concrete & celluloid

"Flash forward..."

2009-05-10T08:17:00.003-05:00

Well, I suppose flashing isn't necessary. In any case, I am still no longer here, because I've gone there. And very soon I will also be there which, since I already have a "there," will now be known as "also there." So there.

Yeah, I don't think this is working...

2008-10-10T10:42:00.001-05:00

So I'm headin' out. Not really leaving, per se -- I'm just going back to familiar surroundings, right... about... here.

"You wanna know how I got these scars?"

2008-09-02T12:59:00.003-05:00

So, it's like this.

I don't get out much. Most of this is due to the fact that I work nights, which makes me a vampire of sorts, just without all the teeth and blood and stuff. The rest is because I'm not a go places kind of guy. It's one of the reasons I had this little underground palace of mine built -- so I could go nowheres and watch lots of movieses while wearing whatever I damn well please.

Of course, some of the movies I watch are real bombs. I guess that makes my basement haven a bomb shelter from the inside out. I wouldn't want anyone to be adversely affected by these celluloid turkeys. I mean, just think of the years of therapy that would be needed for the average human if he/she stumbled into a viewing of something as smelly as Lee Tamahori's Next. I watched this one the other day -- outside of Jessica Biel's eye candy presence, it did little for me. To me is another matter all together. One more minute of exposure to Julianne Moore's overly PMSing FBI agent and I would have beaten myself to death with one of my remote controls. Nic Cage wasn't so bad, but then he was playing that brooding, quasi-sadsack that he always plays, except that he could see the very immediate future. Since he could see it coming, he should have got out while he could. This movie was a bomb in just so many ways.

I couldn't say the same for the two big movies of the summer, both of which I experienced away from home while doing my best to OD on popcorn and diet Coke. The first, naturally, is The Dark Knight. This is a film that's easy to find lacking, if only because the hype was outrageously high. I thought it lacked the cohesion of Batman Begins (too much bouncing around with the story), Gotham City was too bright, and the film was a bit long. Still, it's an entertaining flick that is carried by Heath Ledger's lip-smacking turn as The Joker, which was dark, subdued and completely stripped of any of the camp that made Jack Nicholson's portrayal almost twenty years ago just as astonishing. Despite my mild disappointment, it's still film that's good for 4 stars out of 5.

My other sojourn out took me to Vietnam (in this case, Hawaiian island Kauai in jungle drag). Ben Stiller's Tropic Thunder became a lightning rod for controversy thanks to Robert Downey Jr.'s blackface turn and a scene where the dreaded "R" word is repeatedly used to refer to the mentally challenged. Both stirred the pots of various special interest groups who protested vociferously. Of course, as always happens in cases like these, the protests backfired and even more people went to see the film. Neither hubbub is worth protesting. In both cases, it's the idiocy of the characters that's being spoofed. Those that saw it and protested need to unclench. Those that didn't, but protested anyway, need to travel down the road of context, and then unclench. All political incorrectness aside, it's a very funny movie. I give Tropic Thunder 3.5 stars out of 5, for testing the limits of my bladder.

Which, uh, reminds me -- I think it's time for a break.

"Okay, summer's over. Sorta..."

2008-09-01T15:07:00.001-05:00

I'm finally good to go. I just hope there's someone out there that might read this.

In any case...

The kids are back in school and time to do sh-tuff is slowly returning for me, albeit a lot slower than I thought. A prime example of this would be the brand new 42-inch plasma TV I broke out of the box last week. Brand new, in that it's got very little mileage on it. Not so brand new in that I bought it almost two years ago -- back when a home theatre was a good idea at the time. How was I to know it would take so long?

But, finally, here I am in a brand new room, with a big TV raring to go for the new TV season. Plus, there's all those DVDs I've collected, some (i.e. most) of which I've yet to watch. I'm about to put a lack of exercise to the test, in the extreme.

Even though I don't have new speakers, or a new surround sound receiver.

Even though I don't have a new sofa.

Oh, the sacrifices I have to make.

I'll be back tomorrow (honest!) with some talk about a couple of movies I actually saw in a theatre this summer.

"Get Back, Jo Jo..."

2008-05-31T19:37:00.000-05:00

Famous last words and all that, I know, but I'm almost ready for a full return.

When I started this page it was to report on the progress of my home theatre as it was constructed, then to rant on endlessly about the movies (and TV shows) I would experience in my new underground palace. Unfortunately, progress stalled with the room, and the page stalled with it.

But a few weeks ago I brought in an outside contractor to finish the work, with the exception of carpeting and painting. I have another fellow coming in this week to do the carpet and I've been painting myself (literally -- you should see some of my new t-shirt designs along with my new line of semi-gloss skin creams).

So yes, finally, the room is just about complete. And I am just about ready to get back to what I had intended for this outlet of personal expression.

That is, assuming there's anyone still around to read it.

"Hello, Newman..."

2008-05-15T11:37:00.002-05:00

So, it's like this.

I've sat down to write something for this blasted page so many times in the last few months and I just haven't had the energy to see anything through. Weird, when one considers that I'm a person who's never short on opinions. And it's not like there's nothing to write about (translation: lots of easy targets).

The saga that was Britney could have generated some consonants, but what could I possibly write that would be more interesting than the whackjob herself? Nothing much, really. Although, for the good of public safety somebody should really consider hiding her car keys.

I could have given my all on the state of the great game of baseball, which has expanded its horizons -- it's now all about pitching, catching, hitting and testing. But that Mitchell thingy has pretty much said it all, unless your name is Roger.

Also, there's always plenty of television fodder to discuss, especially with the network upfronts this week -- pretty much all my faves are coming back, none more notable than Reaper, which the CW squeaked through to a second season despite so-so ratings. Perhaps the Devil made them do it.

And I've sworn not to discuss anything to do with movies until after I get to see Harrison Ford crack that whip one more time.

So, you see, this piece is really about nothing -- which is only fitting since I can't get the Seinfeld theme out of my head. I'd send my cranium across the room if I only had the equipment -- unfortunately, there just isn't much stopping power in a water pistol.

Oh, well. Whaddaya gonna do?

Until next time...

"Cough, cough..."

2008-02-17T14:56:00.001-05:00

Man...

Look at all the dust on this thing. Time for a good cleaning, I think.

"Thank God it's Saturday..."

2007-10-27T06:44:00.000-05:00

Okay, so this past week didn't exactly roll out like it was supposed to.

HEY, COLORADO ROCKIES! I'd like to introduce you to Painful Reality. I know, this Reality isn't the best looker in the world -- it's scruffy as hell, lives in a really old home and wears ugly, red socks, but it is what it is. Hopefully it won't like the thin air of Denver. You Rockies go home and do your best, m'kay?

What else?

Oh, right. HEY, BILL! Yeah, you -- Shatner, Denny, Walking Ego, T.J. or whatever you want to be called, it's not about you. What? You want to be called James Tiberius? AGAIN? Look, I'm sorry that J.J. won't let you play, but you're dead. Don't you remember? You got thrown off a cliff by that Linderman dude. Sheesh, some people...

More what else?

Oh, right. HEY, JOHN CLEESE! Happy Birthday. I know you're not getting any younger, but if you're looking for something to do, a series about the tripping times of an aging Basil Fawlty would sure perk me up.

Still more what else?

Oh, right. HEY, BRITNEY! Grow the f*ck up, will ya?

And still more what else?

Um, nope. That's pretty much it.

"Roc-kies! Roc-kies! Roc-kies!"

2007-10-16T11:35:00.000-05:00

Question: Is there a better sports story this year than the Colorado Rockies?

Answer: I think not.

This is a team that wasn't expected to make too much noise this season, and with a couple of weeks left in the regular season, they were far on the outside looking in.

Then the winning stretch of a lifetime started. As of their most recent victory, the Rockies have won 21 of their last 22 games. Most baseball fans are hoping it never ends for Denver's boys of summer. Because, let's face it, this is no ordinary baseball miracle. This book has many chapters.

The comeback from oblivion is but one.

Todd Helton is another. A Rockie for an eternity, he has had but one brief sniff of October in his career. He is this year's "veteran player that deserves to win a championship before he's through. There's closer Manny Corpas, who thinks wetter is better. And there's Jeff Francis -- he's my token Canadian reference (not to be confused with The Tokin' Canadian Reference, a resource book on marijuana -- if someone is smart enough to steal this title from me, that is).

But the biggest chapter involves a player who's no longer a player. He's also no longer with us.

In July, Rockies' minor league coach Mike Coolbaugh was hit in the neck by a line drive while coaching first base for the Tulsa Drillers. This is the baseball equivalent of being struck by lightning, because it practically never happens. Sadly, Coolbaugh will never get a second chance. He died less than an hour later.

But, as sad as this story is, there is a side of it reeking of good. The Colorado organization has been very supportive and, most incredibly, the Rockies' players voted Coolbaugh's widow, Amanda, a full playoff share -- an amount which grows with every playoff round the Rockies win.

And, should anyone think of this as insignificant, they would be so very wrong. The amount of money pales in comparison to what some of these players make, but it ain't exactly petty cash, either. A full World Series winning share for last year's champion St. Louis Cardinals topped $362,000.

Mike Coolbaugh did make it to the big leagues, but he didn't stay long enough to bring home the bacon. He barely brought home pork rinds. His new career as a meagrely paid minor league coach was a new beginning that, like his playing career, was very brief.

But thanks to the generosity of the Colorado Rockies roster, Amanda Coolbaugh, her two young boys (who threw out the first pitch in the Rockies first home playoff game) and a soon-to-arrive third child get some serious bacon. The rest of us get a generosity lesson courtesy of the human spirit.

And the Rockies? They now have more people pulling for them than they can possibly count.

"She can run, but she can't hide..."

2007-10-05T15:06:00.000-05:00

Marion, Marion, Marion...

Why'd ya do it? All of it -- the doping, the lies, and finally, the admission.

Let's start with number one. You obviously didn't think you could compete without an edge so you cheated. You probably thought that since you weren't the only one with your hand in the cookie jar that it would be okay.

'Twasn't, though.

Number two -- deny, deny, deny. Psst, your pants were on fire.

And finally, number three -- coming clean when you're about to get reamed by the feds doesn't make you repentant, it makes you an opportunist.

And a thoroughly unlikeable one, at that. Feel free to enjoy your time in the ladies detention center. By the way, if they assign you to license plate detail, I'll take one that reads YOU SUK.

"Dammit!"

2007-09-29T18:08:00.000-05:00

Tsk, tsk... Shame on you, Kiefer. You've been a very bad boy.

The flip side is "say it ain't so, Jack."

Yep, Kiefer Sutherland might actually be going to jail after running afoul of the law with yet another DUI charge. I don't have any sympathies for celebrities who get themselves into trouble. Paris Hilton is a big crybaby who should've shut the f*ck up and taken her medicine, Nicole Richie got off way too easy because of overcrowded jails and lord knows what Lindsay Lohan will do next but sooner or later she's going to end up behind bars, assuming she doesn't end up taking a dirt nap first.

Oh, and don't even get me started on O.J., Bobby Blake and Phil Spector.

But if Kiefer ends up doing time it will affect somebody far greater in the bigger picture.

That would be me.

I would have to do without one of my biggest vices -- I'd lose my weekly hit of Jack. This is assuming, of course, that the state of California won't let the producers of 24 shoot from inside an operational jail.

So, those of you who might be feeling sorry for Kiefer -- don't. Feel sorry for me and the other 15 million or so Jack-addicted souls who tune in to 24 every Monday night, instead.

I know I will.

Sniffle.

"And now for something completely different..."

2007-09-22T10:56:00.001-05:00

Title means nothing -- I was just feeling a little pythonesque, is all.

I finally feel like I can post something. It might be more than a little coincidental that the TV season is upon us, a season third in my heart only to duck season and wabbit season. It might also be due to the fact that the basement is done. Except that it isn't, but more on that later.

No, I just felt like getting back into this blogger thing simply because I can.

So here I am. You have been warned.

"Vacation, all I ever wanted; vacation, having to get away..."

2007-08-10T22:51:00.000-05:00

Just in case anyone's still checking in here, I haven't quit, been deported or checked into rehab for the third time this year. I've just been far busier than I'd anticipated, which makes for a very tired and worn out shell of a person with very little time and energy for the mixing of words.

Next week does bring about some change, however.

For the first time in almost three years I will be taking a proper vacation from all things work related, and I intend to do nothing more strenuous than reading a book, eating a meal or listening to slash watching the iPod.

As for other stuff:

* The basement is nearly ready for painting and flooring installation. Just a little more drywall work to go.

* Watched The Simpsons Movie, which is really just a stretched (as in widescreen) and extended (as in longer) episode. While not a perfect endeavour, it still managed a few solid chuckles and at least one rip roaring laugh. Groening and Co. can still bring it.

* Oh, and speaking of endeavours, the space shuttle has a hole in its belly. Let's hope the 'nauts have brought more than Pepto Bismol to cure it.

* Barry Bonds is only 60% the player Hank Aaron was. The Hammerin' one was all class. Barry's just an ass.

And... I'm outta here.

"Ain't nobody here but us dachshunds..."

2007-06-22T15:12:00.000-05:00

A few observations slash opinions slash blatherings while I have a moment:

* I've been watching the first season of Hawaii Five-O ('twas one of my Father's Day gifts, don'tcha know). All I can say is, Steve McGarrett's the man. Or, at least, he was the man. Jack Lord died almost ten years ago, but his impact on pop culture will live on for ages.

* Roger Clemens isn't half the Rocket he used to be. But then the guy's in his mid-forties. Sure, he's still a decent pitcher, but he's far from dominant. Might be time for Roger to invest in a Rock(et)ing chair

* Heroes. 'Nuff said.

* Isaiah Washington is officially an idiot. That said, ABC should bring ol' Presto Burke back for one more episode of Grey's so that McDreamy can give him a lobotomy.

* Beware of The Blob -- says so right in the goofy-assed theme song of the 1958 Steve McQueen anti-classic. It wasn't really from outer space, though. Turns out it was just a big ball of silicon running amok. The same thing happens in stereo every time Pamela Anderson takes off her D cups.

* Oh, in case you're curious about the title of this rambling, let me introduce you to Maggie.

"You're a rich girl, and you've gone too far, 'cause you know it don't matter anyway..."

2007-06-09T09:44:00.000-05:00

Guess again, sweetheart.

Poor little Miss Paris has been sent back to the slammer.

Boo-frickin-hoo, I says.

I can't think of one good reason to feel sorry for her. I suppose there's that little medical condition she has, which nobody will divulge and only seems to flare up when her identity is reduced to a number by the state of California.

Her medical problem doesn't seem to inhibit her from partying seven days a week, however.

So I guess that makes me a skeptic.

What this all boils down do is teaching the spoiled rotten one that she's not above the rest of us, and that perhaps, just perhaps, SHE should take responsibility for her own actions.

After all, the rest of us don't have publicists on the payroll that we can blame.

And besides, she shouldn't feel all that uncomfortable. A girl that parties that hard should be used to hanging around in bars.

"Hello, is there anybody in there, just nod if you can hear me..."

2007-06-05T15:52:00.000-05:00

I haven't left, I just haven't been right.

But things are improving. The WORK-load is ebbing, and thanks to a little change of my status at my place of employ, I'm going to have more energy going forward.

So what have I been up to when I haven't been working, sleeping or working on sleeping? Not much, I have to admit.

To summarize, the patio in the back yard has been getting bigger... again. The basement has seen the littlest bit of work. And I could really use a haircut (I'm rapidly approaching lizard king territory).

But I suppose things could be worse. I could be a young Hollywood starlet with a substance abuse slash automobile abuse problem. My, how quiet things are with Paris in the slammer and Lindsey getting detoxed. It almost makes Hollyweird a little boring.

But then sooner or later everyone needs a break. Or, in the case of Mz. Hilton, a jailbreak.

In any case, here are some things that need to get the heck off my chest:

** Shrek the Third is no Shrek Previous, but it's got a moment or two worth a giggle. It's especially funny when Antonio Banderas' Puss makes an ass of himself.

** Some school bus drivers seem to think they're sitting on a throne. They take great offense when a car goes zipping through the flashing lights (which they should), but then some of them are so impatient to turn the damn things off and get moving that kids are getting left unprotected while crossing the street. Oughta be a ticket and fine for that, I says.

** Barry Bonds is still an asshole. I'm only saying this because it's been so long since he's hit a homer that some people might have forgotten what a charming fellow he can be.

** DVD must see -- if you missed it in theatres and you're embarrassed about the '80s, then you have to rent Music and Lyrics. It's worth it for the opening "music video" alone. That Hugh Grant is one hip (replacement) dude.

** Now I know why the New York Yankees give such large contracts -- hazard pay.

** I was watching the tube yesterday and I saw a commercial for Drumsticks -- the ice cream kind, not the KFC kind. This guy is talking to these two hotties about what kind of ice cream they want. He wants a Drumstick, they both want something else. That is, until he turns into a giant Drumstick. Deciding that he looks delicious, both girls attack him, at which point he says, "hey, easy on the nuts." I laughed myself silly for about five minutes.

** Speaking of nuts, CBS cancelled Jericho, and fans of the show responded by bombarding the networks offices with nuts. I didn't watch the program, so I don't really get it, but one would think that the show's fans are nuts and the network was probably nuts for cancelling the show in the first place. CBS wouldn't commit to renewing Jericho, but it did offer to rename one of its other shows Without A Trace of Nuts.

** Danica Patrick is a pretty good race car driver, but until she stops playing it safe and takes a chance or two, she'll never stand atop the podium. She just doesn't have the balls to win, so to speak.

That is all. Easy on the nuts. Tee hee...

"I might be kidding, but then again..."

2007-05-04T10:34:00.000-05:00

Confession time -- yes, I've been a little sparse around here. But there are reasons.

Work has been more than a little busy ('twas crazy vocationally at this time last year also). This has left me with less time than usual.

The basement is crawling along (d'oh) and I'm late doing the family income taxes (dough). Also, the grass in the back yard is almost as tall as my three year-old son and a family of birds has built a house in my eavestrough (dodos).

But not all is lost. I have had a little time to develop a hobby. I was thinking of taking up skydiving until I realized that the pavement ain't all it's cracked up to be unless it's hit by an object screaming southward at over 200 miles per hour. So I decided to try something safer -- I've been selling atheism door to door in a Jehovah's Witness neighbourhood.

Not because I'm unreligious (which I pretty much am), but because my poor, overused doorbell made me.

Vengeance is mine, sayeth myself.

"Now, I'm not saying he's ugly, but..."

2007-04-16T11:33:00.000-05:00

Don Imus is one to talk.

Lost amid all the hubbub over the mouthpiece's now infamous planting of his foot at the back of his throat is the fact that a man as attractive as Imus has no business commenting on the looks of others.

I mean, this is a guy who is a real looker. Ranks right up there with Otis Nixon, if ya ask me.

Let's examine the frontage of the casing that houses his demented intellect for a moment. What do we really see? Personally, I see a beat-up old bag of punctured leather that looks like its been dragged a mile down a gravel road by a hot rod with its pedal stuck to the floor.

And the hair. Has the man never heard of a barber? Or perhaps some conditioner? You could string a thousand guitars with that dried out, mangy moptop of his. I'm not certain, but I think there might be things living in it.

But that's just my two pennies.

"Dis, dat and de udder ting"

2007-04-11T14:48:00.000-05:00

Basement still in progress. The subfloor of the main room is next. Meanwhile, since I haven't said much lately, I'll take a moment now to spout off about nothing in particular:

** Let me start this one by saluting Mr. Robert Clark, the director of the great family film A Christmas Story, as well as the director of the great unfamily film Porky's and its equally bawdy sequel. Mr. Clark was sent into the next realm last week by a dumbass who found out the hard way that booze and a steering wheel are a killer combination. Rest in peace, Bob.

** So, there's finally a winner of the Dannielynn lottery. Apparently Anna Nicole did give good Birkhead. Meanwhile, Hugh Hefner is exploiting the memory of the late bombshell with another pictorial in Playboy. Wait, did I say exploiting? I'm sure I mean't saluting...

** The Toronto Maple Leafs got knocked out of the playoff picture last week because the New York Islanders won a shootout. Not that a lack of shootout and a 3-point win system would have helped the Leafs. Upon further review, Leaf fans have nothing to complain about -- they would have missed the playoffs anyway. But Montreal fans should be pissed.

** Major League Baseball has returned everywhere but Cleveland, where fans and players alike found a 15,000 foot high mountain of winter stuff where their stadium should have been. Crews are hoping to complete a panic melt in time for Friday's opener of a three game series against the Chicago Snow White Sox.

** This season of 24 finally got good this week. Not that I'm complaining, since it only took the writers 17 episodes to hit their stride.

** Memo to NBC -- please don't cancel How I Met Your Mother.

** Ditto The CW Re: Supernatural.

** Paul McCartney has another album coming out in June. Funny, but I don't remember him claiming that he'd still be rockin' out when he was 64. Somebody should sue him for false advertising, but then he'd probably never give us his money.

** Until next time.

"Dude, where's my horse?"

2007-04-01T13:52:00.000-05:00

I have recently discovered that I like a good western. The only problem is, outside of anything Clint Eastwood does, there aren't that many good westerns to go around.

Unless we take a trip back, that is.

Last week I went way back -- to 1939. The greatest year ever for motion pictures had it all, including a fine telling of the story of Jesse James.

The film starred Tyrone Power in the title role, with Henry Fonda playing brother Frank. It's a movie that is sympathetic to the James gang and the mayhem they caused, as evidenced by the early scenes of landowners being swindled by the men behind the incoming railway. The railway guys have their con down to a finely tuned science, managing to "persuade" many landowners to sign over their properties for a measly buck an acre.

But when they try their schtick on the James boys, they get more than they bargain for.

And then some. But I don't want to spoil anything for anyone. Rent it and watch it, I says.

Of course, every good movie deserves a good sequel. I don't know yet if it qualifies, but I'll be watching The Return of Frank James, which came out in 1940, sometime this week.

And because I like to keep things light, I might also give Mel Brooks' Blazing Saddles another go. I can just hear Sherrif Bart now -- "Candygram for Mongo, Candygram for Mongo..."

"SPACE, the final frontier..."

2007-03-21T12:38:00.000-05:00

If this room isn't done soon, I'm going to be out of it.

Uh, space, that is. Just one of the many reasons the basement is undergoing major surgery.

I would appear to have far too many DVDs. My better half will occasionally ask me when I have time to watch them all. Of course, I don't really have time to check them all out. But some of my friends do.

I have become the equivalent of a discount Blockbuster Video. Indefinite rentals at 100 per cent off the price of the competition.

In fact, I have no idea which discs are currently visiting other DVD players, but there must be at least a dozen or so at other locales.

This isn't stopping me from adding to the collection. And although I don't get to see the lot of them, I try to see as many as I can.

For example, last week I snared a copy of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, the movie adaptation of the classic Tennessee Williams play. The film starred Elizabeth Taylor, when she was younger (and less weird) and Paul Newman, when his eyes were more blue (and the salad dressing was just a glint in one of 'em). I had actually never seen it, didn't really know what to expect, but enjoyed it anyway. For a Cat, Liz was really a hottie, and I could certainly see why the ladies took a shine to the Brickster.

Up next? Any one of several.

If I can actually make enough space for them all, that is.

"Now Playing: Arachnophobia 2"

2007-03-13T16:41:00.000-05:00

So I went downstairs the other day to fetch myself a beverage, and since I'm obsessed with this basement thingy, I thought I'd take a look to see how the day's compound application was drying.

Little did I know that I wasn't the only one checking things out (see attached photo -- screaming is optional).

This not so little guy was roaming around the floor next to the wall. The pic is a little blurry, but suffice to say that, outside of the tarantula that encountered the flatter end of James Bond's shoe in Dr. No, I have never seen a spider so big. From end to end, with the legs, it must have been a couple of inches long.

If I'd been even the littlest bit adventurous, I'd have caught it and turned it into a meal. But then I never can decide what vegetables go best with a nice, tangy sautéed arachnid.

"I think I feel like getting plastered..."

2007-03-06T13:21:00.000-05:00

Progress.

It's a fascinating word that can only take on true meaning when your ceiling is completed. At least, that's how I see it down in the dungeon to was (AKA the basement to be).

This project has been on the scenic route for the longest time, owing to a great many things, mostly my contractor's availability. Did I mention that I'm not doing this myself? I could have sworn I did.

But no matter. Whether I did or I didn't, the only know truth at hand is that I'm not. Not that I couldn't. I probably could. It's just probably better that I don't, so I haven't.

But I'm helping out. I have to. A 4 foot by 8 foot sheet of drywall is too much for one person to lift and screw into joists at the same time.

Anyway, onto some proof of progress.

This is a shot as one approaches the main room, which at this point is all that counts. To the right are stairs, underneath which will be storage. The fridge on right sits between the storage and the main room in a conveniently built nook. On the left is the laundry room, which also includes a decent sized storage room. Behind the photographer (who shall remain nameless) is the entrance from the garage on the right, and a yet to be constructed bathroom on the left.

Upon entering the main room on the right is a closet just big enough to fit Tom Cruise. Thankfully, he doesn't know about it.

Once inside the room there isn't much to make it special, except for two notable features. This first one is a recessed portion that will be filled with a custom-built shelving unit for the gazillions of DVDs that are currently in my possession, with room for plenty more. It will measure about 6 feet wide by 6.5 feet high. Tom Cruise will be allowed to hang out here -- several times over.

The best part of the room is a solution to mission impossible. Had I gone with my original plan there would have been little room between the sofa and television once said sofa was rolled out into a bed, yet I had no more space to expand the room. Or did I? Behind the wall on the opposite side is the basement drain. I couldn't cover it, but there was no reason I couldn't build over it. Thus, the recessed entertainment centre was born. There is room for a TV as big as 46 inches as well as book shelf speakers and anywhere from three to six stereo components, depending on the size of television. I've settled on a 42 inch plasma, which is currently occupying a space in the basement hallway, much to my impatience.

To summarize, the basic shape of the room (minus the closet area) is about 16 feet by 10 feet, although it's not as wide on the other side of the room, making shaped sort of like a backwards letter P. Hopefully, now that the drywall is all but complete (just some mudding and sanding to go), I should be painting in about a week and a half. After that, it's trims, a quick sub-floor and some carpet.

Then it's time for furniture shopping and some serious celebrating.

"You can't handle the tooth!"

2007-02-25T07:35:00.000-05:00

Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be procrastinators, lest they end up as nothing more than, uh, big babies.

My pride swallowed, I must admit that I am one of them.

I'm not proud to say it, but I've been a little lax when it comes to visiting the dentist. A person is supposed to go see the molar doc every six months, but I must have heard that wrong. Until a couple of months a go, I hadn't been in six years.

Or more. I really can't remember.

Well, I be payin' fer it now. This coming Wednesday, I'll be visiting an oral surgeon for some yanky panky. Two of my unbeloved teeth will be shown the doorhandle.

All this after several recent visits to the dental chair to have fillings put in. The two teeth targeted for execution are wisdom teeth, so it's not like I'll miss 'em.

But that doesn't mean I'm heading for the surgery wearing a silly grin. It's bound to be painful and all that, which makes me very unlike the character in Little Shop of Horrors (played to goofy perfection by Bill Murray in the movie version) who continually goes to the dentist because he's into the torture of it all.

Call me a big baby, but I think I'll be enjoying the medication more.

"Uh, excuse me Miss Clarkson, but you're blocking the sun..."

2007-02-20T14:30:00.000-05:00

There's been no basement work for the last week or so. For my Mississauga blog-neighbour (she knows who she is), pictures will be posted shortly.

Now, a few words of eternal wisdom, or some such nonsense:

** I watched the Daytona 500 on Sunday, including the incredibly long NFL-esque pre-race show. I've decided that NASCAR is pretty cool, although if the good 'ol boy bigwigs ever invite Kelly Clarkson to sing again, they may have to change the circuit's name to N-ASS-CAR. Even Tony Stewart's ego was lost in the shadow of Kelly's ginormous pooper.

** While we're on the subject of the posterior, Dr. Gregory House is such a big asshole he should have been a proctologist.

** Tim Hardaway has been awarded a place in the Guinness Book of World Records as the world's tallest bigot. It's sad to think that so many people used to look up to him.

** I wonder how Jack Bauer's going to celebrate his next Father's Day.

** So Britney Spears dumped her man, flashed her bits 'n pieces and shaved her head, thus providing proof to conspiracy theorists everywhere that K-Fed was the normal one in that relationship. Raise your hand if you saw that one coming. Now put it down, you liar!

** Speaking of former blondes, the latest on Anna Nicole Smith is that three different coroners are claiming to have done the autopsy.

Ba-dum-bum.

Now Entering The Hard Hat Zone...

2007-02-15T13:50:00.000-05:00

Change is good... except when too much of it is in one pocket. Kinda makes you walk lopsided.

Okay, obligatory silliness out of the way, now I can concentrate on things less jocular. Or more jocular.

Wait, I've got that wrong. It should be more or less, not the other way around.

Ahem.

So, why am I here, in new (not so) lush surroundings? Because it just sort of felt right. It was time for a different look and feel. Besides, I need to recharge my batteries and that was hard to do over there.

This page is all about relaxation, or rather, future relaxation. I am currently in the process of renovating the basement. The cold, dank spot under the main floor boards is being replaced with something cleaner, warmer and much more cinematic.

Two words: HOME THEATRE.

Readers of my previous mumblings will know that I am a big fan of movies, which is further proven with the continued swelling of my DVD collection. I was running out of room for the discs, plus I got tired of watching them on a tube barely bigger than a clock radio.

So... the basement.

Walls are constructed, drywall is almost finished. The room is about 18 by 10 feet with a recessed cutout in the wall big enough to hold, oh I don't know, say a 42-inch plasma television.

Which was purchased in December, by the way. The fact that it is still in the box is a minor embarrassment, but then I'm sure people can find more expensive door stops if they look hard enough. Um, eBay, perhaps?

The room will also be the new home of my office, complete with a multimedia compatible computer, which will see its first birthday in about four months. I've wired the joint so that the audio and video from the computer runs to the other side of the room, unseen, to be connected to the television and the surround sound receiver (yet to be purchased. Pour moi, the age of the VCR is mercifully over.

As for this page, I will ramble on about the status of the theatre in progress. I will also talk about some of my favourite DVDs. And, since I can't totally escape my previous bloglife, I might even sneak in the odd snide comment about all those poor celebutantes and their penchant for not being able to open the drawer in their dressers that hold the cleanest panties a gal has never worn.

Sigh. I guess I'll always have Paris.