It has been over a week since the news broke. Gawker has seen the incriminating video as has The Toronto Star. It’s on every newscast. I don’t know about you, but every time I hear the Mayor’s name I cringe a little inside.

He has enemies you see. Invisible ones that camp out outside his house and write terrible things. They report things like the fact that he was arrested in Florida  on February 15, 1999 for drinking and driving. They report the fact that he has remained mayor on via via legal technicalities. they report bizarre behavior, like darting from a meeting with his constituents to place fridge magnets on their cars. Ford has a call in radio show and on it he offered unsolicited advice to women along with his home phone number. That’s right: 416-233-6934. A number of women did call and got a recording advising to call his office 416-397-FORD or leave a message. I can only imagine the messages the mayor has been hearing from his enemies.

Now his staunchest allies including the deputy Mayor and city council all want the mayor to address the issue. His chief of staff was fired for advising the mayor to ‘get help’. His own brother and city councilor, Doug Ford, won’t deny the allegations. City business is not getting done. All because the Mayor has a problem.

In fact, it seems that Rob Ford, while vigorously denying any and all allegations of any wrong doing prior to this episode, seems to enjoy the attention. His ego seems to get a thrill from the amount of news that he is generating. While he continues to shame the city that we all love so dearly, Rob Ford is actually getting off on being the person about whom the news is concerned.  You see, while being Snookie or a Kardashian might be cool, it certainly is no fun for those in the way, whether is be family, friends or a city you have sworn to be the mayor of.

Drug addict’s brother enables drug addict. Helps prevent ‘bottom’.

I saw Star Trek - The Dark over the weekend. It contained some life lessons that I wanted to share with you.

It’s okay to have sex with cats if they’re twins.

It takes longer for the Enterprise to reboot than it does my first cell phone.

Kirk is smart when it comes to cute women and is stupid when it comes to cute men.

The true title should have been “How I met Your Space Mother”.

It’s okay for Uhura to date a Vulcan but it’s not okay for same gender humans to get married.

As time goes on, Klingons get more and more ornate.

Tribbles generate spontaneously (appear out of air) when either a joke is needed or a guinea pig is needed for animal testing.

Speaking of which, for some reason It’s okay to lab test on non earth species.

Khan Noonien Singh is a Caucasian (not that there is anything wrong with that).

Cold fusion bombs, unlike reality, create cold.

The Enterprise can go underwater and in space.

Khan blood is a great remedy to radiation poisoning.

The best thing to do with a medical miracle is to freeze it.

Dr. McCoy isn’t sure how to thaw Khan’s people. He sure knows how to refreeze them, though.

When the studio promises you over and over again that it isn’t Khan, they’re lying. And the best way to tell that the studio is lying is that they keep assuring you that it’s true.

The Eugenics War of the 1990s never happened unless by that they mean that Nickelodeon Studios opened.

Rob Ford and his Samoan Attorney are holed up in a Toronto hotel taking copious amounts of drugs and trying to maintain their sanity

Have a look!

I saw The Great Gatsby this weekend in 3D, as God intended it.  It is  to the eyes, what foie gras is to the tongue: rich, fatty, delicious and a delicacy. The 3D is essential to this experience, especially during the party scenes. The acting was good, at points it was great. There are, however, some huge problems with it.

I had read the F. Scott Fitgerald’s novel in high school, as I am sure most of us have, and I was hoping for great things. This was a story of decadence. Of disaffection. Of racism, nepotism, classism.  It was about The American Dream and how the dream had failed. And then I saw Baz Lurhmann’s interpretation.

Let’s be clear, that Gatsby lives in a context. The context is the roaring 20s, the Jazz Age, where, for the first time, ‘New Money’ started to rival ‘Old Money’. It is the rise of the various mobs. It is prohibition and bootlegging, where, for the first time, the American people as a group disobeyed the law.  It is about the collapse of established mores. And most of all it is the story of love, both requited and unrequited, and it is about dreams, most specifically The American Dream, and how  they betray us.

I discovered some things while watching Gatsby. I discovered that Nick Carraway is actually in an insane asylum while ostensibly writing “The Great Gatsby” and writing the story is part of the cure. This device where a third party narrates the story is old hat, and actually predates Gatsby. An example of this technique is The Sherlock Holmes stories written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle but narrated to us by John Watson M.D. Lurhmann justifies this conceit by doing historical research. So he’s trying to be true to history.

When I think Gatsby, I don’t think Jay Z. I think Gershwin and yes there is Gershwin. There is also Jay Z. A lot of Jay Z. In fact Jay Z. gets credited as ‘Executive Producer’ as does Bruce Berman. Still when Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue” is heard it is misnamed “The Jazz History of the World.”  On the one hand Luhrmann insists on historical verisimilitude and on another, completely ignores it. The only song that matches the tone of the movie is, please kill me now, Beyonce’s cover of the Amy Winehouse song “Back To Black”.

The other really jarring note for me was the shirts scene. Daisy, is wrapped in shirts and she starts to cry. And Gatsby is taken aback and asks why she is crying. And then the narrator explains why. And I almost screamed. The one rule of acting, improv, writing: SHOW. DON’T TELL. Fitzgerald doesn’t explain the scene. It should stand on its own. If it can’t that’s the fault of the actors, the script or the direction. The actors were fine. The script was fine. Therefore the direction was lacking.

Do see the movie. Love the movie for its stunning visuals. Just don’t expect a lot else.

Last night I took part in the preliminary round of 5th annual Toronto Comedy brawl. It was a lot of fun and I had a really good set. Eight of us participated, four of whom I was familiar with from the Toronto comedy scene, and four who came in from out of town. The locals, who are extremely serious about comedy, came alone and those from out of town brought friends. I’m not saying the out of towners arent serious about comedy; I’m saying that I don’t know them.

The way the brawl works is this: Eight comedians perform for a maximum of 5 minutes each. After everyone has performed, the paying audience votes for who they believe was first, second and third. First place votes get weighted more than second place which get weighted more than third. When the results are tallied, the top four comedians move on to the next round.

To be honest, I had a really good set. Not a great set. Still, I did get applause at one point. James Hammond got several applause breaks. Scott Dell made the audience completely break up. Still, none of us placed. The winner, deservedly, of the night was Matthew Surina and he walked away with thirty dollars.

Now I will guess that there were forty audience members at the show and they each payed five dollars. That’s two humdred dollars and if you consider that the show runner is paid a few dollars for his or her help that’s $150 dollars. There are 26 guantlet rounds. That’s $3900.00 cash profit. Let’s presume that there are 14 ‘first’ round shows, 8 ‘second round’ shows and 2 final shows.Subtract the grand prize of $1000.00 in cash and you end up with a profit of $10,000 in cash for 3 months work.

Past winners of the brawl have been extremely worthy. K. Trevor Wilson who has won twice is an extremely funny man. Bobby Knauf is also hilarious. Ultimately though, the brawl is a cash making operation and as such, the customer is always right.

I was the victim, yesterday afternoon, of a pedestrian collision. I was walking on the right side of the sidewalk and the guy who collided with me barreled at me at full speed. He expected me to get out of his way. Instead, I braced myself and just stood there. He went flying. I understand that he was wearing a $2000 suit and that he had important places to go at 7 PM, but I didn’t give a damn. Had I assisted his trajectory, he would have gone flying into traffic or into a bystander. Instead he looked shocked, hurt and angry that I had not suddenly yielded.

So yeah, I get it. He was in a hurry. I was in his way. He tried to intimidate me into yielding. I didn’t. Unfortunately, this type of thing is typical. I have been bashed into on the subway, the bus, the street car and now the street. It’s not about the body checking. It’s about manners. And musical devices. And isolation.

It’s not that people aren’t polite because they don’t know how. They just aren’t interested. This is the generation that told their parents, to their faces, to fuck off and there were no consequences.  It’s not their fault that they shove people out of the way on the bus without saying “Excuse me.” They know that it’s OK.

Aside from that, odds are the person they are saying it to has some music playing. They can’t hear you. They don’t care to hear you. And at the volume they listen to music, in a few years they won’t be able to hear you.

It’s not just that we aren’t socially aware. It’s that we don’t care to be.

Four score and a whole bunch of years ago

It was the best of times, it was tomorrow morning.

Shoot when you see the whites of their eggs.

That which does not kill me, gives me cancer.

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow is Thursday.

Our Father who art in heaven, may I borrowest the car Saturday night?

The Lord is my German Shepherd.

If thy right eye offend thee, get glasses.

Let he who is without sin cast the first scone.

Play with it again, Sam.

My love is like a great great cyst.

Let us go then, you and I, when the evening is spread against the sky like some telemarketer at her telephone.

!: Room too messy

2: It’s beautiful outside

3: Laundry needs doing

4: Facebook

5: Facebook

6: Lunch needs making

7: Out of cigarettes

8: Facebook

9: Check email 

10: No Inspiration

11: Facebook

12:World Hunger (Who Am I kidding?) AKA Facebook

It has been a while since I have been on a date. As a Jewish man, at age 51, dating is difficult. I’ve been there. I’ve seen the sights. I’ve ridden the rides. I finally want to settle down.

The problem is not the lack of women out there. The problem is that the women that are available are not exactly what I would call quality. It’s not that I’m demanding. I just want a woman who has more to her than a pulse.

I’ve tried the Internet. The free sites are terrible. They claim to find matches. One woman described herself as having “a full set of lips.” I still don’t know what that means. Another described herself as a 45 year old girl. If you are over 30 and still describe yourself as a girl, I think there are other reasons that you are single. Some of these may include Daddy issues, but I am afraid to find out.

I posted my photo, as the site kept telling me that postings with photos are most likely to get responses. Now, to understand my dilemma, I shave my head smooth. Once I started to go bald, I decided to “go big or go home”. This woman, who claimed to have seen my photo, told me that she insists on only dating men who have a full head of hair. Aside from the fact that she either had forgotten who I am, had decided to insult me personally or had had an aneurism causing her to forget what I looked like between the time she saw my photo and called me, aside from these factors, what are the odds that she will find such a man who is over age 50?

The paid web sites are not a lot better. I tried E Harmony, which claims to use a scientific algorithm of 29 points of compatibility. I tried. I answered the questions. At the very end, they gave me a refund. Not one match. Not even my sister.

I tried J-Date. As a Jewish man I can safely say that not even I want a date that badly.

And then it struck me. Where else could a Jewish man still be seen as attractive, sexy, exciting and exotic? I was wrong. I struck out on Christian Mingle.

So what about dancing, you may say? I’ve tried dancing and quite frankly, my rhythm is so poor that I frighten people. The last time I went dancing, the headline read “3 Dead, 45 Wounded due to incident at night club.” It’s better for public safety that I don’t go dancing. Seriously.

No, I haven’t given up on my quest for a date. I’ll keep looking despite the odds because as they keep telling me, women love a man who has a sense of humour. I just wish they would point out exactly which women.