Curtained call

Rides

Tears carve channels

Through caked whiteness,

Intersecting painted smiles,

As limbs that juggled

And balanced on beams

Seem weighted and dead.

 

The music no longer plays,

Replaced by heavy silence

As tired hands wrestle

Cold cream jars and tissues.

The show has ended.

Only reality remains.

 

The face in the mirror

Beams gleefully back,

Yet the seated corpse

Sobs uncontrollably;

Everything left behind

On saw dusted floors.

 

If I give you everything,

Leave nothing for me,

How do I pass the night

Alone with this shell?

What can I be when

The clown is not here?

 

I frolicked; you smirked.

I stumbled; you laughed.

I collapsed; you roared.

I died; you applauded,

Departing for dull lives

As I melted to decay.

 

Who am I if not an

Echo of your delight?

As I remove my makeup,

Do I not erase myself?

Who will love the man

Who cries alone?

THE NIGHT BEFORE DEFENSE (or A Visit From Citrate)

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Twas the night before Defense, when all through the lab

Not a gel box was shaking, with stain or with MAb;

The columns were hung in the cold room with care,

In hopes that my protein, I soon could prepare;

 

The post-docs were nestled all smug in their beds,

While extracts of barlied hops muddled their heads;

With the tech in the suburbs and PI the same,

I had just settled down to another video game.

 

When out of the fridge there arose such a clatter

I sprang from the terminal to see what was the matter.

Away to the cold box, I flew like a flash

But the stench was o’erpowering and I threw up beef hash.

 

The mould on the dampest of walls which were cold

Had the softness of kittens only seven weeks old;

When what to my view, a thing I despise

But a half-eaten sandwich and four tiny mice;

 

With a little old scientist, so lively and galling,

I knew at a glance, it was Linus Pauling.

More vapid than undergrads, his charges they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them rude names.

 

“Now, Watson! Now Francis! You strange little modellers!

On Luria! On Bertani! You stupid old broth’lers!

To the top of the bench, to the top of the wall!

Purify! Purify! Purify all!”

 

As dry heaves before the committee meeting, bend

A young student’s body and his colon distend,

So up to their earlobes, acytes they grew,

With a sack full of antibodies, their skin turning blue.

 

And then, for a second, I heard from the ‘fuge,

An unbalanced rotor spinning something too huge.

Where I put down my hand, to better hear the sound,

Came the snapping of sparks from a wire sans ground.

 

Pauling’s hair was all wavy, and I thought I must be sick

`Cause the curl in his hair looked just like a helix.

On an arm load of oranges, he started to snack

Recalling his fetish with ascorbate, the quack.

 

His eyes were all wrinkled, but the cheeks were yet red;

Not too shabby for a man who was several years dead;

The leer of his smile was just a tad scary

And the snow on his rooftop made his head yet quite hairy;

 

The end of a pipette, he held in his teeth

And a pile of kimwipes lay around his big feet.

He held a small vial of something quite gel-ly,

A mercaptan no doubt, for it make him quite smelly.

 

He changed `round the columns, adding to the confusion

And I laughed to spite my own paranoid delusion.

A wink of his eye and a rotation of his head,

Told me whatever I drank would soon leave me dead.

 

He spoke not a word, just buggered up my work,

And dried all my resins, that silly old jerk.

And separating his middle finger from first, fourth and third,

That crazy, old bugger, just flipped me the bird.

 

He grabbed up his cohorts and ran down the hall,

And away they all flew, letting me take the fall.

That is why, dear Committee, I am sorry to say,

I need a five year extension, starting today.

Not too Bad Santa 2

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As a cynic, particularly around the holidays, it seems strange that I have never seen Bad Santa, but then I am not much of a fan of Billy Bob Thornton, the titular character. Thus, as I headed out to see Bad Santa 2, I had few expectations and simply held out hope that I wouldn’t be completely bored.

Surprisingly, I actually enjoyed myself while watching this seriously flawed but nonetheless funny movie.

I suspect the new edition seems very much a reprise of the original with the main characters Willie (Thornton) and Marcus (Tony Cox) getting together to pull off yet another caper; in this case, the robbery of a Chicago charity run by scheming Regent Hastings (Ryan Hansen) and his almost pure wife Diane (Christina Hendricks). Complicating matters this time is the presence of Willie’s mom Sunny (Kathy Bates), the woman who raised Willie to be the miserable, alcoholic, criminal shit that we see today.

In many ways, the movie becomes one long series of double-crosses and opportunities for Willie to do the right thing, particularly by the doting man-child Thurman Merman (Brett Kelly), but failing to live up to the moments.

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Mommy dearest Bates is guaranteed to let you down

To say that Bad Santa 2 is dark and cynical is to cope with a language that simply cannot catch the nihilism of these characters and their life choices. Thurman is the only redeeming character in this story and that is likely only because he is a clinical moron, incapable of guile and oblivious to sarcasm. As the title indicates, this is the anti-Christmas Christmas movie that would drive even Jesus Christ himself to suicide (likely some time around Easter).

And annoyingly, this is exactly why I liked this film. It was so dark and treacherous, so cynically funny, that I could not help but find the darkness endearing. This is a seasonal film for the purely jaded and given the language and adult scenes, should not be viewed with a broader family.

As no doubt in the first film, Thornton’s Willie continually finds himself let down by the people around him, feeding his suicidal neuroses. Bates is a delight as Kathy Bates under the pseudonym Sunny Soke, a woman devoid of tenderness except when it is part of a larger scheme to screw someone over. And Hendricks is the inveterate do-gooder who has her baser side, Christian charity coupled with carnal itches that need Santa’s attention.

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Hendricks allows her libido to cloud her better judgement

There are so many things about this story that don’t work as a story, and the ending is a complete waste of celluloid, the screenwriters Shauna Cross (who also wrote Whip It) and John Rosenthal in his debut feature film seeming to have simply typed until they ran out of toner. And yet, for all of the short-comings, you don’t really care because that is largely life. Nothing ends where it should and never satisfyingly.

If you aren’t at least intrigued by the idea of setting your nearest nativity scene ablaze or mounting Rudolph’s head on your front bumper, I am not sure you should see Bad Santa 2. But if you were not repulsed by either of those ideas, you may find some dark dark pleasure in this film.

See also:

MovieReview360 w/ Shannon Leahy (YouTube)

Same old dirty tricks (The Guardian)

Bad Santa 2 works through mommy issues (New York Times)

Movie Review: Bad Santa 2 (Danny F Santos)

Toronto’s Christmas night

Before being pre-empted by my Christmas eve wanderings, the plan had been to wander the downtown core on Christmas evening (Dec 25th, to avoid confusion).

Iceholes of Toronto – Part Two

More photos from my wander along the Beaches boardwalk in east Toronto, with some of my favourites from the walk in this stack.

See also Part One

Urban Christmas

And now for some downtown Toronto shots from my walkabout before Christmas dinner.

Naturally Christmas Day

As I headed off for my Christmas feast in downtown Toronto, I took a bit of time to photograph some of the natural and urban wonders of my city.

Attached, are some of the natural attractions as Toronto chips its way out of the latest ice storm.