I'm Raphael Saray - broadcaster and all around charming bloke. I grew up on the mean streets of Winnipeg, made a brief stop in Dauphin, before being drawn to the mighty CFAR 590 in Flin Flon. I rock the mike Tues-Fri from 9-2 as well as Saturday Mornings. I bring unbridled mayhem and malarkey. In my spare time, I enjoy sending texts and cashing cheques. I'm an Aquarius and an avid napper.I think your glasses are neat.
Hey yo, and what up….I'm the new morning guy. I'll be going to bed with the grade 4s and waking at at the crack of dawn. Just when the jokers and the smokers…..the thinkers' and drinkers are just getting in. Now Dallas Clarke will forever be the mayor of morning. He rather stay out late than get up early. I'm still the Hungarian Heartthrob. I'm very physically attractive. You should've seen me as a child. As a fetus, I was down right dashing. But for an alliterative title for the new posish (short for position..keep up with me people…I can't hold your hand the whole way) I'm going to go with Maharaja of the Morning. It flows - a little more exotique, and just very fun to say. So what to expect from this new morning institution that will no doubt have as historic an impact as the Moon Landing, Paul Henderson's goal , and the Muppet Christmas Special combined…First off a new name. Calling my show the Cfar 590 Morning Show with Dallas Clarke wouldn't make any sense. I suggested the CFAR 590 Morning Show without Dallas Clarke, but that was shot down by the Arctic Radio big whigs and muckety mucks. I won't even tell you what the movers and shakers said. So we are going to go with Bed, Breakfast and Beyond. A play on words if you will on the popular house wares store. I suggested calling the show Jysk and or Linen's and Things but again …whigs and mucks got in the way.
I'll also do some of my feature stuff from the ol' midday mayhem show. Name the best and worst persons in the world. If you have a nomination for best person, by all means leave a name in the comment section below. I'm not really coffee person so I'll be pretty much taking energy drinks intravenously. I used to work in a call centre as a lowly telemarketer and we didn't have energy drinks back then. We had a little something called Jolt Cola. Three bottles' and you had the strength to lift up a car before you keeled over in a sugar and caffeine induced coma. Good times, great memories. So wake up with me from now on. I promise to you we are going to have fun on the radio.
We all have our goals in life. Alexander the Great wanted to conquer the world by the age of 33 and did so. As a result he cried salt tears for there were no worlds left to tame. Bruce Springsteen wanted to write a song about being working class from New Jersey, and did so. Incessantly. That's why mountains are climbed, canoes are cobbled together and operas were sat through. There comes a time in a person's life where they have to evaluate themselves and figure out what they want their legacy to be. Sadly, many folks allow life itself to get in the way, leaving a torrent of missed opportunities and regrets. Among my travels, I noticed that I had a skill. Maybe even a talent on loan from God. In the spring and summer time – I leave my bus pass in its holster and walk around town. Allowing my sinewy leg muscles to propel my body to where it has to go. During these times I have toned my calves to an almost snare drum like taughtness. For a good period of time, I was content. As once my calves had resembled a jello mold, now there was something to be proud of. But in an almost wicked lust for glory, I'm no longer content. I've joked about it with friends, sheepishly mentioned it among co-workers, and fantasized about it at night. Yes, it is time to go on a quest to have the largest calves in the world. It will take sacrifice, determination, and maybe even some luck. My genetics are going against me as Hungarians are notoriously small calved. Bulky calves are a trait as we all know belonging to Belgians and due to water mineral aquifers those who have settled in the cavernous mountain regions of North Dakota. I'll do all the basic things; avoid carbs after 12 at night,I shall vigorously massage my calves with a beaver pelt shammy, and most importantly go on daily hill climbs. My body will be glisteningly sweaty. My lungs huffing and even at times…puffing. And my calves, my prescious calves…begging for mercy. Wanting rest, secretly telling the rest of my body that such a quest is a fool's errand. Like Don Quixote and his fight against the windmill's that this dream is indeed impossible. But any difficult task is worth doing. By labour day I should be in contact with the Guinness people. The record book guys…not the beer dudes. Although, while I have them on the phone… I mine as well get some stout. This is my dream. This is my journey, this is my quest. If you'll need me I'll be chugging up the hills or tying several tape measures together as I don't think one will able to properly measure my new best friends, the soon to be…Largest calves in the world!
Hattatude~~! by Raphael Saray,posted Apr 16 2012 10:03AM
Hey Gang,
Just got back from the first ever hat and fascinator workshop event at the NORVA centre. You maybe saying to yourself, what does the ever so studly Hungarian Heartthrob know about fancy headwear. Being the son of a mom who loved fancy things – I'm not an expert, but not a novice either. In my household, Saturday night was church fashion show night. Mother wanted to look her Sunday best and put a lot of time in doing so. My job was judge, adviser, critic, motivator and agreer. My mother had elaborate mirrors and outfits. Nothing compared however to her hats. She has a room just for hats, converted from small guest room. Some of the chapeaus still have the price tag on them. Like a man and his tools and child and their toys or me with my Atkins diet deeveedees – she probably has a little too many.
So going to the workshop. I wasn't totally out of place. I was just versed in hats. Fascinators are another beast. Barb Myrvold was our guru. A guest from Winnipeg, who had an almost embarrassing list of accomplishments to her credit. Stemming from her formal training in Los Angeles. She explained that a hat is well, a hat. But a fascinator can best be described as a corsage for your head. With the recent anniversary of the Titanic and everybody going back to watch the movie, the elaborate Kate Winslet like hat is sort of the goal. If you remember last year's royal wedding or have seen the Kentucky Derby you can visualize the opulent haberdashery. Wide brims, ornate accessories, and jaunty angles are what are need to have an eye catching piece. A crew of ladies came to the workshop to be excited and delighted by the opportunity. The point was to get hats for the upcoming high tea. As well as to contribute as the town gets set for the Queen's diamond jubilee celebration. The ladies on hand took flowers, feathers, felt, ribbons, and bows. They glued sewed, wrapped, tied, and attached items with reckless abandon. Having a trained fashonista on hand spurred the ladies on to putting just a little bit of spring in the hearts, even on an unseasonably chilly afternoon.
Having moaned and complained as a youngster having to co-ordinate my mom's wardrobe – I know realize that all ways of acquiring knowledge will somehow be beneficial later on. No matter how strange or tedious it may seem at the time. You can look back on even a short past experience and turn that into a positive experience. That's all I have for now. I have to go see a man about a horse.
My One Cent by Raphael Saray,posted Apr 4 2012 4:11PM
Some are crestfallen, weeping uncontrollably with Mach 3 blades close to their wrists, wrestling whether or not to slash. Other's indifferent , the news striking them with the impact of a "mix of sun and cloud" weather report. Of course, I refer to the Federal Budget, where the penny met its untimely demise. Depending on where you stand on the political spectrum this was either the greatest thing since bacon or the worst thing since turkey bacon. It seemed a plot by the Conservatives. A diversionary tactic if you will. Garnering headlines with the penny killing so that social programs cuts did not get many headlines. What's next? Enacting the war measures act while getting rid of the nickel. Perhaps putting Gordie Howe on the fifty dollar bill while making the NDP a terrorist organization. The abolition of the penny has many mitigating factors around it. Dumb guys were hit probably the hardest. Thinking how can the government do away with Inspector Gadget's niece? Dumb dudes now are going have to go through the arduous ordeal of rounding up or down. More math for these guys on a daily basis is not a good thing.
Next are those who have collected their Queen Elizabeth copper medallions for years on end. In mason jars, whiskey bottles, piggy banks, scarf compartments etc etc etc. For those in frugal households, the penny hunt was a right of passage. Fast food specials caused mad dashes for couch cushions. Fast food workers looked at our family with scorn and derision. You could see the hate begin to seethe as they first heard the unmistakable jingle of the one cent piece. Then the sound caught up with the waddle of youngsters with ten dollars of pennies in their pockets. After a certain penny incident at my elementary school to pay for a pizza lunch – our family got some pride of thrift. A letter was sent home saying that from now on payment via pennies would have to be rolled. A generation of folks will now grow up not knowing such an existence. The penny will soon be in that mythical graveyard of items that society has deemed irrelevant. Things such as the hot air popcorn popper, the pay phone, the floppy disc, the cassette tape, the pump sneaker, and Kony 2012 join the penny by the wayside. I think we all get a little nostalgic for things that are gone. Our first instinct is to resist change. That which is new at first glance is just wrong. People dismissed the car wanting to hold onto their horse and buggy. Furrowed brows met BTO by devout Guess Who loyalists. I say save you're pennies - roll them first and keep one in your pocket. Just in case you have to engage in fisticuffs and need a hundred little friends in your right hand.
Hey, tweens and tweenettes – rather than the usual bloggery and tomfoolery…some malarkey and balderdash. How about we fire up the way ahead machine. And take a look as to what Flin Flon will look like 50 years in the future… Folks in town are very proud of the effort the Flin Flon Bombers put in the 2062 Season. Some were a little put off when Tokyo, Bosnia, and Okotoks were added to the SJHL in 2056. But the advent of teleportation helped cut down on travel expenses. Bombers lost in 7 games in the league semis. A lot of people were upset that Guam ( added in 2014) started 8 robots against the Bombers as Flin Flon only had 4 Robots to start with and 2 were in the shop. True you can dress up to 10 ' bots , but nobody dresses more than five. So Guam won what many thought was by dirty means. Many want some Robots traded for Cyborgs, or a goalie who was a former Sumo wrestler, which had become the style of the day ever since the Nagasaki Swordfish won 3 Stanley Cups in a row with a beefy netminder, hall of famer Yan Kan Hirohito back in the mid 2040's.
Hockey is pretty big, but due to inverse erosion and global warming Flin Flon has become a windsurfing and surfing hotbed. Ross Lake is massive and winters only happen pretty much on leap years. Before one goes to Hawaii and Australia to make millions, you can make a good living working the NorMan surfing circuit. As a result the Ff (like the OC – there was a 6 episode series shot here for MTV Canada 3) is teaming with taught, tanned, and toned future water sports super stars. While the lake does produce the waves that the extreme crowd craves – Ross Lake is not a seafood hub. Something was found in there once in 2027 called a "Sea Kangaroo", but the meat was tough and sinewy. However the Elks Lodge does have the pouch hung majestically on a wall.
The company is still going strong. A lot of FFers however work at some other mines around the area. With the bus service now known as Northern Bus and Rocket Lines, locals are put on the charter and blast off to Mars, some to Venus – a couple to Jupiter to extract the precious metals from the celestial orbs in our fine galaxy. Folks still complain about the shuttles though. As due to an engine issue – the Mars-Flin Flon trip lasted almost seven minutes. Lots of mumbling and murmering among the rank and file on that day.
The ol' CFAR is still chugging away in the future. Rob Hart jr. serves as voice of the Bombers. Joe still doing the news. The 83rd annual trade and leisure show goes well. Oddly enough the biggest hit isn't the dip in the youth fountain, or the 2 second bacon fryer – but a retro fav. Grown ups and youngsters are running around with shiny keys and clickety skates. Yes, old school roller skates, with the quad four wheels are selling like those heated cakes that sell very well. Fudge is calorie free and nobody has nut allergies. So sadly maple nut without nuts flavour of fudge is no more. The odd thing about a Flin Flon future is that due to years of stuff coming into the air, the rate genetic trait has 89 percent of the population are left handed. So if your from out of town – you'll notice that the notebooks are a little weird.
As we slog through the dog days of winter, hopes and dreams pegged on the Flin Flon Bombers is no longer serving as the unofficial winter pastime. Looking back on my collection of kitten and Glee themed calendars, it appears that I've been a hot rockin', flame throwin, booty shakin, sidewalk shakin' disc jockey for about three years. With an outsider perspective of thingas, I've tended to notice some things that native Flin Floners have not picked up on. I still don't know the secret handshake to get to the bottom of the mine, or get to the top of 100 steps with being vigorously winded, so let not your heart be troubled. An interesting note is that people no longer give directions on where things used to be. This can get a touch sad from time to time. Swing by where Johnny's was, pass by the old Mr. Ribs and and if you hit where the video store was you've gone too far. Conversely, there as ingrained part of the community who have been indoctrinated by this bizarre patois and think you are in the wrong if you give the proper directions. Swing by the Norva Centre, pass Pioneer square, go by the new video store…the response will be a quizzical glance or just frustration…like when you need to know the time and the person you muster up the courage to speak to doesn't have a watch, or a cigarette. Although I'd be taken a back as well if I ask somebody for the time and they respond by giving me a ciggy.
That being said, I find it odd when I'm asked for the time- am caught watch less, and then the asker is shocked. "Well , why don't you have a watch?!" But they have not comprehended the fact that their wrists are also nude. Same can be said about five bucks. A person who asks you for five bucks or even a twoney cannot comprehend how somebody cannot have two loonies, or five loonies. Few times do they look deep down into the core of their being. Taking the frustration on the watchless or five buckless and inversely pouring it into themselves. Where one can properly inspect their own lives, and see the shortfalls that has left them not knowing the time and not being able to coble together walk around money.
Other than that I like how the term "uptown" is ubiquitous in town, which could cover any territory from the burger hut to Porcupine Plain. How the town forms a magical scent of certain times of the day, when the sun hits some garbage spilled by a truculent fox. That coupled with the time when the chicken place is frying up a fresh batch,with the subtle affectation of wood burning stoves crackling away. So pretty much if you see me strut by, don't ask me for directions as I'm on my way the get some chicken, hunt down a fox and pick up the latest kitten calendar – which at this time of year I can get for thirty percent off.
Yes, by now – you've all been immersed in the biggest event of our generation since Britney Spears danced with a snake at the MTV awards, the Queen's jubilee. Many people have there own opinions on the monarchy ranging from apathy to indifference. The good thing about whenever I see the Queen, it always reminds me that I need to buy a stamp. Getting rid of the monarchy probably would not mess with most of our day to day lives. Except that our money would probably have hockey players and Mr. Dressup on it as opposed to her majesty. The Queen can do some things to stay close to her loyal subjects. Let's say every month one country in the commonwealth got to participate in a pony raffle. Every citizen would have a chance to win a pony from the royal stables. Pony day would become an unofficial holyday. A day where Jew and arab, leaf fan and hab fan, vegan and carnivore would stand side by side in peace and anticipation of winning a baby horse. One month in Australia, the next Canada, France, Hawaii, England, Wanless, and so on and so forth. Such an idea- as brilliant as it is must be handled properly by the Queen's inner circle.
I can just picture Prince Phillip with a green visor and an old timey adding machine crunching the numbers and seeing how much these pony giveaways are costing the royal family. Phillip would probably want to the pony raffle rigged. The big drawing taking place on the balcony of Buckingham Palace – Liz pressing her bony hand into the large bucket of Brit names as hundreds of thousands gather for this non holy high day. She reaches out a name and who wouldn't you know won the pony, Kate's sister Pippa! Crowd shouts Fix! Fix!. Phillip had gone to far rigging the pony draw. The backlash would very well top the entire fabric of thousands years of tradition. So in hindsight it is probably better not to have a pony raffle. But a great name for a band….tonight at the hooter..Pony Raffle!! Well then again, it might confuse people.
Keep Calm and Carry On;
Raphael Saray
Charming,Baffling, Double Jointed.
People are getting more and more difficult to deal with nowadays. With the facetubes and youbooks and such; attention spans and regard have fallen the way of clear cola and pay phones. Case in point- if I walk into a room and throw the light switch and there is no light and ask my life partner "Do you know where the lightbulbs are?" And they go "why?" – I have a right to be upset. Why?! That's the question? Oh I don't know, because I'm making pasta?! No, because it is dark, that's why. I'm the bad guy for raising my voice. Conversely if I were making pasta and asked for lightbulbs – the question why- would be perfectly appropriate and my anger would have the right to be called on the carpet. Its people, they are getting to be a real issue.
There are exceptions, particularly in my neck of the woods. That magical place after Rotary Park but before the 100 (ish) steps.A magical gaggle of folks born and bred into a unique social milieu. I have written a poem about these folks and the spot where they live. It doesn't rhyme. That would be limerick. It's not how it is, only how it appears.
A place where by day it's ebullient, but night it's magic.
Feels like100 miles across. Where all the children are above average. All the boys grow up strapping with clefts in the chins , big enough to store half a ham sandwich .
All the girls grow up to be shapely. The native ladies hair as strong as hemp and as black as crude oil. The Aryans hair is blonde as ripening wheat . And the Irish redheads, like a blood orange.
All the grown ups - that's the word for adults; sounds classy. The grown ups revel in being grown ups. Martini lunches last well past two-ish in the afternoon. Doughnuts are only served hot. Cold doughnuts are thrown away and looked upon with scorn and derision.
The shapely women are always pleasently fragranced, and as a result the area emits the aroma of fried cake, gin, and femininity. It only snows on Christmas and Halloween is the longest day of the year.
After much wincing and gnashing of teeth, winter has unofficially arrived. Some folks still dealing with jack-o-laterns on their front stoops, left with mouths agape and arms akimbo as the snow blankets the community. Somehow, it always shocks some folk. "Getting chilly , out" They opine. Yes, I'm shocked that November brings cold temperatures. One thing that the weather does cause is a lack of Occupy Flin Flon movement. It's seems from everywhere from New York to Ethelbert slackers, hippies, comies, and a like are gathering to….be upset. Their solutions are wide spread and confusing. Against government bail outs but for government imposed salary caps on CEO's. Taunting police then going to the law when there laptops are stolen. The movement didn't get much traction in Flin Flon. The Occupy Flin Flon rally drew as many as my "Girls who want to date Raph" rally in mid August (So lonely, tear, sniffle, booze, glug, feel better.) The rally had core points unlike it's New York cousin. No haranguing Wall Street fat cats. No abstract concepts of social justice. Just build me an A and Double U (W, ..hey W- that could've saved me some time, whoops writing my thougths again..Jennifer Love Saray…no that's too creepy, I'll take her name, Raphael Love Hewitt. Nered to get some elephants so I can have RLH cufflinks carved from theier precious ivory..oh right..the blog) and a big and tall man shop. Preferably in the same complex. But a huddled mass in this burgh doesn't stick around in a park all night in winter. Some are too cold. Some have snowmobiles to gas up. Others have wives and girlfriends and a special select few have both. I thought of a hunger strike until I get a go ahead for the burger/vast waist band Shangri-La I envisioned, but then realized that a prolonged hunger strike would negate my need for dress pants on an elastic . I discussed over eating to fight for my right, but then it would just be a normal day. So no Occupy Flin Flon and no big and tall teen burger combo. Maybe in the spring.
- by the by; Bulgarians are from Bulgaria, Hungarians are from Hungary. There is no such place as Hungaria. Hungarians invented underpants and for two months in the mid 1430s ruled the world.
- I know it should go without saying but don't drink the Ross Lake water. Oh sure it may smell like grandma's gravy but the taste is akin to that of old towels and unkept promises
- Now that the Winnipeg Jets are back I'm expecting big things from the Spin Doctors and a Michelle Pfeiffer comeback. I say combine them to make Little Miss Can't Be Wrong: The Movie.
- Hellman's mayonnaise is still the finest quality mayonnaise on the market today, and I'm having no argument on this
- Scanning some of the younger grades at the elementary schools, once again this year; a lack of boys named Barry or girls named the counterpart Barrinina. If this continues to occur Barry's will go out of fashion like acid wash jeans and Kevin Costner. We have all but lost the modern day Walt, Mort, Pearl, Agnes, Opal , and Vance. Don't let Barry join them in this name graveyard. I implore expecting parents to cool it with the Tylers, Ryans, Calebs, Brents, Emiliys, Justines… and give due consideration to Barry. For the easy spelling alone.
- Fire Prevention is being promoted. My only tip is when you are deep frying a turkey; make sure that sucker is completely thawed. If it's even just a bit frozen once it hits the roaring peanut oil you get some unexpected fireworks. I found some dark meat in my sock. Not my shoes; in my sock. After that there was no white meat, just dark meat and …darker meat.
- I've been stalking Wab Kinew from CBC News. I'm not proud of it but it needs to be done. He smells like knock knock jokes and Woolworth's cologne. Mmmmmmmm.
- When asked what's in my Hannah Montanna briefcase I always respond, everything I need and everything you want.
- The only way I can describe the last nap I took would be to call it, violent. It involved two beds, a change of clothes and a case of CO-OP Diet Root Beer.
- If you are in charge of a bake sale or if you will bake table, I won't say anything if you try and pass off bran muffins with frosting on top as "cupcakes". But we both know the shame you should feel inside.
- I say we bring back a mascot for the Bombers. The only obvious thing to do is to get a big suit and tie and big head of the President. I propose Barrack O' Bomber – very good on the left wing, capturing Osama Bin Bob Beatty and such. It's the only logical conclusion.
Well that's all for now. I have more skin tags to deal with. I gots to get the tweezers and the hand mirror to do this properly. I think your hair looks perfect today.
Free calendars, mugs, and pens being handed out - babies being shaken and hands being kissed can only mean that it election season once again. It's a little less glitzy than the last time for the feds. No spawn of Trudeau being questioned by George Stepa…Strubul….Snufalopagous or folks stock piling long guns like for the MP vote. It's the provincial ballot that will be cast this time out. Basically were voting for who can beg Ottawa for the most money or as I prefer to call it – monies. Panhandlers are shooed away on the streets but slap a suit on and meet in an esteemed chamber and panhandling the federal government is perfectly acceptable. We're getting set to host the great debate among the MLA candidates here at the ol' radio mine. Sadly the big wigs ( I mean that in terms of movers and shakers…muckety mucks…not people with giant toupees) didn't go for my idea of the debate room (peeling back the curtain…it's the radio bingo room) being turned into a political octagon and the debate be a three way fight to death. It would raise the political profile in this town. Friends meeting for coffee, "did you here who was killed on the radio?" is quite a conversation starter. But no. The debate will be a verbal joust of issues done in order so the electorate can make an informed decision before heading to the polls. As always the winners will be showered with praise, the losers shall be taunted until my throat is sore. The Lloyd Robertson of Flin Flon( not to confused with the Knowlton Nash of Neepawa…that guy has got issues…) Joe McCormick will be moderating.
If I ran it the questions would be more...should we say…colourful. "My first question for Mr. Peterson – name something you'd find in a trumpet case…you have three minutes then your opponents will offer a rebuttal. Mr. Linklater as we all know there were three stooges; tell us in detail how you feel about Curly's third wife? Mr. Heine…would you eat the moon if it were made of spare ribs." And so fourth. Make sure and listen to the debate and mark your x for the finest beggar...er…distinguished gentleman who will represent our fine community…and beg.
Keep Calm and Carry On;
Raphael Saray
Humble, Noble, Awesome.
As summer starts to die down, we will soon be awoken by noisy leaf blowers rather than ear piercing lawn mowers. Kids are back at school, my aunt switches from vodka to rye, and Gordy Wells' knees begin to change colour. All sure fire signs autumn is in sight. One thing that will mar this metamorphosis to the fall is going to be the big box that will go empty in a month or so. The Extra Foods location will soon shutdown. Now dumb guys will probably blame Barack Obama(…President's choice...see what I did there) but what done is done. A better thing to do rather than look back is to look forward. What will be done about the building? I thought about calling my good, dear long time close personal friend; Mark Chipman from Winnipeg to see that since he is opening his wallet - if he wanted to fund my turkey bowling alley. Just buy up the remaining frozen turkeys at the grocery mart, use no name two liter beverages as pins…and voila. I'm not sure about what exactly goes on in Wanless (who does?) but I'll guess dollars to doughnuts…glazed, oh those ones without the hole and where the hole would be they put custard….wait, where was I…Oh yes. I'll bet dollars to doughnuts that it would make Flin Flon home to the only frozen turkey bowlerama in all of northern Manitoba. It would be a beacon of town pride. We'd see license plates from Ohio, Alaska, Alberta, even as far as Saskatchewan of people who made the trek just to gaze upon the splendor of the cold poultry bowlatorium or whatever it's called. All dates will be switched to BTB and ATB. Before Turkey Bowling and After Turkey Bowling.
I have to go and get my proposal and do some preliminary technical experiments to see how cold a turkey actually has to be for it to be a formidable rolling vessel. I don't want to be caught off guard opening night muttering, "As God as my witness, I thought turkeys could roll". Then people from Wanless would bring actual live turkeys and look for tiny shoes and balls so that the living fowl could play a few frames. We are not having turkeys bowl, we are using turkeys for bowling. I can't stress that enough.
Jack Layton by Raphael Saray,posted Aug 23 2011 1:04PM
Hey Yo. Haven't danced the blog dance for a while but… to be fair I had some skin tag issues, so back at 'er. I wish that this post would come under better circumstances. The death of Jack Layton came as a shock. Even though his last public appearance saw him gaunt and hoarse, everybody pretty much thought that Smilin' Jack would be back in Parliament – rousing rabble, rattling off zingers, and being the booming left leaning voice in the commons. Whether you agree with his politics or not, one cannot argue his means of communicating. He made often dull question period sessions a lot more interesting and made leadership debates noteworthy. Starting out as Toronto councilman, Layton's strong personality carried him into the national spotlight. Layton's greatest achievement was his last and probably the way we will all remember him. The last election campaign saw a vibrant Layton, tirelessly striving for support. A stark contrast to his opponents, Layton's bellicose populist style was buoyed by his trademark cane waggling swagger. He drove the NDP to heights never before seen and to some never thought. Layton was the engine that saw little known candidates swept in a tidal wave of Orange Crush.
He will be laid to rest in a state funeral. What respect and quite a life lived when at the end of the day you are honoured by your rivals. Layton's passing brings questions of who will succeed as party leader and can the NDP build on their rising support. All those questions will be answered in good time. For the now, let us mourn and remember a person who made politics dynamic and fun. An example of what life can be when lived fully.
A recap of the weekend spectacle. "Fiddler On the Roof" is probably my favorite musical. I've seem numerous productions all over the country as well as the film version. The musical landed on our doorstep with vim, vigor and enthusiasm. Such a show requires an effort to dazzle an audience. Although the themes are universal – tradition vs. new ideas, individual freedoms, selling milk cows etc etc etc; the point of a rousing musical is to sport some showmanship. A hug and a high five to Tim Spencer whose tour de force performance of the curmudgeon-like, yet lovable Tevye anchored the production. A great part about live theatre is when the talent on the stage is having fun, it carries into the crowd and the audience begins to have a ball as well. So it was very easy to decipher the joy by the cast. Kudos must be given to the out-of-towners from the Rusalka dance troupe from Winnipeg, who assisted in a show stopping Ukrainian dance number that had Spencer and John Taylor (portraying the wealthy butcher Lazar) looking like modern day Cossacks. I feel terrible that I can't mention everyone by name; but truly an impressive effort by all involved. I single out Elly Spencer as Yente – who brought the home spun yet often biting wit of a Jewish matchmaker. Plus the dulcet tones of Kevin Imrie whose progressive Perchik showed a vocal range that goes far beyond just belting out the national anthem at Bomber games.
Of course we must mention the unsung heroes, the stage crew who were able to change scenes with much aplomb. The classic script was done justice by the hard working spirit of the cast. The Saturday audience that I was a part of could not wait to get on their feet and give the production a rousing ovation. All in all a night very well spent at the theatre. Everybody involved should be walking tall with pride. Pity, Fiddler has no sequels. Fiddler on the Roof 2: Electric Boogaloo or Fiddler on the Roof 2: Tokyo Drift have not been written….yet.
Boats, bugs, and hammock season is pretty much upon us. The magical time of being whizzed-by ATV driving hooligans while fighting hay fever. I think the extreme cold causes grumpiness, the heat can test a person's nerve more. Case in point if you have ever been stuck by the gas bar as the train rolls by. If you've even seen the video to REM's "Everybody Hurts" - it's a virtual facsimile. As the choo choo goes woo woo with its seemingly endless string of cars carrying ammonia, circus animals, bacon and Joe knows what else. At first it's a modest novelty. You know its coming. In the back of your mind, you think that maybe you can gun it and beat the express. But on second thought, you decide not risk your life to see if the girl with the red skirt is anchoring the Weather Network's UV index report. Slowly but surely the frustration builds. A bug somehow crawls through the crack of the window. It's 6 times smaller than the common fruit fly but 10 times annoying as the relentless "chugga chugga" of the train pounds in your head. The modest novelty has worn off. You think that you've found yourself in an Outer Limits episode. The train never stops….it goes for days. A cell call from your Cousin Nestor reveals that the one hundred steps have turned into a surrealistic escalator with no end. Outside the window the traffic back up sprawls for miles. It has the appearance of a post apocalyptic war zone with flaming barrels and cock fights. A text message reveals that "red skirt" has been captured by the rebel federation on the other side of the train. People have abandoned their cars and ruffians are stripping down the left behind vehicles for parts and scrap………… It never gets that bad in the real world. Like most things, a little patience goes a long way. I really can't put my finger on it but when the train goes by, it becomes a highlight of the day.
