Everyone’s a Critic

Posted on 4/2/2008 by cheesefairy

I heard yesterday that come this new year’s eve, we we will see the last new episode of The Royal Canadian Air Farce. (which, for non-Canadians, is described at its website as a weekly comedy show offering a “…unique and hilarious blend of topical humor aimed at our country’s (and the world’s) most newsworthy people and events.”)

I was flipping channels last night and halted at The National (Canada’s National Nightly News) when Peter Mansbridge mentioned the story was coming up. I waited and while I waited, I rejoiced. Saint Aardvark called from the kitchen, “Maybe it’s an April Fool’s joke…” and I wept a little in fear but then yea I did rejoice again because it’s true: this dreadful, unfunny, overwrought travesty of Canadiana is finally being taken out back and shot.

The reporter called Air Farce a “…Canadian tradition…” and “…our version of Saturday Night Live,” to which I said “Bullshit! HOLY BULLSHIT!” so loud I woke the neighbours.

Canadian tradition – maybe. Like complaining about that long stretch of weeks without long weekends between January 1st and Easter (unless you are in one of the provinces that gets Random February Day Off, in which case you will complain about not getting paid for it. Which complaining is totally justified.) Or tradition, like Boxing Day sales? Awesome – I guess we’ll take our traditions where we get ’em.

But comparing Air Farce (which, to start, puns are not funny) to Saturday Night Live is like comparing carob to chocolate. Soy cheese to real cheese. Fiat to Ferrari. And I haven’t liked SNL for years either but that’s an old saw I won’t play today.

Back in the day, we 30-somethings like to say, when it was on the radio, maybe, OK, it might have been relevant and sometimes funny. But I don’t even trust that memory anymore because I was a kid. A kid with pretty poor taste, who wore a lot of peach and aqua. Together. Often in slouch sock form.

Then The Air Farce switched to TV. And I guess what was left of the “we’re on radio so let’s just be funny and perform for our live studio audience” turned into “we’re on TV so we need elaborate costumes and sets and LOTS of mugging to the camera.” Because the comedy, such as it was, turned into:

“Set up.”
“Set up.”
“Set up.”
“Pratfall!”

…audience laughter and camera shot of guy in baseball cap in audience slapping his thigh.

Oooh, a joke about a politician’s teeth getting cleaned … at the taxpayers’ expense! Ooooh, a bunch of people at a coffee shop talking about current events and being mildly snarky about it! Because I don’t know ANY people who make mildly snarky comments about current events. No, it’s not like I’ve worked in an office for 10 years and have had to deal with, “So, ‘ja hear about the guy on the weekend who drove into a light post because he was texting his girlfriend? She was in the passenger seat the whole time! Whatta maroooooon!” every goddamn Monday morning when all I want is a cup of tea.

Yes, good comedy, like all popular art forms, should have a universal appeal. But it doesn’t need to be mundane to be universal. I have to guess that Air Farce has been the “top rated Canadian comedy show for X years” either because there aren’t any others to choose from or because the Boomers (and older) have the remote controls. It’s not their fault – they don’t know how funny it isn’t because they’re on the couch, feet up on the coffee table, sleeping through it. Canned laughter makes a soothing lullaby if your adult years were spent watching sit-coms evolve.

Canada has a rich artistic landscape sprinkled liberally with comedians. I know some of them personally and if I, one of the lesser social beings you will ever encounter, know some, then there must be scads of them. I hope the people who have been making Air Farce for the past 20 years get to move on to something greater and I hope they are replaced by today’s funny people. Oh, and please: no spin-offs.

Posted in not funny, television | 5 Comments

Who Needs a Nanny-Cam?

Posted on 3/31/2008 by cheesefairy

If you want to know what your toddler has really been doing at daycare, I recommend the following:

1. Turn on “Treehouse” (Canadian all-kids programming, all the time, except for occasional “sponsored by Pull-Ups” bits) for the first time since you went back to work (approx. um 9 months ago – hey! coincidence?)

2. Watch your toddler name the characters in a show you have never seen before and thought he never had either (in this case “In the Night Garden”)

3. Listen to him predict the schedule for the day, which you can substantiate by following along in the TV guide. (Go Diego GO! Miffy! Baccardians! [which, at first, I thought was a show about rum, but is in fact the Backyardigans])

4. Forgive your daycare provider, as she has a real brat for a kid and it was a cold, rainy winter.

Optional next step: Go outside.

Optional next step #2: Leave TV on because it’s amusing to watch the kid get all the shows right (maybe he’s psychic?) and also you are too big to move.

Posted in television, the parenthood, trombone | 5 Comments

One Quick Question Before I Pass Out

Posted on 3/30/2008 by cheesefairy

Who in holy hell sold me the delicious bowl of crack I was smoking when I thought that minding a 21 month old while 37 weeks pregnant would be preferable to / easier than two measly hours a day of commuting (mostly spent on my ass) holding fort around a whole day sitting on my ass doing nothing? Because MY ASS, at the very least, would like an explanation.

Good, but exhausting weekend. At least we made cupcakes. That seems to have appeased the ass. (and greatly delighted the kid) But for how long? Yes, OK. That’s two questions. You don’t have to answer the second one; I’m sure if you continue to follow the adventures of the cheeseblog, it will become clear (as in, gin-clear) how long a newly staying-at-home-mom can coast her ass’s good graces on cupcakes, cow sprinklets or no.

Posted in babby, the parenthood, trombone | 6 Comments

I Love Everybody, Especially You

Posted on 3/28/2008 by cheesefairy

Wait – there are only three emails in my work inbox. Why would that be? Oh yes, IT’S MY LAST DAY OF WORK! (and all I do is pee)

Thanks be to:

– The guy on my tuesday/wednesday/thursday bus home who got off at the same stop as me and always held the bus door before scampering across 12th street quick and wiry while I plodded to the light and waited.

– The 5 people who have offered me their seats on public transit in the past 6 months.

– The real, live goth I sat next to on the bus a few weeks ago. Wearing 8 inch soles on his boots, purple hair, black eyeliner and a very sober expression. I was embarrassed to be listening to Bruce Cockburn on my music player but I’m pretty sure the goth boy didn’t know.

– The woman who waters the plants at my office every Thursday. I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye. One time I wrote a story about a woman who watered plants in an office and I feel bad about it now because the real plant girl is nothing like the character I created.

– The guy at work who said to me yesterday, referring to the Hippo, “Do you know what you’re having?” and when I said no, he said, “It’s like that old joke – if my uncle dresses up like a woman, is he my aunt?” What? WHAT? Dude, you are crazy.

– The bathroom cleaning guy whom I had not seen before nor since, who, when I got into the elevator with him a couple of months ago, said, “IT’S A BOY!” while pointing to my belly.

– Jojo, my awesome replacement at work, who said to me, on her fourth day on the job, “Boy, people sure ask you a lot of stupid questions that they should already know the answers to, don’t they?” I love you, Jojo. Enjoy the fame my position brings you.

– Co-worker G, who gave me cupcake cups with little feet and a container full of barnyard animal-shaped sprinkles today so that Trombone and I can make cupcakes together before the new baby comes. Gee, is Trombone very excited about that, do you think? Holy shit.

– Co-worker A, who is missing midi Friday and our seeqpod rock-offs more than he would like to admit.

– Co-worker D, who has made sure I am well hydrated at work by bringing me cups of water for the last 3 months. And who is full of great baby name suggestions. And who would really make a great doula, if only he weren’t a man. Sorry, D. That’s just the way it is.

– The woman who works downstairs from me who without fail, every time she has seen me in the past 6 months, has said, “You look SO GOOD pregnant.” Oh my word. It is so not true but you make it sound true and I love you for it.

– All the crazies down the hall and around the bend and through the months who have made me smile, laugh, rant, cry and turn up my music louder.

Speaking of music. Thank you also to:

– Biggie Smalls, whose line “hit ’em wit a little biggie 101” has been my mantra for several weeks now

– Local ROCKSTATION CFOX, which played “Run to the Hills” this morning as soon as I got in the car to head to my doctor’s appointment.

– The best walking-in-to-work song ever (if you hate your work): Sabotage by the Beastie Boys

– and of course, this entire past 9 months is dedicated to the two, the only, Canibus and Biz Markie.

(Or you could go here for some listening. )

Posted in everything | 5 Comments

In Praise of The Good

Posted on 3/28/2008 by cheesefairy

Yesterday I was coming home on my last commuter train ever EVER YOU HEAR ME? and because I get on at the beginning of the line, I always get a seat home so I have a great view of The Humanity. At Main St. a guy in a wheelchair got on, only it wasn’t a fancy, electric wheelchair, it was just a wheely kind that is powered by arms and he was kind of smelly, I could smell him from where I was sitting, a ways down the train, and there was a young guy, a not-smelly guy, sitting in the fold-down seat where the wheelchairs are supposed to have priority, this guy was popping his gum and looking around him, waiting for someone to challenge him, but no one did.

No one did and the wheelchair guy wheeled in as far as he could, the doors just barely closing around his back wheels and I guess he had brakes on his chair or maybe there were enough people to buoy him because he didn’t move a whole lot after that but he also didn’t get the parking spot to which he was entitled.

I stewed about this for the length of travel till the next stop. And at the next stop, the young man with the gum was thoughtful enough to get up and make enough room for one more person but it wasn’t the guy in the wheelchair, no, it was a young, attractive girl with fetching hair cascading down over her left eye. The wheelchair guy sat stoic, his eyes focused a few feet in front of him while people forced their way around him because he could not move. He didn’t seem to care. He seemed all too used to not getting any respect.

And I sat, with my great belly in front of me, displaying my fortune, my gold leather purse full of personal, unnecessary accoutrements and gifts from co-workers and my ears massaged by the sounds of my choosing. And most of all, I sat there with my self filled with respect; respect I have had since I was born, the privilege of being seen as someone worthy by society’s standards. Completely by chance, I was born into a life where I feel comfortable complaining about my privileges because I am equally comfortable that they won’t be taken away.

My heart broke for someone who has never known the respect to which he is entitled. Who grows to expect to be treated like dirt instead of like a human being. And who doesn’t know any different, at least on the train.

Quite a few months ago, there was a sleeping man on the train when we all got on at the beginning of the line, at the end of the day. He was taking up a seat and a half and he had a shopping bag in front of him on the floor which contained an open carton of milk. The empty train smelled of milk and sweat and stale cigarettes and dirty clothes. People got on the train and walked around him, sat at the other end, wrinkled their noses. I sat in the seat I prefer, which happened to be directly in front of him and thought long ride full of smell. Oh well. I like this seat. And then an older man got on the train and sat right next to the sleeping man. The older man was over 6 feet tall, with a white beard and a briefcase. He sat right next to the sleeping man and he said, “Sir, sir, where are you going today?” very quietly into the sleeping man’s ear. The sleeping man startled awake and said something unintelligible. “OK, then, you need to get off at the next stop,” said the older man. “Here, I will help you with your bag.” And he helped him with his bag, helped him to his feet, steered him gently to the door and guided him out at the next stop.

My heart broke in a different direction, that day. For good amidst so much bad and for people who see other people as people.

Posted in outside | 1 Comment