Wednesday, December 30, 2020
U.S. President Donald J. Trump was admitted to Walter Reed National Medical Center on Friday, not after already being tested and confirmed as COVID-19 positive, but after feeling unwell throughout the night. He was advised to seek serious medical treatment, immediately. The president has long downplayed the severity of the virus, and has ignored the deaths of more than 200,000 Americans. Deaths but a little inconvenient: for him, and for the people who've died. Yesterday he exited Walter Reed and took a joy ride in his armoured vehicle to show his faithful, who stood outside with their banners of support and reaffirmation, that the king had beaten the unseen and not-real plague.
Later in the day Trump went home triumphantly to the White House and waved with laboured breath to the crowd. All is good again in the Great Kingdom.
If this were a Brothers Grimm story, how might it end? Most of us would not wish something like this on Mr Trump, but, given his mean nature toward his fellow man and woman, one can have fun with a fanciful tale....
Tuesday, December 29, 2020
Monday, December 28, 2020
Sunday, December 27, 2020
How I discovered The Interns I do not remember, but I do remember making sure I caught the CBS medical show every week on the Sony black-and-white portable upstairs. To this then young one the subject matter was adult at times -- there was an intense episode which featured a prison -- but for some strange reason I could handle the material, even if no doubt I did not always understand it.
Seeing this intro brought back the memories, sometimes in "chill" form. I remembered so much of it, especially the climactic bit where the intrepid young medics run into Broderick Crawford.
The cast: Mr Highway Patrol, of course; Christopher Stone; Stephen Brooks; Hal Frederick; Sandy Smith; Mike Farrell; and Skip Homeier. (Even then I was familiar with some of these actors as I had seen them in other television series'.)
The Interns and I enjoyed just one season.
Friday, December 25, 2020
(After reading that, pretend you have a faulty memory. "He posted about the Christmas of nineteen-ninety.")
My favourite present that year was the AMT "Star Trek U.S.S. Enterprise Space Ship Model Kit".
(Star Trek was sparking hot. The series had finished its NBC network run only eighteen months earlier. Toronto television station CFTO was running/stripping the episodes at 5pm on weekdays.)
It was not a simple plastic model kit as it was "lighted". Small light bulbs, included in the box, could be inserted into the top and bottom of the primary hull (the saucer-shaped portion) and at the front-ends of the engine nacelles (those long tubes). The former were capped by green-tinted discs, and the latter were topped-off by amber-tinted domes. My mother helped me with the wiring and the insertion of the lamps' power source: a D-cell, not included with the kit, sat in the secondary hull (the bottom tube-like section).
Building a model kit is fun, but seeing the completed AMT U.S.S. Enterprise suspended from my bedroom ceiling was a trip, and it looked great with the bedroom light off.
I remember something else from Christmas Day 1970. My dad was in the process of carving the turkey when he looked over at the Zenith television: "I'm surprised this is on today." (The episode was "The Return of the Archons".)
Fond Christmas memories.
Wednesday, December 23, 2020
Tuesday, December 22, 2020
Monday, December 21, 2020
Sunday, December 20, 2020
Friday, December 18, 2020
Christmas is a week from today. How did it sneak up on us like that? The good news for me is I don't celebrate it. Ebenezer Scrooge I am not, just conservative. This year is a different case, so a plan to get to together with friends and family at Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese pub will have to be cancelled.
I'm not a big drinker, but the Plan-B will consist of a short walk to my local Wine Rack -- the one on Bloor Street, not the one on my wall.
Thursday, December 17, 2020
Wednesday, December 16, 2020
Earlier this evening I popped on YouTube and noticed something interesting: Newsmax was streaming live. Great. That's the news service that defeated man Donald Trump has switched to. (How dare Fox News "call" the election's winner! Even if it is a long tradition.)
Commercial: Some sporty-looking dude walks towards the camera: "They're everywhere! Liberal Democrats!" (Oh, no. That can't be good.)
Back to Newsmax. "Spicer & Co." Oh, yes. That guy. He's talking: "communism", "socialism". Someone should ask Sean Spicer to explain to his audience what those terms mean. (Does he even know?)
Lots of smirks.
There's a panel discussion. Key phrase: "Traditional American Values."
Tuesday, December 15, 2020
Monday, December 14, 2020
Sunday, December 13, 2020
In typical me fashion, I turned on a streamed football match right at half-time. Tottenham leads Crystal Palace by 1 to 0 (nil). The other note I must make is it seems that whenever I flip to a game in progress, Tottenham is ahead -- I'm watching a lot of Tottenham matches.
Saturday, December 12, 2020
Friday, December 11, 2020
Thursday, December 10, 2020
Wednesday, December 9, 2020
Tuesday, December 8, 2020
Beatle John Lennon died forty years ago, today. He was murdered by an obsessive fan. I find it odd that this "fan" didn't seem to find his hero's message of peace and love.
Monday, December 7, 2020
Sunday, December 6, 2020
A "mid-season replacement" series, Project U.F.O. satiated those viewers who were into tales of space visitors. The NBC series premiered in February of 1978 to some fanfare, and I was there.
Project U.F.O. was a Jack Webb production, and to make sure there was no mistake who was behind this series, the man himself narrated the opening titles with his trademarked voice and authoritative, and dry as toast, diction.
A typical episode featured stars William Jordan and Caskey Swaim (or the second season's Edward Winter) investigating a UFO sighting. Over the television hour the U.S. Air Force's intrepid special team would interview each individual, who in turn, would recount their story of the event; in Rashomon-like fashion, but without outright contradiction (they did witness something not of this Earth, after all), we'd see essentially the same sequence but with variations based on that person's perspective.
Now that I think about it, the show could be dull at times, even if stories of Unidentified Flying Objects were "in" back then. (Keep in mind that Steven Spielberg's Close Encounters of the Third Kind had been released just a few months before Project hit the airwaves....hoping to catch the wave.)
The final episode of Project U.F.O. landed in July of 1979.
Saturday, December 5, 2020
Friday, December 4, 2020
Dyte Hall was our local hockey rink when my family lived at CFB Borden. Along with the Andy Anderson Arena, the Hall, a large brown-brick structure, one which may or may not have been a purpose-built building, was the place where my ice hockey career began and ended. It was there where I scored my few goals and let in more than a few goals (my team was a bad one). On weekends I would often saunter over and catch whatever ice hockey action was on tap; at times my favourite sport was not on the schedule ("Broomball? No!").
One of my strongest memories of the hall, besides Nancy Getty blowing a puck by me as we attempted to thwart a girls' team, is of schoolmate Mike Walker skating across the ice between the face off circles in front of my goal and delivering one of his wicked slap shots: I caught the puck in the fore of my right arm, right at the joint, effectively doing my job; unfortunately, the disc of smokin' rubber struck the seam in my protective equipment, rendering my catchers' mitt useless as it dangled beneath my now powerless arm. ("Systems Failure!") However, by shifting my hips I could get some life out of the glove. Thankfully the power loss lasted just a few seconds. A most memorable Sunday afternoon.
The most powerful memory for me of Dyte Hall did not happen on the ice:
The Base Borden Minor Hockey Association held a fundraiser one lovely weekend; one could buy a series pass in order to take in all the games, or single tickets. Since one of my friends had a pass, I decided there was an effective way to maximize its potential. My friends and I gathered in front of Dyte Hall and I, on the spot, hatched a plan:
"Okay guys, this is what we'll do.... (inaudible)."
Fade to black.
As 'author' I initiated the devious cycle. With pass in hand I somewhat apprehensively and self consciously approached the ticket table. There was no problem in executing my plan; the pleasant ladies smiled and said "thank you". Once safely through the checkpoint I made for the men's room and passed the pass through the opened window to one of my waiting buddies outside.
Repeat once, then:
Norman was next in line; as per the by now perfected routine he entered the special transfer room and proceeded to hand off the pass. Guess who decided to relieve himself at that moment....you guessed it: Norm's dad! A man born and bred in England could only say one thing after quickly figuring out what sneaky and reprehensible act played out before him: (Something like) "You little bastard."
Needless to say I "heard" about it all afterwards, and Norm, being the son of a Brit in the Canadian Armed Forces, no doubt "got it" afterwards.
You must not forget, dear reader, that although the punchline did not involve me directly, I'm the fellow who drew up the plan. I was, as Wally Cleaver may have stated, the "little creep!".