Just forget the words and sing along

Sunday, July 25, 2004

The niece and nephew were visiting all last week.  Last night, to keep them appeased, my sister (not their mother, but also visiting) stuck Mulan in the VCR.  It was the first time I had seen Mulan since it first came out six years ago.  I still think that it is Disney's all-time most bizzare choice for an animated musical.  It's a film that's just dying to be remade - as a live-action, Braveheart/Gladiator-style historical epic.  Get that girl who was in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon to play Mulan and we're on our way.

It came out at a strange time in my life.  Mr. Anderson had taught me that it was OK for a young man to be "into" animation, and thus Disney animated films.  I was first in line for Disney's re-release of The Little Mermaid six months earlier and was first in line for Mulan.  The soundtrack for Mulan is the first (and, to date, only) Disney animated soundtrack I bought.  Now, my interest in Disney animation is passing to non-existent, and Mr. Anderson would sooner spit on Mickey Mouse than play his Best of Disney CD again.  Congradulations, Disney, for making two ardent fans turn on you!  It's amazing what just a few crappy films can do.  That, and learning the truth about how your corporation works. 

Anyway, I should sit and write a column.  I've got lots of fodder simply from yesterday. 

- My sister took the niece and nephew tubing down the ol' Pembina River.  But, she wanted to launch at this distant beach that we'd only heard rumours about.  We found this deserted beach, and I got to see Entwistle's trademark bridges over the Pembina from a completely new angle - the bottom.  Right in my own backyard, and territory and I had never seen before.

- In order to get to this beach, we had to venture through the Evansburg Cemetary.  I think it's safe to say that I'm not the only one in the world who feels a little spooked when he's strolling through a graveyard.  Even when I was playing Pokemon: Sapphire Edition.  There's this part in the game where you have to go to Mount Pyre, the pokemon cemetary.  You talk to people to try to find what you're looking for, and they tell you how they're mourning for their dead pikachu.  Very surreal.  But, the creepiest cemetaries come from my childhood.  Dad has alway been a history buff, and that tended to turn him into an amateur archeologist on our summer vacations.  When I was 10 years old, he'd occasionally drag us to these deserted cemetaries in the middle of nowhere that hadn't been maintained since the 1940s.  You know, the kind of cemetary where the graves are marked with faded wooden crosses that simply say, "Boone.  1812 - 1876."  Those had to be the creepiest graveyards of all.

But no, I think this week's column will be about that beloved of police officer, the narc.  You know, those who are drunk on their two cents worth of power.  What inspired this?  Well, my sister was given the boot from Pembina River Provincial Park for having...one beer.  After an unreasonable search and seizure of our cooler, the narc determined that we had four beers, enough to get my sister booted from the park.  Even the vacationing Edmonton Police constable at the picnic site next to us said, "Dude, that narc's gotta just chill." 

Anyway, I should get to work writing it.  I think I'll pop in my Mulan soundtrack, just for old times sake....

Next Issue...And Ode to the Narcs

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