Barkerburgh

Supposedly, Saint Patrick was born in Britain, kidnapped by pirates, then went to Ireland to convert the heathen.

He was actually a time travelling cyborg from the 111th Century, from a digital aggrenation called Nio-Ameriga, sent back in time to suppress what had become Uki-Catholixation, but instead became an actual convert, and changed history. His batteries failed finally and he’s a statue in a public square in Cork City, which everybody thinks is Saint Sithripio.

The snakes story was an allegory.

It’s true. I had a vision. I’m writing a book. You may quote me.

The Lebanese asked Damascus to spell the name of their country ‘Ebanon’. I guess they want the Syrians to get the ‘ L’ out.

Really.

Yesterday, my friends, whom I’ll call “Tim”, “Anneli” and their daughter “Alicia” had a Lord of the Rings movie marathon, the extended versions on DVD.

I’m a fan. A few good folks of like mind (and two others (you know who you are)) were invited.

I haven’t seen the extended versions of any of them, except for Fellowship, and only then while listening to the commentary soundtracks, the writers, (Philippa Boyens, Peter Jackson & Fran Walsh) and the one with some of the production staff, including Canada’s Howard Shore. My DVD player just died, so this event was lotsa fun.

Tim has a cool TV, big, HD ready, (not as cool as jok’s, few are) but it’s big and clear and, with the lights off, and the wide screen version, the movie watching experience is close to the big-screen-in-the-dark vibe of a cinema, without the annoying couple from Scarborough (not Guildwood) who sit behind me and talk about their checkbook, the SUV, the neighbours’ noisy dog and “Is this the sequel or the first one?Why did he kill that guy, I thought he liked him? Is that the good wizard or the bad one?”

Including a couple of breaks for fresh guests, beer and chili, it took a little over twelve hours to see all three and I didn’t get home until going on to three this morning. Missed Coronation Street today, since I just turned off the alarm, but it was totally worth it.

A few months ago, on one of the too-many-too-long commercials stations from the States, I saw a commercial for a discount/remnant/closeout store called “Tuesday Morning“.

It took place in a limousine, and was a conversation between the driver and his boss/passenger.

The driver was Jonathan Winters, who apparently is not dead yet, and the passenger, kid I you not, was Lauren Bacall, ditto.

I still don’t know what to make of it.

If anything.

I really like the look and feel of the new Battlestar Galactica series. The camera work, quirky, handheld, reality-tv type style extends even to the shots of the ships where the camera is off in outer space somewhere.

I will talk about the characters another time, since I am at a library computer with almost no time left.

What I like is the general feel of the series, it’s gritty and realistic. Yes, realistic. Forget the astrology name rip-offs, English signs, Hindu-Arabic numerals and the plasma screens, considering this is apparently supposed to be a parallel branch of humanity not connected to Earthside humans for thousands of years. I am willingly suspending my disbelief because of the totality of the feel, mostly dependent on the characters and the camera work.

It’s American TV science fiction but it reminds me in many ways of the great British crime dramas of the 90s, especially Prime Suspect and Cracker, and the one with that guy who was in that other movie later. Rebus.

Now, I totally bought Firefly, its vibe was completely different but its setup was totally Land of the Lost in terms of initial believability.

I never will buy Space:1999.

(And apparently Lenny Henry played a shrunken head in Prisoner of Azkaban.)

Just found that Dawn French and Lenny Henry are married!

It’s pledge drive time on PBS. There were two shows on Channel 17 last night, the first on the Women of British Comedy, hosted by Penelope Keith, God bless her, and the second on the Blokes, hosted by Lenny Henry. Both were punctuated by annoying but necessary pledge breaks. The Peeb always does stuff like this during poverty drives since the horrible budget cuts under Reagan.

Lenny Henry made some comment about sleeping in the bathtub tonight if he didn’t mention Dawn French or something so I looked them up.

It’s a very satisfying fact, like when I found out that Gilda Radner and Gene Wilder were married, or Mel Brooks and Ann Bancroft. Or Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck - didn’t last, that one and oh well, but they tried. (It’s not a widely known fact that while Daffy was indeed a duck, Bugs Bunny was in fact a woman, desperate to succed in what was then a male toon’s world. Look it up. Gives a whole new laugh to all those cross-dressing gags, now don’t it?)

Haven’t seen the Vicar of Dibley or Chef for years.

Apparently there’s a new French and Saunders series about to be shown here in Canada.

God, I don’t see enough British comedy. I like American sitcoms just fine but they just don’t compare to the ‘britcoms’. The writing of shows like ‘As Time Goes By’ or ‘The Vicar of Dibley’ is just brilliant.

But there’s CanComs too. My current favourite is ‘Corner Gas’ on CTV and there’s a new season of ‘The Newsroom’ going on.

Opine here, people. Let’s hear you.

Well, the Pope’s out of jail. Martha Stewart is breathing on her own and they’re both on Michael Jackson’s defense team’s witness list. And so am I.

And do you know why? Michael Jackson is supposed to be innocent. There was at least one pope named Innocent. The current pope is Polish. Martha Stewart is Polish. One of my family names is Stewart. Michael Jackson is barking mad. There you go.

Yer welcome.

I react to my TV, I laugh at loud at The Daily Show, The Simpsons, Arrested Development, Geico commercials (the cavemen, the too-small house, every time, I swear), Showcase self-promotion commercials (Little Old Lady:”I said the F word today. Thanks, Showcase.”)

I cheered yesterday. It was announced on Breakfast Television (CITY-TV morning show), that not only had white supremacist (applied to him and his sickly ilk it’s an oxymoronic contradiction in terms), Ernst Zundel finally been deported from Canada to his native Germany, but had, on arrival on the Old Sod, been arrested for Holocaust denial which is a crime in Germany.

Fucking A.