The Art of (Advising) Discretion

I love when you’re watching television and they'll run a warning before the show, you know "Warning: This show contains violence and mature subject matter. Viewer discretion is advised."

Viewer discretion is advised... well thank you, thank you Mr. TV Network for advising me to use my discretion, a word that means to make my own choices. I'm really glad you are giving me permission to do this, you know, because I've been sitting on my couch mindlessly wishing you'd let me make my own decisions in life, so thank you for letting me know for the next hour that I can.

Of course what the network is saying is there might be something coming up that will scare you or jar your senses in some way, and that you may not want to watch.

This particular warning came last night as I sat down to watch one of those movies full of death at the hands of swords, guns, and the like. Basically the kind of overblown Hollywood popcorn flick that makes you scratch your head at who this is disturbing or offending. The only answer I can think of to this question is, "someone whose loved one was killed by an evil, eye patch wearing, reincarnated samurai." If this describes you, let me extend my heartfelt sympathy for your loss, I'm sure the one robotic armed samurai with the unexplainable Scottish accent will one day get what he deserves.

For the rest of us I find it hard to believe this violence demands our discretion, so let’s sit back and be mindless like Hollywood intended.

What's ironic is that certain commercials don't run with such a warning, like "The following commercial will make you feel really guilty for not adopting a village full of African orphans, viewer discretion is advised."

I was thinking about this late last night when I was innocently watching my movie on television, sitting at my home in Toronto when a Workplace Safety and Insurance Board of Ontario ad (WSIB) came on. For those of you from the area you’ll probably already know what I am talking about, for the rest of you I'll explain.

The Workplace Safety people have begun running ads whose messages are all "there are no accidents". They begin with a person doing a job; say a construction worker welding or a retail employee climbing a ladder to stock shelves. As they do their job they will look straight into the camera and tell us details of their life like "on the weekend I'll be getting married, but I won't be walking down the aisle, because..." and then they'll explain what’s wrong with the situation.

Then suddenly, in a flash of carnage, an accident (sorry WSIB I've got to say there is such a thing as accidents) will happen in gruesomely real detail.

Last night it was a chef who slipped on a wet floor while carrying a big pot of boiling water. She slams her head off the stove before colliding with the floor, the scolding water burning her limp body.

My mouth was still left gaping in shock (something I swore only happens in cartoons) as we faded back into the film of pyrotechnics and computerized guts, for which my discretion was to be used on.

My point is Hollywood's brand of violence and destruction doesn't really disturb me because for some reason I feel pretty secure genetically mutated (to cure cancer... somehow?) sharks won't chomp me to bits. Yet these workplace safety ads scare and disturb me to no end. It's the small accidents in life, those random things that are chilling.

In fact thanks to WSIB I have begun compiling a list of jobs I will never, ever do. I just cross my fingers they never run a commercial on improperly grounded microphone's killing comedians.

So run your redundant discretion warnings not before staged fights between rich actors, but before the truly freighting and upsetting. Why warn me about a car chase involving stunt men when you spring on me real life pictures of dead people in the news every day?

It reminds me of this show I was addicted to back in college called City Confidential. The concept of this true life documentary is that at the beginning of the show they'd introduce you to some big city or small town in America. They gave the history of the place, profiled the locals, some of the areas 'hot spots' like local bars or restaurants. They'd engulf you in this feeling of "what a great place," and then suddenly they'd rip it out from right under you.

See City Confidential is the story not only of the city, but a mystery that captivated the place. And like most captivating mysteries, Confidential's always revolved around murder.

What ultimately made the show was narrator Paul Winfield. His voice was one part wise old man simply telling you a story, and yet another part was laced with this chillingly playful tone that causes every turn of phrase to make your skin crawl.

Lines played on the location, "...and a mysterious death that had Newport caught up in a story with more twists and turns than the corridors of a seventy room seaside castle." Often still they'd simply use a play on words that'd be humourous if it weren't for the subject matter, and even when dealing with grizzly murder there'd always be a contradiction in the level of playfulness in the narration that’d be creepy and powerful. A lot is lost when it just sits before you on a page, but all the same, we cannot forget the ultimate example, "actually, the police had already ruled out Satan as a suspect."

They were real people, the exact same type who dot our lives, living in neighbourhoods eerily similar to ours, and their stories of events crashing down into murder were again, all too real.

And this is why when I walk in a forest late at night or a dark basement it’s not the themes from Psycho or Halloween I hear in my mind, it's Paul Winfield, narrating my every move.

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This Column is Not Password Protected

I am not going to lie, I am a bit forgetful. In fact this is not even the topic I set out to write about, but after several hours of brainstorming on the other topic I went to the fridge to suck back some pineapple juice and totally forgot the purpose of this column.

It may have been about anniversaries.

Nope, no that was something else I was supposed to remember from a few of weeks ago.

Phone numbers, dates, and addresses forget it. I am not going to be showing up at your party, I have probably already forgotten the address you had me write down.

Okay fine, you got me, I didn’t write it down, are you kidding me? The amount of time it takes to find a pen with ink, not worth it. Besides even if I remembered the address do you really think I will remember what it relates to?

The problem is the world is becoming less and less forgiving of the forgetful. It seems like these days every time I click my mouse I am being bombarded with a request for five separate passwords, two security authorizations and my favorite childhood pet’s name or I will be hauled away on charges of identity theft.

Could we take it easy with the passwords? I mean just a little? If I want to read a newspaper article online, for free, do I really need a username and password? Am I really worried about Billy from Chesapeake, Virginia stealing my identity to read about a farm worker who was attacked by a herd of pigs? No, but if he did he would find the story is not as amusing as he had been led to believe by the headline and he probably should have been focusing on the column he was due to finish.

Right, where was I.

I am not going to remember your passwords websites, I am just not. So stop asking me to set them up. In Junior High well most kids were worrying about memorizing the periodic table I was trying to figure out whether I had to turn the lock on my locker once or twice. If I can go two weeks without accessing my coat do you really think my password reminder phrase is going to speed this process along?

But your websites care, in fact they care so much they keep adding more and more security features for me to bungle my way through.

Passwords must now be made up of three lower cases letters, two upper case, four numbers, but not four numbers that can be added together to make an even number, oh and two of those lower case letters must be consonants, so long as they are not touching an uppercase vowel. Symbols are not acceptable.

Once through the password phase my bank would like me to list such tidbits as my top three favorite books, my favorite high school teacher, and whether or not I enjoy a juicy avocado. Upon entering this personal verification data the computer informed me that I am incorrect, that who I had believed to be my favorite high school teacher is not in fact the case. For the past few years the computer informed me, I had been lying to myself.

I try entering another name.

The computer will have none of this. Bold red letters have now filled my screen informing me that if I ever wish to view my money again I will now have to call a 1-800 number.

Sheepishly I call the number.

“I’ve been looked out of my online banking,” I say.

“Alright Mr. Robertson, could you tell me what your last three purchases were?”

“Uh, no… no I don’t think I can”

“What about your special four letter identity code should you be unintentionally locked out of the mainframe?”

“I’m sorry, was I drafted to the CIA and forgot about it?” I ask.

The man informs me I will have to walk down to my bank branch in person to sort this out. And so I strap on my shoes and head down to that building attached to the ATM.

“Good to see you again Mr. Robertson, let me guess, locked out of your online banking?” the teller says warmly.

“Afraid so,” I mumble. The teller types some things into her computer.

“Alright just enter your new password here sir,” she says, handing me a keypad. I do as told, trying to remember what a consonant is.

“Going to remember it this time Mr. Robertson?”

“I’ve got this one right here Rose,” I reply tapping the top of my head.

“Great, I’ll see you tomorrow Mr. Robertson,” she says with a sigh.

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A Cidiot's Guide to Gas Prices

So the cost of a barrel of oil hit its all time high and I was paying for it out the nose at the gas pumps. I mean I was literally paying out the nose, let me warn you people, have a firm grip of the twenty dollar bill when you go to snort cocaine.

No, I don’t really do cocaine… I might, if I weren’t so poor from paying my petroleum dealer around the corner.

A lot of you are asking why? And by 'why' I don't mean why did I make that last joke if it wasn’t based on a firm bed of truth, but rather why are we paying more for gas now then we ever did?

Well folks, good news, I’ve come up with a theory:

They are having trouble finding the crude oil.

See a lot of the gas we know and love comes from places like Texas, Alberta, and Saudi Arabia.

Now in Texas a little thing known as Creationism has been catching on. Creationism is the belief that all life and the universe it exists in were created as is at the birth of time, and nothing has changed since.

Some in Texas say Creationism should be taught in schools instead of evolution. This argument has less to do with what these people believe in, and more because it’s a lot easier to get a good mark in grade ten science when you're not memorizing terms like “Thermotogales” and “Halophiles” and instead can score an A+ by circling “God did it” all the way through your multiple choice quiz.

I should note that a Halophile is a creature adapted to thriving in conditions with an extremely high concentration of salt; it is not someone who has a strange and unstoppable turn on for guys who play Halo. To any of my more nerdy readers I am sorry, I did not mean to get your hopes up about the chance of getting a date to this years prom.

Although you know ironically many Halo players live off an inordinate amount of salty snacks.

But I digress.

Alberta, that flat and fun loving Canadian province also seems to be catching Creationist fever, they are opening a museum dedicated to it.

Not to be outdone Saudi Arabia is getting into Islamic Creationism. It’s similar to Christian Creationism, although notably with less arguments ending in “what would Jesus do/think/say?”

But what does all this have to do with gas prices?

Come on people, do I have to spell it out for you? I sure hope not, because spelling things out isn't exactly my strong suit... well, unless accompanied by spell check.

Any creationist will tell you fossils are dead animals who couldn’t get on board Noah’s Ark before the flood came, just going to show they should’ve booked their tickets through Travelocity.

Now fossils, when soaked in mud and sediment and left to sit for a few million years will produce gasoline, if you like the sound of this recipe I recommend Rachael Ray's zooplankton recipe found in her book, “30 Millennium Meals.”

Unfortunately we are told Noah’s flood happened much more recently then four hundred million years ago, so Creationists can’t rightfully believe in gasoline.

Therefore there are a lot of Creationist oil companies having trouble finding any gas out there.

“How’d drilling go today?”

“Came up dry, just a bunch of global flood victim bones.”

And so you see, we are faced with mass shortages of petroleum.

Really? Is this true?

No, but that’s okay! We’re fed all sorts of lines about why oil is so much. Increased demand from third world countries, wars, hedge funds buying and selling oil contracts, a declining US dollar, one lone oil platform catching on fire off the Gulf of Mexico… are these excuses really more plausible?

Now where did I leave my rolled up twenty…

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Oh No!

From time to time I make poor decisions a much smarter man would avoid, decisions that almost always lead me to end up on the receiving end of my girlfriend's frustration.

Not long ago my girlfriend Amanda and I were at the movie theater. Now before I go on I am not sure if you know this about me but I'm a sucker for the up sale at the movie theater. You might be asking yourself, why would I know this about you? Well I don't know really, it just seems like every time I walk into a theater every teenage popcorn merchant can sense it.

So I start off saying the word "Medium", medium popcorn, medium drink. Then out of nowhere, the hook comes.

"For just a dollar extra you can get the large?"

Sold.

I arrived wanting a small thirst quencher, I leave with enough sugary liquid to satisfy the thirst of a small African country... and bring about a diabetes epidemic among the locals.

This night was no different, I settled in with my girlfriend, a mountain of popcorn, and a cup that holds ten times more liquid then your bladder. We sat there and watched the commercials. And by commercials I don't mean product placement within the movie, or the trailers for the upcoming movie, or the commercials for products they show before the trailers. I'm talking about the pre-commercial commercials they show you while you wait for all of the other ads to start.

So we're sitting there and it's about five minutes to showtime (showtime: the time the first batch of commercials end and the lights dim for the official commercials) and my girlfriend goes to grab the drink.

Now what happened next was not my fault in any way and even if the video surfaces from the kid in the back row who was playing with his camera phone, even if it comes to light like a grainy Zapruder Film of the incident... there would be no proof to implement me.

Amanda reached for the cup. The condensation causing her grip to slip slightly as she lifted it from the cup holder, sliding straight into the lid. As her hand went up the lid decided it didn't want to carry on this journey. It slid off, her hand lost its grip.... the entire drink, bright red Kool-Aid went splashing down upon her lap, ice cubes clinking to the ground around her feet.

Amanda's face looked like she had just been dealt a Tropical Punch from the Kool-Aid Man himself. The flavour had been Cherry, but my guess from the look of it all over her brand new white shirt, that it wasn't Kool-Aid's 'Invisible Cherry' flavour. I'm sure to Amanda it was their 'Changin' Cherry', though I'd like to think of it as 'Rock-a-dile Red'. Yes, there's no pun to Rock-a-dile Red, but when else will I ever get to say it? Try it, right now, we'll wait to continue the story. Come on, I'm giving you the one opportunity in your life to say Rock-a-dile Red.

Done? Okay, so my girlfriend was soaked, sticky, and stained red from shirt to skin with the stuff. But as you recall it wasn't my fault. So how did I end up in trouble?

The laughing probably didn't help, the "Oh Yeah!" Kool-Aid impressions may not have aided my cause, but it was the next words out of my mouth that probably did me in...

"We've got like two minutes before the movie starts. We'll move down like a seat, you run to the washroom, dry yourself off a bit. I'll go, get us a refill of Kool-Aid."

"A refill?" she asks.

"Yeah, I mean, with popcorn we're going to need a drink."

"Derek, you expect me to stay here? After this?"

I did. Apparently we didn't see eye to eye.

It was a quiet drive home, and not a "Oh yeah!" was heard that night.

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Welcome to 2008

Hello, and welcome to 2008. I'm very glad you could join us, I know it hasn't been easy and unless you are one of those babies featured in Baby Genius' (and the sequel that begged the question, "wait, what? Someone watched the first Baby Genius movie?") it's been a long road to get here.

This is the one time of year where we sort of stop and reflect over the past year, then look forward and wonder what the new year will have in store for us. This is of course right after you find yourself peer pressured to shot gun your beer, and slightly before you vomit in that cute girls purse.

And no, let me be the first to say 2008 will not include getting her number.

So what will happen in 2008? You and I may be new here to this year, but fiction has been taking their audiences here for decades.

The Manchurian Candidate, a film released in 2004 warns us that a manipulative mother and some shadowy corporation might attempt to get said mother's son elected as Vice President. There's this whole other thing, kind of important I suppose, about Denzel Washington being a brain washed assassin, but really the only thing I can focus on is why the Vice President? I mean sure as VP you can go around shooting friends in the face and have no one so much as bat an eye, but still, why not aim for say... the guy who runs the whole country? The Manchurian Candidate proves once and for all that big, hulking corporations can't get anything done, had anyone bothered to read that memo Stienberg from the Evil Schemes and Planning Department (ESPD) sent out they would've known President is the most powerful position... president.

There's also Isaac Asimov's 1955 story entitled Franchise, where elections in the United States are a thing of the past. Instead a computer goes over data on everyone in the country to select the most suitable person to be President, and they are 'elected.' Now, I don't want to spook you here but Mr. Asimov's story takes a scary turn in accuracy when the entire country is plunged into anarchy when no President is chosen after months and months of running the computer. The problem, the search for the president is stopped every few minutes by Microsoft Window's Vista User Account Controls.

Feel free to quote this insane prediction to friends, just don't mention you heard it from me.

What else can we expect from 2008? The 1987 book Intervention by Julian May tells us June 20th, 2008 humans have their first contact with aliens. Mark that on your calender now, the last thing you want is to confuse an alien with a telemarketer and prematurely hang up, thus causing humanity to never know whether we are alone in the universe or not.

This will also be the year the Soviet Union returns according to two sources, a 1996 novel (The Next War) and a 2001 video game (Ghost Recon).

And don’t forget one more date to mark in your calender, March 28^th the UN bans Hand Guns (Francis Anderson’s 1992 novel, Future Undetermined).

So 2008 is predicted to be quite the year, full of commies, aliens, US election scandals and you’ll have to face it all without your trusty handgun.

Good luck out there.

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