that may be inherent blur from the day the shot was taken, sometime in...1970? I wish the image were sharp enough to make out the yellow box next to the toy telephone.  

Thoughts on Suicide Squad

Back in 1987, DC Comics started publishing Suicide Squad by John Ostrander and Luke McDonnell. Ostrander's brilliant premise was this: in a world of independent, potentially dangerous people and aliens with powers far beyond those of mortal men, the American government found itself in need of a covert task force of equally super-powered people to counter the perceived threat. Government agent Amanda Waller - one of the great creations of modern comics - recruits a team of so-called super-villains into Task Force X, offering them time off their prison sentences in exchange for engaging in suicide missions for the government. They really have little choice, because Waller has implanted bombs in their necks that can be set off remotely if the villains try to escape or otherwise disobey. Colloquially, they're known as the Suicide Squad, since the odds of coming back from any given mission are slim.

This paranoid, cynical premise is a perfect reflection of the late cold war era, and Ostrander played on the tropes of the time brilliantly, giving the villainous characters depth rivaling and even surpassing DC's more famous protagonists - Batman, Wonder Woman, Superman and all the rest. During the course of the series one-note villains such as the ludicrous Captain Boomerang or the deeply damaged Deadshot are given new dimensions; as I reader, I found myself sympathizing with them even on those occasions when they were put into conflict with the mainstream heroes. Over the course of five years and 63 issues, Ostrander and his team delivered engaging, morally ambiguous stories rich with drama, action and character development, while also offering wry commentary on the politics of the day.

When I heard that Suicide Squad was to be adapted to film, I was equal parts excited and wary. Summer blockbusters are not the ideal venue to explore the more subtle aspects of Ostrander's original comic; it would be all to easy to simply skim off the surface of the work - the action and some character beats - throw them into a few chase and fight sequences and call it a day.

And indeed, that's exactly what's happened with David Ayer's big screen Suicide Squad. Most critics are panning the film, and I fully expected to do so myself. It's true that film is front-loaded with exposition, that it's too dark - not in tone, but visually - and that the villain is somewhat one-note. What makes the movie work for me is its treatment of the Squad members: assassin Deadshot, petty crook Captain Boomerang, the deranged clown princess of crime, Harley Quinn, the monstrous, mutated Killer Croc, the witch-possessed Enchantress, the ex-gang banger El Diablo, and their government overseers, Colonel Rick Flag and Katana, who wields a sword that steals the souls of those it kills.

Of course this reads as somewhat ridiculous, but part of enjoying this genre is accepting that the world of superheroics includes all manner of wondrous and bizarre properties. What makes the film work (for me, at least) is the way these characters interact with each other and how they respond to the situation Amanda Waller and the government have imposed upon them. They are, to say the least, reluctant heroes, and the antagonistic griping slung back and forth is one of the small delights of the film. The other is the way in which the backstories of several of the characters are revealed, particularly Deadshot, Harley Quinn and El Diablo. Each has his or her own dreams and fears, some realized, some not by the movie's end.

The mission itself is simple and linear: the squad has to fight its way through horde of monsters to first rescue an important figure trapped in the fray, and then to take out the threat itself. While not as well done as similar sequences in Dredd or The Raid: Redemption, the combination of action and character interplay keeps the film entertaining, and the final showdown itself is well-executed, has emotional weight, and even lives up to the title in ways I won't spoil.

The film also benefits from a great soundtrack and a neon purple-green colour palette that should have been used for more than the opening exposition sequences and the opening and closing credits; they give the film a very distinctive look during the sections where it's used, and could have livened up the (literally) darker sections of the movie.

The cameos from other DC characters feel unforced and natural, organic to the story, another plus.

It's possible that I'm being too easy on the film, given that it comes in the wake of the truly awful Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice. But for the first time after watching one of the modern DC movies, I actually want to see more of these characters and their world.

Finally, the mid-credits sequence drops a very tantalizing possibility, one I hope a competent filmmaker realizes.

Suicide Squad is by no means a great movie, but it has a goofy charm thanks primarily to the charisma and pain of its core characters. Given a little polish and extra time in the editing room, it may have almost lived up to the comic itself. It doesn't reach that point - it doesn't really come close - but Suicide Squad (the film), deserves credit for ambition, if nothing else, and for showing the humanity in monsters and the monsters in humanity.

Sean's Blackened Cajun Strips

Today Sean came over to teach me how to make Blackened Cajun strips. The process turns out to be pretty simple: coat some chicken cutlets in Cajun spices...

...then fry them in a cast-iron pan in light olive oil for 4-7 minutes on each side...

...and enjoy! They were delicious. No more waiting for Red Robin to re-introduce their long-lost appetizer! 

New on the EW: Space Surfer

Allan and the Suction Cup Dart

One evening, sometime between 10 and 15 years ago, my friend Allan stuck a suction cup dart to his forehead. I found this extremely amusing, so much so that I had an uncontrollable laughing fit. Allan was somewhat nonplussed by my reaction, which grew even more extreme when he pulled the dart off his forehead, revealing a prominent red welt. I begged Allan to let me take a photograph or two (one with the dart, one with the welt), but he refused, for eminently sensible reasons.

Luckily my friend Jeff has used his painterly skills to recreate the moment. Please visit JSVB to see. 

The Raft: Scene 1

The Raft

A Play in One Act

by

Earl J. Woods

Cast of Characters

Fuad Azzameen - A man in his late 40s
Champion Fortnight - A man in his early 20s
Lake Suspiria - A woman in her early 20s
Heather Bullseye - A woman in her late 30s

Scene

A meandering river.

Time

The near future. 

Scene 1

SETTING: A large, well-made log raft, complete with railings, boat hook, two paddles and a small bamboo shelter floats lazily down a meandering river.  Upon the raft sit two Coleman coolers, one orange, one red; a Coleman lantern, two sleeping bags; a lawn chair; a fishing rod and net; some scattered pillows; a pair of binoculars; and a small safe with a combination lock. The shoreline is overgrown with tropical foliage; the water is very clear. It is a hot summer's day, shortly before noon. During this scene, the light gradually changes from natural yellow sunlight to a dangerous, foreboding red. 

AT RISE: The raft is empty. There is a splash; then, the sounds of someone swimming. After a moment, FUAD AZZAMEEN clambers onto the raft, soaking wet. He sits down heavily in the lawn chair. He peels off the wet suit he was wearing, stripping down to his underwear and undershirt. He's clearly exhausted by the swim; catching the raft in this current took speed and endurance. He hangs his clothing on one of the raft's bamboo railings, then examines the raft. He notes the boat hook, the paddles, the fishing rod. He opens one cooler, rummages through it: 

FUAD

Coors...Coke...Orange Crush...orange juice...7-Up...water...water!

FUAD takes a bottle of water and closes the cooler. He drinks as he continues to survey the raft. He notices the safe and tries to open it; it's locked. He spins the combination lock a couple of times, tries to open it again; no luck. He shrugs and moves toward the shelter that sits near the bow of the raft. As he looks through the doorway, there is a sudden crashing cacophony of howls, loud enough to shake the stage. FUAD's eyes lock on the doorway for an instant, and then he turns away as if he had heard nothing and had no interest in the shelter. He picks up the binoculars and scans the shoreline with them. Seeing nothing, he sits down in the lawn chair again and sips his water. He looks around, bored; he has the air of a man who desperately wishes he had something to read. 

CHAMPION

Hey! Hey you! Slow down! Wait!

FUAD leaps to his feet, startled. He looks all around, trying to locate the source of the voice - he's looking out into the audience. But CHAMPION FORTNIGHT pushes aside thick foliage on the opposite shore and waves desperately. 

CHAMPION

Over here! 

FUAD sees CHAMPION and uses the boat hook to snatch a low-hanging branch, muscles straining to stop the raft. It works, but FUAD can't hold on for long. 

FUAD

Hurry! The current's too strong!

CHAMPION dives into the water and swims for it, reaching the raft just as FUAD is forced to unhook the boat hook from the branch. He drops the boat hook onto the deck and helps CHAMPION board. 

CHAMPION (gasping)

Thanks! I didn't think there was anyone else...(he trails off.)

FUAD

No. Me either. 

CHAMPION (extending a hand to shake)

Well, I'm glad I found you. I'm Champion Fortnight. Most people just call me Champ. 

FUAD (shaking hands after a reluctant moment)

Fuad Azzameen. 

The two men regard each other for a second with some wariness. Then CHAMPION claps his hands onto his thighs and stands up. 

CHAMPION

So - a raft, huh? Not a bad idea. I tried for a glider; it didn't work out. 

FUAD

It's not mine. I found it just a few minutes ago. 

CHAMPION

Really? Huh. What are the odds? 

FUAD shrugs as CHAMPION takes a look around the raft, performing the same mental inventory that FUAD did moments ago. He opens one of the coolers and retrieves a beer, cracking it open. 

CHAMPION

So what's in the safe? And who puts a safe on a raft, anyway? And hey, where's...where's whoever built this? 

FUAD

I don't know. It was empty when I arrived. The safe is locked. But they haven't been gone long. There's still ice in the coolers. Hardly any has melted. 

CHAMPION

Did you look in here? 

CHAMPION moves toward the shelter. FUAD suddenly freezes as if transfixed. CHAMPION sticks his head into the doorway and screams as the same sounds we heard before drown out everything. 

(BLACKOUT)

(END OF SCENE)

Keith's Photobomb

Keith and I wound up winning a couple of awards when we finished Grade 6. While Mom was dutifully photographing Sean and me to mark the occasion, Keith dove in with a distant but effective photobomb.

I don't remember much about Grade 6. The Language Arts workbooks were purple; I was scared of the custodian; a girl scratched by left ring finger so deeply I had a scar for years; I was small enough to hide inside the truck tires that served as playground equipment. 

Staycation 2016, Day 2

I'm nearing the end of the second day of my 2016 "staycation" (what an ugly word), and I have accomplished nothing. I guess that's what holidays are for, but I feel like I should at least clean up my office. Today I slept in until 11, ran some errands with Sylvia, then napped from 4 until 8. I think I'll turn in early; maybe tomorrow will be a more fruitful day. 

A Palpable Hit

Good enough to get to first base! From 2010, when I was playing baseball with the Alberta Liberal Caucus. 

Newton Place

I lived in Newton Place, on the University of Alberta campus, for about a year. This is one of only three or photos I have of that time. I have only a few memories of Newton Place: it was where I watched the finale of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, I once dropped a glass in the laundry room and stepped on a sliver of it, leaving bloody footprints on the floor, and Pat and Leslie dropped in for an impromptu visit one night. We don't do impromptu visits in our culture very often. I think they're kind of nice, but on the other hand, I'm not brave enough to drop in unannounced myself, and I understand why they don't happen regularly. Or is it just a matter of age? Is it the sort of thing people in their 20s do, then stop as they enter middle age?

What a shame that we only get one go-round to figure out all of these little mysteries. 

The Last Book

The novel died
10,000 years from now
When no one reads anymore
But the books will take
Aeons to dissipate
Atomic shells at last letting go
One last book rests
On the last shelf
In the last library
One million years from now
Not even wind exists to turn the pages
Much less man
But the words remain
For now

The Paste Land

Bottle of LePage
Red and white
Cap twisted off
White glue stink
Disgusting yet you inhale
The hard translucent flows of dried glue
Stuck to your desk
So satisfying to peel or chip them off
But then the day comes when
The glue runs so thick and hard that
The cap won't come off and you
Are stuck with
Nothing but memories

Astride the Clutter

When I lived in my parents' basement, I was fortunate enough to have a study alongside my bedroom. Within this study lived my computer and as many books as I could cram into the narrow space. When I went to university my brother moved into the space; years later, once both of us had moved on, Mom and Dad turned the room into a storage space, as seen here.

Today, Mom and Dad are deep into renovating the basement, including this space, which they have now opened up into a much larger space. It looks much better now!