Last night I watched the excellent Hong Kong police flick, "Infernal Affairs". It went well past midnight, so I am running today on roughly four hours sleep. "IA" is the tale of Lau (Andy Lau), a mobster who enters the police academy in order to make the force and become a mole for his crime boss, Sam. His opposite is Yan (Tony Leung), an exemplary classmate who is expelled so that he can go undercover as a police mole in the mob. Ten years later, Lau has moved swiftly up the ranks in the police while Yan's criminal activities have brought him to a position in Sam's crew. Their paths cross when Yan helps set up a bust of Sam which Lau then sabotages. Both sides realize they have a mole, so Sam puts Lau to work to find him at the same time the police move Lau into internal affairs and entrust him to do the same thing at their end.

I'm going to stop there, which covers roughly the first 20 or so minutes of the film. It's a first-rate police/action film, without the over-the-top violence often associated with such films out of Hong Kong. The version I saw was on The Movie Network, with dubbing instead of subtitles. My own preference is for the titles, because I like to hear the actors speak the words, even if I don't understand them. Nothing takes me more out of the world of a foreign film than bad dubbing, and the job done on a few characters, most horribly Sam, is jarring. But the dubbing of Lau and Yan was excellent, as was the dubbing of Wong, Yan's contact on the police force, and it is these characters who carry the film. The performances of Tony Leung as the tormented Yan, a good man who has to act bad and has paid a huge price (including, it is suggested, losing the love of his life and, possibly, an unknown child by her), and Andy Lau as Lau, a not-so-bad man who has learned to love his life on the police force and doesn't want to lose it, are pure and nuanced, and the ultimate resolution of their relationship is logical, though heartbreaking. A splendid film, and a perfect kickoff to nine days away from the office during which I hope to watch a lot of movies and read a lot of words.

"IA" has been remade by Martin Scorsese as "The Departed", which www.imdb.com indicates is now in post-production for a 2006 release. Relocated to Boston, it stars Leonardo DiCaprio (his new DeNiro?), Matt Damon and Jack Nicholson, with turns by Martin Sheen, Mark Wahlberg, Anthony Anderson, Ray Winstone and Alec Baldwin. As likely as this is to be a pretty good movie, I really wish that some of the millions spent on it had been invested in helping the original find an English-speaking audience. Some people hate subtitles, like my wife, but she still sat through "The Passion of the Christ", and was floored just like I was. "IA", apparently a huge hit back home, deserves to be seen by more than a few adventurers like myself, especially if it means one less person will have to endure garbage like "Cheaper by the Dozen 2".

* * * * *

A few more "Ghost Busters" quotes from screenwriters Dan Ackroyd and Harold Ramis:

"Ray, when someone asks if you're a God, you say "Yes"!"
Winston Zeddemore

"Human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together - mass hysteria."
Peter Venkman

"Sorry, Venkman, I'm terrified beyond the capacity for rational thought."
Egon Spengler

"We came, we saw, we kicked its ass."
Venkman

"You're right, no human being would stack books like this."
Venkman

"Twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, no job is too big, no fee is too big!"
Venkman

Ray Stantz: "I think we'd better split up."
Spengler: "Good idea."
Venkman: "Yeah... we can do more damage that way. "

"We've been going about this all wrong, this Mr. Stay Puft's okay, he's a sailor, he's in New York, we get this guy laid we won't have any trouble."
Venkman

Venkman: "No, no. Just asking. Are you, Alice, menstruating right now?"
Man at Library: "What's has that got to do with it?"
Venkman: "Back off, man. I'm a scientist."

"Generally you don't see that kind of behavior in a major appliance."
Venkman

"Well, there's something you don't see every day."
Venkman

* * * * *

Merry Christmas to everyone who reads this except for Jonathan.

I've been saving this one for a day when it doesn't look like I'll have time to blog properly, and today is shaping up as one of those days. To Jonathan, who I know reads this, and Keith, who's supposed to be reading this, I apologize for repeating a story you both know. To anyone else who stumbles across this page, enjoy the following bit of madness and be thankful that the worst thing you do every year is make lumpy gravy.

* * *

This is an article submitted to a 1999 Louisville Sentinel contest to find out who had the wildest Christmas dinners. This won first prize.

Christmas With Louise

As a joke, my brother used to hang a pair of panty hose over his fireplace before Christmas. He said all he wanted was for Santa to fill them. What they say about Santa checking the list twice must be true because every Christmas morning, although Jay's kids' stockings were overflowed, his poor pantyhose hung sadly empty.

One year I decided to make his dream come true. I put on sunglasses and went in search of an inflatable love doll. They don't sell those things at Wal-Mart. I had to go to an adult bookstore downtown.

If you've never been in an X-rated store, don't go. You'll only confuse yourself. I was there an hour saying things like, "What does this do? You're kidding me! Who would buy that?" Finally, I made it to the inflatable doll section.

I wanted to buy a standard, uncomplicated doll that could also substitute as a passenger in my truck so I could use the car pool lane during rush hour.

Finding what I wanted was difficult. Love Dolls come in many different models. The top of the line, according to the side of the box, could do things I'd only seen in a book on animal husbandry. I settled for Lovable Louise. She was at the bottom of the price scale. To call Louise a doll took a huge leap of imagination.

On Christmas Eve and with the help of an old bicycle pump, Louise came to life.

My sister-in-law was in on the plan and let me in during the wee morning hours. Long after Santa had come and gone, I filled the dangling pantyhose with Louise's pliant legs and bottom. I also ate some cookies and drank what remained of a glass of milk on a nearby tray. I went home, and giggled for a couple of hours.

The next morning my brother called to say that Santa had been to his house and left a present that had made him VERY happy but had left the dog confused. She would bark, start to walk away, then come back and bark some more.

We all agreed that Louise should remain in her panty hose so the rest of the family could admire her when they came over for the traditional Christmas dinner.

My grandmother noticed Louise the moment she walked in the door. "What the hell is that?" she asked.

My brother quickly explained, "It's a doll."

"Who would play with something like that?" Granny snapped.

I had several candidates in mind, but kept my mouth shut.

"Where are her clothes?" Granny continued.

"Boy, that turkey sure smells nice Gran" Jay said, to steer her into the dining room.

But Granny was relentless. "Why doesn't she have any teeth?"

Again, I could have answered, but why would I? It was Christmas and no one wanted to ride in the back of the ambulance saying, "Hang on Granny, hang on!"

My grandfather, a delightful old man with poor eyesight, sidled up to me and said, "Hey, who's the naked gal by the fireplace?"

I told him she was Jay's friend.

A few minutes later I noticed Grandpa by the mantel, talking to Louise. Not just talking, but actually flirting. It was then that we realized this might be Grandpa's last Christmas at home.

The dinner went well. We made the usual small talk about who had died, who was dying, and who should be killed, when suddenly Louise made a noise like my father in the bathroom in the morning. Then she lurched from the panty hose, flew around the room twice, and fell in a heap in front of the sofa.

The cat screamed. I passed cranberry sauce through my nose, and Grandpa ran across the room, fell to his knees, and began administering mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. My brother fell back over his chair and wet his pants.

Granny threw down her napkin, stomped out of the room, and sat in the car.

It was indeed a Christmas to treasure and remember.

Later in my brother's garage, we conducted a thorough examination to decide the cause of Louise's collapse. We discovered that Louise had suffered from a hot ember to the back of her right thigh.

Fortunately, thanks to a wonder drug called duct tape, we restored her to perfect health!

I had one of those nights last night that, I think, every parent dreads. Then, in the middle of the disaster, I witnessed the triumph of my own children. Both occurred within the context of a children's seasonal concert.

If I have not made this clear before now, let's get it on the record for good: I have no interest in other people's children. This is not to suggest that I don't care about any children other than my own; indeed, I have met many children who, as individuals, are unique, interesting, creative individuals, and I enjoy them immensely. What I mean is that I do not have a blind unjudging interest in all things juvenile. It is not enough to push a bunch of little ones onto a stage and expect that I will be impressed. I expect there to be some level of effort or ability demonstrated. I don't think that is asking too much since I am giving up my time to watch them.

Last night was the annual seasonal concert of what was once the play group in which both my girls participated. I'll be honest that I have endured both of my children at a younger age in this event, and can in retrospect say that they weren't very good, although it is also honest to say that when it's them I don't care and that, in fact, it was I think obvious to everyone that they were a heck of a lot better than their companions on the stage. The show started with a group of preschoolers mumbling along to a prerecorded song while doing half-hearted hand gestures under the direction of the play group director and two older children at the front of the stage. This went on for five songs. Included in the show were several weak piano solos, the director's daughter singing a Christmas song rather badly, a drum (!) soloist, and a half dozen traditional Indian or Sri Lankan (I don't know which culture) dances, which were actually quite good although I always find this style of dance rather mannered and the music is hardly upbeat.

Before continuing, let me say that we live in a largely Muslim and Hindu community, with very traditional old country values. In fact, at one point last evening I noted only five white faces in attendance: my family and our local city counsellor. The reason I mention this is that the director had asked both Brittany and Nicole to dance in the show. Brittany elected to do a solo performance of a group number from last year, the techno-country "5, 6, 7, 8". In this song, she wears a silver, white and lime green cowgirl outfit, with a shortish skirt that often flies up to reveal the body suit underneath. Nicole picked a current number called "Shake A Tailfeather". Unfortunately, this routine is still in development and she doesn't yet have a costume, so she wore one of her costumes from last year's recital, wine-coloured spandex shorts with a pale blue spangled top, with her belly showing in between. Before the show, sitting in the audience in their costumes, both girls reported feeling self-conscious about their attire, as if they were being watched and judged harshly. I have no idea if this is true, but it did put me on edge wondering how they would be received by the audience. All we want as parents is to keep our children safe, and I wondered if agreeing to let them dance had been a mistake.

About midway through, with the crowd drifting off, Nicole took the stage. As she told us later, she felt nervous at first, about performing and her outfit, and started off slowly. Very quickly, however, she realized she didn't care, she just wanted to dance, so she let loose. It wasn't perfect - the official routine doesn't even have an ending yet, so she had to improvise and her timing was off. But the audience was definitely into it, and gave her an enthusiastic ovation, not just the usual polite clapping.

After another piano solo, Brittany took the stage. The music had barely started when the crowd started clapping along with the song. It's that type of song, and she fed off the energy of the crowd. The routine was designed for four dancers, but Brittany is further along than Nicole and had developed her own choreography for the parts normally done with another dancer. She hadn't done this dance since last June, and it took quite a bit of practice for all the steps to come back to her. But she received an even better response than her sister, and the audience had enough energy now to get through the rest of the evening. (Later, when her mother, who had to leave right after the performances, asked if anyone said anything to her, she said no, but did indicate that people were taking pictures of her from a distance. 10 years old and pursued by the paparazzi.)

There is no moral to the story, other than perhaps you should invest in professional training if you plan on letting your children perform in public. Oh, and that my kids are better than your kids, nah nah nanah nah.

* * * * *

Today's movie quote is in honour of Toronto City Counsellor Janet Davis, who endured last night's performance with the appearance of one getting much pleasure from the experience, which perhaps she was. My more cynical belief is that she was well aware that the parents of the child whose performance she nods off during may just be the difference between re-election and defeat in the next election, and governed herself accordingly.

"If we're wrong, we go to jail - peacefully, quietly. We'll enjoy it. But if I'm right, and we can stop this thing, . . . then you, Lenny, will have saved the lives of millions of registered voters."
Peter Venkman to the Mayor of New York City, "Ghost Busters" (written by Dan Ackroyd and Harold Ramis, and delivered by the incomparable Bill Murray - in fact, I so enjoyed reviewing the quotes from this movie at www.imdb.com that I will be sharing more in the days to come)

* * * * *

In the words of Nicole, peace out.

We have a beggar at my subway stop now. He was there after work yesterday, a young guy, asking again and again "Do you have 25 cents?" It seemed odd, the specificity of his request. What if someone only had a toonie and was ready to give it to him, but decided that was overpaying since he was only asking for a quarter? He would have screwed himself out of all that money. Or what if you said to him, "I can give you 25 cents, but I only have a five. Can you make change?" I thought about saying that myself, but I guess I'm just not enough of an ass.

Yet.

* * * * *

One of the partners doesn't wash his hands after peeing. This is why companies should never let the executive and staff branches use the same bathroom. It's a small detail, but one that says a lot about this guy, and perhaps explains the slightly grungy air he has about him. It also calls to mind a joke about two guys using the bathroom. One goes to wash his hands, the other doesn't. The hand washer says, "Didn't your mother teach you to wash your hands after using the bathroom?" The other replies, "No. Didn't your mother teach you not to pee on your hands?"

For what it's worth, I don't recall my mother teaching me either, although I make certain to do both.

* * * * *

I forgot to mention Liz Phair on my list of favorite female singers. Liz looks like a girl who would be a lot of fun to hang with, even if she ends up stealing your wallet after giving you some truly amazing sex. Interviews suggest there is some truth to this image, or at least there was in the past. There's a real freedom in her songs, of women who go after what they want, no matter how much it ends up hurting them. She's dangerous, but not threatening. And damned good looking, to these eyes at least. And any woman who chooses to have sex doggie style so she can watch TV at the same time can't be all bad. Unless, of course, she's watching something like "Sex in the City". Which I know Liz wouldn't do. Would she?

The best measure of your value to an employer is, of course, how much money you are paid. That's how we all keep score, and in large part it is what keeps us in a job or drives us to find a new one. Sure, things like job satisfaction and challenging work are fine, but they don't put food in your belly or porn on your computer. And since salary is largely due to market forces beyond your employer's control, it isn't an entirely accurate measure. After all, no matter how good you are at your job or how much your boss loves you, if the market says that someone in your position with your level of experience makes $40,000 a year, then no amount of sucking up will get you to $50,000 (although sucking on its own may make a difference). The only exception I can think of is if you go to a company that has to overpay to get staff, whether it be due to poor financial prospects or a bad reputation or any other reason. I have worked for a company like that, and saw them hire underqualified people at inflated salaries just to fill all the seats at the table. As an employee, the upside is much more money in the short run; however, the down side is a loss in flexibility, since no one else will pay you those kind of dollars. When I bailed on that job, my only requirement was not to lose salary in the move. That I was successful suggests that I wasn't overpaid (at least by that much) in the first place.

One way to measure your value to your employer is by what they do for you that isn't included on your weekly paycheque. Things like staff parties and gifts/bonuses on special occasions like Christmas or your birthday can go a long way to making an employee feel good. My current employer gives both of the above bonuses, along with a gift on staff appreciation day, outings like the Christmas party and the annual summer retreat, early Friday closings in the summer and on long weekends, and, this year only, closing down between Christmas and New Year's.

But those are all company-wide treats. In a law firm, you not only work for the organization but you also usually work for an individual within the organization. I have worked for lawyers who gave me extra gifts or bonuses at Christmas, and one who always brought me back a trinket from one of her too-expensive-for-me vacations. One year, a lawyer I hadn't worked for in six months gave me a bottle of wine in thanks for my work on her files earlier in the year. Another time, my lawyer, stretched to the limits financially due to the dissolution of his firm, still found $150 to slip into a Christmas card. On the flipside, I once had a secretary who I treated with presents at Christmas and on professional assistants (or whatever it's called) day. It's just the right thing to do.

Last Christmas, I faced the possibility of a bonanza. As the single law clerk working for a group of seven lawyers, three of them highly-paid partners of the firm, and having been given a very nice bonus from the firm, I had expectations of a glorious year. Sure, that was the wrong way to think, but my experience had been so positive in the past. What a disappointment. I received a gift from one of the associates - a bottle of tequila from her Mexico trip - and not even a card from anyone else. I can't account for it, since two weeks into the new year they gave me a large raise and have continued to treat me as a valued member of the team this year, matching my 2004 Christmas bonus and already telling me that my salary is going up again in January. Although it is clear I am a valued employee, to my group at least it seems not to go beyond what market forces tell them to do.

Yet, here we are one year later, our group now up to nine lawyers, and I remain hopeful. Either I am a fool or just a positive person. Given my usual realistic outlook, I guess that makes me a fool. This morning, I received an LCBO gift card and a very nice note on a Christmas card from the lawyer who gave me tequila last year. Part of it will be spent on triple sec so I can make use of the margarita recipe she also included in the card, with the balance to go on the nicest bottle of wine I can afford. Maybe in the end this will be all I get from a lawyer this year. But I'll bet I'm still hopeful next year. Unless I tell the buggers off in the interim.

* * * * *

MOVIE QUOTE OF THE DAY

"I'm not standing here asking you to marry me, I'm just asking you not to marry him."
John Beckwith, "Wedding Crashers" (screenplay by Steve Faber and Bob Fisher)

A great moment from a funny movie, and a much more realistic ending than the standard Hollywood junk of the couple riding off into the sunset together. Also, the first time I saw a movie starring Owen Wilson and didn't come away wanting to slit either my wrists or his throat.

I was thinking about writing today, and it occurred to me that I need to get pissed off about something. The problem with this is twofold, both on account of Christmas. First, I'm in a pretty good mood, with all the gift-buying and thinking ahead to nine days away from work and the consumption of not insignificant amounts of food and alcohol. Second, I'm too bloody busy to pay attention enough to the world to get angry, what with all the gift-buying and thinking ahead, etc. I told Maxine I should just start writing about the NDP and it'll get me started. But even Jack Layton can't tick me off today.

Today was food-and-alcohol day, and tomorrow is broke-until-payday day. I am now loaded up on vodka, rum, whisky, wine and beer, plus we still have an unopened bottle of tequila and all the fixins for Maxine's favourite drink, a Singapore Sling. Plus, I picked up several kinds of pop and a few different juices. I understand that our Christmas Eve crowd are beer drinkers or non-drinkers - yes, they're my wife's friends - but when I'm at home I'll drink pretty much whatever we have. I'm flexible that way. I'm planning on trying margaritas this holiday season. One of the lawyers I work for gave me the tequila last Christmas and promised to teach me the perfect margarita recipe. I'm still waiting, but the promise has been made anew. I've never tried tequila and have heard it is something of an acquired taste, but it's a risk I'm willing to take.

I don't know why this gathering isn't BYOB since it isn't my party, even though I do all the work. The advantage of BYOB is that it's very bad form to leave with the remnants of whatever you came with. Sometimes, your bar can swell enough to keep you in spirits for several months, or longer if you drink like we do. The trade-off is that you have to feed these people. But for some unknown reason Maxine tells her friends that everything is on us. The strange part is that I have no qualms about feeding my friends, but have no interest in feeding hers. Make your own judgments about that.

In the end, I will spend as much time as possible mixing drinks and preparing food, so as to spend as little time as possible talking to these people. This is my usual method of dealing with any gathering of Maxine's friends or relatives, especially her sister and her husband and kids, who tend to visit on holidays and thus give me a perfect excuse to be in the kitchen, chopping veggies and frying up dead beasts. Their favorite spot is on the chesterfield in front of the television, so our paths usually don't cross between the greetings at the front door and sitting down to eat. A few years back, tired of the TV blaring every time they visited, I had music playing when they arrived and left it on throughout the visit. Unfortunately, with nothing to distract him, my sister-in-law's husband spent the afternoon lurking in my kitchen. I have not repeated this mistake.

As time passes, I actually find that I can handle him in small doses, which should surprise anyone who's met him. We do agree on one key issue: our father- and mother-in-law are both idiots, and getting worse with the passage of time. It gives us something to talk about now, to bitch about their latest idiocy, and in some small way we have bonded. I don't want to talk sports with this guy, I don't care about his opinions on music or movies - but we are kindred souls in this one tiny matter. It's enough to get me through the moments we are forced together by our wives.

* * * * *

Almost an entire week has passed without watching a single movie, and I don't think I'll see one until Thursday or Friday night. I feel like I'm going through withdrawal. I was going to see "King Kong" this afternoon, but ran out of time with all the shopping. I guess it'll have to wait until my break.

* * * * *

In closing, I'd like to share a few thoughts about breasts.

I like them. A lot. That's all.

Thank you for your time.

My wife once said to me that I didn't like women. Now, what she was referring to was actually female entertainers, and this was probably after I had rammed a stake in the heart of the perceived talents of Julia Roberts or one of her ilk. There are in fact many female actresses whose work I enjoy, including Susan Sarandon and Uma Thurman. I am also a great admirer of the cinematic works of many former Playboy Playmates.

She might also have been talking about female singers, and in that sense she was correct. In the late 1990s or so, I just didn't care for what I was hearing from female voices on the radio - all that folky bitching was wearing me out, or else there were the latest screams from borderline talents like Madonna and Janet Jackson. But in recent years, I have discovered Fiona Apple and Anna Nalick and even Avril Lavigne and Skye Sweetnam. Plus, I have always been a sucker for a cutesy pop song, leaving lots of room in my life for groups like the GoGos and B-52s and, for a brief moment before they annoyed the hell out of me, the Bangles and, later, Spice Girls. This of course explains my tolerance of much of what my daughters like to listen to, such as Hilary Duff and Lindsay Lohan, both more personalities than singers, although at least Lohan can, when she wants to, act. Duff's career remains one of those unexplainable mysteries.

My favorite song at this moment, downloaded on the recommendation of Blender, is from two Aussie sisters called The Veronicas. It's called "4Ever", and it's a blast of pure bubble gum with a really nice guitar hook. I've listened to it several times this week on my mp3 player, including just before I came online. I expect to be sick of it by mid week, but pop music is all about living for the moment.

* * * * *

"If you think that by threatening me you can get me to do what you want... Well, that's where you're right. But - and I am only saying this because I care - there are a lot of decaffeinated brands on the market that are just as tasty as the real thing."

Chris Knight, "Real Genius" (screenplay by Neal Israel and Pat Proft - because someone had to write the damned thing, not that anyone quoting from a movie ever gives the writer of that clever line any credit) [quote - slightly edited to accord with my own memory of the film without having to go to the trouble of pulling out my ancient VHS copy - courtesy of www.imdb.com]

* * * * *

Further to my comments on Brittany Murphy the other day, anyone who can tell me why Matthew McConaughey can still find work is welcome.