This week’s episode of CBC Wiretap with Jonathan Goldstein entitled 26 Minutes, 30 Seconds was literally laugh out loud funny, much thanks to Rap Master Maurice, who I am very happy to report is an actual person offering actual “revenge raps.” We finally get to see Gregor Ehrlich get one upped by Goldstein (though by revenge rap proxy) and we even find a formidable opponent for HumV Chackowicz. Four stars. (Be sure to listen all the way to the end past the credits.)
This episode, like many other episodes in Season 6, opened with another very thought provoking story from Sum: Forty Tales from the Afterlives by David Eagleman. Usually, I’d be annoyed with so much material from the same book (seriously, do they have some kind of deal going on?) but I really enjoy Eagleman’s work. Eagleman’s prolonged appearances on Wiretap, as well as Jonathan’s mention of a “science show” that discussed blinking indicates that Mr. Goldstein is very much a fan of Radiolab. David Eagleman, a neuroscientist during his dayjob, discusses his book on the Radiolab episode Afterlife and he is a very articulate and interesting gentleman.
Anyway, it appears that Sum in hardback is sold out on Amazon – but the paperback comes out in January 2010. Check out it out below:
Also, we have a bit with Tony Asimakopoulos, who played Tunis in “Time to Face the World.” They discuss the merits of an “I” Shaped couch vs. an “L” shaped couch. Plus, Gregor mocking Jonathan for shaving his head, which he actually did quite some time ago. Actually, a repo man named “The Barber” did it, as shown in “Prose and Cons.”
Enjoy your week!
Hello, I realize that I haven’t been updating regarding the National Post columns, but lately, they haven’t been very telling about future episodes. But today I’m pretty excited because Sunday’s episode is already up on the Archive! In case you’re not already subscribing to it, you should. Here’s the blurb from cbc.ca:
“How To Say Goodbye” This week on WireTap, a man confronts the minister who ruined his grandmother’s funeral. Plus, Howard outsources his friendship with Jonathan to an Indian call center.
“How To Say Goodbye”
This week on WireTap, a man confronts the minister who ruined his grandmother’s funeral. Plus, Howard outsources his friendship with Jonathan to an Indian call center.
Anyway, the National Post article today is notable for its continued discussion on beards:
After seeing a photograph of myself at the office Christmas party looking 15 years older and 65% more gnome-like, I finally decide to throw in the towel and shave my beard. While shaving, I stop at the moustache and stare at myself in the mirror. Mustachioedness. I look like a completely different style of person. I look like the kind of guy who’d sing Motown songs in the public showers at the Y– someone who’d shirtlessly open his front door to the gas man and say, “Come on in, chief.” What would my life become if I stopped right now, in mid-shave, and walked off into the world bemoustached? Is this how you become a certain kind of person? You start off just wanting to check something out for a moment, but then you keep stretching that odd, mustachioed moment out longer and longer until one day, you look in the mirror and it isn’t so odd any more — it’s simply a part of your life. Maybe that’s all a life is — an accumulation of things that are initially weird that, through time, become less so. A moustache. A facial piercing. A chair at work three inches from the ground. You bundle all of these weird things together to form this even weirder thing: who you are. I shave off the moustache feeling relieved about who I am not — which is my version of feeling good about who I am.
After seeing a photograph of myself at the office Christmas party looking 15 years older and 65% more gnome-like, I finally decide to throw in the towel and shave my beard.
While shaving, I stop at the moustache and stare at myself in the mirror. Mustachioedness. I look like a completely different style of person. I look like the kind of guy who’d sing Motown songs in the public showers at the Y– someone who’d shirtlessly open his front door to the gas man and say, “Come on in, chief.”
What would my life become if I stopped right now, in mid-shave, and walked off into the world bemoustached? Is this how you become a certain kind of person? You start off just wanting to check something out for a moment, but then you keep stretching that odd, mustachioed moment out longer and longer until one day, you look in the mirror and it isn’t so odd any more — it’s simply a part of your life. Maybe that’s all a life is — an accumulation of things that are initially weird that, through time, become less so. A moustache. A facial piercing. A chair at work three inches from the ground. You bundle all of these weird things together to form this even weirder thing: who you are.
I shave off the moustache feeling relieved about who I am not — which is my version of feeling good about who I am.
For those of you unfamiliar with how important beards are to the heart of Wiretap, please see/hear:
I’ve recently taken to wearing a beard some weeks and not others. When I first grew it, acquaintances I’d run into would say encouraging things like, “CaptainCaveman!” or “Wolfman Goldstein!” But now that I have shaved it and regrown it several times, people feel less invested in its existence and have stopped responding. All along, my goal has been to yo-yo back and forth between beardedness and non-beardedness so often that, eventually, no one would pay any notice to what I looked like. Bald. Fat. Bearded–none of it would linger in the onlooker’s mind’s eye, and eventually I would become visually fluid in the public’s memory. Like the Incredible Shmoo, if you will. To this end, I wake up this morning and shave my two weeks’ growth. Afterwards, Zouzou says I look younger, but when I see Gregor in the evening, he tells me I look older. “Your beard was patchy and youthful,” he says. “It made you look like a 14-year-old, mid-century rabbi. Plus, it covered up your wrinkles. Though I guess not the ones around your eyes, ears and forehead.” According to a copy of Film World from 1915, the secret to Fatty Arbuckle’s success — what set him apart from other morbidly obese vaudevillians who could balance on telephone wires — was that he was possessed of an ability to laugh at himself. This is another in a long, growing list of reasons why I am nothing like Fatty Arbuckle: I cannot laugh at myself. Nonetheless, as Gregor jokes, I try to laugh, and my face takes on the expression of someone trying to swallow a fistful of metal shavings. The way that people can learn so much personal information from looking at a face strikes me as unfair. Even a beard is not enough to cover up the truth of our inner selves. Maybe in the future, humans will wear hats that come down to the chin, with holes for the eyes –like the kid from the Fat Albert gang used to wear. Then no one will ever be able to see what we look like. Then, no one will ever know when we are mouthing the words, “stupid, lousy Gregor” through gritted teeth.
I’ve recently taken to wearing a beard some weeks and not others. When I first grew it, acquaintances I’d run into would say encouraging things like, “CaptainCaveman!” or “Wolfman Goldstein!” But now that I have shaved it and regrown it several times, people feel less invested in its existence and have stopped responding. All along, my goal has been to yo-yo back and forth between beardedness and non-beardedness so often that, eventually, no one would pay any notice to what I looked like. Bald. Fat. Bearded–none of it would linger in the onlooker’s mind’s eye, and eventually I would become visually fluid in the public’s memory. Like the Incredible Shmoo, if you will.
To this end, I wake up this morning and shave my two weeks’ growth. Afterwards, Zouzou says I look younger, but when I see Gregor in the evening, he tells me I look older.
“Your beard was patchy and youthful,” he says. “It made you look like a 14-year-old, mid-century rabbi. Plus, it covered up your wrinkles. Though I guess not the ones around your eyes, ears and forehead.”
According to a copy of Film World from 1915, the secret to Fatty Arbuckle’s success — what set him apart from other morbidly obese vaudevillians who could balance on telephone wires — was that he was possessed of an ability to laugh at himself. This is another in a long, growing list of reasons why I am nothing like Fatty Arbuckle: I cannot laugh at myself. Nonetheless, as Gregor jokes, I try to laugh, and my face takes on the expression of someone trying to swallow a fistful of metal shavings.
The way that people can learn so much personal information from looking at a face strikes me as unfair. Even a beard is not enough to cover up the truth of our inner selves. Maybe in the future, humans will wear hats that come down to the chin, with holes for the eyes –like the kid from the Fat Albert gang used to wear. Then no one will ever be able to see what we look like. Then, no one will ever know when we are mouthing the words, “stupid, lousy Gregor” through gritted teeth.
Okay, that’s all the beard-lore I have time to dig up for today. Bye!
This week’s episode, “Time to Face the World” is a big fat rerun, featuring the genesis of the (fictional) Jonathan Goldstein videos (or are they?), the Howard Chackowicz fan club and the next wave of fashion: shaving cream. I posted extensively on this issue previously. Ch Ch Check it for some deets.
Meanwhile, have you noticed some trends lately? Such as:
I’m pretty sad about Josh not hanging out anymore. What do you think he’s up to? If anyone else misses Josh, I recommend giving “The New Josh,” “A Fresh New Voice” and “Selling Out” a listen. The latter two episodes both feature Gregor doing a Ray Romano impression.
On the Mira Burt-Wintonick front, here’s something she’s been doing:
In this roadmovie about movies, veteran documentary filmmaker Peter Wintonick takes a film-trip across the world with Mira, his 20-year-old media-making daughter. They journey through film history and media’s future, questioning how different generations view, use or make their own film, images, sound and media. From Fellini’s hometown in Italy to Nuremberg where Leni Riefenstahl shot Triumph of the Will; from Chaplin’s grave to Jean-Luc Godard’s Swiss village; from blogging theorists in Vienna to next media artists at the Venice Biennale. pilgrIMAGE playfully mixes contemporary and historical cinematic sites with personal encounters and film-life lessons. pilgrIMAGE is a trans-generational meditation on film and media. Mixing film clips with critical musings, equal parts verité film-journal, digital-diary and ciné-blog, the filmmakers meet several significant film ‘pilgrims’ and media practitioners along their way. Through a series of father-daughter dialogues, the goal is to transfer a bit of crazy wisdom between generations. Between a distinguished filmmaker father from cinema’s Generation Y (as in Why?) to a daughter of our current next-wave, now-media Generation D (as in Digital) era.
You can see it at the International Documentary Festival Amsterdam 2008.
In other news…
This week’s National Post article has more Starlee Kine in it:
My friend Starlee Kine has just come in to visit from New York. She’s still supercharged about Obama’s victory. “I finally feel like we might actually be becoming a respectable country again,” she says. “I’m feeling so much pride. Here in Canada, are you able to feel any of the pride?” “I feel adjacent to the pride,” I say uncertainly. “That’s not the same,” she says. “I’m bursting with pride; you’re merely seeping it.”
My friend Starlee Kine has just come in to visit from New York. She’s still supercharged about Obama’s victory.
“I finally feel like we might actually be becoming a respectable country again,” she says. “I’m feeling so much pride. Here in Canada, are you able to feel any of the pride?”
“I feel adjacent to the pride,” I say uncertainly.
“That’s not the same,” she says. “I’m bursting with pride; you’re merely seeping it.”
