The Movie(s)-A-Month Club

January is always a good time to start something, make a resolution, a positive change, (a move out of your parents’ basement), that sort of thing. It marks a proverbial rebirth. A time to shed your former self and become the man or woman you always knew you could be.

For me, it marks the ideal time to think about the movies I want to see in the next 12 months.

(Actually, I’m not normally that organized, but my resolution is to be. And it’s all about baby steps, right?)

I like to think that I’ve got diverse interests when it comes to movies. I’ve enjoyed some artsy flicks just as much as I’ve been bored by some action movies. I’ve been surprised by Ryan Reynold just as I’ve been disappointed by Daniel Day Lewis (not really), and I’ve been rendered speechless by movies like The Human Centipede and the Twilight series, and moved to blather on endlessly by movies like The Fantastic Mr. Fox (sounds strange, but read the review).

Anyhow, here’s my list of movies to see for 2012. For each month I’ve included some runners up, if you have the dough. I’d love to hear from all of you regarding what you think. Do my choices suck? Do you agree? Are there other movies to consider?

Without further ado, here you go . . .

January: A Dangerous Method

January’s runner up: Coriolanus

February:
February’s runner up: Lookout (no trailer, but a cool shot of a cat that looks like Travis Bickle)
March: Goon (Love the stereotypes: notice Liev Schrieber saying, “eh.”)
March’s runner up: Snowtown

April: Cabin in the Woods
April’s runner up: Intruders
May:
May’s runner up: Dark Shadows (Tim Burton, ’nuff said.)
June: Prometheus
June’s runner up: Jack the Giant Killer

July:
July’s runner up:
August: Paranorman

August’s runner up: Total Recall (Redemption for Dick?)
September: Argo (The story is about six Americans held hostage in Iran in the late 70s. Hmm, sounds kind of like the Canadian Caper).
September’s runner up: Dredd I have faith that Karl Urban as Judge Dredd will be able to redeem this comic book cult classic.
October: Cloud Atlas All I could find was a cover of the book, which itself was shortlisted for the Booker Prize, Nebula and Arthur C. Clarke award. This would seem to be no small feat. We need more thoughtful scifi movies. Here’s hoping.
October’s runner up: Frankenweenie T.B. again . . .
November: Skyfall (Ralph Fiennes and Javier Bardem are in this? Hmm, should be cool.)
November’s runner up: Rise of the Guardians (Santa and the Easter Bunny kicking behind.)
December: The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey
December’s runner up: World War Z

First Class Prices on a Steerage Budget

I love the idea of exposing people to science, but at $16.95 a pop maybe the Telus World of Science in Edmonton should consider exposing more than just the well to do ones to it. And, deal of deals, for a limited time, smack another seven bucks on top of that and you get to see a woefully sparse exhibit of Titanic artifacts (French or English audio tours are also available for only three bucks). Chuck another ten on top of that $26.95, and TWOS will throw in the Imax film. Despite the price, it sounded fun. We packed up the gang and off we went.

Unfortunately, my wife said we couldn’t afford first class treatment–we needed to feed the baby, so she cheaped out and went steerage. I didn’t want to break a twenty, so we skipped the audio and video components of the tour, packed baby Auggie into his wheels and rolled on in.

The exhibit started off with each person given a “boarding pass,” which outlined information particular to a specific passenger that had sailed aboard the Titanic on its fateful voyage.

At the end of the exhibit, we were told, we could find out “whether we lived or died.” This was followed by having our picture taken in front of a green screen, which would be later turned into a picture of the gang in front of the Titanic’s grand staircase (ours to keep for only ten bucks). The guy snapping our group’s shot was friendly enough, but had no interest in having his picture taken. After shifting us into the proper position he snapped the shot and ushered us into the first room.

This room, much as you’d expect, contained information on the ship itself, where it was built, some schematics, and information on the ship’s Captain Edward Smith. Most peculiar was how the captain was described as “quietly flamboyant” sparking speculation that he had a very keen fashion sense but kept it to himself.

The second room was arguably the most satisfying in that it had the largest collection of recovered pieces, including coins, bills, stamps, stone and glass ware, postcards, and fragments of the ship itself.

There were two halls leading to the final three rooms. The first depicted what the accommodations were like in steerage and the second featured a model of one of the automatic doors that would have been used to isolate that section of the ship should its structure be compromised.

The third room was perhaps the eeriest in appearance and mood. The room was dark and featured a rather large chunk of ice that people could reach out and touch. Against one wall were words emblazoned on a large vertical banner describing how following the post-collision inspection, the Titanic’s designer Thomas Andrews was reported to have said to Captain Smith that damage this extensive meant “sinking was now a mathematical certainty.”

The second last room featured general descriptions of the kind of men that ran the Titanic’s huge engines and displayed a few tools that they would have used. Closer to the exit of that room were a series of dishes and a large ship’s whistle accompanied by photographs of how these items were found. Considering the environment these artifacts were in prior to being recovered, it’s amazing to see their present condition.

The final room had a list of all the passengers that survived and of those who died. This was where you would find out the fate of the person whose name appears on your boarding pass. (Mine corresponded to a Mr. Francis Davis Millet.) In addition to this list, there were stories about some of the passengers who were supposed to be onboard but didn’t make it for one reason or another. This room also contained one of the most interesting artifacts contained in the exhibit: perfume bottles, which were reputed to still contain the scents that they encapsulated from decades before.

Before we knew it, the tour through the exhibit was over and we were shelling out more money for souvenirs (the aforementioned green screen photo not the official chunks of authentic Titanic coal.)

All in all, the Titanic exhibit was a bit disappointing in that it seemed too short, thinly populated in terms of artifacts and rather text heavy. More importantly, however, is the cost of the whole thing. At just under fifty bucks for two people, the Telus World of Science is charging first class prices and making it difficult for those of us on a steerage budget to attend.

The exhibit runs until February 20, 2012.

They should take this on the Road (almost)

What would you get if you put former American President Jimmy Carter, a devout and unabashed evangelical Christian, in a room with comedian Penn Jillette, an equally devout and unabashed atheist?

I couldn’t tell you, but I bet it would be fun to listen to the results.

What I can tell you is that reading both Jillette’s book God, No and Jimmy Carter’s book Our Endangered Values: America’s Moral Crisis one after another provides a unique introspective opportunity.

With Jillette’s book I got exactly what I thought I was going to get: funny, often hilarious, observations about life (don’t miss the penis/blowdryer story) and a scathing, if not a bit hackneyed, criticism of religion. He also offers a variation on the Ten Commandments from the atheists perspective, all of which are not as irreverent as you’d think.

Words like “endangered” and “moral crisis” in the title of book can really set the stage for what’s coming. They’re powerful words, which need to be backed up with a powerful argument. And coming from a devoutly religious writer, the stereotypical arguments like how gay marriage is eroding family values, or blatant pro-life rhetoric just isn’t going to cut it. The argument needs to be something refreshing; something that comes from an unexpected source, and something that reveals a plot, equally as insidious (please note the sarcasm) as religious folk would have us believe the acceptance of gay marriage and abortion is. Our Endangered Values: America’s Moral Crisis does just that. It’s refreshing insight from an unexpected source that discusses how the religious “Right” is pushing its mandate on government and how government is embracing it.

The interesting thing about Carter is that despite being an evangelical˗˗people I normally find to be overbearing and domineering in their beliefs and their desire to proselytize˗˗is remarkably grounded, respectful in his approach to a number of issues, and has a healthy level of skepticism when it comes to government and even when it comes to what his church is telling him. (It could be argued that skepticism implies a renunciation of “faith” and that because of that Carter is exemplifying something borderline hypocritical, but that would need a bit . . . or a lot of fleshing out.)

Jillette, on the other hand, is overbearing and domineering in his beliefs and his desire to proselytize. In addition, I get the sense that he would say he’s not remarkably well grounded (all you have to do is imagine him floating naked in a simulated zero g environment, and then read about it, to realize it’s not just a pun) and that respect for some things (i.e. religion) isn’t at the top of his list. Jillette’s skepticism, unfortunately like that of a lot of other self-proclaimed atheists, comes across as cynicism. He is funny, though.

While the reversal of attitudes between these two men is not staggering, it is intriguing. In the end, both books served a purpose: Jillette’s entertained me, and Carter’s opened my eyes. Both are worth the read, but do yourself a favour, and read them one after another.

Art Clarke’s Unceremonioius End to Childhood

Be forewarned: what you’re about to read contains spoilers, but will make you want to read this book.

You know Arthur C. Clarke might be venturing into murky waters when he starts a novel with the epigraph, “The opinions expressed in this book are not those of the author.”

Despite this declaration, which I’ll get to later, the themes Clarke explores in the novel Childhood’s End can be arguably thought of as his fantastic fictional response to the seemingly insane age the book came out of.

Written in 1953, it’s difficult to read Childhood’s End without thinking of the Cold War. I can only imagine that for people living in the fifties the threat of nuclear annihilation was a very real thing. The bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki had occurred only eight years earlier and the effects would have been fresh in most people’s minds. Just how top of mind it was, I can’t say; but, with footage of those old timey nuclear detonations, it’s easy to imagine that the threat was seemingly ever present. The idea of something coming from elsewhere to rescue us from ourselves was an escapist fantasy that would have resonated in the world of fiction.

Childhood’s End starts with two men on either side of the Iron Curtain hurrying to outdistance one another in a race to develop the first space bound rocket. In the end, neither succeeds as their attempts are overwhelmingly overshadowed by the arrival of giant silver ships which descend into the atmosphere above many of the Earth’s major cities. The Overlords have arrived, and nothing will ever be the same again.

They quickly and effectively abolish war, famine, disease and Spanish bull fighting (No joke. They loathe animal cruelty.) They provide humanity with everything it needs to live long and prosper. Trouble is without any hardships our creative instinct and desire for progress apparently begins to wane. Like our aforementioned rocket builders, you can’t help but think what’s left to do? These guys have done it all. Existential crisis? I’ll say. That’s the downside to having all of your problems solved.

Since their arrival, the Overlords have remained squirreled away in their ships, functioning as benign and indirect rulers of the earth talking only with one man, Rikki Stormgren, a high ranking official from the United Nations. The self-proclaimed supervisor of Earth, an Overlord named Karellen, tells Stormgren that humanity is not ready to see the Overlords but that they will introduce themselves in fifty years time when mankind has become sufficiently used to their new lives.

As the novel progresses we discover that part of what the Overlords are interested in is telekinesis and that they themselves are part of a larger plan involving a much more powerful entity called the Overmind. The Overmind uses the Overlords to protect mankind from itself, and as midwives, of sorts, to usher in the evolution of Homo sapiens. Our evolution is, however, into something completely unrecognizable.

Even though there are no main characters in Childhood’s End, there is one in particular that plays a critical role and that’s Jan Rodricks. Thanks to the effects of special relativity, Rodricks finds himself back on Earth 80 years in the future after having stowed himself away onboard an Overlord spacecraft, traveling to their home world and back again. Nothing is the same when he returns. The discussion of Rodricks’ experiences is remarkably poignant in its brevity and this is what makes the character so memorable for me; it’s the end of mankind and Clarke gets right to the point and doesn’t mince words. This could be construed as a detraction, but I have to say given the fact that I now have a three month old son in addition to an 18 year old, how everything unfolds in such a cold and detached manner evoke seriously morose feelings. I like it when a book can do something like that.

Clarke, one of the big three of science fiction at the time (the other two were Asimov and Heinlein) didn’t often delve into areas of pseudoscience or stray too far from hard sci-fi, but A.C does in Childhood’s End, and this is murky territory for him. Despite his desire to make clear his incredulity regarding telekinesis at the outset of the book–this is what the epigraph underscores–telekinesis functions as an effective catalyst for the transition and evolution of the children of the human race. They are evolving from physical beings into pure mental energy, and energy can neither be created nor destroyed. This, in my mind, provides the fantasy nature of the novel—the part that seeks to provide an escape to the concerns of nuclear annihilation. Maybe it was this opinion, rather than the use of telekinesis, that Clarke sought to distance himself from.

Childhood’s End is an ambitious novel, well-worth the read.

Nothing like curling up with a good book when it’s cold outside.

Dan Simmons‘ novel The Terror gives the ill-fated Franklin expedition of 1845 a fictional twist as desperation, mutiny and supernatural horror conspire against the men aboard the ships HMS Terror and HMS Erebus.

The story is told from the perspective of various crew members, focusing primarily on Captain Francis Crozier and Dr. Harry Goodsir, and often switches from present to past tense. Simmons goes to great lengths to articulate the emotionally and physically draining circumstances of the crew of both ships as they go about trying to survive in a nightmarish and oddly beautiful landscape.

The Terror is a monster–not just in terms of page count (over 700), or story development, but in terms of sheer psychological breadth. From desperation, starvation and exhaustion to momentary elation, cannibalism and latent psychic abilities, this novel covers a lot. Unfortunately, there were a few times the story felt like it was a dragging, and two plot elements did get under my skin somewhat; however, in spite of these, The Terror is a good read as it manages to evoke a palpable sense of dread throughout.

The first area of concern was Simmons’ need to create a fictional Inuit mythology to describe the existence of the monster (Tuunbaq). I would have preferred he take a preexisting element of Inuit culture and twist it for the sake of the story rather than creating something new. Sure this is manipulative, but it deepens the story in my mind when readers are inspired to further research an element and they discover that it’s steeped in an existing mythological narrative. In this case, it would have deepened my understanding of Inuit culture if the Tuunbaq was an actual mythological being (albeit, perhaps not as evil). The second cause for concern was the need to incorporate psychic abilities as a plot device. Funny how it works in a book like Arthur C. Clarkes’ Childhood’s End, but stumbles here. Without divulging too much, in my mind (ha, pun), this came precariously close to the contemptuous need for a “solve all” device used in poor science fiction novels that I can only describe as a cheap out.

As far as characters go, even though there a lot of them, each is well thought out and offers something unique to the story. Obviously, the major ones are fleshed out and given ample chance to develop, but even the minor characters are dealt with sympathetically and given a voice which helps propel the narrative forward. The standouts amongst all of them, though, are Francis Crozier, the Irish born and bred captain that takes over command after Sir John Franklin is no longer available to execute his duties; and Harry Goodsir, the de facto expedition’s doctor.

Crozier is a strong willed leader that skirts the delicate balance of what his men need and what they want, but he’s not without his flaws. In a navy consisting mainly of British born and bred officers, Crozier is at a disadvantage because of his Irish heritage. In fact, underneath it all, he’s the quintessential outcast who yearns for escape. Despite his genetic shortcomings, Crozier rises to every occasion in a believable and heartfelt way.
Goodsir is initially one of four medical practitioners aboard the two ships. Treated with contempt by Sir John Franklin, who refuses to acknowledge the anatomist as a doctor, referring to him only as mister Goodsir, the deaths of the other three doctors makes him the go-to guy for all things medical. Goodsir is a gentle and moral man whose admirable defiance in the face of certain death illustrates his growth throughout the narrative.

The chief antagonist is the Tuunbaq, a ravenous beast whose lust for blood is never sated and whose origins are shrouded in mystery. The Tuunbaq stalks and kills the men of the expedition , but seems to have some sort of relationship with the indigenous people of the North. The Tuunbaq, however, is not the only thing that threatens the crew. In such a desperate time, the possibility of a mutiny is never far from becoming a reality, and this is never more so than when Caulker’s Mate Cornelius Hickey is on the scene. A despicable and vicious man, Hickey, at times, makes the beast seem tame in comparison. After being caught in the hold satisfying certain urges with the giant idiot Magnus Manson, Hickey’s menace begins to cast an ominous pall over the crew and his deliberate manipulations lead to dire and inhuman consequences.

Another character central to the story is the young Inuit woman the men call Lady Silence. Found without a tongue, Silence is allowed to roam the two ships almost unhindered and is the only key to understanding and surviving the Tuunbaq.

Whether you love them or hate them, throughout the novel Dan Simmons creates characters you can really sink your teeth into. His descriptions of those that struggle to support and protect one another provide vivid insight into the psychological lives of desperate, but not inhumane, men that makes you identify with them more so; his descriptions of the levels of inhumanity that some sink to is an entirely different matter.

Despite some minor misgivings, The Terror is well worth the read.

Hugo Agogone: Hominids by Robert Sawyer

It must have been slim pickings for the Hugo committee when Robert Sawyer‘s book Hominids took science fiction’s big prize in 2003. The first in the Neanderthal Parallax, Hominids is the story of two Earths existing simultaneously in alternate universes. One is as we know it; the other has Neanderthals at the top of the food chain. The concept is interesting, but the execution leaves a lot to be desired. To be honest I haven’t read many Hugo award winning novels, but of those that I have (A Canticle for Liebowitz by Walter M. Miller, and Neuromancer by William Gibson) I can confidently say that this book does not belong in that class.

Although a capable writer, Sawyer skirts the edge of cheese a little too often for my liking (e.g. the character Mary’s nascent sexual interest in the Neanderthal Ponter). In addition, there’s something about the writing that I find mildly irritating. I experienced it once before when reading the first book in his WWW trilogy called Wake. Sawyer provides lots of asides to expand on some scientific concept mentioned by a character, but they come across as too contrived. While it’s nice to get an overview of whatever it is they’re discussing, the detail he provides through his characters looks more like he’s flaunting his knowledge than developing his characters.

While some of the ideas like accepted bisexuality, synchronized menstruation cycles and specific mating times behind Neanderthal culture are interesting, Hominids doesn’t present anything provocative or, to be frank, imaginative enough to really grab my attention. Without giving anything away, the use of flatulence as a diversion for Neanderthals who are equipped with a more sophisticated sense of smell than we have might be funny in the right context, but this isn’t it. And using the functional equivalent of a manhole cover to keep a portal between the two versions of Earth stay open is downright goofy. I wouldn’t consider Hominids cutting edge science fiction.

Another aspect of the story that was awkwardly developed was the curious juxtaposition of the characters Mary Vaughan and Louise Benoit. Both women are intellectually capable (the former is a geneticist; the latter a graduate student in physics) but diametrically opposed in terms of sexuality and confidence. Vaughan is the victim of rape and struggles throughout the novel with any sort of intimacy. Benoit on the other hand is described as the object of every man’s desire and is as confident as they come. Even though the impact of Vaughan’s rape is discussed thoughtfully, Sawyer doesn’t do anything to contrast the two characters for any real purpose that isn’t ham-handed and a bit cliché. Additionally, I couldn’t help but be struck by the idea that Sawyer took a Neanderthal that is commonly thought of as a caveman who bonks his woman on the head and drags her off to his cave as the only real love interest of a rape victim mildly bizarre.

I did find Hominids to be a quick read and at times I was entertained; unfortunately, in the end, Hominids falls way short of what I expect of a Hugo award winning novel to be, and even though I love to support Canadian writers, I’d be hard-pressed to finish this series.

Show me the Money

I always get a kick out of athletes that invoke God whenever they achieve some modicum of success. Why, I wonder, do they think that God is watching out for them any more than God would be watching out for the next guy? We all can’t win, so is God picking sides, or is God being used as an excuse for something else?

In a recent article I found on Fox News baseball player Albert Pujols was asked about his imminent free agency. He responded by saying, “Just like my wife says, we’re going to be praying about it [free agency] and whenever the time comes we’ll make the decision.” Despite the “praying” part, Pujols comments sound reasonable enough. That is until he blurts the next bit out: “Hopefully, I don’t have to make that decision. We’re just going to see where God takes us. I don’t want to get ahead of God’s plan.”

Pujols seems to be one hell of a nice guy. His Family Foundation raises awareness for Down Syndrome and money for the poor in the Dominican Republic. I’m genuinely impressed with his obvious sincerity when it comes to helping others, but the way he’s using God as some sort of factor/arbitrator in contract negotiations is truly bizarre.

However, let’s say for the sake of argument there is a God and that bestowing a lucrative baseball contract on Albert Pujols is part of the plan. The obvious argument would be to say why would God see fit to bless Pujols with so many riches, a wonderful family and a great career, and yet allow drug addled mentally unbalanced parents to bring a child into the world (for example)?

A believer’s response might be to say that God works in mysterious ways. A believer may even go on about the trials and tribulations he or she had endured growing up. But the mysterious ways argument is no argument at all. It’s a way of stopping all dialogue.

Anyhow, let’s step away from speculating what Albert Pujols and God discuss in order to more fully explore this phenomenon of invoking God in the way I’ve been discussing.

According to the Bible, “God created man in his own image” (Genesis 1:27); it reaffirms this after the apple incident: “men, who have been made in the likeness of God” (James 3:9), and then once again for good measure: “he is the image and glory of God”( 1 Corinthians 11:7). Based on this fact, it’s not a stretch to imagine that if we’re made in God’s image some of our greatest virtues and most noble qualities are things that God has down. Take reason for example. God would make Ghandi and Mother Theresa look unreasonable. If we agree with this, we can dispense with the “God works in mysterious ways” argument as merely a means of obfuscation and move onto some other formulation of why the world around us is as so.

For the sake of discussion, let’s base that other formulation on what the German philosopher Immanuel Kant’s called a categorical imperative. A categorical imperative can be thought of as a duty established by reason, and it can be summarized in the following three points:

“Act only according to that maxim whereby you can at the same time will that it should become a universal law;” (Act in a way that you think everyone should act.)

“Act in such a way that you treat humanity, whether in your own person or in the person of any other, never merely as a means to an end, but always at the same time as an end;” (Treat people equally.)

“Therefore, every rational being must so act as if he were through his maxim always a legislating member in the universal kingdom of ends.” (Reasonable people are able to figure out whether an argument is moral or not through reason alone. As a result, all reasonable people should conclude the same moral laws.)

Now granted, I understand that some will make the argument that God isn’t bound by rules that man/woman has delineated. But we did agree that God was reasonable, and we are told that we’re made in his image, so it’s reasonable to assume that God would use a more sophisticated version of whatever form of morality we, as his reflection, could come up with.

If we can continue to agree that this is the case, we’re left with one of two choices: a) God is ignoring his own decree that we’re made in his image because he doesn’t exemplify an amplified version of our most noble traits and characteristics (in this case, reason), which then draws a few of the other noble qualities like truth and honesty into question; or b) God is hands off, and we’re the masters of our own destiny.

If we choose the former, then we’re left with the troubling consequence of why Albert Pujols would be so blessed and the crack addled prostitute’s child is not. Why has God blessed one, but punished another? God works in mysterious ways. If we choose the latter, we’re left knowing that while some people may succumb to the hardships of life, others will surmount them, and that in the end we have a more active role in shaping our lives than just leaving it to whatever circumstances we find ourselves in. We’re empowered to make change and not merely slaves to some vague destiny.

In the end what Albert Pujols is really doing by suggesting that God is going to somehow show him where to go (which, will absolutely guarantee that he makes more money) is using his religion as a scapegoat. Things like contract negotiations are out of his hands. If he signs with a team other than with the St. Louis Cardinals (which is the crux of the biscuit here because if he does think of all of those disappointed fans that would accuse him of chasing the money) it’s because it was destiny. “It must be God’s plan for me to move on,” one can almost hear him say at the press conference.

Wouldn’t it have been much easier, and more honest, if Pujols had just said, “Hopefully, I don’t have to make that decision. We’re just going to see where negotiations between my agent and the GM takes us. I don’t want to get ahead of their plans”?

But I guess some athletes move in mysterious ways.

On The Road Again

There’s nothing quite like having no expectations when you pick up a book and then having yourself completely blown away while reading it. This is exactly what happened when I started reading Richard Grant‘s Ghost Riders: Travels with American Nomads.

The book sat on a table at Audrey’s bookstore with that subtle black sharpie mark up running up the spine indicating discontinued, discounted, water damaged, or all of the above. What did it matter? I was half way through lunch and primed for an impulse purchase. Besides, the photo of the sliver tube-like abode on wheels in the middle of some southwestern backdrop looked enticing. I picked it up, brought it home, popped it on my shelf, and there it sat for a month.

When I finally did pick it up, I couldn’t put it down.

In the prologue, Grant, a British expat living in the States, sets the mood by describing how life in England was sucking the life out of him:

“I remember walking to the dole office in the pissing rain, head down and shoulders hunched, and everyone else on the streets in the same posture. Dead fish in the poisoned canals, a Monday morning sky the colour of rain-darkened concrete. I remember an old man muttering to himself at a bus stop, losing his words in the wind. His face was completely caved-in–a physical deformity of some kind, the legacy of beatings perhaps, but I fancied it was a lifetime of putting up with England. ‘Teabags’, the Americans called us, and I could see their point.”

From those bleak words that served as a catalyst for Grant’s travels to the history lessons of such characters as the barefoot Spaniard Cabeza de Vaca and the mountain man Joe Walker to the vagabonds, itinerants and trailer-dwelling gray hairs that form a large contingent of people that have just decided to pull up stakes and live on the road, Ghost Riders is written as much like a travel diary as it is an historical overview of what it means to be on the road.

Even though the subheading of the book’s title is “Travels with American Nomads” there seems to be a distinction between traveling and being on the road. The former implies a destination; the latter, a state of mind. And it’s obvious that some of the people that Grant meets while on the road are out of their minds; others, however, are on the road because to do anything less is to become sedentary and the prevailing notion is that that’s a slow death and not really living life. From the hobos to the implied caste system of the Rainbow gatherings (a loosely knit group of subcultures with a well-developed disdain for Babylon culture–i.e. capitalism) there are plenty of lifestyles out on the road, and Grant introduces us to a wide cross section of them.

The beauty of Ghost Riders: Travels with American Nomads is that at some point in everyone’s life the thought of withdrawing from the world around us resonates on some level. Shedding perceived responsibilities, throwing caution to the wind and hitting the road is the tonic for complacency. It underscores the tension between being on the move and growing roots.

With the book, I`m not ashamed to say, you get to live vicariously through Grant’s adventures. His stories are descriptive, entertaining and, to a large degree, thoughtful. He`s opening up about his life, the people around him and the relationships he develops, especially with a woman named Gale. Ironically, Grant’s wanderlust is well grounded in the reality that there could be a deep seeded psychological compulsion that compels him: “I like to think I’ve tasted freedom, but I also recognize the signs and snares of addiction.” And like any addiction, it can tear people apart. But I won`t tell you how that turns out.

Ghost Riders is thoughtful prose on the poetic life of wandering.

The Culture of Hockey

On December 12, 2008, Whitby Dunlop defenseman Don Sanderson got into a fight with Brantford Blast forward Corey Fulton. The fight lasted a moment before Sanderson’s helmet came off, and he fell. His unprotected head bore the brunt of the impact when he hit the ice. The 21-year-old lay comatose for close to three weeks before finally succumbing to his injury. Sanderson’s father and the young man’s girlfriend were quoted as saying Don never liked fighting, he only did it occasionally to defend his teammates.

Over a century before, in 1907, Owen “Bud” McCourt lost his life after an on-ice altercation resulted in severe head trauma. A quote from the newspaper at the time said, “nearly all the local players express[ed] the opinion that if the referee had been more strict regarding the rough play, the trouble would have been averted.” Considering each of the following players also suffered head injuries at the hands of opposing players that were overcome with something akin to madness, it’s only dumb luck that Ace Bailey (1933), Ted Green (1969), Donald Brashear (2000), and Steve Moore (2004) didn’t suffer a similar fate as McCourt.

Tragedy struck yet again in 1968 when Bill Masterton hit his head on the ice in a game between the Minnesota North Stars and the Oakland Seals. A recent article suggests that Masterton may have been playing with a pre-existing head injury.

Each of these deaths and the circumstances surrounding them, in one way or another, underscores four things about hockey: there’s a code; there’s passion; there’s a culture, and there’s controversy.

This past summer will long be remembered as one of the most tragic in hockey. In addition to the plane crash carrying the KHL club Lokomotiv Yaroslavl, we saw the passing of Derek Boogaard, Rick Rypien, and Wade Belak. The former struggled with addiction issues; the latter two, depression. Unlike the first three men, it’s obvious these three died of something other than head trauma, right?

Perhaps not.

Recent research coming out of a collaborative effort between the Boston University Medical School and the Sports Legacy Institute is suggesting that the effects of head trauma no longer have to be as obvious as in the case of Sanderson, Masterton and McCourt.

The hypothesis, set forth by neurosurgeon Robert Cantu and his team, is that addictions, anxiety and depression might be caused in part by something called chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE). The Institute’s website describes CTE as “a progressive degenerative disease of the brain found in athletes (and others) with a history of repetitive brain trauma [… and] is associated with memory loss, confusion, impaired judgment, paranoia, impulse control problems, aggression, depression, and, eventually, progressive dementia.”

The mere possibility of secondary effects to head trauma like this adds a whole new dimension to the discussion and raises the question of whether or not these men experienced the effects of repetitive brain trauma that Cantu’s research suggests?

By piping up regarding their roles and the effects that fighting has had on them, some retired heavyweight enforcers seem to be suggesting that there might be a correlation. Both Brantt Myhres and Georges Laraque were recently interviewed on a radio show discussing the negative psychological effects that the role foists upon enforcers. Laraque understands the pressure that some feel; and Myhres, having struggled for years with addiction, has lived through it. Each man touched on his anxieties with the prospects of an upcoming fight.

“All I could think about was that Stu Grimson was in the lineup,” said Myhres as he recounts one of the first NHL games he played in. For Laraque, it was having to face the prospects of Dave Brown. “I just hoped that he’d have a good game, so he wouldn’t be mad.”

Todd Fedoruk summarized it concisely in the USA Today: ” Could the pressure of fighting make you want to pick up? Yeah, I think that can be a trigger,” he said. “For me, it was. You just want to forget about having to fight the guy. You line up against a guy like Boogey, God rest his soul, but he’s 267. He’s a big man. You think about that a week before you fight him.”

Not everyone, however, feels this way. On CBC’s Fifth Estate, Marty McSorley said the prospects of fighting didn’t bother him at all, and he’s not alone.

“I don’t understand where it comes from ” says the aforementioned Stu Grimson. “No matter what profession you’re involved in, we all experience anxiety. I experience those same things that George Laraque and Brantt Myhres are talking about, but it’s not necessarily a daily experience. Anxiety is something a professional has to learn to manage if they’re going to work in a certain profession for any length of time.”

The Grim Reaper, as he was called in his playing days, is now a trial lawyer working out of Nashville. And although his career trajectory doesn’t fit the stereotype of an NHL enforcer, fighting was his stock and trade for over 700 NHL games. In fact, Grimson was so tough, he could literally do it in his sleep.

“I was in a fight in junior hockey once where I blacked out, and it felt like I was gone for a long time,” he says. “I recovered consciousness, and I was still on my feet. In fact my right arm was cocked somewhere up behind my shoulder and I realized, ‘wow, I’m still in this one.’ It was bizarre.”

According to HockeyFights.com, Grimson fought a total of 217 times prior to retiring. That’s almost a fight every fourth game. Ironically, fighting and the lingering effects of post-concussion syndrome are what forced him to retire. Despite that, he fully supports the role fighting plays in hockey, and he doesn’t agree that it should be vilified whenever talk of reckless head shots comes up.

“I’m not so sure that fighting should be drawn in because here it’s a different story: you’ve got two guys who both understand the risk associated with what they’re about to do. They understand it very well, but they’re prepared to accept those risks. It’s a job that they readily step into knowing full well there may be a cut lip; there may be a broken nose; there may even be a concussion in any particular fight, but that’s very different from somebody that’s not expecting someone else targeting their head. I think the point you really want to make is that we need to do whatever is reasonable to eliminate deliberate or even reckless head blows to players that are vulnerable. Those are the areas that we’ve really got to crack down on.”

Whatever the cause, and whether or not what Dr. Cantu’s research suggests is accurate, issues of depression and addiction have long reared their head in any number of sports and are certainly not the unique province of repeated head trauma. What, however, should come from this revelation is the continued need for dialogue and support for those players that might be suffering from any one of these psychologically debilitating diseases.

“There are a number of great programs in place right for any athlete that is current or retired from the game of hockey,” Grimson says.” Specifically, the collaboration between the NHL and the NHLPA called the Substance Abuse and Behavioural Health (SABH) program. This is a program that’s designed to support anybody that’s dealing with a behavioural issue like depression or a physical addiction like drugs and alcohol.”

While it’s impossible to identify any one particular solution to address issues of head trauma in hockey, whether they result from deliberate shots to the head or the effects of two willing combatants clubbing one another in the cranium, Grimson offers some food for thought on where it needs to start.

“Knowing what I know about the effects of head trauma back when I first started, I probably would have been quicker to disclose to the medical professionals that supported me what I was experiencing when I was experiencing it. I would have been quicker to seek treatment,” he says. “Now, I say that as someone that understands the culture of the game, that sounds a bit ideal. Here’s one of the problems; one of the difficulties that we face in this area. We haven’t talked about this much yet. The culture of sport, specifically of hockey, is problematic in this area. The athlete doesn’t want to disclose anything for fear of losing his spot on the roster. It’s akin to exposing a weakness to teammates. You never want to let on that you’ve been hurt.”

Bill Masterton immediately comes to mind. After a brief pause, Grimson adds, “The culture may have prevented me from doing the right thing. As we talk about the issues that are part of this debate, for me that’s one that really needs to be identified as we analyze the problem.”

Speaking in terms of the culture, for a program like SABH to work, a player needs to come forward on his own. “It’s not always easy to detect and diagnose that there is a problem,” says Grimson. “Even if a guy did come forward and he said you know what I’m really struggling with this particular area of my life, if he decides to take his life for whatever reason there is no program in the world short of keeping him inside in an institution and under 24-hour watch to prevent that.”

It’s not a stretch to think that if coaches and athletes took a different tack and began to change the culture, so it was easier for an athlete to come forward, things might be easier to rectify. “The responsibility lies with everybody. The players, first and foremost, the trainers, coaches, teammates–everybody involved,” says Grimson. “I know the powers that be in our sport are making every reasonable effort to do that.”

This can, and should, also be extended into the realm of fans and spectators. You only need to read the comment section for almost any article on Sidney Crosby’s concussion or turn to Coach’s Corner on Hockey Night in Canada to see just how entrenched the culture of hockey is in the public consciousness.

An example can be seen in part of a response to a CBS Pittsburgh article on Crosby where a reader takes issue with Crosby for speaking out on head shots and writes, “Whining and crying are not the finer qualities of a professional hockey player.” A more recent example is Don Cherry calling three former NHL fighters “pukes” for allegedly saying, “The reason they’re [Boogaard et al] taking drugs and alcohol is because they fight. You turncoats, you hypocrites,” said Cherry. “You were fighters and now you don’t want guys to make the same living you did.” This quote is particularly intriguing as Cherry claims Stu Grimson was one of the three that said it.

Discussion regarding blows to the head and fighting have been front and center for over a century. Not that anyone wants to stifle the passion of hockey, but when talk of the code and the culture are used to explain why certain things happen maybe it’s time to really look at our game, and what it is we’re teaching kids and expecting of athletes when they play. Perhaps only then will we be able to move forward and leave seriously debilitating and sometimes deadly injuries behind us.

This article originally appeared in the Fall 2011 issue of Hockey Edmonton Magazine.

Way to go SpongeBoob, you jerk!

Research out of the psychology department at the University of Virginia is now suggesting that even minor exposure to the Nickelodeon cartoon SpongeBob SquarePants can make a four-year old retarded. (Oh my god, that was politically incorrect.)

Okay, it doesn’t really say that. It does say that moderate exposure (nine minutes or so) to the much loved sponge and his starfish buddy Patrick has shown cognitive impairment in the test subjects’ executive functioning.

The best part of this research, however, has been some of the responses that people have had to it. Take for example, a snippet of the commentary from the CBC’s website and their article “SpongeBob may impair 4-year-olds’ brains.”

Local782 had this to say: “never mind Sponge Bob, what about the kids that watched Caillou. did they happen to notice how much complaining and how demanding the kids were after watching him. all he dose is wine and be saucy. in the end he learns a lesson and the proper way is highlighted, however as this study suggests, most kids don’t make it to the last couple mins. ill let my daughter watch sponge bob over that show any day.” Independent research has shown that Local782′s lack of proper punctuation, apparent disdain of capital letters and poor spelling hasn’t stunted his (or her) ability to get a point across: Caillou does suck.

The infinitely right leaning RandyD said, “Whats [sic] the big deal, the left has been impairing childrens [sic] brains for, going on 50 years now.” Research out of left field has indicated that RandyD votes Conservative.

The amazingly off-topic, yet aptly named Anti-CBC: “Well the CBC DOES impair my wallet because they will get 1.1 billion in tax payers money in 2011 alone.” Research suggests that this was RandyD using a pseudonym.

The best comment, however, goes to the insightful SpidersNSnakes: “Maybe if 30 minutes of television didn’t have to contain 8 to 10 minutes of commercials, the show could slow the content.”

Good job Spiders, blame the advertisers.

Anyhow, it’s all fun and games until they release a study indicating how hours of watching the Hilarious House of Frightenstein has bent a generation of forty somethings.