Things I've Learned from EBAY

Just did a 'search' on my favorite website - and I still haven't found the 'perfect' pair of saddle shoes to fit my big feet.

Do you know what they say about us guys blessed with big feet?

Well, I won't even go there.

The last thing I want is for this blog to become a place where people talk incessantly about their feet. I live in London, Ont. after all, so I hear that all time in the line-up at the supermarket, or when I go to see a motion-picture or when I'm waiting for the subway. If you want to hear people blabber on and on about their bunions or toe-nail fungus, then this is your town.

And Lord knows I don't want this to become a blog where people brag about the length of their big toe. Or about having an arched heel. Or a pedestrian soul. Or about how they're a superior person just because the toe next to their big toe (technically known as "this little piggie stayed home,") is longer than their big toe.

Because personally, altho I, more than anyone, can relate to staying home, I'd much rather be the little piggie who went to market. And thank the Lord, but I've never been the type to go "wee wee wee all the way home."

But back to the task at hand - get this, last night as I'm logging in to my favorite website, Mavis says to me, "But Sonny, you're too old to wear saddle shoes."

Pardon my redundancy, but I shall repeat that - Sonny, you are TOO OLD for SADDLE SHOES. Period. Followed by !!!

Well, let me tell you what I said about that!

Well, I'm still pretty riled up so I don't even remember the actual words but I'm darned sure they were something like "You are absolutely right, dear." Consarnit.

So I did the my usual Ebay searches - and got the usual results - five items for Louis Nye, ten for Disney 'Twistables,'

and nothing under 'Tom McKenzie.' And narrowing the 'Tom' search down, no gold when I looked for "inwardly, downwardly, deeper and deeper, forever, forever and forever our souls entwined together ..."

Altho the latter did give me a link to the movie 'The Seven-Year Itch.' Sounds like a good flick. I might just rent it some night for me and Mabel to watch on 'date night.' If you know what I mean.

But here's what I found on my adventure as I searched thru the jungles of Ebay-land. And I'm happy to report that, if Ebay is any indication, as a civilization, this ol' planet Earth is on a good course. Morally speaking.

... and the results are (as of Sunday morning,) if you type in ____ you get ____ as the number of items posted.

As in -

'hate' - 963.

'sex' - 7,658

'penis' - 1,878

'vagina' - 72

'Tom McKenzie' - 0

'sex' - 7,658

'the Beatles' - 12,207

'Elvis' - 13,654

'God' - 8,437

'Hitler' - 1,369

'Charlie Manson' - 1

... based on the last item alone, as a culture appropriate and PG-approved and tolerant for ALL the universe, (even those reptilian shit-heads on Mars,) you know, I think we're going to be just fine.

- thank you very much.

POST SCRIPT (a.k.a. 'p.s.') - I just went on a search for 'Love', and got 59,026 items listed. ... Unfortunately, half of them seem to have something to do with song titles from my good friend Ringo Star's latest CD.

But that's still pretty good.

And a documented fact that as a species, there IS hope for us after all. It proves that the Beatles, John Lennon and all of the above, are not more popular than the glue which holds us all togther.

But enough about me - what Ebay items are YOU kids searching for? ... And please, don't tell me that it's original vinyl recordings of that Humperdink guy singing 'Quando Quando Quando.'... Or Modest Mouse.

Big Baby Politician Takes Football and Goes Home

Big baby City Councillor Gord Hume has cancelled his proposed trip to Nanjing, China after fellow members of council questioned the benefits to London taxpayers in regards to Hume's request for $1,200 to cover his travelling expenses.

Hume will be attending the Olympics in Bejing this summer and hoped tax-payers would foot the bill for a sidetrip to London's "sister city" Nanjing. He was planning to present high-ranking Nanjing muckety-mucks with an "official greeting" from London's mayor Anne-Marie. Written on paper and everything. Probably in the form of a scroll.

London first twinned with Nanjing over a decade ago but no one has bothered to keep in touch following the kickoff junket led by then-Mayor Diane Haskett in 1997. Nanjing has similar relationships with 18 other 'sister cities.' When contacted by the Sonny Drysdale Presents Media Empire, the receptionist at the Nanjing Chamber of Commerce asked, "London WHERE?"

Yesterday morning, Hume could be heard pouting and sulking during two appearances on London radio when callers pooh-poohed the notion that tax-payers fund his side-trip vacation.

When one caller asked why Hume didn't simply pay for the side-trip out of his annual $3000 travel budget given to all city-councillors, Hume's lame response was, "Oh, I didn't think of that."

Hume puts the importance of maintaining a relationship with our sister city in perspective by saying that if his fellow politicians at City Hall are going to question his motives and hurt his feelings then he just won't go. So there. Instead of Nanjing, he plans to visit the archeological site containing the terra cotta collection of 8,099 real old, life-size statues of warriors and horses near the tomb of the first Chinese emperor.

It is uncertain if his visit there will have any more impact on the ancient statues than his proposed trip would have had on the citizens and business community of Nanjing.

My Latest Brush with Greatness

So last night, I'm taking the dog for a walk around the block. We round the corner from Becher onto The Ridgeway and moving very slowly towards us is one of those hummernormous SUV-type stretch-limos. About the length of my house times two.

I did what I always do when I see an extra special limo - and yelled out "Flaunt it baby!, Flaunt it while ya got it!" Just like Max Bieldestock in 'The Producers.'

It's not everyday you see a limo like that. I mean it's not prom season yet. So I'm wondering - just what big-name music star would be in town tonight to merit a limo that size?

Then it hit me - OZZIE OSBOURNE!!! Father of Jack!

That's why the limo slowed down when they saw us coming. I've only seen one episode of 'The Osbournes.' But it was the one where they have all these big dogs and they all seem to be crapping inside the house.

Now, I should point out that my dog, 'Rover' is a Great Dane. And as a lover of big dogs, it was only natural that OZ would be admiring him thru the window.

So me and Rover headed back towards the corner because the limo was just sitting there. I was going to ask OZ for some dog advice. Because Rover is now in very advanced years and periodically (like every other day,) has been losing control of his bowels and shitting in the house.

Surely the OZ-man could relate and would know what to do about it.

But then I realized, if Ozzie did get out and have a good look at the dog, he would probably start rambling on and on and it's hard enough to interpret Ozzie in the first place let alone what he's mumbling excitedly about meeting a Great Dane. Especially one who now shares the same toilet habits as his own four-legged beasts.

So I just gave one of those devil hand-salutes that all the young heavy-metal heads do at rock concerts - and let the limo slowly pull away. Ozzie's nose, no doubt, pressed against the window.

Because no matter how much I might have learned about big dogs shitting on the carpet, there was a bigger thing at stake here. There were 10,000 Black Sabbath fans anxiously waiting downtown for Ozzie. Sometimes these people riot if the band is a no-show. It would have been selfish for me to hold them up just to shoot the dog-shit with the OZmeister.

Because the bottom line is, the Rock HAS to Roll.

So instead, I went home and listened to 'Paranoid.' About twenty times.

... And that's how I saved the Black Sabbath concert in London.

The Annual Book Review

You know, I love books. As a matter of fact, I've had my own library card for years. There's nothing I like better than having a free weekend to just unplug and bury my face in three or four 'tomes' from the library. Sometimes I'll even buy a book. But it would have to have some pretty damn good pictures in it for me to go so far as to actually want to own it.

Anyway, I read a book a few weeks ago. Well, really I just read the introduction and skimmed the rest and looked at the pictures. ALL of the pictures I might add. And all of the photo captions too. And that book will be the subject of this year's 'Book Talk.'

It's called, or titled, if you prefer - 'The Great Funk - Falling Apart and Coming Together (On a Shag Rug) in The Seventies' by Thomas Hine and published by the good people at Overlook Press.

At first I was kind of overwhelmed by the title - The Great Funk - well, what the heck is that? But it turns out it's all about the Seventies. As in the 1970s. You all remember the 7T's right? I think Ashton Kutcher put it best when he was once caught in a serious moment while promoting his television show and he philosophised that "If you remember the '70s, you were probably there."

Anyhoo, on with the review -

"I think about those days whenever some blowhard starts talking about the anonymity of the suburbs or the mindlessness of the TV-generation. Because we all knew that inside those identical boxes, with its Dodge parked out front, with its white bread on the table and its TV-set glowing blue in the falling dusk, there were people with stories."

Know who said that? The grown 'Kevin Arnold,' narrator of 'The Wonder Years,' 1988.

Like Kevin Arnold, I was a teenager in such a suburb in the 1970s - Riverside in Windsor, Ontario. You can't get much closer to living the American Dream than that. And what I remember most is what a great time it was to be young. I missed out on being a '60s hippie by a couple of years, but the early 1970s had enough residual after-burn still smokin' that it didn't really matter.

It was the kind of time when you would be hitch-hiking across town, hop into a car and casually be handed a lit joint by the driver. That would never happen today. Fear of the tobacco police would nix that possibility.

It was the kind of time when every summer, thousands of kids lined the Trans-Canada hitching their way to Vancouver. Just for something to do. And as a way to avoid being hassled about getting a summer job. Teens would never do that today. Fear of serial killers and a lack of gumption killed that dream.

Yep, kids were different back then. And I don't know who said it, but 'people' were different back then too. It was probably 'Hermie' in 'The Summer of 42' but that doesn't matter.

And yet, the general concensus seems to be that the '70s sucked. Well, the truth is, that by the end, they did suck. But for a few good years, they were golden.

The decade blew in on the fumes from Woodstock. It saw the emergence of heavy metal as the new 'hard rock'; it saw gender-bending glam go mainstream - and the birth of punk. And yes, disco. How's that for musical diversity.

On television, the vast wasteland was populated by Mary Tyler Moore, Barney Miller, Bob Newhart, the Jeffersons and the Bunkers. And that was just the sitcoms. On movie screens there was 'The Godfather,' 'Joe,' 'Love Story' and 'Network.' And it became socially acceptable to take your date to a porno movie.

And like every other great decade, it had big hair. Really Big Hair. Guys actually went out and got their hair permed into a huge ball of curls. Not me though, but that goes without saying. ... And all the chicks looked like Olivia Newton-John.

There are many decades I wish I had been a grown-up in - the 1920s with Fitzgerald and Hemingway; the '50s with Kerouac and the Rat Pack and the early 1960s with George Jetson. I prefer almost any decade to the one I happen to be living in.

But I can't imagine a better time to be a teenager than the 1970s. Bob Seger played a dance at my high school when I was in Grade 11 and sang his new hit, the era-defining 'Lookin' Back.' In Windsor, Ont., it don't get much cooler than that.

But undeniably, there is good reason why the 1970s remain so reviled by the adults who lived through them. There was poverty, unemployment, racial problems, a high crime rate, gas shortages, Watergate-fuelled cynicism and that whole Vietnam War thing. No doubt about it, some bad shit went down, baby. As early as mid-decade, in 'Back in 72,' Bob Seger was singing, "It was so hip to be negative/So square to try and believe."

They say that America lost its innocence when Kennedy was shot, but by the end of the 1970s, it had lost its spirit. The space race had fuelled much of the 1960s and the result was that in the early '70s, men were walking on the moon. But by the end there was disco, too much cocaine and the beginning of the birth of the Age of Irony. The decade may have come in like a rocket ship, but it went out like a turd.

All of this is wonderfully documented in 'The Great Funk,' by Thomas Hine, who did the same thing to the 1950s in his earlier book,(the highly recommended)'Populuxe.'

Hine is no blowhard. He's one of us and is equally fascinated and repulsed by the decade which began when he was in his early twenties. He spends a lot of time talking about the defining moments of the period - Nixon & Watergate, gay rights, the women's movement, mainstream porn, and mass protests over just about anything - but for me the highlights are the photos, taken from magazine advertisements and the daily newspapers. They capture the era in all its gaudiness, glory and flatulent earnestness. And Hine's photo captions are the best thing. And that's meant as a compliment. They contain his funniest - and most direct and honest writing.

However, the book is short on stories of people like Kevin Arnold. So let me offer one.

At the end of the decade, Hine sums up the Great Malaise by explaining, "Those who only shortly before, were mad as hell and not going to take it anymore, had decided that they simply didn't want to be bothered."

Here's a more personal version of that - 1978, I'm sitting in a class in University College at the U.W.O. Popular film professor Seth Feldman walks in, sees us all sitting there in the dark, flicks on the lights and mutters under his breath, "You just know The Revolution is over when no one knows enough to turn on the lights."

It's a Rant - Be Forewarned!

I'm going to be brutally honest here - and I make no apologies for it - because I gotta tell ya, I am very, VERY disappointed in this week's Loblaws flyer.

If you are anything like me, one of the highlights of the week is when the Starmail delivery-lad drops off that weekend's bundle of grocery-ad flyers. I look forward to it for days and clear my schedule so I won't feel rushed or interrupted when it's time to finally sit down and check out the various specials and eye the mouth-watering deli selections depicted in those glorious colour close-ups.

I ask you, is there any feeling quite so comforting as sitting down in your favorite chair with a nice hot cup of coffee and the sense of anticipation which accompanies opening up a crisp new Loblaws flyer?

It is especially exciting in the weeks leading up to the Christmas holidays and during the summer with the kick-off of 'Barbeque season.' And of course, Fathers' Day - racks of meat just waiting to be bitten into.

But last night I received an advance delivery of my Starmail bundle and I'm warning you that it's not even worth opening up. I don't say this lightly, but if I had known what a disappointing read it was going to be, it would have been tossed straight into the blue recycling box. Even if that meant missing out on the Canadian Tire flyer.

Let me tell you just how bad it was - normally I go straight for the Loblaws ad because on the front page you can usually find the 'Two Days Only' sales highlighted - "Crab legs, Lobster, T-bone steaks!"

Underneath there will be some nice pictures of fruit or something pretty.

But in the current edition, just what are they trying to lure me into the store with?

CHEERIOS! That's right, breakfast cereal.

Now, I know what some of you are thinking - and yes, it's both the General Mills whole-grain oats Original Cheerios - AND the Honey-Nut flavored ones. And yes, I suppose four boxes for $10 is a good deal.

But, I don't read these ads for the sale prices. I want to see some Art. I want to see some Beauty. I want to see some Excitement. I want to hear the 'sizzle' with my steak ads. But there's nothing like that in this week's Loblaws flyer. I tell you, it's like something coughed up by PriceChopper. Or No Frills.

Oh, sure - there's a photo of a nice shrimp-ring inside - but it's for those small shrimp - and it's on page 3 (!) under a caption for 'Healthy Eating.' On the opposite page, the big photo spread is for a good deal on stewing beef. It's like they aren't even trying.

So let's have a little look-see at the A&P flyer for a comparison review, shall we? Geez, it's even worse. The big money-shot on the front page is for ground beef. You know, there's only so many ways you can make raw hamburger look attractive. And you won't find any of them in this week's offering from the A&P.

I normally wouldn't even go there but the PriceChopper's flyer is even more pathetic. The pride of the front page is Kraft Single Cheese-Slices. It's like the whole grocery world is headed for Mediocrityville in a handbasket.

Well, praise the Lord for M&M Meatshops. Highlighted on the front page 'above the fold' (that's newspaper talk for showcasing the most important item,) is a 'Lowest Price of the Year' on Oriental Party Paks. It's reassuring to know that at least someone out there in the retail food-industry has some marketing savvy left.

I've noticed this trend for the past couple of years now. After the heady days of Christmas and New Years 'entertaining' food items, come the dog days of January in the grocery-flyer game. Time to forget about prime rib, spiral-cut honey hams, cornish game hens, cheese-and-veggie platters, puff-pastry hors d'ouvres, jumbo shrimp-rings and Chinese food. Time to stock up on the essentials and start cooking stews and meatloaf again.

Thank God that SuperBowl is just a couple of weeks away. I'm getting excited just thinking about the grocery flyers to come - chicken wings, ribs, chili recipes, nachos with melted cheese and salsa and green onions, Ruffles and Helluva dip. Maybe a ceasar salad.

And I'm going on record right now - when it comes to the SuperBowl ads, Loblaws and A&P better be up to M&M standards when it comes to the quality of their food-prep photos - or I'll be cancelling my subscription to Starmail. And the Pennysaver too, for that matter.

One Degree of Separation - Steve Mason

A couple of years ago, my first-born was taking the drivers' education course at Fanshawe College. Her driving partner was Steve Mason, a nice polite - and very tall - young man who also happened to be a new goalie for the London Knights of the Ontario Hockey League. For any of you out-of-staters who might be reading this, the OHL is just one step from the N.H.L.

Anyway, one afternoon, First Born and Steve are in one of those practical 'hands on' classes where you are actually behind the wheel instead of a text-book. On this particular winter day, Steve was behind the wheel with his hands on in the 'twenty to four' position - when he suddenly hit a patch of black ice and the car started wildly sliding out of control at 50 km.s per hour!

The Fanshawe driving instructor, of course was useless. But my daughter, leaned forward and calmly told Steve what she had heard me panicky scream at my wife everytime the same thing happened to Mavis, "Steer into the slide. Don't fight it, just firmly steer INTO the slide."

Well, Big Stevie did just that and as a result, they narrowly missed crashing into a tree.

Now, of course it might seem a bit unseemly for me to now take any of the credit for Canada's victory yesterday over the United States in the World Junior Hockey semi-finals being held over in Europe somewhere. And it would probably seem just as unwarranted to take any credit for their Gold medal today when they kick Sweden's ass in the final game.

But what the heck.

Think of it, Steve Mason was the goalie for Team Canada in both of those games. And not to take anything away from Mace's performance (ya did good, kid!) but if I hadn't drilled those safe winter-driving tips into my daughter's head, then there is a good chance that Steve's hockey career would have ended on that winter afternoon two years ago when he very likely could have wrapped a drivers-ed car around a tree trunk.

And that's how I helped Canada win gold.