THE ACADEMY AWARDS

Yum.  The spectacle of people dressed to the nines, most of them married to millionaires, the after-parties with expensive booze and lines of coke, the giggling and clutching of statuettes (not to mention the slobbering and grabbing of contiguous body parts)....

What a waste of airspace, both breathing and broadcasting.

Then again, they do have people to thank.

PHANTOM

Went out for dinner last night with my wife and son.  (The boy has been home from Ottawa for a few days.  The university calls it reading week... whereas parents -- myself included -- call it your-kid-will-try-to-work-you-in-when-he/she-is-not-out-partying-with-friends-week.)

He'll be gone again on Sunday.

I hope he enjoyed his steak.

TAKING THE MEASURE OF EACH OTHER

For the past two winters we've had a lodger take up residence on the underside of an awning over our dining room window.  He -- or she -- is small and would fit comfortably in the business end of a large wooden spoon, the kind my mother used to apply to my backside when I 'got on her nerves'.  Which was frequently, judging by the scar tissue on my arse.

The lodger is a bird.  He -- or she -- is difficult to see (and hence identify) because of its tiny size and its habit of checking in just before dark and buggering off right before sunrise.  I think the little guy is a nuthatch or chickadee or some such thing.  My wife has become quite taken by the wee beast, especially when the temperature dips to minus twenty; it's pitch black outside; and the winds are a-fookin'howlin'.

The bird is a survivor.  I saw him -- or her -- tonight, tucked up on the ledge, beak nestled into the soft feathers of its throat, eyes alert.

I get the eerie feeling that this winter might be its last at this earthly address.  And I think he thinks the same of me.

HONEY BADGER DON'T GIVE A SHIT

Ah, the Crazy Nastyass Honey Badger.

Enjoy.

THE EXISTENTIALISM OF ADOLESCENT SPORT

Saw an item today on CNN concerning a young wrestler who defaulted on a match because his opponent was a girl.  Same ages and weight class.  Both trained athletes.  But the lad refused to grapple.  Simple minds would say he was afraid of losing to a girl.  I, on the other hand, believe the young wrestler's reticence sprang not so much from having his manhood tested as from the fear of having it unmistakably displayed, in all its throbbing glory, dead centre of his gladiatorial spandex.

That being the case, he was no doubt fearful of being disqualified for carrying a concealed weapon.

There is wrestling and there is rasslin'.  I say let the two of them decide this behind closed doors.  The winner will be the one who emerges with the biggest hickey.

HOW IT WORKS (Part One of Possibly Several)

Flaubert once (famously) said that he spent the morning putting in a comma

and the afternoon taking it out.

But that is precisely how writers work.

And don't even get me started on 'a' and 'the'.

That can shit can take a week.  And by then you're drained.

Oh, the humanity.

ABOUT SNAKES & STUFF

People often speak about having a 'do over' of their life.  What they'd change, etc.

Not me.

Given the chance to do it all over again -- even with the tweaks (more money, extra copulation, and a knee that actually worked) -- I'd likely pass.

Unless, of course, I could be a cobra.