Guys! Hey, guys! Ohmigod, guess what? No, seriously, guess. Parachute pants are coming back in style? No. Rudy Giuliani was stuffed into parachute pants and then dropped out of a plane without, ironically, a parachute? I wish! But no.
It’s been proven by science! And by “science” I mean “a board game,” which is just like science because it has rules and a lot of people fight over it.
I’ve sometimes suspected I might be hot. August 7, 1983, I thought I was hot, because of the Adidas shorts and the gym socks. Then there was that time that girl was leering at me in Tim Hortons but it turned out she was only ogling my cruller. Thursdays between 2:34 and 2:36 pm, like clockwork, I think I’m hot.
I admit there have been times when I’ve wondered whether I’ve passed the age of being potentially hot, but then I remember that I’m not a woman and am allowed to be hot well into my sixties or even my Sean Conneries.
Still, I’ve never known for sure. But now I do. Thanks to my daughter.
That sounds weird: thanks to my daughter’s friends. Continue reading
I’m a father. I like sugar. I’m a sugar daddy.
No? Not how that works? I do like my sweets, though. Always have. I don’t know where the sweet tooth comes from, whether it’s something I was born with or the result of my upbringing—nature versus NutraSweet. Our mother did serve us desert after most meals growing up, but I think it’s going too far to declare my gateway drug was Pineapple Upside-Down Cake.
In fact, other than Mom’s own baking there weren’t a lot of sweets in the house, which is why my brother and I were sometimes reduced to rooting out the secret location of the chocolate chips. I remember one time taking a crack at block of Baker’s unsweetened chocolate, not a mistake I went on to repeat.
During our annual three-week vacation to the cottage, on the other hand, there was candy and chips and even pop! Ben’s sticky buns! All the good stuff we never had the rest of the year. I remember coming home after the three weeks and always feeling the house seemed a little different, and I am only now wondering if it wasn’t merely because I was peaking on a 21-day sugar high. Continue reading
Was going to photoshop a helmet on her, but she doesn’t deserve that.
“Youth poet laureate Amanda Gorman to recite poem before Super Bowl LV” – CNN, January 27
When Sunday comes we ask ourselves
Where can we find the football among these infinite channels?
Will we eat of wings (chicken) festooned in our flannels?
Now we’ve braved the telly of the beast.
We’ve learned that one team’s called The Chiefs.
Another be called The Buccaneers.
We hear there’ll be beers. Cheers.
And so we will gaze this Sunday upon the Bowl that is Super
And calculate downs and yardage earned in athletic pursuit.
Perhaps someone else do it; math’s not our strong suit.
We would much rather speak of a down that is touched
Like the lily caressed by the hushed
Morning dew that falls on the lea.
Or in this case, AstroTurf, apparently. Continue reading
The Breakfast Club
If Vice-Principal Gleason seems especially irritable during Saturday morning detentions, it’s because he has been dealing all week with parents demanding censorship of controversial books. That’s why you’ll notice there are no copies of Judy Blume’s Forever on the bookshelves of the library.
Back to the Future series
One of the side-effects of frequent time travel is a change in body chemistry whereby one’s sweat smells increasingly like boiled ham. If you look closely, you can see the other characters wrinkling their noses in growing revulsion every time Marty and Doc time jump. Continue reading
Now that we’ve all watched every new show on Netflix, people are discovering that most video streaming services are like the basement level of old video stores on those nights when all the new releases were rented out. Thank goodness for documentaries, AKA podcasts with pictures. Here, then, are some hot docs for you to tell your friends you’ve added to your “watch” list and never get around to viewing.
Pretend It’s a Pastry
Oscar-nominated filmmaker M. Night Shyamalan directs and can’t stop himself from appearing in a series of interviews with Art Buchwald, the humorist and long-time Washington Post columnist who died in 2007. In a series of vignettes, the long-dead Buchwald strolls through the U.S. capital, visiting his favourite “haunts,” explaining how to “ghost” a party and sharing anecdotes about government “spooks.” A number of scenes are filmed before a live audience, which is ironic. The documentary title comes from Buchwald’s famous instructions to small children on how to smoke a cigar. In a surprise ending, Buchwald is shocked to learn that he hasn’t been syndicated the whole time! Continue reading