DWUWYH?: Day 32

The last time I checked in, I was on day 6 and there was no visible change in the appearance of my scalp and I didn't feel any different. On day 32, not only is there visible change, it burns and stings almost intolerably (not to mention the itchiness and, well, you don't want to know). I won't post a pic, but the best way to describe my current look is "Bearded Gorbachev."

Okay, I will post a pic but only because I was able to find this incredibly weird fake pic of actor Christoph Waltz as, you guessed it, Bearded Gorbachev.

(My beard isn't quite that good yet, but it's getting there.)

Speaking of beards, we're halfway through No Shave November. Here's my advice to the bros: if you're only growing it out for November, don't even bother. You won't get past the point where it is a constant reminder that you have a homegrown wool scarf on your face. After four weeks it starts to feel awesome and will begin to look great too.

Anyway, four more days of the treatment. Then I get to administer cortisone to my scalp for another two to three weeks while it heals. I will hopefully look "normal" by the middle of December. Merry Christmas me!

DWUWYH Day 6: So Far So Good?

So, I've been applying the Fluorouracil for six days, twice a day. No noticeable change. This could be good news or too early to tell. I did some more research and found out a couple of things. Apparently the medication attacks pre-cancerous cells and destroys them. This is evident in the change in the appearance of the applied areas. Since I'm seeing no change that must mean there is no pre-cancer, right? Maybe. I also learned that for some, there is little to no change in the skin's appearance for the first week or so. It becomes apparent for many after the first week. Those who have used it see a marked change in week two. Apparently near the end of treatment, it becomes almost unbearable, similar to a very bad sunburn.

The only thing I've noticed are mild headaches. That may be due to the fact that I've come down with a lovely cold that has moved into my chest and when I cough, my head hurts. So, probably unrelated. I've also experienced some other symptoms that I won't get into but they too could be a result of the cold virus. The long and short is that I need to give it more time to be sure. I'll check back in in a week and report.

In the meantime, I'll promote No Shave November!

I cheated and actually stopped shaving at the end of September. So, I've got a little over three weeks going and am leaving the miserable itchy phase. (This is where most beards die an ignominious death.) Be forewarned if you do decide to participate in this blessed annual event, you're going to get comments. That, too, leads to the demise of many a potential beard. The great thing about No Shave November is it gives you an excuse! (Just tell the haters that you're doing it for charity.) Who knows? You may end up looking like this:

 

Or this:

 

 

 

If you decide to keep going you may wind up like this:

 

Just get a better barber.

Worst case scenario, you could end up like this:

Come on! EVERYBODY'S doing it!

See you next week!





DWUWYH (Dude, What's Up With Your Head) Day 1

If you have no idea what the title to this post is referring to and you happened to wind up here, I suggest reading this post first:

http://grahamsmusings67.blogspot.com/2015/10/no-shave-octobernovember-aka-dude-whats.html

It's Day 1 of my treatment. I have everything I need.

You may be asking what Diet Mountain Dew and a Ding Dong have to do with anything, but I return your question with a question: What DON'T they have to do with anything? It's comfort food. The rubber gloves, while not necessary per se, will make the application a bit safer. While it's recommended to wash your hands before and after application anyway, I still feel more comfortable using gloves as I don't want to touch anything that may go into my mouth (Ding Dongs) with hands that came in contact with the medication. Plus, I enjoy the snap you get when putting the gloves on. It makes the process seem more "invasive."

As I was applying the cream to the top of my head, I thought about how much I would prefer to be massaging Just For Men into a lustrous mane of grey hair. But, the gene pool dealt my cards from the bottom of the deck.

The Fluorouracil is to be applied twice daily. After one treatment, no noticeable difference in the appearance of my scalp is detected.

Former President George H.W. Bush had a similar treatment a few years ago. His was to his face, not his scalp, but here is what the top of my dome may have to look forward to:

 

That reminds of the time that I briefly met his son, former President George W. Bush. I had waited for hours in line outside the Sandy, UT Costco to get an autographed copy of his book "Decision Points." After going through security, I was brought into a curtained room. Finally, it was my turn for some face time with W. I was ushered through the curtains. It was like having audience with the Wizard of OZ. Surreal.

 

 

He shook my hand and then said in his Texas drawl, "I wanna ask you a question. Was your bald head getting cold out there?" I scrambled for something clever to say but all I could stupidly muster was, "Absolutely!" (With the benefit of hindsight I wish I'd said, "Oh it's fine. Other than being riddled with PRE-CANCER!") He laughed his famous George W. Bush laugh, high fived me and I was escorted out with two signed copies of his book in hand to a checkout inside the store. We haven't spoken since.

 

I realize that to some that incident may seem like nothing more than blatant name dropping. So, for that reason, I'll leave out the time that Tommy Lee Jones almost punched me in the face or when Glenn Close looked at me like she wanted to pepper spray me. Apparently there's something about me that rubs celebrities the wrong way. Except for W. We're pals. 

No Shave October/November aka Dude! What's Up With Your Head?!?

As the latter part of the title suggests, that's the exact question I'm trying to avoid for the next four weeks, so I thought I'd launch a preemptive strike.

I assure you, I'm okay. Let me say that again. I'm OKAY. But if I can get just one person to use more of this:

 

 

I'll feel as though I've accomplished something.

 

A couple of years ago I went to my dermatologist. There was a strange, wart-like object on my right shoulder. He assured me that it was probably nothing but he wanted to cut it out and take a look. (I wish he'd bet the farm that it was nothing. I'd be living on a nice spread near Reno.) Turns out it was basal cell carcinoma. He got it all and you can't even tell where he removed it. But, he wanted to check me out each year.

 

About a month ago, I returned to his office for my yearly check up. My torso looked good. Okay, it resembled the Michelin Man's but whatever.

 

Then he started checking out my scalp. He said he noticed there might be some pre-cancer so he wanted to do a treatment with a topical cream called Fluorouracil. It's basically a topical chemotherapy ointment to be applied to my scalp for three to four weeks.

 

Here are some of the possible side effects: swelling, peeling or blistered skin. So, at best, the top of my head will look like a bad sunburn. At worst, it may resemble the surface of Mercury. Other possible side effects are loose and bloody stools, nausea and possible hair loss.

 

So, to take the heat off of my head, so to speak, I decided to start growing a beard early. (November is typically the month men start sporting facial hair in support of cancer awareness.) If this treatment affects the awesome starter hedge I've got going, I'm going to be ticked.

 

I thought it might be interesting to chronicle this process. Again, I'm okay. Better to be safe than sorry. And I certainly do not mean to make light of or lessen the impact that actual chemotherapy treatments have had on any of my readers or those that are close to them. But please know, that if I can't laugh at this...

  

As the top of my head will be very sensitive during this time and as I typically keep my hair closely cropped, I decided to shave my head today to avoid having to clip it for a few weeks. So, not only am I follicly challenged to begin with, I now resemble a slightly less weird looking version of Shel Silverstein.

 

 

Okay. I look JUST as weird.

 

I start my treatment on the 15th. I'll keep you posted.

 

And remember, use your sunscreen!

 

 



Movie Review: The Walk

I understand the desire to walk on a high wire even less than I do the desire to put oneself through the misery of attempting to scale Mount Everest. I will admit, however, to being glued to my television on June 23, 2013 as Nik Wallenda (a descendant of the infamous Flying Wallendas) walked for 1000 feet 1,500 feet above the Grand Canyon. While doing this, he kept chanting a prayer while his spiritual leader, evangelist Joel Osteen looked on in support. The event didn't border on the bizarre. It had leapt over and applied for citizenship.

Wallenda made it across safely that day. That is not to say that there aren't dire consequences for performing a tight rope act. In 1978, Nik's 73 year old relative Karl Wallenda fell 121 feet to his death during a high wire attempt in San Juan, Puerto Rico. (The footage on Youtube is horrifying as he stumbles on the wire and is unable to hold on.)

Almost forty years before Nik Wallenda made his successful attempt across the Grand Canyon (and five years before he was even born) and four years before Karl's tragic death, French street performer, acrobat, and high wire artist Philippe Petit did the unthinkable. He strung a cable between the north and south towers of the World Trade Center. "The Walk" chronicles not only the, well, ya know, WALK, but the events leading up to it.

The first forty five minutes of the film are hit and miss as we are introduced to Petit (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) and his "accomplices." The standouts among them are Jeff, a mathematics teacher with a fear of heights (Cesar Domboy), and Annie, a street musician played by Charlotte Le Bon. It took me about a half an hour after first seeing Le Bon to shake off the massive sense of deja vu I was having. At first I thought it was Paz Vega from Spanglish (below).

Then I thought it might be Encarnacion (Ana de la Reguera) from "Nacho Libre:"
 

 

But no, it was Montreal born Le Bon:

 

But you get what I'm saying here, right?!? (Apparently this look is in fashion in Hollywood. But don't get too comfortable. You can cash in for one major release and then you're replaced a few years later by a younger model.)

Anyway, back to the movie. I wasn't crazy about Gordon-Levitt speaking directly to the camera early on. His French accent was a little too Saturday Night Live sketchy. However, as the movie continues, it actually becomes a more effective device that drew great emotion from me, particularly at the end of the film.

Where it REALLY takes off is when the crew arrives in New York City to plot Petit's highly dangerous and illegal attempt to walk between the towers. Many of these scenes have the feel of a great heist movie and had me gripping my armrest.

Naturally, the best sequences are of the walk itself. "Everest" and "Gravity" both used IMAX 3D expertly. However, I don't think I've ever seen anything more spectacular in this format before and it may be a long time until it's used this effectively again. Expect trophies being awarded to the technical wizards who made the towers and the walk come to life.

By this time, you are fully invested in Petit and his dream. But what really helps is the recreation of the World Trade Center itself. When Petit first plants his chin against the wall of one of the skyscrapers and looks up, waaaaaay up, I realized that my 13 year old companion was born months after they disappeared from the New York skyline. That filled me with melancholy. Like Everest, the Twin Towers become an inanimate major character in their respective films.

I first became aware of the Twin Towers as a boy when I saw a really awful movie featuring King Kong scaling pathetic models of them in the mid-1970's. I always wanted to see them in person and unlike Petit, who had a deadline to attempt his walk before construction was completed, I thought they'd be waiting there for me forever. While there is a feeling of euphoria as the film nears its end, you also experience a deep feeling of loss as well.

"The Walk" is a stirring tribute to those towers, as well as the man they inspired.

3.5 out of 4 stars

 

The real Philippe Petit as he walks between the Twin Towers.

Petit was also the subject of the 2008 Oscar winning documentary "Man on Wire."





Gillette Flexball

I will give Gillette credit. The Mach3 is probably the best razor ever invented. Kudos. You won. End of story.

But that wasn't good enough. Then came the Fusion. Five blades, a couple extra bucks per cartridge. Never really go into them. Didn't see the need for 2 extra blades or the added expense. But whatev.

Then they went too far. Five blades just wasn't "cutting it" anymore. Now they needed five THINNER blades, hence the Fusion "ProGlide." (Did I mention I have to try ALL of this crap?) Not only do the five thinner blades NOT provide a closer shave than the Mach3, they become dull QUICKER! Crooks. (The only advantage to the ProGlide is that it does swipe across your face as though there's nothing there. For about three shaves. Then it feels like your sliding a dull pocket knife across your puss.)

I failed to add you can get vibrating handles for ALL of these variations. The vibrating model costs more, naturally. And I honestly believe they give a worse shave. Yeah, that's what I need right before I swipe five incredibly sharp blades across my face; a case of the shakes.

This is old news but Gillette NOW brings us the Fusion ProGlide "Flexball."

Is it just me, or does the Flexball put you in the mind of THIS?

With this in mind, here's a suggested ad slogan: The Gillette Fusion Proglide Flexball...You won't believe how much it sucks!

Here's my review:

The blades are EXACTLY the same. The ONLY diff is the handle. It sways side to side. The head already swiveled. The first time I used it, I'm about to make razor to face contact and I hear my father's voice. And I'm wondering what my dearly departed dad is doing in the shower with me. (Yes, I shave in the shower. Attempt to get THAT mental image out of your head.) But, to my relief it was just a flashback. I'm 14 or so, and I distinctly remember dear old dad telling me NEVER to swipe a blade side to side. Good advice! WTH, Gillette? So, I shave as usual.

Gillette claims the "flexball" cuts 20% more hair and 20% closer. The verdict? It's the EXACT same result as the old version.

This bad boy also comes with a vibrating model. It vibrates, sways from side to side, AND empties your wallet!

I'll probably use up the overpriced blades and go back to the tried and true Mach3. Of course until Gillette introduces a new model that talks to me while I shave and tells me what a great guy I am.

End of rant. You may now return to your regularly scheduled programming. I'm sure during the commercial break you'll see an ad featuring the Flexball...

Movie Review: Everest

"It's a round trip. Getting to the summit is optional, getting down is mandatory." - Ed Viesturs

I've only met one person to have scaled one of the Seven Summits, the highest peaks on each of the seven continents. His name is Ed Marx and the mountain was Kilimanjaro. He spoke at a work conference I attended a few years ago. Ed is a soft spoken healthcare IT executive. His words inspired me. Not only was he brave enough to scale a nineteen thousand plus foot mountain, he and his companions launched a *humanitarian mission while they were there. The advice that I remember most from his speech was to "pee in public, puke in private." I know there was a reasonable explanation for that wisdom when it comes to mountaineering, but if I had my druthers, I'd probably reverse the two.

I'm a sucker for books and movies that dramatize things I'd never in a million years consider doing. Among the things on that list: space travel ("Apollo 13," "Gravity"), great white shark hunting ("Jaws"), deep sea exploration ("Titanic," "The Abyss"), and mountain climbing ("The Eiger Sanction," "Into Thin Air"). "Into Thin Air" is a book, not a movie. In fact, it chronicles the same events that inspired the recently (3D IMAX) and soon to be (2D) released "Everest." Why did I list the book rather than the movie? Because the book is significantly better.

Jon Krakauer's 1997 first person account of the May 1996 disaster that claimed the lives of nine came under intense scrutiny. Krakauer questioned the judgment of those leading the commercial expeditions that year. The author's harshest critics point out that the one individual that he directed an accusatory finger at most, risked his life to save others while Krakauer slept safely in his tent. That said, I don't think you can find a more gripping and detailed account of the incident.

The book's length allows the reader to develop a connection with the people that decided to attempt the summit almost two decades ago. Then, when things go horribly wrong, you are much more invested in the safety of those individuals.

Therein lies the film's weakness. Clocking in at just two hours, it introduces over twenty main and peripheral characters. Other than Rob Hall (played by "Dawn of the Planet of the Apes' Jason Clarke), the owner and lead guide for Adventure Consultants, most of the characters seem two dimensional, if mentioned other than in passing. The book's flexibility provides much better exposition and explanation of the perfect storm of events (including a storm) that lead to the disaster. There are some amazing tales of bravery and the will to survive depicted in "Everest." However, due to time constraints, one act of heroism is greatly abridged, much to the film's detriment. That is not to say that the movie version lacks emotional punch. But, it focuses very briefly on many of the personal accounts that took place.

The movie's strength is that through footage shot on location and expertly re-created on a computer, one is able to get a glimpse into what it might be like to attempt to summit the world's highest peak. At almost 30,000 feet, it is the same height that commercial aircraft fly at and is rarely attempted without the aid of supplemental oxygen. That, in and of itself, explains why Everest wasn't conquered until 1953.

The filmmakers do an amazing job of virtually taking the viewer on an incredible journey. IMAX and 3D are expertly used in "Everest." Other than "Gravity," I don't think I've seen the technology used to greater effect than it is here. If you plan on seeing it and it's an option, I highly recommend the IMAX 3D version.

You won't find any spoilers here. But be warned. This is a true story that has been highly publicized over the past nineteen years. Any internet search will easily reveal details. If going in with a blank slate is important to you as a moviegoer, stay away from any web searches. Also, avoid "Everest" on Netflix. The small screen version of the film shot for IMAX and released in that format in 1998, was actually filmed during this disaster. The IMAX crew played a pivotal role in the rescue of one of the climbers and these events are the heart of that documentary. Once you've seen this movie, however, I highly recommend it.

"Everest" is a really good movie. It just isn't a great one. For something as magnificent as Everest itself, I expected more. If you haven't read "Into Thin Air," I suggest you read it soon after.

3 out of 4 stars.

Recommended viewing on the Everest disaster (both contain spoilers):

"Storm Over Everest:"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hJ5olbdXd10

"Mountain Without Mercy: The Everest Story:"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UWxQuN7Xxl8

*To learn more about Ed Marx's humanitarian mission in Tanzania, follow this link: http://www.argylejournal.com/chief-information-officer/leadership-lessons-kilimanjaro-edward-marx-chief-information-officer-and-senior-vice-president-texas-health-resources-inc-and-elizabeth-ransom-chief-clinical-leader-texas-health-resources-inc/

My First Trip to the State Fair and the Quest for a Deep Fried Twinkie

I've lived in Utah for over 20 years and had never attended the State Fair. That changed on Friday night.

What surprised me was how little the State Fair reminded me of my childhood experiences at "Buffalo Days," the province of Saskatchewan's equivalent to a State Fair held in Regina. Either Buffalo Days was REALLY awesome, or my teenage perception of what is amazing differs greatly from the adult version. (Btw, it's not pronounced Reg-ee-na. It's pronounced Reg-eye-na. The look on folks' faces here in the U.S. never ceases to amuse me when I correct them on the proper pronunciation.)

The city I grew up in, Moose Jaw, had a much smaller version, often referred to as "the fair" or "exhibition." I remember spending countless hours kicking around the Moose Jaw fair grounds as a kid. My favorite delicacy at the fair was actually provided by my local church group. Every year, they set up a booth that sold Spudnuts, a donut-like object made with potato flour. Our Spudnuts came in two versions: glazed and chocolate frosted. The Spudnut was slightly larger than a traditional donut with a much bigger hole in the center. I don't know what it was about the potato flour but they were far superior to their cousin. (I did some research and found out that the Spudnut's origin is in Salt Lake City.) I actually had an opportunity to work the Spudnut booth on a couple of occasions, so I consider myself an honorary carny.

Spudnuts

Despite their genesis, Spudnuts are not available at the Utah State Fair. At least I didn't find any. What I DID find was a wide array of deep fried consumables. Seriously, anything you can think of, they'll deep fry it at the USF.

Exhibit A

For years I'd heard tales of a deep fried Twinkie. I'll go ahead and say it: I find Twinkies fairly gross. Would deep frying them make them less gross? I was determined to find out. I went to the fair, a man on a mission, kind of like Tallahassee from "Zombieland" and his search for the last Twinkie on earth.

Unlike Tallahassee, my quest didn't take me very long. I stumbled upon the deep fry shack with every imaginable offering within five minutes. So, I decided to put it last on my State Fair to do list. You can almost smell the anticipation, no?

  

When we first wandered in, we noticed that there was an incredible deal on admission to the "Snake Girl" exhibit. Who doesn't love a good freak show? So, the wife and I each paid our one dollar and went inside.

My better half is still irritated with me that we blew two bucks on this. What struck me most about Snake Girl wasn't that she was clearly sitting on a chair with her head through a table. Or the REALLY fake looking rubber snake coiled around her head. (Actually it didn't really resemble rubber as much as something that had been hauled in from one of the livestock exhibits.) It wasn't even the mirrors under the table reflecting the phony candles and sawdust on the floor to give the illusion that the table was bottomless. It was how bored she looked. I prefer my snake girls to have a bit of a personality. I tried to engage her in conversation but she wasn't having any of it. She apparently couldn't wait for her three hour shift to end to be replaced by the next snake girl.

What we really came for was the food, though. We got the lay of the land. There are almost too many options. I couldn't believe it when the wife exclaimed, "They have poutine!" No, not the Russian dictator. It's a Canadian delicacy pronounced poo-teen. Fries smothered in gravy and cheese curds. I know that may sound like an odd combo, but riddle me this: how many times have you had cheese fries? Or mashed potatoes with gravy? Fries are a close relative. And they're DEEP FRIED! (Perfect for the state fair...) Frankly, the poutine was the best thing we ate all night. My only complaint was that the fries were criss cut. They still tasted pretty dang good, though.

Poutine

We found the poutine at the least likely of places:

Doesn't the "F" render the "H" unnecessary? Or, spell it P-H-A-T. Just sayin'...

Our main course was unimpressive chicken from some Hawaiian place. I've had better rotisserie chicken from the deli at the grocery store. And cheaper. We washed it down with what was being promoted as "ice cold root beer." It was flat and room temperature. (Only believe one third of what's being advertised at the State Fair. Except when it comes to the snake girl, of course.)

In retrospect, I wish I'd gone with the burger. We ran into a muscle-bound guy later in the evening who was enjoying one with his muscle-bound wife. It was their "cheat day," apparently. I'd say they tore up the rule book on this one. (I neglected to mention that the burger came served between two full sized donuts, replete with slices of deep fried bacon.) They told us that it was actually surprisingly good. And let's be honest, I came here to be decadent!

It's sad that they have to ask, really.

Another good option would have been the corn on the cob. They were giving out samples. It was smothered in salt, pepper, and, of all things, parmesan cheese. It was AMAZING. So, skip the Hawaiian chicken place and head for the corn stand. You can thank me later.

We eventually made our way back to the deep fried vendors. The ladies went and purchased funnel cake, while we men went and purchased deep fried Twix and Twinkies, respectively. Here's the thing. A Twix is already a thing of perfection. The deep fry treatment actually ruined it. But can you make a Twinkie worse? Yes, yes you can. It basically tasted like a melted Twinkie wrapped inside a cold pancake. To add insult to injury, it had been sitting under a heat lamp for who knows how long. They drizzled it with Hershey syrup and sprinkled it with powdered sugar. But it was like putting lipstick on a pig at this point. After going through a deep fryer, the creamy filling is reduced to a custard like substance. Emphasis on "turd."

Strip away the chocolate syrup and powdered sugar and

all of the deep fried confections look like a corn dog.

Wandering around the midway, we weren't even tempted by any of the rides. Most of the folks who put these mobile thrill machines together look like they may have one or two screws loose, so who's to say their equipment doesn't? (I can say that about them without it being offensive because I'm an honorary carny.)

We checked out the livestock exhibits. They had it all. Cattle, check. Chicken, check. Goats, check. Sheep, check. (Most of these blue ribbon winners will eventually make their way onto next year's fair menu. If you're adventurous, they even have a booth that sells "Rocky Mountain Oysters.") We had one heck of a time finding the swine house. And that was at the top of my list. I had to see Wilbur, after all! Eventually, after much aimless wandering and finally having to ask directions, we stumbled upon him.

As you can see, he is

...which is exactly what I felt like after eating all of the crap that I've described.

Will I return to the Utah State Fair? Great question. Ask me again in about twenty years.







Let's Be Cops: My Night Out With The Fuzz

Recently a neighbor and good friend, who also happens to be one of Orem's finest asked me if I wanted to go on a ride along. That was like asking me if I want a piece of chocolate cake with a glass of milk, or if I want to watch a Youtube video of two teenage girls fighting.* My answer was a resounding "DUH!"

The plan was for me to meet him at the library which is right next to the police station at 6pm. When I got there, I texted him and he told me he was dealing with an "incident" at RC Willey. He asked me to meet him in the University Mall parking lot 30 minutes later.

It was a hot, sunny evening. Perfect for fighting crime. I was extremely disappointed when I learned that I'd have to sit in the car while he was cracking skulls. This was particularly disheartening as the front seat of a police car isn't really built for passengers. His laptop was literally in my lap top. Despite the discomfort, I was ready to roll. It didn't take long before we got our first call.

We responded to a complaint that some money had gone missing from someone's dresser. The lady of the house wanted my partner to dust for fingerprints. I swear, I'm not making this up. When we got there, her extremely horrified daughter, who looked surprisingly normal was waiting with her mother out front. Apparently, the younger woman was the victim and had begged mom to drop it. Officer Friendly (I won't use his real name) got out the car and took his fingerprint kit with him. He didn't look all that thrilled at the prospect of using it. I sat and waited. Finally he came back to the car. "Did you crack the case?" I asked. Apparently, the victim had been paid in cash and had put the money in the top drawer of her dresser. Dad, a chronic drug user, was the prime suspect. Mom wanted fingerprints to prove his guilt. "I told her there was no way that I could dust a dresser drawer and get usable prints," he told me. It was particularly difficult to prove anything as the likely perp was a resident of the house. While I was disappointed that dear old dad wasn't lying face down on the lawn wearing flex cuffs, I was kind of relieved. When an entire row of Oreos goes missing, my family will just have to continue to speculate...

I really wanted some "action." So, we did some traffic duty. It didn't take long for someone to speed past us and we spring into action, lights ablaze. The driver of the car we pulled over was a young girl driving her dad's car. And the registration had expired. Oops. I felt kinda bad as she probably would have skated had I not been there. Oh well. If you can't do the time, as they say...

It was a slow night. So we drove around a lot looking for suspicious characters. I'm happy to dispel the myth that all cops do is hang out at donut shops. Although, I really would have liked one. (If there's a next time, I'm totally suggesting it.) He regaled me with tales from life on the thin blue line. You gotta give these guys respect. They see and deal with things that most of us would prefer not to even imagine.

As we were about to call it a day, we got a call. There was a shoplifter at the mall. Perfect! The crime scene was where my car was parked. We showed up and he told me I could come in! I was stoked. It's a good thing I wasn't packing because I was prepared to use excessive force. I really wanted someone to "make my day."

The suspect was a woman in her mid-twenties. She wasn't having any of this. At first she wouldn't even tell the cops her name. She was probably too blitzed out of her mind to know that my partner in (fighting) crime had dealt with her before. Recently. He gave her every opportunity to get off easily. He just wanted her to be truthful. But, she opted to do it the hard way. So, he cuffed her and made arrangements for her to spend some time in jail. She apparently wanted to take an alternate route out of the mall, so he had to nudge her along. Her husband, who was following us with a couple of their friends began ridiculously shouting, "Somebody film this! He's abusing her!" Seriously, dude? My respect for the cops grew as I witnessed the nonsense they have to deal with multiple times a day. I kind of wanted to pistol whip the husband and GIVE him something to complain about. Finally, when she came clean, she admitted that she'd snorted some Xanax. She also claimed that when she's high on Xanax, she steals. She said it like that would clear everything up. I was having a hard time making the connection. The few times I've taken Xanax before boarding an airplane, the only side effect I've experienced was slight drooling. I digress. Had she played ball, she would have gotten a ticket and spent the night in her own bed. Instead she was heading down to the county jail for who knows how long. All over thirteen dollars worth of temporary tattoos.

After we sent the shoplifter on her merry way, my friend had to fill out a bunch of paperwork. I bid him a fond farewell.

The experience was eye opening and as I said, I gained new respect for the boys in blue. Actually his uniform is black, but whatever. The next time you see a cop, buy him a donut. Or, the next time you see me, buy me one. As you can see, I've totally earned it!

*My wife told me the girl fight video comment wasn't classy. I'll let you be the judge:

On Air Tragedy

This morning as I watched the "Today Show" while getting my five year old ready for his first day of kindergarten, shocking images flashed on the screen as reports were coming in of a news reporter and her cameraman being shot and killed while on air.

Alison Parker, 24, and her cameraman Adam Ward, 27, were conducting a live interview at a Moneta, Virginia mall when 41 year old Vester Flanagan stepped forward and opened fire. Flanagan had previously worked for WDBJ as a reporter but had been fired two years ago. The woman being interviewed, Vicki Gardner, was shot in the back. The gunman later committed suicide.

As the day wore on and I learned more about the incident, I felt increasingly troubled. Over twenty years ago, I had been in similar positions. As a radio news anchor for CKSA Radio/TV in Lloydminster, Alberta, I was occasionally asked to be "on call" on weekends. I remember a particular Saturday evening when I got a call asking me to meet up with a cameraman to cover a fire at a local business. Many other times I was simply along for the ride with some of my good friends as they did "standups" for stories that would be broadcast on that night's news. Not then nor in the years that have passed had I ever imagined that something so terrible could happen to someone in that situation.

 

It seems to have become fashionable of late to heckle or harass on-air television reporters. With today's events, I'm sure reporters will feel incredibly vulnerable when broadcasting from public settings. Hopefully, those looking to get their "fifteen minutes" by doing something vulgar or ridiculous while being captured on live TV will think of Parker and Ward and the impact that this incident will have on those in their profession, and think again.

Radio Daze

Andy Warhol is famously quoted as saying that everyone would experience "15 minutes of fame." Mine technically lasted for about two and a half years, but considering the fact that it was at Podunk radio stations, it probably only counts as about 4 minutes.

I'd volunteered doing brief newscasts at the University of Alberta while in broadcasting school in the late 80's. It was a tad nerve wracking but someone else was manning the controls and everything was scripted, so there was a modicum of comfort.

My first "real" radio job came in 1989. I was hired as an evening "jock" at CJYR radio in Edson, Alberta. The station personalities referred to it as YR Radio. The locals were often overheard asking themselves "YR you listening?" This was probably due to the fact that the station suffered from a massive personality disorder. The format was an eclectic mix of country, rock, and pop. It was essentially the bottom rung of radio broadcasting. In other words, a great place to start.

There was a wide variety of personalities that took to the airwaves at YR. The morning man was Dave Shook. He was a local boy whose greeting each day was "Wakin' and shakin' with Shook in the morning." That left a mental scar that hasn't healed. Dale Michaels was afternoon drive. Both had really awful moustaches that went out of style about ten years prior. (Now that I think of it, Terry Mott and Chuck Farroh also had weazened moustaches as well.)

My mentor on the night shift was a gal from the Northwest Territories with frizzy blonde hair and went by the moniker "Katherine with a K." I honestly don't remember her real last name but I'm almost positive it wasn't "WithaK." I thought briefly of going with Graham with a G but opted rather for my birth name. I was so rattled in those early days that I didn't want to try and spit out something manly like Brick Samson and getting it horribly wrong.

I had a variety of educational and sometimes bizarre experiences during my tenure at YR. But I also learned a valuable life lesson.

I can remember my first night manning the control board "solo," so to speak. Katherine had been my mentor for several nights. I shadowed her and was impressed with how effortlessly she spun the LPs and quipped over the air between songs (this was in the days of dual turntables, folks; CD's were just becoming a thing).

Finally, it was my turn to take over. She would watch over my shoulder and offer suggestions. Despite the fact that it was just she and I in the booth, I froze. I remember it vividly. I was in the grips of one of the most powerful panic attacks I've ever experienced. I recall after the first commercial break removing my headset, looking at Katherine with what I suspect was an ashen face, and saying, "I can't do this." I was about 10 minutes into my first shift and was literally ready to walk away from something I'd been dreaming about since high school.

"I seriously can't do this," I reiterated as I started to get up. She put her hands on my chest and pushed me back down into the chair. "You're not going anywhere," she responded.

That moment has stuck with me for the past 26 years. Whether it be leaving my home country to begin a new life south of its border, starting college years later, getting married, becoming a father, starting the handful of jobs that I've had over the past 20 years, or even beginning this blog, as soon as the nerves begin to take hold, I can clearly hear Katherine with a K's voice in my mind telling me, "You can do this."

I left the radio business a couple of years after leaving YR following a stint at CKSA in Lloydminster, mainly because I wanted to grow accustomed to being able to afford groceries. But I'll never forget the advice of a 19 year old girl letting me know that you won't get on base if you don't get up to bat.

The Haunting: Memories of a Hometown Murder

I remember it like it was yesterday. The 10 year old boy was standing on the asphalt of the playground at my elementary school. He was staving off accusations that his mother may be a murderer. "I know her. She never would have done anything like that," he'd responded. My heart felt for the kid. While I hadn't had the guts to stick up for him, which is why I kept my mouth shut, I knew the other kids had crossed a line.

I'd heard rumors of the case from my parents talking about what they'd read in the local newspapers. The suspect kind of became my childhood boogeyman, so to speak. Or boogeywoman, I guess. My sister would tell me I needed to be good or she'd get me. Typically at bedtime.

Despite what appeared to be a miscarriage of justice, I really didn't think much more about it after that. Until 34 years later. Then I started thinking about it again. A LOT.

I'm not sure if it was because I'd been watching a ton of "48 Hours" or "Dateline NBC" or if it was because I'd taken three weeks vacation during the Christmas season of 2010 and had waaaay too much time on my hands. Probably a combination of the two. But I recall waking in the middle of the night and not being able to get back to sleep when the thought came to me. Man, this case would really make a great episode. Maybe I could get journalist and fellow Canadian Keith Morrison to take a crack at it?

I'd been classmates of the suspect's son, which was why I was present during the schoolyard interrogation years before. Maybe that, in part, was why I found the case so fascinating. That, and my firm belief that someone got away with murder.

So, I took my retired ex-cop/ex-firefighter buddy to breakfast early one winter morning to chow down on burritos and discuss my vague recollections of the case. He looked at me like I was nuts. I may have, in fact, been suffering from temporary insanity. Or at least obsession. That, I won't deny.

My wife and kids, to this day, accuse me of acting a lot like Tom Hanks' sidekick in the movie "The 'Burbs" during that period.

Let me lay out the highlights of the case for you. (I was fortunate enough to get my hands on some of the original press clippings of the case as well as a book dedicating a chapter to the case from a  librarian who had gone to high school with my sister.) What follows are some of the facts presented in those articles. They have been heavily summarized.

In November 1976, firefighters responded to a house fire. The heat was so intense that it had blown out the home's windows. When they had extinguished the blaze, they found the body of a 34 year old female doctor. She had suffered severe blunt force and other trauma and she had been stabbed 126 times. Despite the fire, there did not appear to be any other signs of a struggle.

The following evening, a police sergeant was summoned to the residence of a local criminal defense attorney. The lawyer accompanied the policeman to the home of his client, another 34 year old woman. She turned over some freshly dry cleaned clothing to the authorities and then led the cop and her lawyer to a dirt pile a few blocks from her home. She unearthed a towel containing a solid metal bar as well as a pair of blood soaked women's gloves and gave an explanation of how they came to be in her possession. The following day, the woman was placed under arrest. Before being taken to the station, she took out a kitchen knife, tossed it across the table and said to the sergeant, "I suppose this is the type of knife you're looking for." She later took a polygraph and was told it showed evidence she was not being truthful about her version of events.

During the trial, evidence was presented that the suspect had been having a "romantic liason" with a local doctor. During the time of their affair, he was also having an intimate relationship with the victim, with whom he shared an office.

The doctor testified that about a year before to the murder, the accused had arrived unannounced at his home and found the victim there. Prior to that occasion, an unknown individual had left a ticket to the symphony on his office desk. The victim expressed interest in attending the event so he bought them two tickets. While at the concert, he noticed that the person sitting in the seat next to his "mystery ticket" seat was the suspect.

The doctor ended the relationship with the suspect several months prior to the homicide. Despite the break up, he received a message from her on his answering service four days prior to the victim's death. He didn't return the call.

The victim received a call from the suspect on the day of her murder.

The accused took the stand at her trial. She testified that on the night of the murder, she couldn't sleep. She drove around the city in the early morning hours, as was her insomniatic ritual, she claimed. While passing the victim's home, she said she noticed smoke coming from the upstairs. She parked two blocks away and walked back to the house. She rang the bell and when no one answered, entered. She looked around, saw smoke, and discovered a lifeless body. Thinking the occupant had been overcome by the smoke, she knelt beside her to assist. That is when she claims she noticed the victim's injuries, which accounts for the blood on her clothing. She added that she may have passed out due to shock. Coming to, her hand unconsciously moved over an object. Thinking it was her handbag, she picked it up. It was the metal bar. Since the fire was now raging and threating to destroy everything, she figured she'd do the police a service and take some of the items she'd found at the scene with her. Then, instead of going directly to the police, she apparently panicked on her way home and disposed of the evidence in the dirt pile.

Her first trial was declared a mistrial. Apparently her words, "this is what you're looking for" had been improperly introduced. So, a second trial was set for the summer of 1977. She was found not guilty due to a lack of sufficient evidence.

So, what do you think? Was justice served?

I poured through the articles. Not sure why I lost interest shortly thereafter. Probably because my vacation ended and I went back to work.

If I could go back in time, knowing then what I know now, perhaps I could try and talk sense into the jury. But, I think I'd rather go back to that day on the playground. I'll never forget the look on her son's face. I wish I'd stuck up for him.

Why I Won't Be Seeing "The Man from U.N.C.L.E." Anytime Soon

I get what they're trying to do. Casting Superman and the Lone Ranger as CIA agent Napoleon Solo and the KGB's Kuryakin is a nice attempt at getting teenage girls in seats. Heck my wife was even asking about it this morning. Although, I think she's more interested in seeing her 90's crush Hugh Grant on the big screen. I'm sure director Guy Ritchie ("Sherlock Holmes") will bring some stylish action to the party. But, I just don't care.

Another 60's spy TV series adaptation? Two in one summer is just too much. At least they've modernized Mission Impossible. I do remember, vaguely, watching the show when I was a kid. But the key word is vaguely. This has Redbox written all over it.

Frankly, if you're looking for a cold war spy flick that is clever and funny and will have you gripping your arm chair, I'd recommend staying in and watching 1985's "Gotcha" with ER's Anthony Edwards (Dr. Mark Green). He plays a fish out of water American college student on vacation in Europe that winds up in a heap of trouble when he falls for an eastern European with a pixie cut. He has a full head of hair in this one, as did I when I first saw it. Good luck finding it, but if you can spot it online, it's definitely worth a look.

I can think of a great product tie-in for U.N.C.L.E., however. Baskin Robbins should be offering a Neapolitan Solo. You know, single scoop of vanilla/chocolate/strawberry. Yum.

Now I realize that your weekend plans don't hang on my review. But if so, you'll have to wait.

Improv Broadway: A Night at the Thee-uh-tuh

It's probably a good idea to start by defining what "Improv Broadway" is. I'm sure all of us have at one time or another seen "Whose Line Is It Anyway?" It's like that, but set to music.

I've heard rumors of a musical improv group performing weekends at a piano store in Orem. It sounded shady. Kinda like playing craps after hours in a furniture store. I was concerned I might get arrested. But then I heard they were performing at the Covey Center for the Performing Arts. That sounded LEGIT! So, on a sunny and warm Friday evening I did something unspeakable: I went to downtown Provo.

There were a couple of performances at the Covey that night. Some local theater group was performing "Mary Poppins" on the main stage. So, there were a lot of women wandering around in period costume searching for their parasols. Our tickets indicated that "Improv Broadway" was playing in the black box theater. We made our way up to the second floor and found the black box auditorium. As I walked in, I was beginning to think the tickets had been misprinted. It was resembling more of a black ops site than black box. We wandered around a bit more and discovered that the black box was under construction. What a relief to know I wasn't going to be waterboarded. They had moved the party to the dance studio.

It was a small crowd but that made it more intimate. The first half of the show consisted of the cast (Maddy, Jake, Sam and Sam. Really? Two Sams?) taking suggestions from the audience and doing warm up games. For example, one of the games was called "deleted scenes." They would take suggestions from the audience for a movie that they wanted to see them perform deleted scenes from. One audience member described an awkward date he'd been on years before. He'd taken a young lady from Mexico to see "Spanglish." (Good call, dude.) That got me thinking. I'm from Canada. I wanted to see deleted scenes from "Canaglish." But, they reminded me that's not really a movie.

As the cast continued asking for suggestions, I couldn't contain my eagerness to participate. I think they were getting tired of my "heckling." Hey, kids. If you don't want me to answer, stop asking me questions. :D

The second half was where the show really took off. To my delight, they improvised a musical version of "Canaglish!" It was great. One small thing. One of the cast members has lived with a Canadian for all but one year of her life. Yet her Canadian accent sounded suspiciously like she came from Minnesota or was raised by Sarah Palin. Is that how Americans really see us?!? The major takeaway for me from "Canaglish" was that Canadians who immigrate to the United States are far superior to their fellow compatriots of the red white and blue. Or, they could have been mocking me. I'll choose to believe what I want to believe.

They also performed a musical about spies who moonlight at "Staples." As you can probably tell, it gets pretty creative. Did I mention they also have a live piano player? You can't go wrong!

Left to right: Jake, Maddy, Sam and Sam

The show was about two hours with intermission. I believe they perform a couple of Friday nights a month at the Covey Center and every Saturday night at the black box at Brigham Larson Piano in Orem. Tickets are ten bucks for adults, cheaper for teens and seniors. It's clean entertainment but I'd suggest it for about 12 and up. Highly recommended.

Movie Review: Mission Impossible: Rogue Nation

No matter how crazy he may appear off screen, and oh, there's plenty of crazy spilling out of this cat, as soon as he agrees to hang off of a cliff or an airplane and assume Ethan Hunt's identity, people will line up around the block to get a peek at Tom Cruise. I actually remember literally lining up around the block when the first "Mission Impossible" came out in 1996. Of course, that's no longer necessary due to online ticketing. Thank you internet!

(That reminds me. Have you ever arrived at a movie that started five minutes ago and get stuck in line behind some schlub, leaning against the counter with all the time in the world, ordering tickets for a movie that doesn't even open for another two weeks? Is this really necessary in today's society? Smart phones. Dumb people.)

The last time I saw a Tom Cruise movie, he was dangling from the Burj Khalifa with the aid of some high tech mittens provided by the IMF (Impossible Missions Force). That WASN'T his last movie, however. Did anyone actually see "Edge of Tomorrow?" Or was it "Live, Die, Repeat?" (It's an action movie not shampoo instructions, people!) Always a bad idea to change the name of a movie between its theatrical release and when it arrives on DVD. It's the marketing equivalent of straddling lanes on the freeway. You want to roll down your window, extend a digit and scream, "PICK A TITLE!" Or, were they trying to fool people who avoided it the first time around? In that case, it's a BRILLIANT marketing ploy. But you have to wake up earlier to fool THIS guy, Warner Brothers.

Let me start by saying that you don't need to see the previous four MIs prior to viewing Rogue Nation. But I watched Ghost Protocol (my favorite of the bunch) the night before. Didn't really matter.

The plot's the same in all of these MI iterations. Some evil organization has their hands on some WMD and only the IMF can stop them. Of course, everyone always wants to blame the world's problems ON the IMF, Ethan Hunt in particular. (Seriously, dude. These folks aren't very loyal to their employees. It's always "what have you done for me lately?" with these spy organization suits.)

The gang from Ghost Protocol is back with the exception of Paula Patton whose absence isn't explained. Probably marital problems with Robin Thicke. Ving Rhames is back for this go around and Alec Baldwin is along for the ride as the Director of the CIA. The great thing about Alec Baldwin is you never really know if he's with you or against you. You'll have to see it to find out. This is a spoiler free zone.

As mentioned, the plot is really nothing more than a device to stage elaborate set pieces and stunts. They've got some doozies, as well as some nice "GOTCHA!" moments.

The thing that I really liked about Rogue Nation is that the title sequence has the original MI theme, not some jazzy or updated version. Nothing gets your heart started like that fuse being lit and hearing Lalo Schifrin's original score.

Here's the problem that I had with it. It's fairly minor. I LOVED the first "Mission Impossible" almost 20 years ago. The second and third outings were pretty forgettable. I think "Ghost Protocol" is the best of the five in the series. So, they've taken a step backwards. It's a small one, but that's a dangerous move for a franchise that's getting long in the tooth with a leading man now approaching his mid-fifties. Plus Ethan, they keep threatening to disavow you. Perhaps you should think about getting a new job with better security.

3 out of 4 stars