Today’s post may come across a little disjointed, I write this under distress. You will understand as you read.

Lexi was originally found running on a highway in Tobermory by my friends Mike and Rita in June of 2011. They collected her and drove her back to her then owner’s house and according to Rita, whose opinion I do not doubt, he was a complete asshole. He did not have enough time for a dog like Lexi and she would run away at every opportunity. Because he was stupid, he was frustrated with her and said something to Rita along the lines of “she can’t be trained, if you’re so smart, you take her”. And Rita did. And that is how she came into my life. Andre, the best man at Mike and Rita’s wedding and eventually my best man, adopted Lexi. We were living together at the time. Randomly one day we did not have a dog, and then the next we did. One of the very first things she did, while I was taking a nap on the couch, was chew the toe off my slides. We got her some toys the next day.

Young Lexicon on the back deck with what might be the first toy Andre ever got her.

Lexi saw all open doors as an opportunity to run, something Andre and I found out on Canada Day of that year after she took off and we had to go up to Downsview to collect her from Animal Control. We decided then that we would treat Canada Day as her “birthday”. Eventually she got better, but both of us, on multiple occasions, had to run up the street hollering for her to stop and come back. Recall was not one of her strong suits.      

Don’t let the sad face fool you, she had probably just come back from an hour long walk.

When she came to us she had obviously not been trained to walk. She strained at the leash so hard she nearly choked herself unconscious whenever she would see a squirrel. Cesar Millan (the Dog Whisperer) was popular at the time so I got a book by him to help train Lexi. Most of the things we saw him do on TV I could never get to work, but a backpack with a couple of cans of club soda really helped. After a time I reduced the cans to just two, and eventually none as the mere act of putting on the backpack made Lexi know it was time to focus on the walk and not on the squirrels.

She somehow managed to get this ring trapped on herself like a necklace and could not get it off. Still posed like she meant to do it. So silly.

 Andre moved in with his then girlfriend/now wife Anne the next year (I think). Somewhere in all this Lexi got the nickname “Lexicon”, which was fitting, as Andre is a linguist. Lexi would stay with me whenever he went on vacation or away on business. She was comfortable at the house and with me. In 2014 Andre and his new bride and their new son were given an opportunity to move to Australia, an opportunity that could not be passed up. I inherited Lexi in the summer of 2014. Somewhere before Andre left for Australia we took her to a farm where they raise sheep and goats and train border collies for herding. She tested alright, but the best part was watching her play in the deep snow with the other dogs. Lexi LOVED to run hard.

She also loved to play hard. Throughout her adult life she weighed anywhere between 44 and 48lbs and loved to wrestle with dogs well above her weight class. Her favourite play pal of all was Toby, the neighbour dog. They would chase each other and wrestle in the backyard for HOURS.

Autumn 2020. We had just picked up something that took over the entire back of the car so Lexi got to sit up front. The Chewbacca to my Han Solo. She was very excited to be up front until the car started moving. Turns out she was much happier in the back seat.

Everyone whose dog is not an asshole thinks their dog is the sweetest. I am no different, but my dog might very well have been. In all my years I have never met as gentle and sweet a dog as Lexi. Any child could have pulled food right from her mouth and she would not have moved let alone growled. She was a part of my wedding and all the children had a great time playing with her that day, and even though she was exhausted by them, she remained steadfastly patient. She would bark an average of three times a year. You read that correctly. Lexi did not bark. She loved the snow, and in winter she liked being let out into my parent’s backyard to lay down in the snow as though she was a Husky. The first winter she lived with me, the temperature did not rise above -25°C for the entire month of February. I nearly froze my fingers stiff at the dog park but she loved it. We would leave her in the backyard for as long as she wanted, she would let us know she was done and ready to come inside by barking…once. One solitary bark to let you know to come open the door. It was always surprising, it would take your brain a second to realize what you just heard because her barks were so rare.

Lexi loved the snow. She loved to roll in it, sleep in it, and eat it on the trot.

Just as popular as laying in the snow was laying in the grass of the front lawn when I was gardening, and digging a hole for herself to lay in and keep cool when I was working in the back garden.

Young Lexi (you can tell by the lack of white hairs on the nose) in the back yard before I gutted it and it became my vegetable patch.

Her least favourite thing was loud noises. I write this the weekend of Victoria Day and there are lots of fireworks going off outside. She was terrified of fireworks, thunderstorms as well. When I still lived at my parent’s house and there was a big thunderstorm Lexi would come and wake me up and we would “take refuge” in the safest place in the house, the living room. She on her bed and me on the couch. If I got up to make myself a cup of tea she would follow and would not settle until we were both safe in the sanctuary that was the living room.

There was never a sweeter, gentler dog than Lexi.

Her favourite things were running fast, wrestling with other dogs (especially Toby) peanut butter filled Kongs, and pizza crusts. When we would order pizza Lexi would recognize the smell and stay close to us, knowing that eventually she would get a crust. When I mean close I mean she would follow you to the kitchen when you got up to get another piece or top up your drink.

She wasn’t just a good girl. She was the best good girl.

It was only late in her life I discovered how much Lexi loved the beach. The last time she really ran was last year at Woodbine beach. I let her off the leash in the dog park and she was so happy she went for as hard a run as I had seen her make in years. It make me a little sad inside though, because it showed me how old she had gotten. That was late last summer. This last month or two she had been getting slower and slower, and when I would give her her vitamin in the morning I would quietly remind her she had to at least make it to the autumn, so we could get one last summer at the beach. Sadly it was not to be.

The Lexicon had a very smushy face.

It started with her seeming to be very stiff, having difficulty getting up the stairs to our apartment. This escalated to where she would cut all our walks short, sometimes only making it as far as the corner to pee and then return to the apartment. I thought it was just some arthritis acting up as it had in the past and with a course of anti-inflammatories she would be as right as a fourteen year old dog could be. I was wrong. I had to carry her up the stairs not because her hip hurt, she had difficulty getting up the stairs because she did not have the energy to make it all the way up. She did not have the energy because she had cancer and was bleeding internally. I took her to the vet this last Tuesday to get the aforementioned anti-inflammatories and after an examination the vet told me that…I cannot remember exactly. Just that given in what state Lexi was in, she was amazed that Lexi walked in and out of the clinic under her own power. And it was more merciful to put her down than to let her die (most likely later that night) of internal blood loss. There was no warning, no time to prepare myself, or take her for one last trip anywhere, or buy her her own pizza to devour. It was her time.

Hello sir, can I interest you in giving me some dog treats?

Lexi made me a better person. More understanding and patient for sure. Dogs do not spend their lives worrying, they live in the exact moment they are in, and that is something I would try to remember when life got a bit hectic. I would take Lexi for a long walk and just try to exist in that walk. Look at the trees, let her take long and luxurious sniffs at everything without rushing her. Eventually my subconscious would figure out what the solution was or at least how to approach the cabal of problems that I was facing. These are the gifts dogs give us without even knowing it.

Bat-Dog patrols the streets of Gotham for discarded pizza crusts, apple cores, and discarded bagels.

The Lexicon stationed in the kitchen on Thanksgiving knowing she will receive turkey bits and other tasty morsels based solely on her cuteness.

Goodbye my sweet girl. I will miss you forever.

I am not a conspiracy theorist. I maintain most of the things people believe are a conspiracy can be explained by an understanding of science and engineering, a complete set of the facts (which is not often available), and/or basic logic. Examples! The earth is not flat, Eratosthenes figured out the earth is a sphere (or close to it) over two thousand years ago. NASA stopped going to the moon after Apollo 17 because it was apocalyptically expensive, and their point had been made. They had, in no uncertain terms, won the space race. An ambitious blogger could go down a list of conspiracy theories (here is a handy one) and debunk them one by one, but those who believe would never allow their opinion to be rebutted so it is pointless to argue, and that is not why we are here today. Instead we are here today to possibly ADD one to the list.  

It is ludicriously incorrect, but I still appreciate how much work went into all the wrongness.

Note: I do not stake my worldly reputation, such as it is, on this theory. I am not a live or die by beliefs (at least not beliefs of this variety) kind of guy. But ask yourself if this idea does not make at least a LITTLE sense. It is not so unlikely when you connect certain dots and accept that some specific people do not operate with the same moral compass I like to believe most of us do.

Ready?

Anthony Bourdain, celebrity chef, author, and creator and host of compelling travel documentaries was found dead of an apparent suicide in his hotel room at Le Chambard in Kaysersberg on June 8th, 2018.

I suggest that he did not commit suicide. He was killed either at the behest of, and/or for the benefit of Harvey Weinstein.

For those among my tens of thousands of weekly readers who do not know, for decades Harvey Weinstein abused his power and position in Hollywood to blackmail young actresses into performing sex acts with him. If they spurned his advances or even spoke about it, he would have them removed from projects he oversaw or used his influence to get them removed. It was a case of you either let Harvey have his way with you, or he would destroy your career before it ever took flight. You can read more about it here.

Harvey Weinstein is escorted into court, Friday, May 25, 2018, in New York. (AP Photo/Mark Lennihan)

There were whispers and rumours of Harvey’s vile behaviour, it was not a particularly well-guarded secret, but he was so powerful in his industry he managed to keep it from becoming a problem. Until October of 2017. That is when the New York Times and the New Yorker reported on more than a dozen women accusing Harvey of sexual harassment, sexual assault, and rape. Depending on who you ask, this was either pivotal in setting off the #MeToo movement, or added fuel to its fire given the other high profile sexual misconduct cases were in the news that year.

For multiple decades Harvey thought he was above the law, and when these reports came out he did not run away, he went on the offensive. He hired private intelligence agencies Kroll and Black Cube, as well as private investigator Jack Palladino to spy on and influence (blackmail/threaten) his accusers, as well as a number of reporters who were investigating him. That part is important.

In November of 2017, a group of over 80 women who accused Harvey of harassment, assault, and rape, released a list of over 100 alleged instances of sexual abuse. That group was led by Italian actress Asia Argento. That part is also important, because in 2016, Ms. Argento and Anthony Bourdain had started a relationship, and when Harvey’s misconduct became public, so did Anthony’s contempt for Harvey and his enablers. Anthony was not a person who seemed particularly shy, and he did not hold back when asked about Harvey or those who did and/or would protect or defend him.

Unlike others in the entertainment industry, Anthony was not easily shut up as the normal threat of the destruction of his career did not work because his career was not reliant upon the film industry/Hollywood. He was also difficult to blackmail, because if you have read any of his books you know that he was quite candid and honest about his failings and ugly parts of his past, like his previous drug addiction.

Anthony was about to be a big thorn in Harvey’s side. How do you get someone to shut up about you when you cannot use your normal methods of bullying and blackmail? You have them assassinated. Granted, not the first thing that comes to mind for most people, but given his history Harvey was obviously under the impression that the rules of a civilized society did not apply to him, so it is not necessarily out of character for him to entertain the notion of doing the illegal/immoral thing and actually having his ‘enemies’ killed. Again, most people do not have this option available to them, but remember when I said he employed the private intelligence agency Black Cube?

Black Cube describe themselves as a “select group of veterans from the Israeli elite intelligence units that specializes in tailored solutions to complex business and litigation challenges.” Which is a nice way of saying they provide spy/intelligence services to very rich people and organizations. Meaning that if you need information on your enemies, or need them undermined in some way, and you have the money, their personnel and services can be acquired. And that is exactly what Harvey did.

At the behest of Harvey and his team, Black Cube are accused of collecting information on dozens of people, compiling psychological profiles with their personal or sexual histories in order to contradict, discredit or intimidate Harvey’s “targets”. Not satisfied with victimizing them once, Harvey hired private spies to undermine the testimoney of and/or intimidate his accusers so he could victimize them again. Many of the people who work at Black Cube are former agents in the Mossad so they know their business. Besides being a top shelf intelligence service, anyone know what else the Mossad is famous for? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller? If you said assassinations, you get a gold star.  

The Mossad is famous for the public assassinations of those it deems enemies of the state. The most famous series of assassinations are those related to the murder and kidnapping of Israeli athletes at the 1972 Olympics. There was even a movie made about it by Steven Spielberg called Munich starring Eric Bana. It was a good movie. There are many others. Swedish nobleman and diplomat Folke Bernadotte might have been the first. He was on a mission as a United Nations Security Council mediator in the Arab-Israeli conflict of 1947-48 when he was assassinated in Jerusalem by a paramilitary group overseen by a future Prime Minister of Israel. There was the mysterious ‘disappearance’ of German rocket scientist Heinz Krug in Munich in 1962. More recently there was the assassination of Iran’s top nuclear scientist, Mohsen Fakhrizadeh. Click here for a list of people assassinated (as far as the world knows) by Israel. It is MUCH longer than you think, and that is only the ones that are confirmed and/or known about.

Harvey clearly believed he could intimidate and blackmail his accusers and that he was untouchable, above the law. Then when things got dicey, he hired a firm whose skill set (like the intelligence agents it employs) is to discredit and undermine those whose accusations would threaten Harvey with incarceration. That same firm is staffed not just with intelligence agents, but agents from specific organizations that are (among other things) famous for assassinations.

I do not consider it that much of a stretch to believe that in a fit of panic and frustration Harvey blurted out “why can’t we just kill him?”, and someone on his team said “sure thing, we could make it look like and accident, or suicide, whatever you want”. And given how skilled and experienced those agents are, I do not think making it look like a suicide would be all that difficult for them.

As I said before, I do not stake my worldly reputation (such as it is) on this idea. I am not an Alex Jones type, I will not be making a career of creating or spreading conspiracy theories. Anthony Bourdain’s suicide seemed to me just too convenient. The timing was too good. He reached a large audience and could be very influential, and just as he began huffing and puffing and was about to help blow down Harvey’s house, he committed suicide? A bit coincidental no?

An immoral mindset, motivation, the financial capabilities, and appropriately skilled personnel were all available to Harvey. My hypothesis is sound.

I could be wrong. I could be looking for answers as to why someone whose work I enjoyed for many years would do such a thing and not want to accept that the truth is the truth. But think about what I have written above. I do not think it is as outlandish as it might first seem.

Like many of his fans, this is how I will remember Anthony Bourdain. Enjoying street food on a corner somewhere off the beaten track, with thoughtful narration about what he is eating and how it represents the community he is visiting.

Before I go, an addition. In the paragraph where I mention how Anthony had a go at people who enabled and/or defended Harvey there is a link to an article where Anthony mentions Hillary Clinton and her relationship with Harvey. That sent me down another rabbit hole. Did you know there is a Clinton Body Count Conspiracy List? That is some interesting reading. I wonder if she hires private firms like Harvey or if she just gets the CIA to do her dirty work?

Is Hillary Clinton responsible for the assassination of those who speak against her and/or would be an impediment to her political career? A fair amount of people seem to think so.

P.S. The paranoid part of me was concerned that I might be right. What if I was? What if I was and the fact I had figured it out meant that some former Mossad agent would be pissed because I figured it out and now he was going to come and make me disappear? Or do to me what was done to Epstein? But then I remembered I have single digit readers, so the chances of this being read by ANYONE at Black Cube or the Mossad is slim. Also the chances of me being right, those are slim too.

A quick note before we begin; I wrote this in one pass late last night because I was so disheartened that once again, obvious police misconduct will result in no true changes or accountability.

Three weeks ago a man named Umar Zameer was found not guilty of all criminal charges in the accidental death of Toronto police officer Det.-Const. Jeffrey Northrup. Three police officers testified that Det.-Const. Northrup was standing with his hands up when he was run over. Two crash reconstructionist experts called by the defense showed that that was not the case. Meaning all three officers either magically remembered the entire incident in the exact same incorrect way, or they gave false testimony.

Upon learning of Mr. Zameer’s acquittal, Toronto police Chief Myron Demkiw said: “While we respect the judicial process and appreciate the work of the 12 citizens who sat on a very difficult case, I share the feelings of our members who were hoping for a different outcome.”

This does not imbue trust in our police. And that the Chief himself was so supportive is indicative that the problems of accountability start way up at the top, and unlike economics, these problems do trickle down.

What was the outcome the Chief and other members of the force were hoping for? That an innocent man would have his life ruined by three of their members who lied to cover up their error and possibly that of their colleague? That three of “Toronto’s finest” were caught very clearly fabricating a story that would have sent a man to prison for at least two decades, if not more, and destroyed his family, should be appalling to any civilized society. Yet there will be no reprimand for these officers who lied to protect themselves and in doing so, sullied the reputation of the Toronto Police Service. This is Toronto, we don’t do accountability here. Don’t believe me? Union Station.

Union Station was supposed to be complete in time for the 2015 Pan-Am Games. As of 2024 it is still not complete and the city is being bled dry by this neverending construction. Like everything in Toronto, there has been ZERO accountability by anyone even remotely responsible for this debacle.

That same reputation took another hit today with the commencement of the disciplinary hearing of police superintendent Stacy Clarke. She plead guilty in September of 2023 to seven charges under the Police Services Act. They are three breaches of confidence, three counts of discreditable conduct, and one count of insubordination. Supt. Clarke helped candidates for promotion cheat by sharing answers with interviewees.

Supt. Clarke shared her motives for helping candidates cheat, and I am not going to discuss whether or not she was justified. I am not of the community to which she and the candidates she illegally assisted belong. My point supersedes race. In this situation the only colour that is important is blue.

I work for one of the largest corporations in the country. At that company (which is also in the news a lot this month) ‘breach of confidence’ is grounds for immediate dismissal. If you cannot be trusted, it makes sense that you can no longer be employed at the company.  

Supt. Clarke admitted that was in breach of confidence, meaning she lied. Meaning she cannot be trusted. She acted with ‘discreditable conduct’, and was insubordinate. And that she will get a slap on the wrist is an insult to the citizens of the city of Toronto. She is a liar and a cheat and cannot be trusted…yet we as citizens are supposed to trust her in the role of police officer?   

Supt. Stacy Clarke will not be fired for her breach of confidence and discreditable conduct. Instead she will be demoted for a year, with an immediate re-promotion after that year. Is that the police version of a “time out”?

These are two high profile examples in nearly as many weeks of Toronto police officers lying, acting in a dishonorable and disgraceful fashion and there will be no punishment of any significance. What this says to the rest of the force, and to the citizens of Toronto, is that the police can now LIE and cheat to ‘make their case’ or do whatever needs to be done and there will be zero true consequences. Not exactly a deterrent to misconduct is it? Does it make you trust the police more, or less? Exactly.

Accountability should be a cornerstone of a functioning society. That our police force no longer considers personal accountability important says a lot about the state of the city.

Police parking in bike lines while they go into the Timmies for a double-double is so common as to be laughable…if it weren’t an example of how they feel the laws of the city do not apply to them.

10 minutes

Handwritten

Prompt Line: Really, what sort of person would do that kind of thing?

I didn’t know Mr. Bonacini’s history. I was told he had been a restaurateur in Montrea in the 70s and 80s. He had been confined to the Richard Sanitarium for the criminally insane since 1991. He was always courteous to me whenever I dealt with him, and I rarely felt uneasy around him Some of the other nurses refused to have anything to do with him. They said he was an animal, but would never explain why when I pressed them. Finally one day in a fit of frustrated curiosity I asked everyone working my floor. Only Fred the janitor would even speak about it. What he said disgusted me to levels I didn’t think possible.

Mr. Bonacini’s restaurants were famous for his meatballs. Each restaurant, no matter how different the menus, had these meatballs. For years they got great reviews. Until someone found out what the secret ingredient was.

Mr. Bonacini moonlighted as a button man for the mafia, and he made his victims disappear entirely. For two decades he secretly fed dead, ground up drug dealers, pimps, hookers, gamblers and anyone else who got the finger pointed at them to his unsuspecting clientele.

Really, what sort of person would do that kind of thing?

Who doesn’t love a good plate of spaghetti and meatballs?

*Note: I wrote this post the night we dined at Auberge du Pommier (early October 2020), but because we packed our lives up and moved the very next day, its release was delayed by a couple of weeks.

**Note about the note. Instead of it being delayed by a couple of weeks, this post was delayed by three and a half years. The reason I did not post this in 2020 is that the whole world was shutting down for a second time and restaurants were reeling. I felt bad knocking a restaurant (any restaurant) in the position in which it and the entire industry found itself. Because I have friends in that industry, and both my wife and I have worked in that same industry. Did I say ‘industry’ enough? Time has passed. The world has opened back up and Auberge did not close. My wife left her position as pastry chef. And as I was looking through a folder of things I wrote but never posted, I found this. And as I enjoyed writing it, I thought enough time had passed that I can share it with you, my faithful reader(s), without hurting too many feelings.

Dinner at Auberge du Pommier

One of the perks of being married to a pastry chef is that I eat at places where I would otherwise be unlikely to ever step foot. I get to dine at restaurants most people (including me) have to budget for, all in the name of my wife’s “research”. Sure I cook at lot at home and constantly work on improving my skills and broadening my horizons, but I am talking about food on levels even an enthusiastic home cook is unlikely to ever attempt. Tonight for our anniversary we dined at the Oliver & Bonacini owned Auberge du Pommier.

Our dining experience began well. Our waiter was welcoming and professional, and attentive without hovering. My Negroni en Français was delicious. The salmon amuse bouche was smoky and salty and wonderful. For appetizer we shared the tartare (winter truffle, caramelized garlic, champignon) which was excellent, a little bit spicy, a pleasure to eat. So far we were off to a very good start.

The mains, at least mine, let us down.

In my own estimation my wife out-orders me most of the time. Never more so than at Joe Beef in 2018 where I ordered the excellent beef and she ordered the duck with the greatest sauce I have ever eaten or possibly will ever eat in my life. It blew my mind. When I say good I mean so good that on my death bed my last words might actually be “that sauce though”. She did it again tonight. I thought for sure she was going to order the Canard (duck breast, sunchoke, young leeks, orange jus) but she went for what I had been eyeing, the Filet Rossini (tenderloin, foie gras, broccolini, shiitake, pommes dauphinoise, truffle jus) because she has decided no one does duck as well as the Asians so she is going to stop ordering duck in European restaurants. I considered the Agneau (lamb loin & shoulder, pumpkin, kale, pumpkin seed, quatre épices jus) but I have a hard time saying no to fresh pasta and ordered the Agnolotti (caramelized onion, egg yolk, Comté, winter truffle). How can a pasta lover say no to that? It turns out I should have.

My wife’s filet was perfectly cooked, but unfortunately under seasoned. Her potatoes also under-whelmed, lacking texture. A minor crime, a misdemeanor at best. My agnolotti bordered on felony. The six agnolotti that appeared on my plate were either wildly under seasoned or not seasoned at all and their texture was not appealing. It is possible they were undercooked. Or possibly even not cooked. They were dense and had none of the silky, satisfying mouth feel I expected from pasta. At no point did I taste the sweetness of caramelized onion or the glorious richness of egg yolk. I would love to be able to say that the slashes of liquids (do I dare call them sauces?) that shared the plate space tried mightily to make up for the blandness of the agnolotti, but I would not be speaking the truth. They too were bland and had no hope of rescuing my main course.  

For dessert my wife had the Tarte Tatin and I had the Mille-Feuille. I grant you that it is not easy for most places to impress or even satisfy a pastry chef, but the desserts were simply…acceptable. Neither one had anything that made it memorable.

About halfway through our meal I asked my wife if she thought I was being too demanding, if I was holding Auberge du Pommier up to an impossible standard by comparing it to the meals we have had at various other upscale restaurants, including some in Canada’s Top 10. She said no, when you pay the kind of money we did for a meal at a restaurant with a strong reputation, there is an expectation of quality that should be achieved. And unfortunately for us, Auberge du Pommier did not achieve tonight. I do not want to sound mean, the service was fine, the amuse bouche and appetizer wonderful, but no one goes to a restaurant because it has a great amuse bouche and a nice appetizer.  And while I appreciate that no one goes to a restaurant like Auberge du Pommier with value for money on their mind, if you’re going to charge me over five dollars per agnolotto, they should be miles and miles better than anything I can make at home or buy at the counter of my local upscale grocery store and they were just…not. Not even close. Which was disappointing. We had both been very much looking forward to this meal and we attended Auberge du Pommier with high expectations. Unfortunately they were not met.

I wanted it to be great. The $$$ was great. But the meal disappointed.

Welcome back! If you are reading this that means I have managed to string together a post for eleven consecutive weeks and I still have some posts in reserve. It might not seem like much, but given my modest time-management skills and the current demands of my time, I will take this short streak as a small victory.

Ten minutes

Handwritten

Prompt line: For the fact of the matter is, other than the poems themselves, he had not forgotten any of it.

There has never been a man so gifted at something yet, by most outsiders perspectives, so utterly disrespectful of the craft at which he unequivocally excelled.

Renforth Dixon is possibly the greatest poet Tennessee has ever created. His poetry is taught in schools, all over the United States and even in places as far off as Australia. Yet when fans visit him in his hometown of Bluefoot, Tennessee and ask him to recite some of his poetry he refuses, claiming he cannot remember any of them. Each was written in one session with every little correction. That was his gift. Most people thought that as he had forgotten his poems so too had he forgotten the adventurous life he had lived, but that was not the case. For the fact of the matter is, other than the poems themselves, he had not forgotten any of it.

He just didn’t care. It was part of his youth and he was now an old man. He let his fans love his poetry more than he did.

For much of my university studies my reading list touched a thousand pages a week. By the time I graduated I was tired of reading. I used to LOVE to read, but as a result of my time at university I stopped reading for pleasure. It had become a job, a chore. Years passed. Then, due to a serious injury combined with Covid lockdown, I had LOTS of time on my hands. I picked up books again. I read a lot during that time and to keep track (I have not yet catalogued my library though that might be soon) I started taking pictures of books I had read. I would then either put them back on my bookshelves for reference, or give them away, usually via one of the Little Free Libraries I pass when I walk the dog.

My latest reading pile is now big enough to photograph and divide into the keep or give away categories so I thought I would share it with you, my dear and loyal reader(s). I will also add some micro reviews, basically one or two lines on what I thought (or not), no big break downs of themes or tones or anything literary like that.

The official stack, featuring toys my daughter left on my desk.

The Napoleon of Crime by Ben Macintyre

I really liked his books Rogue Heroes and The Spy and the Traitor, so I was hyped for the Napoleon of Crime because it was about the world’s greatest thief, and I cannot express how much I love a good heist story. It was a fine biography, but maybe I was expecting more out of it? I was hoping for daring feats of cunning thievery and it wasn’t that. A fine book, but a little disappointing for me, but that might be my fault for expecting something it wasn’t.

The Bomber Mafia by Malcolm Gladwell

A departure from Malcolm’s (he insisted I call him Malcolm) normal fare, this one is more straight forward history rather than his usual “here is a thing, I bet you’ve never looked at it from THIS angle before have you? Now I have shown you this angle, you will think about the world differently from now on. You’re welcome.” Not that I minded the departure from the norm, he is a smooth and steady writer and it was an interesting read.

The cover of The Bomber Mafia is quite plain, so here instead is a far more awesome full colour shot of a B-17 in flight being escorted by a P-51 Mustang.

Imperium by Robert Harris

I sustained a very bad back injury right before the Covid lockdown. I spent many months flat on my back with all the time in the world so I read anything that crossed my path. One of those books was Pompeii by Robert Harris. I really enjoyed it so thought I would give some more of his Roman period books a chance. Not as exciting or action-packed as Pompeii, Imperium is very informative and paints a good picture of the period. It is the first book of a trilogy, I am currently reading the second book Conspirata.

Tremendous by Joey Diaz

I read this book over three nights. It turns out I already knew most of the stories in it because I listen to his podcast. Still lots of fun. I’m going to keep it because I hope one day to get it autographed.

Kill Shot by Vince Flynn

Didn’t finish it. Stopped caring about the protagonist. He was humourless and maybe “too good” at what he did? It made him unrelatable, at least to me.

Sunburn by Andi Watson and Simon Gane

I believe this to be the first book I ever bought solely because of the art. I knew nothing of the story or Andi Watson’s writing. I bought it purely because I had never seen my family’s part of the world in a comic book, and done so beautifully. My father comes from an island very near to where the story takes place, and I could relate to so many of Gane’s images, even though I have not been to those specific spots, I know exactly the feel and the smells and sounds one would hear when taking in those views. I bought it for the art, which it turned out married with the story very well.

Every Greek island has a harbour that looks like this. Original art from this graphic novel is on my Christmas list.

Oh My Gods! And Oh My Gods! II: the Forgotten Maze by Stephanie Cooke, Insha Fitzpatrick, and Juliana Moon

I like stories where ancient gods are put into modern settings. Having recently read Marie Phillips’ Gods Behaving Badly, I was in the mood for more in that vein so when I saw the Oh My Gods! books at the Toronto Comic Arts Festival (TCAF) I picked them up. They were both fun to read, I am excited to pass them on to my niece and nephew who I think will enjoy them too, and I hope there will be an Oh My Gods! III.

Group of Seven: A Most Secret Tale by Chris Sanagan and Jason Lapidus

This one exceeded my expectations. Independent comics are often hit and miss and this one was, for me, a hit. Action-packed Canadian historical fiction like you would never have imagined. I dug it so so much I pressed Sanagan and Lapidus (mainly Lapidus) to hurry up and make a part two. Under the effects of the elephant-coma dose of sodium pentothal I secretly administered to Jason Lapidus, I learned things that I cannot share here. I can say there are new and exciting things coming from this talented pair of creators.

Note: Also in the reading stack are two G.I. Joe: Special Missions, bought on the advice of the aforementioned Jason Lapidus. Yo Joe!

Peregrines is from the same creative team that made Group of Seven, I hope to pick that up next time I see them, probably at the upcoming Toronto Comic Arts Festival.

Rules for a Knight by Ethan Hawke (yes, THAT Ethan Hawke)

This is a book of lessons told in epistolary form, and as such is one that you cannot absorb in one reading. I read it quickly, though for full effect I imagine it would be better to read one story/lesson and then reflect on it for a while before reading the next.  

Dead Romans by Fred Kennedy and Nick Marinkovich

Based around the Battle of the Teutoburg Forest, it tells the story of Arminius who, among other things, commanded the alliance of Germanic tribes that introduced never-seen-before levels of sandaled barbarian foot to Roman ass. I have the first six books as singles. When I saw Fred at Toronto Comic Con last month he was debuting a hardcover trade of Dead Romans which looked super sweet. I asked him if there was going to be more. The answer was yes, and I am excited by this because it’s a cool story and I want to see where he takes it.

When the horned war helmet goes on, it’s bad news for Rome.

Kickboxer: The Unauthorized Adaptation by Ricky Lima

For those who don’t know, Ricky Lima is a gift to the indie comic world. He is an absolute book creating machine and by that I mean ALL aspects of book making. At some point I expect him to chop down his neighbours tree to make his own paper from scracth and then bind the books he printed (on his own paper) by hand…with string that he made himself. He makes everyone feel like lazy wastes of oxygen, though not directly because he’s super nice, you just feel lazy when you hear what he’s been up to and you…haven’t. Bored while he waited for his super-awesome book Undergrowth to be distributed continent-wide by Top Shelf Comics, he created a whole new comic book called Soda Pop Pirates, and then to kill some more time he adapted the legendary Jean-Claude Van Damme action movie Kickboxer into a comic book. Because he needed something to do. He is the Nok Su Kao of this reading list.       

I got the J. Bone cover myself, but readers of Kickboxer: The Unauthorized Edition are spoiled for choice when it comes to awesome covers.

That’s it for now. I am currently reading four books concurrently like I used to when I was a teenager, so give it a couple of months and I will have a new book stack to share with you. Have a great week and remember, you can never have too many books. Also remember to support your local creators.

Some years ago I wrote a graphic novel script about an astronaut who returned to earth after centuries of traveling only to find it unrecognizable. A disaster of some kind (we weren’t supposed to find out what it was until at least the second trade) essentially reset the earth back to a prehistoric period with only the echoes of our modern civilization remaining. And by echoes I specifically mean the stories of the superheroes of today were past down over and over again until they became the gods the prehistoric society our protagonist astronaut finds. But they have changed over time to better reflect what their looks would represent to a prehistoric people. Example: Spiderman is the god of fishermen because he is the god of casting nets. Swamp Thing and Poison Ivy are the god and goddess of spring, with Sinestro being the lord of autumn (because he is gold, like the changing leaves). I enjoyed writing it, and really enjoyed doing what I call “story math”, as well as borrowing famous superheroes and other characters from pop culture to create this new pantheon for my story. If anyone from a comics publisher is interested, hit me up.

Note: who am I kidding, no one reads this blog.

I must have been in that mythology building mindset when I wrote this next exercise. I must also have recently watched the Neil DeGrasse Tyson documentary series Cosmos: A Spacetime Odyssey, otherwise I would never have started with that part about how life on earth had been nearly been exterminated and returned back to the cellular level.

Writing Exercise May 13^th 2020

Bratso the Ocean Demon

Prompt line:

“That’s why, in other words, the world has lasted so long, and why we are still here.“

10 minutes, hand written

The planet earth, our world, has been destroyed catastrophically on multiple occasions, including one where all advanced life was exterminated and life itself was pushed back down to the cellular level. From this beginning life grew again, humans developed, societies formed and gods came into being.

Zeus, all powerful god of gods knew of our plight, poor earth was in the way of many a planet killing asteroid so to prevent this he assembled the gods and asked for ideas to stop the earth from ever being destroyed by an asteroid again. Apollo wanted to burn them with the sun, Aeolus wanted to blow them away with powerful winds but his winds were too weak. Poseidon had the solution, he would send Bratso the eight armed demon to live on the dark side of the moon and when an asteroid came near he would reach out with his ultra long arms and snatch the asteroid out of the way. That’s why, in other words, the world has lasted so long, and why we are still here.

Notes from afterwards:

Bratso grabs the asteroids and slams them into the moon, hence the craters, and fuses them into a big ball. Or possibly that is how the moon was created. The moon is the collection of all the asteroids that Bratso collected and turned into a big ball.

Bratso has been banished to space for pissing off Poseidon or possibly someone did something and was turned into Bratso and his punishment is to protect the planet for eternity (a cosmic Atlas). Maybe he nearly destroyed the planet through his own selfishness, greed, or stupidity and his punishment is to be required to protect the planet for eternity.

See how much fun it is to create mythology?

Mega Cosmic Octopus by ComicSoulWeb. Aren’t you glad Bratso is looking out for us?

Welcome to the second part of my future guest spot on Films to be Buried With with Brett Goldstein. As my hundreds of thousands of weekly readers (numbers may not be accurate) will remember I had left off at “What is the film you once loved but watching it recently you realise it’s terrible?” We pick up the action at:

What is the film that means the most to you, not because of the film itself, but because of the memories, you have of it?

Not sure if it is my definitive answer, but the Mummy ranks up there. The one with Brendan Fraser, not that nonsense that Tom Cruise hijacked and in doing so completely destroyed the reboot of the Warner Bros. monsters for the modern era. I saw it at the Uptown, one of the last grand theatres in Toronto (before it was torn down). I believe it sat nearly 3000 (used to be a theatre when it was built in the 1920s), the screen was massive, the sound half deafening, and when you saw a movie at the Uptown it was an event. They still had the huge red velvet (?) curtains that would open when the film was about to start. I loved that theatre and seeing a classic hero-centric adventure film in the last of Toronto’s great movie houses was an excellent experience.

Another film that has good feelings attached but for a very different reason is American Gangster. In December of 2007, immediately after I handed in my final essay or wrote my final exam (I don’t remember which) before Christmas break, my good friend Allen came by the house and took me out. Normally I’m a talker, a great one (which is why I will be a terrific guest on the podcast) but that December evening I was so exhausted I am sure I was poor conversation. I had been doing twelve hour days every day for nearly two months and I was wiped out. To him it was obvious that I needed cheesy and saucy carbohydrates, gangsters, and quiet time with a friend. So he took me out for pizza and then we saw a late show of American Gangster in a nearly empty theatre. It was a good evening with a good friend and a fine film.   

The Uptown theatre in Toronto, 1946. It was one of my favourite theatres in Toronto. You can keep your megaplexes, give me a glorious movie palace any day.

What is the sexiest film?

That I have seen? Most likely Closer. I looked up Rotten Tomatoes 100 sexiest films to jog my memory, maybe there is one there that I remember seeing that I had forgotten was very sexy. And it turns out I have seen very few of the films on that list. However, Closer, starring Natalie Portman, Julia Roberts, Jude Law, and Clive Owen might be one of the sexiest films I have seen. Boogie Nights? Though it doesn’t end well for most of them. The Libertine? Would have to watch it again to confirm as I might be remembering the story of the Earl of Rochester from history class more than the film. His real story is FULL of sex.

What’s a film that isn’t probably supposed to be sexy but you found yourself turned on by?

I tried to find one, but I can’t think of one that turned me on that wasn’t supposed to. Maybe my conversation with Brett will jog my memory.

Which film do you most relate to?

I don’t know what this means. I mean I know what it’s supposed to mean but I don’t think there is a movie where I can watch it and think “yeah, that’s me” or where I can see myself as the hero. Because there are no movies with “me” in them, and it’s been like that since I was a child. I’m half Greek, and when I see movies where the characters are supposed to be Greek they are almost invariably played by anyone BUT a Greek. The leads in Captain Corelli’s Mandolin that are playing Greek characters? A Spaniard, a Welshman, and an Englishman. The lead Greek character in Shirley Valentine? Played by an Italian-Scot. My Big Fat Greek Wedding? A number of major roles went to everyone BUT Greeks, with actual Greeks reduced to bit parts as the cousin, the neighbour etc. There were no heroes for me as a child. No hero looked like me or anyone I knew or had a name like mine. It still happens today, as Michael B. Jordan gets ready to play the Greekest hero of all, Hercules.

Which film is objectively the greatest ever?

I know Brett will roll his eyes if I say the Godfather, and it has been twenty years since I last saw Citizen Kane so I cannot honestly claim that film because I don’t remember it well enough. Instead I’m going to throw out a possibly controversial pick: Singin’ in the Rain. I like to watch famous films to figure out why they are so famous, so legendary that people still know them and reference them decades after they premiered. My wife likes musicals, and I had never really watched any (a gaping hole in my cinema knowledge) so we started with one of her absolute favourites Seven Brides for Seven Brothers. Then I started recording musicals from Turner Classics, and Singin’ in the Rain was one of them. It was fantastic. That was a hell of a trio of headlining stars. Also Goodfellas. That’s a solid film. We can talk about it when I’m on the podcast.

Even five years ago if you told me this would be one of my favourites I would never have believed you. Yet here we are.

Which film is the one you’ve watched the most?

Depends on the time in my life. I don’t do it anymore, but when I was younger and I liked a film I would watch it multiple times in the same week. Not quite back to back, but with regularity. Often I would put it on while I was doing something else, let the movie run, then check in for my favourite scenes. Films that I have watched many times include the original three Star Wars movies, the Lord of the Rings trilogy (though not the Hobbit trilogy) Lawrence of Arabia, Kingdom of Heaven, Ocean’s 11 and 12. If I’m flipping through the channels and come across Casablanca or the first three Indiana Jones movies (especially the Last Crusade), that’s it, I’m stopping there and that’s what we’re watching until it’s over. The Magnificent Seven as well, that’s a “no more flipping, we’ve found it” film.

What’s the worst film you’ve ever seen?

Seen all the way through or do movies I have stopped watching because they are trash count? All the way, probably Fantastic Four (2015) also known as FANT4STIC. I remember watching it with my wife and our friend. They both complained about me making me watch it but I had just finished a course in writing for comics and television (which are amazingly similar in structure) and actually enjoyed watching it because it was SO TERRIBLE. It broke so many writing rules for no reason or payoff, and the motivation of the Fantastic Four’s great nemesis and antagonist Dr. Doom was laughably stupid. It was an unspeakable waste of Toby Kebbell’s talent. I liked him in RocknRolla (we were promised a sequel, where is it Guy Ritchie?) and Wrath of the Titans and was excited to see him as Dr. Doom. Too bad one of the greatest villains in comic book history was given such a weak story and motivation.

As for others that are, at least in my opinion, heinous wastes of film and talent? David Ayer’s Sabotage. What a stinker and what a waste of a superb cast. David Fincher’s The Killer. Renny Harlin’s The Misfits. These are movies I WANTED to like. Heists? Assassins? Arnold? Sign me up. Yet they were so bad as to be painful to watch. Some I didn’t finish because they were ruinous to my love of those genres. Travolta’s Gotti. Movie 43. Mortal Kombat (2021). Pan, the Hugh Jackman Peter Pan movie. David Ayer’s Suicide Squad. It was filmed in Toronto, the trailer was super slick and promised us something amazing, the whole city was hyped to see it…and it was such a let down. It LOOKED great, but it was let down by the story.

I have not seen Gigli, or Catwoman, or Cats, or the Room, so I cannot claim to be supremely knowledgeable on terrible films. But the ones I hate, I hate enough to fight the producers, the directors, and/or the writers in a back alley over it. This is not hyperbole, I am willing to tune someone up over a shit movie. Brett and I can talk about it when I come on the show.

This movie was dogshit on multiple levels. It was a fantastic waste of resources.

What is the film that’s made you laugh out loud the most?

In theatre quite possibly Austin Powers: the Spy Who Shagged Me, specifically the Jerry Springer scene . I don’t know what would make me laugh like that now, I feel I might be too old and too cynical, or more likely see the joke coming so it doesn’t land on me as hard, but at that time and place in my life, that scene absolutely killed me. As in my friends thought they might have to remove me from the theatre, like I was having a mental health breakdown and was ready for a padded room level of laughing.  

What film are you showing in heaven when it’s your night?

The completely restored and remastered Lawrence of Arabia, to shown in heaven’s greatest golden age type movie palace. Because I am a river to my people.

One of my absolute favourite films ever. Hell of a story. Superb cast, beautifully shot, glorious soundtrack. They don’t make them like this anymore.

Addendum

I can’t remember which episode it was, but there was a discussion about the best ending or the best last line in a film. The answer is the Lives of Others. “No, it’s for me.” Brilliant.

What am I up to now?

With the podcast now technically over, Brett asks me what kind of projects I am working on and what can his devoted audience expect to see from me in the not too distant future. The real answer is not exciting so I will give you the perfect situation answer. Because all of this is fantasy anyway.

G-Unit Films, SpringHill, and Hartbeat are all currently fighting over the right to produce of pair of action film scripts I have recently finished.

My soon-to-be BAFTA winning World War II series (featuring Brett Goldstein) is now in post production and will be out next spring.

My Shuster Award winning graphic novel (working title: Vulture) was picked up by Amazon and will become a series.

I have two plays both currently making deep runs in New York and London.

It’s a lot I know, but a brother can dream.

Lately I have been listening to more podcasts, specifically “Films to be Buried With with Brett Goldstein”. Until recently I only knew Brett from his time as Roy Kent on the hit show Ted Lasso. It is kind of weird to hear how gentle his real voice is when compared to the voice with which I had been introduced to him. I have listened to maybe twenty episodes at this point, mainly people whose work I know (the Leslie Jones episode is my favourite so far), and am really enjoying it. Brett asks every guest the a series of the same questions related to their film preferences and their film watching history and this leads to some great conversation. This lead me to wonder what my episode would be like when I am invited on the podcast many years from now.

By the time I get there I hope my introduction goes something like this:

He is a storyteller, a playwright, a BAFTA winning writer and producer, a graphic novelist, a regular novelist, a movie and television maker, and sometimes actor. His new play (fill in title here later, titles always come to me late in the process) has people lined up around the block for tickets. He is the current reigning, defending, undisputed heavyweight champion of London’s West End, he is Pierro Marinatos!

Then there are some pleasantries, and some questions about my movie watching preferences and history, Brett thanks me again for casting him in my BAFTA winning World War II period piece, and I thank him again for allowing me to workshop my previous award winning stage comedy with him, then the real questions begin.

You’re dead. How did you die?

I died within an eyelash of ninety, because I wanted to live long enough to meet my grandchildren and for them to be old enough to know me. I was sitting at home reading by the fire when there is a knock at the door and when I answer it I am confronted by a horde of ninjas. It seems I had offended the Shinobi community in an interview on Graham Norton (he will have been cloned repeatedly and the show will run nearly uninterrupted for 100 years) when I said their toe thong shoes looked like ladies ‘camel toes’ as well as some other disparaging remarks (I’m deep into my eighties, so I’m old and grumpy and have no fucks left to give). Things get heated and a proper fight looks to kick off. Me being eighty nine at this point there is not much hope, but Zeus himself looks down from Olympus and says “you get ONE more go, but then you’re done”, and for two minutes and forty two seconds I am in my twenties again. (Note: 2:42 is the run time for Perry Como’s “Papa Loves Mambo, which is the soundtrack to this fight). For two minutes and forty two glorious seconds I am a fucking barbarian again. I proceed to hand out beatings like it’s my JOB, and damn it business is good. But all things must come to an end and as Perry croons “because Papa, loves the mambo toniiiiiiiiiggghhhhhtt” Zeus points a finger at me and BAM! my heart explodes in my chest, and I drop stone dead on the front lawn surrounded by the ninjas I have vanquished…all in their silly camel toe shoes.  

OR

I am still within an eyelash of ninety, I am in bed reading and the pile of “to-be-read” books that is beside my bed and has been growing steadily for decades reaches critical mass and collapses, smothering me. As I am nearly 90 and the pile of books numbers in the high hundreds, I don’t have the strength to dig my way out and I suffocate under the weight of my “to-be-read” pile. I am killed by what I love. Not as awesome as the ninja story, but possibly more prophetic. Brett can decide which one he likes better and we’ll go with that one.

What was the first-ever film you saw, or remember seeing?

At home it would have been either Mary Poppins or the Wizard of Oz. Once or twice a year one of the big networks would show one of them at an early time when children could watch them. In my memory it was always a Sunday evening and I would have to hurry up and have my bath and be ready for bed before the movie came on so I could go right to bed as soon as it was over or I fell asleep, whichever came first.

In theatre I do not know which one was first, they were both around the same time, I would have been maybe six or seven years old, either a re-showing of Return of the Jedi, or Back to the Future.

This one still stands up as a great adventure movie even forty years later. I saw it in the theatre with my Jewish godmother and remember how excited I was when (spoiler alert) Marty succeeded in making it home to his present.

What was the film that scared you the most, and do you like being scared?

I don’t like scary movies. I don’t mind monster movies though, even scary ones, because I like seeing the structure (because I’m a nerd like that). Like Jaws. Structurally it is very good. My wife calls it a man’s movie, we can talk about that when I’m on the show for real.

I do make exceptions for scary movies, but it is under very special circumstances. It must be during the day, and it must be in a room with a significant Caribbean population. I experienced this once at a student lounge, they showed some zombie movie that I would otherwise never have watched and it was made HILARIOUS by the commentary from the heavily Caribbean crowd. That was the best.

What was the film that made you cry the most, and are you a cryer?

I am, more so since I became a father. Almost anything involving a father/son relationship has a chance to get me teary. Yondu’s funeral in Guardians of the Galaxy 2 and the “do you want to have a catch” scene from Field of Dreams come to mind. And anything where a loss or sacrifice of life occurs to the character who is not naturally capable of violence, is ‘simple’ like a child, or a pet. When Baymax sacrifices himself to save Hiro in Big Hero 6. Also in moments of supreme joy, like the Remember Me scene in Coco. But I do not search for them, and actively avoid sad films. I will never watch the NeverEnding Story because I refuse to be traumatized by watching a child experience the slow and agonizing death of his talking horse friend. No thanks.

If you don’t love Baymax you have no soul and there is no hope for you.

What film is TERRIBLE but you love it?

That’s the thing, I don’t think it’s terrible. The 13th Warrior with Antonio Banderas is considered a bomb but I like it. I really liked it in theatre, that final battle versus the bear people was intense, gave off very “let the bodies hit the floor” vibes and I was there for it. The Man from U.N.C.L.E. is also considered a bomb and I enjoyed it so much I have seen it at least three times (not common for me). Maybe it was the settings and the era it was portraying I liked? Maybe it is my man crush on Henry Cavill? The concept of “I know it’s terrible but I love it anyway” is one that Brett and I will have to discuss in greater depth than I have space to write here.

What is the film you once loved but watching it recently you realise it’s terrible?

Almost any John Hughes film from the 80s. My wife hadn’t seen them so I tried to show them to her and we couldn’t finish Sixteen Candles. I realize they were a product of their day, but there is a lot of overt racism (and not funny, lots of laughing AT, no laughing WITH), sexism, and accepted sexual assault. They REALLY did not age well.

Hudson Hawk. I love heist movies that use smarts not violence. Logan Lucky, the Ocean’s movies, the Bank Job, that kind of thing. As I child I thought Hudson Hawk was fantastic. With adult eyes I realize it’s half insane and I wonder how it even got made. My guess is, as Rick James said on the Chappelle Show: “cocaine is a helluva drug”.

It was ridiculous, but eleven year old me loved this movie.

That’s it for this week, tune in next week for the second half of the interview where Brett and I discuss terrible films, great films, funny filims, and what film I will be buried with (if a previous guest did not already choose it).