Not off to a good start blogwise this year at all. . .

Some excellent family news yesterday. My daughter Brittany has undergone several procedures to address a problem called urinary reflux, which had caused an inordinate number of urinary tract infections as well as some damage (thankfully temporary) to her kidneys. At Sick Kids yesterday we learned that the October surgery was successful and that we are now merely on a regular follow up schedule to ensure everything stays fine. In celebration, we went out for pizza and wings, blowing my flex points (code which will have meaning only to the initiated) for the week on only day 2. Yikes! Looks like no popcorn at the movie tomorrow.

We watched "The Pacifier" as a family on Wednesday night. The girls had seen it on a March Break day camp trip and were anxious to have their monther and I watch it. Well, it's total crap, but surprisingly enjoyable crap. Vin Diesel has no skill as a comedian, other than one extremely funny bit of physical business with Carol Kane. Any laughs he gets for his line readings are in spite of his efforts. The story is disjointed and illogical, the child actors mostly annoying, the cathartic moments connecting them to Diesel's character stagey and predictable, the tacked-on romance with Lauren Graham's character completely false (and this will sound sexist, but she looked fat), the Brad Garrett character (and his performance) embarrassing. The villains were surprising at first but really so obvious that you kick yourself for not realizing that they were the only other characters in the film. And yet, I enjoyed it, mainly because there were enough good bits/lines that you could see what had attracted people to the project in the first place. That these were butchered in the process of getting to the screen did not prevent everyone from making a lot of money from the film. I would be surprised to hear no sequel is in the works.

Gotta run.

There were a pair of interesting legal matters that came to light just before Christmas. The first of these was a Supreme Court of Canada ruling that swingers clubs are not indecent and therefore are not criminal. The thrust of their logic (based on the published account and not a personal reading of the decision) is that the test for indecency is the harm it causes society and not community standards, and that acts at such clubs do not harm society (setting aside the question of whether or not they harm the individual participants). Curiously, this came just before - and independent of - my decision to finally read Edward de Grazia's 1992 book "Girls Lean Back Everywhere: The Law of Obscenity and the Assault on Genius". A review of legal cases on obscenity in Britain and the U.S. dating back to the 1880s, the first five chapters cover the suppression of works by Joyce, Zola and D.H. Lawrence, and is so far everything the reviewers said it was more than 13 years ago: detailed, highly-entertaining, with no agenda other than to tell the truth. Splendid stuff, and critical to anyone who values the hard-earned freedom of self-expression which we often take for granted, especially on the web.

I suspect this decision will not cause a mad rush to join swingers clubs, since I'm guessing if you were inclined that way you pursued it no matter what the risks. But if you do join, with dreams of multiple copulations with willing and attractive partners, I suspect you'll be disappointed. Let's do the math on this, shall we. As any married man can tell you, it is often very difficult to have sex with your own wife, a woman who has proclaimed in public that she is willing to have sex with you. At a swingers club, you not only have to find another woman willing to have sex with you, but her husband must also be willing to have sex with your wife. At the same time, I suspect that all parties will want their mate's new buddy to be attractive enough to satisfy him or her but not so attractive as to pose a threat to your own position in the relationship. On top of this, I suspect the appeal of such places is the opportunity to push the envelope of sexual experience by trying things you might not otherwise get the chance to. If your proposed partners want to get kinky and you don't, it's on to the next couple for both of you. Or what if they want a little man-man and woman-woman action thrown in (or maybe that's all they want). Then it becomes a question of do the men and women dig their opposite-but-same number as a partner, along with all that attractive-but-not-too-attractive stuff. And, if my occasional viewing of Sex TV has taught me anything, it is this: most of the people who frequent this kind of place are like the people who attend porn conventions (ala "The Girl Next Door") - no one you would risk your marriage for. Because no matter how open-minded you and your spouse are about this, any time you add extramarital sex to a relationship, the core relationship is being tested. And, without being a prude, I personally would never want to take that risk.

In the end, it seems to me the odds of having a satisfying (meaning aesthetically, mentally and emotionally along with physically) experience at such a place are pretty slim. Better off to take your entrance or membership fee and invest in some porn. At least you'll be certain of scoring before the night's out.

The other story that caught my eye was the touching tale of Ray Sobeski and Nynna Ionson. In April 2004, Sobeski collected $30 million from a Super 7 lottery ticket from a draw held almost one year previous. His soon-to-be-ex-wife Ionson (a former stripper, as the reports were fond of mentioning) claimed she was entitled to half. Sobeski denied this claim, and a court soon froze his assets pending resolution of the dispute. On December 20, they reached a negotiated settlement and, presumably, are now going their separate ways.

Reading about the case, you have to conclude that the settlement was reached because, as Ionson claimed, she could prove they continued to be involved even after separating. The evidence apparently included love letters and a recorded telephone message. But for me the most interesting item was that on April 1, 2004, after collecting his windfall, Sobeski took Ionson to the Quality Inn in Woodstock, Ontario for sex, never telling her that he was now a wealthy man. The question I would ask is how Ionson could prove that this night of love took place. Phone records wouldn't be conclusive. There may be witnesses, but given how deceptive Sobeski was, I suspect he was careful about it. The one thing that comes to mind is that she paid for the room. Assuming this is true, what does it say about Ray Sobeski that on the day he became a multi-millionaire, not only did he take a woman to an establishment like the Quality Inn, but he made her pay. Dude, couldn't you at least have sprung for the Hilton since you were going to try and screw her out of millions? Further, why her? Sure, you wanted to celebrate your good fortune. Write this down - this is why hookers were invented. And having sex with one doesn't bind you to her legally (unless you get busted, which is another matter entirely).

This proves two things to me. First, that having money doesn't make you smarter and may in fact reduce your I.Q. Second, never trust a former stripper. Oh, and third, always celebrate with a professional.

Thank you for your time.

First, a disclaimer: astrology is a crock. When correct it is a matter of dumb luck or self-fulfilling prophecy. For believers, if their horoscope says that today is a good day for love or investment, all it means is that they will be more open to such opportunities, and can attribute any success in that vein to themselves and not the stars. Not that they will.

My wife, on the other hand, does believe, or at least gives the impression of believing. I don't think she's ever made a decision based on her horoscope and most days doesn't even read it. But when she does read, she takes it to heart, at least for the moment, and feels impelled to share it with me. This extends to reading me my own horoscope, which I try to ignore but usually cannot.

What frustrates me most about horoscopes is how very vague they are. Don't tell me I'm going to become rich - tell me when and how and how much and who I can screw over without fear of consequence in the interim. As an illustration, I present Eugenia Last's predictions for my sign, Leo, for 2006, courtesy of the Toronto Sun's January 1 edition:

You'll face responsibility, deadlines and controversy. Everything you do will count and must be executed with great delicacy and precision. It's time to reevaluate. Eliminate what's not important so you can spend more time nurturing what is. It's a time for loyalty, making contributions and turning wrongs into rights. Once complete, positive change will result.

Love: Overpowering, emotional and out of control.

Money: Sudden change of fortune is heading your way.

Health: Build strength and maintain good health.

Strive for: Rebuilding, accountability and realism.

Lucky numbers: 8, 13, 22, 26, 40, 42

On the web site astroadvice.com, Ms. Last also adds the following:

Best months of the year: May, September, October, December

Fashion: practical, classic, low-key

Now, let's look at these for a moment. Responsibility and deadlines. Everything must count. Eliminate the unimportant. Loyalty. Turn wrongs into rights. Build strength and good health. All of it good advice. But do you need the stars to tell you to pursue good health? And if you do, what were your intentions otherwise? To piss your health away? Good move, knob.

And when has love (as in, presumably the intention here, romantic love) not been overpowering, emotional and out of control? Isn't that how you know it's love and not some passing fancy? Or would you prefer love that is mild, emotionless and controlled? That's not love, it's biology.

Oh, and as for that sudden change of fortune: is that a change for good or bad? Keeping in mind that my good fortune could be someone else's bad, and the reverse.

The real problem is that there are 12 star signs and, according to www.ibiblio.org/lunarbin/worldpop, more than 6.5 billion of us. That works out to over 540 million people per sign spread all across the planet, and you just can't cram us all into a single box and think we'll fit in neatly. We all have edges and imperfections that can't be explained away by the 30-day period in which we were all born, whether that be in the same moment or years apart. Heck, Statistics Canada's population clock (www.statcan.ca/english/edu/clock/population.htm) puts our numbers at 32,423,278 at this moment, or 2,701,940 Canadians per sign. I know some of these other Canadian Leos, and frankly I'm offended to be bunched in with them. According to www.famousbirthdays.com/, among those with whom I share my birthday (July 31) are J.K. Rowling (and her creation Harry Potter), Dean Cain, Wesley Snipes, Bill Berry of R.E.M., Curt Gowdy and Milton Friedman. Not a bad list, but I wonder how much common ground we would find if put in a room together, other than the rest of them asking how I got past security.

As a final note, on www.eugenialast.com/signs/leo.html, Ms. Last indicates that, when it comes to love, Leo and Taurus are "an ill-fated connection". Well, I've been with a Taurus for 13.5 years, married for 11.5 of those, and while our relationship may be called many things, ill-fated is not one of them. Now, of course, that could change with the passage of time. But if it does, I suspect Maxine and I will be to blame, and not the stars. Ms. Last is free to dissent on this point.

On January 1, 2005, I composed what was for me a rather novel document - a list of resolutions for the year to follow. I then sealed the list and placed it on our bulletin board as a constant reminder of what I hoped to accomplish. The downside of this was that I left myself with no way of checking on my progress, so when I opened it up yesterday I was not surprised to see how few of these goals had been met. The surprise was how hopeful I was to think I could reach all of these in a single year. I doubt I was that hopeful again in the year that followed.

The magic twenty are:

Warning: Some of the following are rather personal, and if you already know me you may not want to know me this well.

1. To lose 52 pounds - that's right, one pound for each week. Current weight = 221 pounds. Goal = 169 pounds.

2. To write every day. The amount and quality don't matter. Just put pen to paper.

3. No more porn. A healthy man with a sexy wife doesn't need it - unless she's participating.

4. Swear less, overall, and not at all around the girls.

5. Start exercising. Pilates, treadmill, whatever. Just start. And stick with it.

6. Learn how to play the guitar.

7. If #6 is going well, learn how to play the keyboard.

8. Finish things.

9. Start saving some money.

10. Sunday afternoon belongs to the girls.

11. Make love at least two times a week. Have to have an outlet for the excess sexual energy created by #3.

12. Take vitamins every day - so that you have enough energy for everything else.

13. Stop wasting so much time.

14. Read something every day that makes your brain sweat from a good hard workout.

15. Write letters to your friends and family.

16. Start blogging. You'll have an outlet for your opinions, and it'll help you fulfill #2 on lazy days.

17. Cut back on the caffeine. Drink more water.

18. Engage the world.

19. Be nicer to people.

20. Earn your down time.

In looking at the list, the first thing I notice is how few of them I accomplished, or even attempted seriously. The list reflects my usual concerns - family, writing, health, sex, friends, the accumulation of knowledge. And the vagueness of some entries ("Engage the world.") suggests a grappling with feelings I could not quite understand but nonetheless reflect perceived lackings in myself.

Maxine has reviewed the list, and concurs that I can simply amend it to reflect my few positive gains and changes in our circumstances that have altered some of our plans. But she also feels it was a mistake to seal it for a year, and suggested I do a quarterly checkup. I agree. A list of resolutions should be a signpost, not the finish line, a way of marking our progress towards becoming the person we want to be. Only a fool would think they have reached their goal - after all, who is so nice to other people that they can't be even nicer. In three months, I'll let you know what I decided were my aims for 2006, and how they are coming along.

* * * * *

One thing I won't have to resolve is to see more movies. In a 24-hour period this weekend, I watched three films. On Saturday evening, we watched "Pooh's Heffalump Movie" with the girls. It was very entertaining, even though the character of Lumpy was one of the more annoying I've ever encountered. But the movie was only 68 minutes long. Imagine paying 20 dollars plus for you and your little one to catch this thing in the cinema. What a ripoff!

On Sunday morning, it was "Kinsey" at last, a marvelous film about the sex researcher. An excellent story with a wonderful cast, it was easy to overlook Bill Condon's weaknesses as a director - a rather pedestrian visual sense which attempts to jazz up only resulted in confusion, coupled with some poorly-framed sequences and false reaching for poetic effect - given his great strengths as a writer and director of actors. It was nice to see Chris O'Donnell and Timothy Hutton doing good work, but can someone please explain the excitement among critics over Peter Sarsgaard. I have enjoyed him in this film along with "Garden State" and "Shattered Glass", but don't see a lot of variation in his performances. Even the incredible menace of his character in "Boys Don't Cry" seemed lost behind his smirk. "Shattered Glass" was to me the one exception, the only film I've seen thus far where I felt he created a character that was more than the actor. Obviously there is a lot I haven't seen, but since these mark the high points on his resume, I feel justified in my opinion.

Finally, on Sunday afternoon, to break up our sluggish day, it was off to the cinema for "The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe". This was Maxine's idea, and the mere fact that this was the second viewing by a person who isn't much of a filmgoer tells you everything about her opinion. I found it entertaining enough, although sluggish in parts, and the battle sequence is so poorly shot - jumbled, lacking focus, impersonal, poorly paced - as to reveal director Andrew Adamson's lack of experience with live action films (his previous credits are the two "Shrek" movies). The young actors are all quite good, and Tilda Swinton is beautifully evil. But I found Liam Neeson distracting as the voice of Aslan - perhaps just a little too familiar after seeing him as Kinsey earlier in the day - although I had no such difficulty when Rupert Everett, a natural ham, turned up as Fox. The effects were nice but certainly not in the league of the "Harry Potter" or "Lord of the Rings" films, and even seemed a bit cheesy in places. But it's a strong story and good for the entire family, even if younger ones (such as my seven-year-old) may need to cuddle in a bit tighter at certain points. Which is fine by me.