I think it may be the flu that has waylaid half of the island.*

Or it could be malaria.

[*Yes I live on an island. No, not like Gilligan. More like the Professor. And Ginger kicks Mary Ann's butt.]

It is important to note that I have a puke-free slate since '88. (And I like things that rhyme... all the time.)

I am not a fan of puking. I know that is true for most people, but I am REALLY not a fan. When I'd get sick I'd be all "Oh my God.... Why me? Oh Lord? It's not fair. Oh the humanity!!" etc. etc. I'd complain like a man walking down the green mile. Or one that has woken up on the business end of a naked Paris Hilton.

Even to this day, if I feel sick to my stomach, I'll start the praying and the bargaining. Does it work? Since '88, baby!!

I remember the last time I puked clearly because it was my birthday. And my Mom had gotten us tickets to go see the Harlem Globetrotters. Needless to say, I didn't get to attend. Granted, the confetti in the bucket gag may have been wasted on someone who felt as crappy as I did, but I was still bummed.

Bummed and feverish.

You know those fevers where you feel like you are in a dream? You are stupified and can only watch things going on around you?

I'm not quite there yet, but I am definitely feeling the brain fog.

I think it was C. Everett Koop who said, "Blogging with a fever... that's bad bananas, my friends."

I could be wrong though.

The brain fog makes it hard to even write this entry. Of course some of you are probably thinking that it can only help the quality of my posts. But, that's just mean. Where is the love? The love... the love...

Is it a bad sign that Justin Timberlake is the voice in my head?

Probably, eh?

And it is hard to write with brain fog. (Didn't I type this same line 3 sentences ago? I am leaving this in.)

Maybe I should start wrapping this up.

I suppose the most important thing to take away from all of this is...

Cats have been known to try to seduce dogs.

"What about Brian?" isn't necessarily the kind of show that I would normally watch. It didn't premiere in September, which immediately gives me pause. And the whole "I'm in love with my best friend's girl" thing? Didn't Chandler and Joey pretty much write the book on that 6 or 7 years ago?

Plus, the pilot ran Sunday evening after I had just watched "The West Wing" and "Sopranos."

The former is enjoying a rejuvenation this season. It is too bad that it is ending it's run. I think a Jimmy Smits lead spin-off could make some real noise for an NBC line-up that has seen better days. Sadly, I was a latecomer to "The West Wing." As a Canadian, I found it hard to get behind a show about American politics. And Aaron Sorken's drug-fueled rapidfire dialogue was a bit much for me. (This was before I fell in love with "Sports Night.") However, I've watched the last 3 or 4 seasons and loved every episode. Now if someone had told me that Danica McKellar would eventually guest-star, I probably would have been an early adopter.

And the latter... Now that the dream/coma sequences are over, and Brokeback Vito is on the run, things are exciting again in New Jersey.

But, because I am a TV junkie, I watched "What About Brian?" I blame it on the "... from the creator of 'Lost'" voiceover in the ads.

I get what the creator was going for... a group of friends at various stages of relationships, as seen through the eyes of the only single member of the group.

That almost sounds interesting.

We have: the couple that are engagd, the couple that are married and trying for a kid, and the couple that already have three kids and haven't had sex since the Reagen administration. (See? I've warmed to American politics.)

I'm not sure how I feel about the couples though. The engaged couple features a bland, pretty boy lawyer, with slutball tendencies, and a hot, sweet, football-loving, doctor/super woman. She seems way too good for him and -- actually that is fairly realistic.

The couple trying to have a kid is the oldest Arquette sister paired up with a actor or model or gigolo of Spanish extraction. The dude is much younger. After two episodes, they already seem out of place and destined to fade even further into the background.

And the sexless parents, well, the wife has already broached the subject of an open marriage. Personally, I'd "open" the door, kick her ass out and find the best divorce lawyer around. But, she is considerably hotter than him. Not to mention the mother of his kids, blah blah blah...

Finally, we must ask ourselves, "What about Brian?"

Ohhhhhhhhhh.... NOW I get the title.

Brian is my age. Like me, he is also single and all his friends are married or getting there...

Hmmm. I'm not sure I like where this is going.

Unlike me, Brian is in love with his best friend's fiancee. That is not cool. Not cooler still is that he kisses her! Dude... come on.

Rules change over time. For example, in the middle ages, it was not considered a major crime to kill a traveling musician. (This is why Kenny G. is so thankful to have not been born earlier.) But, one rule that will NEVER change is that you don't rub another man's rhubarb.

You just don't.

And that dick move alone kind of ruined the show for me.

I'll probably give it another shot. The TV addiction and all... But, I am rather meh on the first two episodes. Amy-Jo Johnson looking about 63 years old didn't help either.

I did enjoy the music though. Actually, because of the pilot, I've been singing The Who's "Teenage Wasteland" all week. ALL week.

Bastards.

As bloggers, I feel that we have an obligation to tackle the serious issues. We have a duty to discuss things that are sensible and meaningful. It can't all be links to funny sites and complaining about work. Sometimes we just have to bare our souls, roll up our sleeves, put our noses to the grindstone, mix metaphors, and get right down to the nitty gritty.

Today I want to talk about "debate."

Debating has been with us for time and memorial. Hubert Humphrey said, "Freedom is hammered out on the anvil of discussion, dissent and debate."

Every era has had events or issues that have polarized the people.

In the 50s it was the threat of Communism.

In the 60s it was the Vietnam War.

In the 70s it was the gas shortage.

You get the picture...

And this era is no different. We are not exempt from facing an issue that strikes us at our very cores and runs the risk of tearing familes apart.

Too few have been willing to talk about it. But, I am not afraid. The time is now. We must ask ourselves...

For me personally, the debate began and ended with the words "Wonder Woman costume." If you saw it, you know what I mean. And I still think that "Summer" is hotter, but this year something weird happened.

For one, the stylists on the show have been downplaying Summer's hotness, in favour of playing up her cuteness. Presumably so that people will buy her and Cohen as a couple. Fair enough. And she is still quite cute.

At the same time, something has changed with Marissa. A maturation, if you will. (This probably has a lot to do with Mischa Barton becoming legal age, but it's best not to delve too deeply into that.)

But, the writers wouldn't let Marissa enjoy being hotter for very long before they put her through the electric skankifying machine. And the machine was set to "full-on."

So, now we are stuck with the age-old debate between "cute girl next door" and "leggy skank."

Or are we?

I'm sorry Samaire Armstrong fans, I am not throwing her into the mix now, despite the fact that she is returning this week. (With long hair!!!)

I would like to go on record, right here and right now, as saying that Taylor Townsend (Autumn Reeser) is the hottest character on the show.

I hear the shouts of "Blasphemy!" But, it is okay. Let it sink in. Think about it a bit.

She's gorgeous. She's funny. And she's just the right amount of crazy. Folks, it don't get any hotter than that.

Watch an episode with her in it closely. You'll see it.

I feel better now. I like using my blog for good. I like to inform and educate.

I was, however, starting to feel like maybe this was a weird topic for a grown-ass man to be tackling. But, realizing that Ben "Don't Call me Benjamin" McKenzie is likely old enough to be someone's grandfather really took the sting out of it.

Have you ever wondered if when people wrote famous quotes, whether or not they thought that maybe these quotes would still be used many years later?

You haven't?

Oh. Well, that kind of puts the screwing into this entry.

What the hell... I might as well power through.

I have wondered about this. I've even thought about creating a famous quote of my own.

Heck, I'd be happy with writing a famous knock knock joke. Which, if you ask me, is a completely underrated comedy medium. These jokes are how kids learn how to be funny. Also, these jokes are how we learn that some of these kids are destined to be CPAs.

My favourite knock knock joke is this one...

Person A: Knock knock...
Person B: Who's there?
Person A: The interrupting cow.
Person B: The interrupti--
Person A: MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Come on. That's gold.

I sometimes like to mess with little kids. They'll say, "I want to tell you a knock knock joke." I'll say, "Okay." Then I'll quickly add "Knock knock." They'll instinctively reply, "Who's there?" Then I'll just stare at them. Eventually they'll realize and say, "No no... you did it wrong!" Good times.

When they are a bit older, you can use a similar trick when they think they've figured out how to win at Tic-Tac-Toe every time. They ask you to play. You say "No." They beg. You say "Fiiiiine" and then you quickly throw an X into the top left corner spot. They stare it it for a few moments. Then they say, "No no... you did it wrong! I go first."

Torturing children is all well and good, but it isn't getting me any closer to my famous quote.

I like imaginging a kid a hundred years in the future, snacking on Soylent Green, listening to a new Rolling Stones single, and finding a quote of mine on Google to use in his school report. Granted, Google will probably own his school and the internet will be on a chip implanted in our heads... and it'll still be mostly porn and spam. And occasionally porn spam.

I've written what I thought were good lines in some of my screenplays. And I once compared Hollywood to "Thunderdome... but with fake breasts." It got a couple of laughs. But, I want more.

I need a topic that is both ageless and speaks to a lot of people. Like Dick Clark.

Wait... I got it. LOVE.

Who doesn't love love? It's lovely. But, what can I say about love that hasn't been said before?

Got it!

"Love is wanting to tear all of your hair out... and make her a sweater with it."
- Peter DeWolf, 2006

Hmmm... that's just kind of gross. I'll keep working on it.

I originally wrote this 3 years ago for MoviePoopShoot.com. I've decided to update it a little and to delete the parts that were, for lack of a better phrase, horrifically unfunny.

=====================

We are living in tumultuous times, my friends. We truly are. Unemployment is soaring. Crime rates are high. The stock market is pretty much screwed. (That's a technical phrase. I went to business school!) There are wars breaking out everywhere. And FAMILY GUY is still on TV. And while not everything is bleak -- I found a seven-minute version of "Groove Is in The Heart" by Dee Lite in mp3 -- these are scary days, brothers and sisters.

Now, because you are here at PDDC, I know that you are expecting a higher quality of writing than you might find on your typical websites (or newspapers, bathroom walls, etc.). You come here for guidance. You come here to feel better about the world. You come here for Lauren Graham mentions. But, most of all, you come here for answers to life's questions.

I will not disappoint.

A sure-fire way to get the world back on its feet... Make kids read Hardy Boys books. It's really just that simple.

I had pretty much the entire run of Hardy Boys books. But, a couple stand out the most in my memory:

The Mystery of the Whale Tattoo (1968) - I remember this one mostly because the baddies all had tattoos, which at the time made me think, "Ooooooh, they must be sailors or bikers." Of course this was back before every CPA and 16-year-old girl had been inked.

The Hardy Boys Detective Handbook (Rev. 1966) - In hindsight, the chapters on surveillance kind of read like a primer for stalkers. Hmm. None of y'all get any freaky ideas now... Seriously. Stop it. Put the book down.

The Proof...

You may be asking yourself how something as simple as reading "Hardy Boys" books can make the world a better place. Permit me to demonstrate:

1927 - The first Hardy Boys book, The Tower Treasure, is released. There is not a single car-jacking that year. Not one! Granted, there are only 14 automobiles in North America, but still...

Side note: I have it on pretty good authority that there were no cases of computer fraud or satellite piracy in 1927, either. Interesting, no?

1958 - The only year between 1927 and 1979 that a Hardy Boys book is not released. The United States joins the International Atomic Energy Agency. I don't fully understand the mandate of this agency, but I feel fairly confident in saying that if a book had been released, there would be no such thing as nuclear weapons now.

1961 - "The Bay of Pigs" takes us to the brink of another war. I'm not sure exactly what went on here, but from what I can gather it had something to do with cigars, baseball players and moustache wax. Don't quote me on that though. Is it any coincidence that The Mystery of Desert Giant comes out and then tensions cool off? Hmmm? Hm? Uhm hmmm.

1979 - The last "original" book, The Sting of the Scorpion, is published. Six short years later, the US unemployment rate peaks. I don't think that it is any stretch for me to say that kids had become too socially inept -- without these books -- to even hold down a job. And who are you to question my conclusions? You probably didn't read them, either.

Still not convinced, eh? Think about this:

- Jennifer Lopez never made a movie or album during the time Hardy Boys books were being released.

- Frank & Joe have never appeared on that crappy Craig Kilbourne show.

- During a year when a Hardy Boys book was published, there was no show on TV where anyone competed to marry a bachelor in Paris or elsewhere.

- Have you ever tried to read a book while hiding in a dark alley waiting to roll some poor old lady?

How Can We Update "The Hardy Boys" For Today's Youth?

Personally, I don't think that we have to. But, you kids and your MTV and pogs and whatnot. You know what you're like...

1) Hip-hop-ify the guys. We can call them F-Money and J-Hard. They could solve crimes like "The Disappearance of Ray-Ray's Baby Mamma's Stash" or "Who's Been Tricking Out Auntie Gertrude?"

2) We can make the boys both into "skaters." I'm not exactly sure how this could be done but I'd imagine that they'd just start spelling words that began normally with "ex" with a large "X" instead. They could say stuff like, "This fingerprint will be X-hibit A!" And they would be constantly "shredding" apparently. Whatever that is. And they would do everything to the extreme... uhm, X-treme.

3) Turn them into a crazy-assed Japanese cartoons with names no one can pronounce, that cause seizures, and then have them banned in grade schools. (Seriously, I still don't know what the hell a "beyblade" is.)

In Conclusion...

I am not sure what happened to my Hardy Boys books. I hope that I passed them along to another kid. Because these books aren't made to be saved in your attic. They aren't made to be sold at flea markets or, God forbid, on e-Bay. They are made to be passed from an older boy to a younger boy, much like mouthfuls of cooking sherry at the bottom of a bottle, fake joints (summer savoury in a Zig Zag!) and 12-year-old nudie mags with the covers missing. And THAT, my friends, is a tradition that should not be tampered with.

I hope you have found this post to be both informative and reassuring. And if you remember just one thing from everything that you've read here, please make sure that it is...

Seven minutes is not nearly long enough for a version of "Groove Is in the Heart!"

He walked into the dimly lit bar and heard Journey's "Open Arms" playing over the speakers. He immediately began to relax a little.

The bartender looked up, "Back again?"

"Yeah. For a while," he replied.

"Care for another?"

"Sure," he said. "Let's live dangerously."

The bartender passed him a large glass full of clear liquid and ice.

"Thanks, man."

He continued on to a corner booth. He tossed his courier bag - which he continues to this day to explain "isn't a man purse" - onto the seat. He slid in next to it. He put his Blackberry on the table in front of him.

He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his top button. As he ran his hand threw his hair, he got the feeling that he was being watched. He turned to his right and saw her.

"Holy sweet crap," he thought to himself.

"Holy sweet crap."

"Did I just say that out loud?" He wondered.

He had.

"I'm sorry, did you say something?" She looked confused.

"No. Sorry. Just thinking out loud," he scrambled.

Saying that she was hot would not give you the entire picture. She had the cute hotness that is oh so rare. Like the girl next door that you spend a lifetime crushing on.

"So, how are you fixed for insurance?" She asked.

"Funny you should mention, I'm actually a--," he started to figure it out. "You were at the conference too."

She smiled. "I was. But, I wasn't the one playing Tetris on my Blackberry the entire time."

"How did you...? Would you care to join me?"

"I suppose I could," she said as she grabbed her courier bag and slid into the seat across from him. She put her own Blackberry - identical to his - on the table.

He smiled when he saw it.

And he almost gasped when he saw her close up.

She tucked her shoulder-length dirty blonde hair behind her left ear and flashed him a grin that erased 3/5 of his long-term memory. She had the faintest little freckles under her eyes. He would have signed his 401K over to her on the spot.

"So, of all the gin joints, what brings you into this one?" She inquired.

"My flight has been postponed. Bad weather in the Bay area."

"You're from the Bay?" She was generally excited. "Which side? I'm from San Fran."

"I'm from Oakland."

"So, a super dope homeboy from the Oaktown."

"That's actually what it says on my business card." He feigned reaching for one.

"Nice...," she nodded. "So other than inviting strange women to join you in bars, what do you do for fun? Not that the exciting life an insurance salesmen isn't enough for anyone..."

"Oh, of course. Between fighting off insurance groupies, and the rampant, rampant drug use, I like to play guitar. You?"

"Well, the drugs are a given," she began without cracking a smile. "I paint."

"What kind of stuff?"

"Mostly nudes of deceased world leaders," she replied.

He stopped and stared. He opened his mouth and then closed it again.

Finally he muttered, "Are you serious?"

"Maybe."

He wondered how long you had to know someone before proposing.

Cyndi Lauper's "Time After Time" began playing on the speakers.

"Ooooh!," she almost jumped out of her seat. "I LOVE this song."

She began singing along,

Sometimes you picture me --
I'm walking too far ahead.
You're calling to me,
I can't hear what you've said--
Then you say -- go slow --
I fall behind--
The second hand unwinds

He lightly drummed on the table and swayed his head in time with her singing.

She noticed.

She continued with the chorus,

If you're lost you can look--
and you will find me.
Time after time.
If you fall I will catch you--
I'll be waiting.
Time after time

She then noticed some 30 something ex-sorority girls/current soccer moms looking at her strangely. She flashed him a "what the hell is their problem?" look and continued without missing a beat,

After my picture fades
and darkness has turned to gray.
Watching through windows --
you're wondering if I'm OK.
Secrets stolen from deep inside.
The drum beats out of time --

She noticed that he had lit a lighter and was waving it back and forth over his head. She giggled like mad.

"That was awesome," he gushed.

"Oh, shut it," she laughed.

"For reals."

"Okay, fella. If I hadn't talked to you first, would you have approached me?"

"Maybe," he said hesitantly. "You could have been some sort of psycho."

"I could still be."

"Valid."

"If you had approached me, what would your line have been?"

"I'm not much of a line guy."

"Oh, you aren't a "I don't really have a line" guy, are you?"

"No. I honestly don't have a line. Do you?"

"Line... Why would I need a line? I'm a cute girl! Come on."

"Fine."

"Give me your best line right now," she insisted. "And if it involves mirrors in my pants, or my father having been a thief, I'm probably going to slug you."

"Fair enough." He thought about it. "I guess I'd have said something like... Christopher Morely once said, 'In every man's heart there is a secret nerve that answers to the vibrations of beauty' and that mine was answering loudly tonight."

She thought for a moment. "Damn... That's not bad."

"It works on insurance groupies," he smiled.

His Blackberry chirped. He took a quick peek.

"Fantasy football trade offer... And a crappy one at that."

"My team sucked last year," she said wistfully.

"Are you a football fan?"

"All sports really. My dad wanted a macho sports-playing son."

"Sadly so did mine," he commiserated.

Their eyes met. Locked really. He had never felt this feeling before, but he knew he never wanted it to end. He could sense that she was feeling it to.

"So," she said, trying to change the subject. "Football team...?"

"Raiders."

"Niners," she countered. "Baseball?"

"A's."

"Of course... Giants for me."

"Naturally," he nodded. Still captivated by her freckles.

"Basketball?"

"Warriors," he said proudly.

"I'm actually a New York Knicks fan," she said.

He stared at her for a moment. Then, without a word, he picked up his courier bag and Blackberry and headed for the door.

He mumbled to the bartender as he walked by, "I hate the frigging Knicks."

I like TV.

un-der-state-ment ( P ) (ndr-sttmnt, ndr-stt-)n.
Restraint or lack of emphasis in expression

I've always liked TV.

Besides being hugely entertaining, and like a flickering hug for your peepers, TV watching is like therapy to me. Some people drink. Some people pop pills. I watch TV... while drinking and popping pills. I kid, I kid.

I think a LOT. (Which may shock people who know me -- or read this site.) I think too much sometimes. And the only thing that turns that off is to sit down and watch TV. When people are sick, I watch TV. When I am sick, I watch TV. When people die, I watch TV.

This is not to say that I remain in denial about things, or don't deal with them, it just means that sometimes my brain needs a break, so it turns to it's satellited mistress.

If loving TV is wrong, baby, I don't want to be right.

I've always loved TV.

There are full years of my past missing from my memory, but I remember the exact day in the seventh grade when we got cable TV. (It was a Tuesday, so I got to see my first episode of "The A-Team"!!!!) I was walking home from the bus stop and noticed an extra cable running from a pole to our house. Now, I'm the same dude who didn't notice our BBQ being stolen from a couple of feet away from where my head was lying, but I picked this little black cable out from half a kilometer away.

Selective attention?

I even wanted to be on TV when I was a kid. I got involved in school plays in the 5th grade. Though I must admit that I originally got involved because I'd get to stay inside the warm school at recess time. It was winter in Canada. Come on.

The first play I was in was a musical sequel to "E.T." No, I'm not kidding. I think it was called "E.T. & Me." I have no idea if someone at the school wrote it, or where it came from. I do remember some lyrics to one of the songs:

"E.T., come visit me.
And if you get lonely, just phone home.
E.T., come visit me,
And if you get lonely, just phone home."

I'm not making this up.

We had a big cardboard spaceship that was raised to the rafters and lowered back down for dramatic effect. This was actually pretty high tech for the time. Even higher techer was the E.T. suit itself. There were little light bulbs behind red felt in ET's chest and at the end of his index finger. So, when he squeezed two wires together, both bulbs would light up.

The E.T. role was not an easy one. The voice needed to be perfect. Great timing was needed when lighting the bulbs. And he/she had to be super sneaky and pretend they were getting in the spaceship just before it went to the ceiling. The actor that played E.T. had to truly embody this lovable alien. The actor had to show a depth and vulnerability never before seen in junior high acting and --

Okay, fine. It was me.

Laugh it up. Go ahead. But, for a few months that spring, I WAS E.T.

I continued my acting career for a few more years. I did a play or two a year from the 5th grade to the 9th. The 9th grade I spent sitting in the courtyard and staring at pretty girls. I took part in no other activites at school. I stand by that decision. In the 10th grade I started playing basketball. And in the 12th grade I made my triumphant return to the stage. I appeared in "The Lottery," which was not at all what I thought it was going to be.

At some point during my acting career, I decided that I was also a writer. In the seventh grade I wrote a skit where "The Golden Girls" met the dudes from "Miami Vice." (TV shows, fancy that.) I don't remember much about it other than the fact that Rue McLanahan's character ended up in bed with Don Johnson's character. I certainly hope that I made a joke about her wanting him to leave the blazer/pastel coloured t-shirt combo on in bed. My drama teacher read it, smiled nervously and quickly pushed it aside. This would be the first time I'd experience someone not getting my humour. Sadly, not the last.

Also, in the 8th grade (I think) we picked a play called "A Man with A Million." This play was considerably too long, so we somehow decided to lop off the end and write a new ending. I decided that I should take the lead on this.

hu-bris ( P ) (hybrs) also hy-bris (h-)n.
Overbearing pride or presumption; arrogance

It was terrible. Even by 8th grade standards. To this day I expect the original writer to show up at my door to punch me in the face. It would be entirely justified. The only things I remember about the play is that I was the lead - it was based on it being my turn, not acting prowess - and that I had a crush on the girl who played the bartender.

The next thing I remember writing is a spec teleplay for "The Larry Sanders Show." In my episode, Hank believes he has a mancrush on Larry, and Larry ends up in bed with Dr. Ruth. (Do I see a trend developing?)

I still have a copy of this someplace. I read it a few years ago and was pleasantly surprised. It was actually quite funny, although horribly outdated.

Didn't I mention "How I Met Your Mother" in the title of this sumbitch?

me-an-der ( P ) (m-ndr)intr.v.
To move aimlessly and idly without fixed direction.

I always wanted to create my own sitcom. I wanted a chance to build my own little world. The characters would have their own histories. There would be inside and recurring jokes. I'd find a way to work music in. I'd cast unbelievably cute actresses. And it would be funny. Creative and clever without trying to be a typical sitcom.

And then I saw "How I Met Your Mother."

It was very, very close to everything I had in my mind for years. I loved it. And I hated the creators for stealing it. I actually later found out that a friend of mine attended college and is close friends with the creators Craig Thomas & Carter Bays.

I forgave them when they cast "Whinnie Cooper" in an episode.

It is now my dream to head out to LA for a visit and spend a week on the set. I'd love to see how every part of a sitcom works. The writers' room, rehearsals, taping, and editing. Everything. I'd also like to float an episode idea by Bays & Thomas...

In a dream, "Robin" pictures herself meeting E.T. Wackiness ensues and they somehow end up in bed. E.T. is a tough character to play, and the casting would have to be PERFECT. Hey, did I mention that I can still light those bulbs?

I'm just sayin', is all.

I originally started writing this as a script for a Canadian tv series/comic, and I still want to pitch is as both. However, I couldn't figure out where to go with the story. I am hoping that by working on it in here, I'll be able to find my way again.

I'm not sure how long this is going to be, but if history has taught us anything, a trilogy is a good bet.

=====================

I don't like violence, but violence sure as hell likes me.

I also watch too many gangster films.

This is my story. In someone else's words for some reason...

My sister is writing an exam, so I have the pleasure of wrangling my ADORABLE little niece today.

ADORABLE.

As the world's greatest uncle - I am! Look it up. - I try to always give the little squirt the benefit of the doubt. But, this morning I callously blamed her for yelling every time I turned my back.

I don't know why I did it. I should have known better. I guess I had my own things going on.

When I finally asked her why she was doing it, she calmly explained to me that it was actually the stuffed ET doll doing it. I asked again to make sure.

Uncle Pete: So, it was ET yelling when I was washing the dishes?
The Adorable One: Yeeeeaaaaah!

This is not the first time we've had trouble with ET. A couple weeks back he peed in my niece's bed and tried to blame it on her. She wouldn't stand for that, and suffice it to say he is currently wearing a Pamper's diaper. Size 4.

But, this time he was very stealthy. I shouldn't be shocked, I mean the little dude made a bicycle fly that time, but this was quite impressive. He'd yell like crazy, but as soon as I turned around it would be just my niece sitting there. She told me that he ran away and hid in her bed when he saw me turning around. Now, you don't get that kind of sneakiness from earth creatures, I'll tell you that.

I learned a valuable lesson about believing my niece this morning and --

Crap, gotta run. Seems as if ET keeps turning the volume up on her little plastic piano.

I don't get polygamy.

There, I've said it.

So, I caught the last ten-fifteen minutes of an episode of HBO's "Big Love" starring Bill Pullman or Paxton last night. In my defense, I was just waiting for "The Amazing Race" to start. Hmmm... I'm not sure if that is really much of a defense. And I could write a book on those Americans doing insulting Italian accents as they ran around Sicily.

But, back to Bill Pullton and his many loves...

It wasn't easy for me to even watch any of the show. Jeanne Tripplehorn is in it. She reminds me a girl I dated a long time ago. The mere thought of it still gives me the heebies. And, wait.... Let me check... Yes, the jeebies too.

Still, I managed to power through and watch a bit of the show. Now, I'm pretty sure that this wasn't the pilot episode, so my main question wasn't answered...

How would you broach this subject with your first wife?

Did Bill Paxman cuddle up with his wife late one night and whisper in her ear, "Sweetie, you know how variety is the spice of life? Well, I'd like to add a little "Rosemary" to our bedroom."

(This baffles me. Not as much as Heather Locklear dating David Spade baffles me, but still quite a bit.)

Regardless, let's say that he somehow manages to get the question out, what is her motivation for agreeing to it? Perhaps the urge to have his Aqua Velva-smelling ass climbing on top of someone else and letting you sleep is very attractive to some married women.

I really should have prefaced this post by saying that I'm of two minds - and like four and a half spleens - on this topic. On one hand, I worry about what it is doing to the Mel Gibsonesque number of kids that seem to be present in these situations. On the other hand... Meh. How is it any of my business?

I suppose it could be argued that in monogamous couples, sometimes the man wants someone younger, so he leaves his wife for his super bendy young secretary. Then the wife is left alone with the kids. In Polygamyville, the husband stays around. Which, I think we can all agree, certainly helps with spider location and elimination.

Would it be shallow of me to mention that in the bits and pieces of documentary footage I've seen on polygamy, the people involved are just mind-numbingly ugly? Probably, eh? I guess I won't mention it.

Towards the end of last night's episode, Bill P. pops a viagra and then slides under the covers with Jeanne Tripplehorn. She feels little Bill hit her and realizes that he is coming to bed polygamizing with loving on his mind. She tells him that she "just needs some sleep." So, he rolls over on his back. Now, this is where it gets even more confusing for me.

You've popped a little blue helper. It is doing what it is meant to do. Wife #1 shuts you down. But, you have two more wives under the same roof. Is this just obvious to me? Don't you go door to door and see if you can find another taker? Not to sound crass, but if that is not how it works, then I have no idea why polygamy would appeal to anyone. Surely there has to be some trade-off for having to pick up three times the amount of feminine hygiene supplies when you go to WalMart.

Polygamy baffles me, but I don't believe that polyandry exists at all. A woman married to multiple men at the same time? Come on.

If you somehow trick a woman into marrying you, and then continuing to put up with you, there is no way in the world that she is going to be duped a second time.

Like Richard Nixon and Moe Syzlak before me, I too have an enemies list. However, as I am getting older and (theoretically) more mature, I am trying to stop the hating. I am getting rid of the list.

It's a journey, but I'm doing my best.

My enemies list has included, but was not limited to:

Shelley Long
Jennifer Lopez
The people of Belgium (They know why.)
Seth McFarlane
Anyone remotely involved with "Mama's Family"
Stephen A. Smith
People who dated Lauren Graham
Roger Clemens
Mary-Kate (but not Ashley)

and...

Vince Carter

I've pretty much forgiven - or chosen to ignore - everyone except Mr. Carter. That's not going to be an easy one.

Every time I see the tights-wearing, mini-bike revving, dance after a dunk, I can taste bile in my mouth. And, my friends, bile is not yummy. Not yummy at all.

I'm just old enough to remember a time when players were loyal to teams and to the fans that supported them. A time when players played hard all the time. These are not traits that would describe Vince "half sand, half bagger" Carter.

When assaulted with the wind from another player running by him, he still goes down like he's been shot. He writhes in agony on the floor. But, now that he is playing for New Jersey, he eventually gets back up. He didn't do that for the Raptors. When he wore purple, he had the resiliency of a rice cracker. (Which, depending on the brand, can also taste like bile.)

It displeased me when one of his dunks from last night was the Play of the Day on the news this morning. I can't lie. I said some bad words. Words that would make the cast of "Deadwood" blush.

Vince Carter quit on the Toronto Raptors. He quit on the fans who were paying his 8 figures a year salary. I hope that sporting history remembers. He seems to be getting a free pass on this right now, but sporting karma usually strikes at the perfect time. I'd make a Vince Carter voodoo doll to speed up the process, but I can't find the proper materials. A piece of crap wrapped in tissue paper?

I guess I haven't quite let this one go yet. But, I'm --

Oh screw it, I am putting Seth McFarlane back on the list too.

It really is a journey.

April is Cancer Awareness Month in Canada.

I guess I first became aware of Cancer when I was about ten years old.

My parents were taking my grandmother to a doctor's appointment in a city a couple hours away. Which to me, at the time, meant that they'd be able to pick me up the latest issue of my favourite comic, "Captain Carrot and the Amazing Zoo Crew."

That evening they arrived home. Everyone looked rather solemn, but I quickly forgot that when I saw what looked like it could be a bag carrying a comic get unloaded from the car. And that's exactly what it was. I couldn't have been more excited.

My Mom passed me the comic and then told me that they had to talk to me. I barely heard that, but followed her to the bathroom -- all the while never taking my eyes off the comic book. She and my Dad proceeded to tell me that my grandmother had Cancer and that it was very bad.

My parents had never really sat me down to tell me anything serious before. And I had never seen that look on their faces. I had never even been in real trouble before -- mostly because my grandmother would go to bat for me when I was being a little bastard. (Which, let's be honest, was fairly often.) I came down from my comic book high pretty quickly, and knew that things had changed.

Everyone loves their grandmother. Grandparents are great. All the spoilings, none of the discipline. But, my grandmother was special. For a while I thought it was just seeing things through the eyes of a child, but to this day people are still telling me how amazing she was.

My grandfather was the local jailor. The jail was in the back section of the courthouse, which was also where my grandparents lived. And that was where my grandmother cooked. Prisoners have never had it so good.

In small towns, the same people typically are getting arrested. So, my grandparents knew most prisoners very well. And my grandmother treated them like they were family. My mother - who grew up living in the courthouse - still talks about prisoners from her childhood that seemed more like uncles. Prisoners would get Xmas gifts from my grandmother, if they were in the clink over the holidays. And many were, because it was cold and they had nowhere better to go. Plus, they knew my grandmother.

There was one group who might not has been as enamored with my grandmother's prisoner coddling ways... the police. The day that town drunks were released, she'd not only drive them home. Some lived 45 minutes away. But, she'd also give them money. So, more often than not, the men were already drunk and back in jail before she got back home.

I'm not sure that calling my grandmother a nurturer would give her nearly enough credit.

As a child, I was a very picky eater. (The scoffing sound you hear right now is everyone I know saying "Uhm, yes, as a child.") My grandmother worried a lot about that. Because, I wouldn't eat vegetables, she'd save the water they were cooked in, and use it to make my pancakes. I had no idea until years after she died. And I didn't find out from someone in the family. Bunch of sneaky pantses.

My grandmother influenced everyone in my family. She still does.

There are three female great grandchildren in the family. Each of them have her name as their middle name.

My mother will also take in strays. And I don't mean animals. In my mother's world, NOBODY is allowed to be alone for Christmas. Everyone gets presents. You try to feed everyone. Years back, we had a house that we were renting out. The tenants hadn't paid in months. My mother went over to evict them. An hour later she came home, grabbed a cardboard box and started filling it with food from our cupboards and fridge. My father asked what she was doing, and all she could say was that their little boy looked hungry.

The tenants eventually moved out - still without paying a dime. But, my mother didn't stress. A couple years later a check arrived in the mail for everything they owed. I am still in shock. But, my mother knew. And she knew because of my grandmother.

Probably the greatest effect of my grandmother's goodness could be seen on my grandfather, who passed away a decade ago. And who I also adored. When she died, a part of him died. It may sound dramatic, but it's true. She died on Xmas day, so he never put up another Xmas tree.

Another older man -- who had also lost his wife -- once told my grandfather that he should find another woman to marry to do his cooking and cleaning. My grandfather tore him a new one. Then he spun him around and tore him another new one. My grandfather had a wife. She died. And that was it.

After my grandmother died, my grandfather developed a drinking problem. A very serious drinking problem. He eventually ended up in AA. Although he didn't give a shit about the second A. He would proudly tell anyone and everyone about how many days sober he was.

Over the years, many alcoholics would visit my grandfather. For advice. For someone to talk to. To bum smokes. And if any of them fell off the wagon, their families would call my grandfather and he'd be there to try to help get them back on track. He'd help get them cleaned up. He'd get them into detox or to a meeting.

He learned that from my grandmother.

A few years after my grandmother died, my mother got involved with the Canadian Cancer Society. She became the head honcho for the area. I spent a lot of time in my youth, cutting daffodil stems - at an angle - and selling the flowers in the spring.

After a while, like all volunteers, my Mom burned out and let someone else take over her post. Life went on. She worked full-time. She raised two pain in the ass kids into slightly less of a pain in the ass adults.

But, a couple of years ago, her close friend was diagnosed with breast cancer. Thankfully, with treatment, she is now healthy again and doing fine. But, my mother has remembered how she was raised. She is now one of the organizers of the local "Relay for Life."

Maybe some of my grandmother rubbed off on me, because I also find myself writing letters, writing press releases, and lugging buttloads of boxes for the Relay as well.

I don't know if my grandmother realized how big of an influence she was, and continues to be, on this family. But, I can't help but believe that she's looking down now and feeling pride about what my mother's doing.

Though she's probably wishing that someone would slip more veggie water into my pancakes.