What do you want me to write about?
As usual, no guarantees.
10
Feb
What do you want me to write about?
As usual, no guarantees.
9
Feb
In lieu of a somewhat more substantive post that I’m still tinkering with, here’s a 1964 comic book story whose Cold War origins have always confused me. Not that it’s confusing that a science fiction story would be about the Cold War; what else was it going to be about? The question is, who’s who in this particular Cold War conflict.
(I decided to stop trying to YouTube stories; breaking this story up into its separate panels would ruin some of the effects — like the the “circle” bit at the top of page 9, the comics equivalent of the way a movie cuts from an exterior to an interior and back again.)
Now, okay, the Cold War markers are fairly clear, as you would expect in a science fiction story from the year that Mad Men will soon get to. You’ve got Planet Zentrox, the thriving tourist-friendly place, vs. Planet Glob, the ugly, drab conformist hellhole where everybody looks alike. The President of Zentrox even has a teenage daughter; she’s called Zeena instead of “Lynda Bird” or “Lucy Baines,” but we still get the point. Just in case we’re wondering what this is about, we get this rather late in the story:
But the weird thing about this Cold War story is that the bad guys are religious bad guys, who are defeated when our hero exploits their doctrine and makes them think that God is displeased with them. So in allegorical terms, the story seems to present the Globs as God-fearing Communists whose religious belief renders their military might useless.
The message of the story, apparently, is this: The side that believes in tourism, sports cars and construction work will win out over the side that’s held back by religion. Provided, of course, that Little Archie gets abducted by aliens and shows up to help, but he gets abducted by aliens all the time, and occasionally finds aliens in his refrigerator, so it was inevitable that he’d be involved in any interplanetary conflict.
Now, my guess would be that this plot might come from an earlier science fiction story or film, the way Bolling’s “Plesiosaur” is inspired by Ray Bradbury’s “The Fog Horn.” If I knew what the inspiration was, the point of the Zentrox-vs.-Glob conflict might be a bit clearer. (One of the reasons I did this post was that I figured someone might know what this is based on.) But as it is, the way the story reads for me, it’s like the Godless capitalists beat the religious planet.
As to how Little Archie Andrews managed to get the entire planet made over in so short a time… he can do pretty much anything. Even at this age, he’s already begun to have an inexplicable magnetism for women:
Wait in line, Lynda Bird Zeena. Wait in line.
Finally, for a lighter side of Bolling and outer space, I wanted to throw in a (somewhat late) reciprocal link to Doug Gray and the classic 1959 story “The Shrimp From Outer Space.”
Gray’s blog, The Greatest Ape, collects stories by non-superhero comics masters like Barks, Bolling, Kelly, John Stanley (Little Lulu) and Al Wiseman (Dennis the Menace). You can spend a lot of time reading the great material there, but it’s time well spent.
9
Feb
I am not sure what this birth-year cover entails, but I suppose there are worse omens.
See, now that is a bad birth omen.
Anyhow. For those wishing to buy me birthday presents (which, barring a sudden need for an organ of some kind, will be your last opportunity to do so on a significant date until November!), the wishlist is here, and the donation button is on the right sidebar as always.
8
Feb
My weekly TV column is up at Torontoist.
8
Feb
(inspired by this)
—
I awoke, already knowing I must decelerate the traveler. I thrummed to the core to produce retro and slow myself. As I felt force begin to pull the traveler, I ceased that thrum and instead thrummed to the scanquartz to check my bearings. I was off, my bearing too sharp as a result of a rough journey through relspace. I returned to the core to correct course.
A traveler should be operated by five chords: two to thrum the core, one on the scanquartz to track movement, one verbed inside the array to send and receive communication, and one in the centre to coordinate. Operating one alone – even one jury-rigged to travel mono – was a challenge, and I wished I was not alone. But then I supposed that was the point of all this.
—
Kol asked me to join him at the nursery crystal where he tended to the new. Our shapes hovered over the beds of geodes, exposed to the violent storms of above.
_It is sung that you desire to return to your previous assignment._ His shape, a monoclinical lattice of gallium, resonated strongly. He felt strongly about this.
_It is sung true. I requested relocation and -_
_You should not go back. You know that I… one moment._ Kol paused in our conversation to thrum the emergent geodes. New would birth within those geodes, chords given thought if tended properly. My old friend was ever diligent in his work, and once a stray flaw in a geode was eliminated he returned his attention to me. _There is nothing left for you there. You have purpose, song yet to be written._
_That is not in dispute, Kol._ I remained in key. _I merely question what that purpose might be._
Kol’s lattice turned away. _Tuning you was a waste of time._ He was flat, reverberating in a way that was unpleasant. For a nursery tender to sound in such a way was rare. _I hoped to guide you out of the silence you make for yourself. But you do not want to be heard._
—
We were always able to work uninterrupted in the planet’s seas. That was when I found him. He was very new, in truth, but even then his deep song was unusual. Most any other of the ocean’s swimmers would have mistaken it for the surface fleshlife’s shapes above and ignored him or avoided him. But I did not. I already knew the songs of the other fleshlife beneath the waters – the fast clicks and whistles of the smaller swimmers, the sonorous hums of the greater. I knew what he was saying.
When he found my shape, its lattice as alien as anything he could imagine, he merely asked me the question he repeated to the rest of the ocean, a question he had been asking for a very long time. Possibly he had asked every single creature he had ever met, and not a one had responded.
_Are you my friend?_
If I were a better scientist I might have said nothing, allowed him to ignore my shape and swim on in his futile search. I could have observed him silently, to not prejudice the situation with my presence. But I was no xenogeologist. I did not see alien worlds as nothing more than mines. I wanted there to be more than simply the natural progression of chords, born of energy, working within our shapes.
_Yes,_ I thrummed to him.
His delight at my answer was undescribable.
—
Lom’s queries were less confrontational than Kol’s. When my mentor requested a meeting shortly after my conversation with Kol, I suspected his motives. However, the first half of the meeting was entirely him bragging about his new shape, a orthorhombic prism of transparent platinum. After lengthy explanations as to the platinum’s efficiency in thrumming, he concluded by telling me: _It makes me feel new again._
_My song rises that you are happy, sir._
_My thanks._ His lattice hovered around my study. _The chorus will not allow a second mission to…_
I interrupted, my tone slightly sharp. _I wondered when you would sing of this. Did you really need to sing of your new shape for so long?_ I turned my shape around, intending to exit.
_Xyl._ His tone was quiet. _I tuned for the mission, but the chorus does not believe it anything more than indulgence. The mission was completed. You catalogued all fleshlife on the planet while Zaa and the xenogeology team catalogued usable resources for shapes. What more is there to do?_
_There is more life there that we did not catalogue -_
His tone clashed with my own. _No, there is not. You are comprehensive. You missed nothing. The mission was dangerous to begin with and the chorus does not wish to risk a traveler and its chords for a re-evaluation. And with Zaa singing of poor shapeworthy resources, the chorus sees no reason to return. They make a strong tune._
_Then why did you tune for the mission?_
He thrummed his shape, amused. _My friend needed my help, obviously._
I reoriented my shape in supplication. _Thank you._
_It is nothing. I understand why you want to return._
There was silence, for a long moment, which I broke. _We should not have left him alone!_
—
We traveled together through the oceans as I worked, talking. He had been alone from a very early age. He did not remember his parent very well. I suspected the parent had died while this swimmer was still very new.
He accompanied me in my studies for the remainder of my time there. He was always inquisitive, even if often he did not understand the answers. We would sing together, and sometimes he would even thrum my shape by accident – although eventually I started to realize that he had figured out how to thrum it, and that some of these “accidents” were in fact pranks.
I knew our mission was finite. Once, after many measures together, towards the end, I sang to him of what he might do if I went away. He replied that he would call out for me until he found me, for I was his friend. One day, he sang, he would find me, and then we would again swim together.
His nature was patient, like all of the great swimmers we had encountered. I had no doubt that he was sincere.
—
Our shapes glided over the calcite fields toward the grinding domes, where raw minerals would become specifically-tooled shapes. Lom led and I followed, much as I had when I was newer. We approached a menial worker, thrumming a calcite harvester in a crude triclinic shape of copper sulfate. The worker turned to us and reoriented his shape in welcome.
_Honored Lom,_ he sang. _You are welcome, although I do not know why you would come here. Unless you suddenly have a great interest in calcite?_
Lom’s returning thrum paid respect to the worker’s jest. _No, Vey. I thought you might be able to tune me. Do you know my friend Xyl?_
Vey oriented his shape in respect, although of course he had no idea who I was. _What tuning do you require?_ His shape trembled a bit as he thrummed; the copper sulfate shape would not last long before it needed replacement. I felt several measures of guilt for imposing on someone obviously working so hard.
Lom’s song grew quiet, conspiratorial. _You are responsible for delivering calcite to the traveler domes still?_
_Of course._
_Perhaps,_ Lom hummed, _you could explain to us how one enters that dome unsung?_
—
I left mute, too cowardly to tell him I was finally abandoning him. I had been arguing with Zaa for weeks that our mission could not finish, not that we had now found species who could sing with us unaided, but Zaa was ever a miner at heart and called it a job for the chorus to decide.
I took my leave as he slept, floating gently among the tides. I fled into the traveler and verbed from my shape into the communications array. Zaa and Pou thrummed the core and we leapt upward, traveling home.
I kept the array targeted on the blue waters. Before we left, I heard him sing one last time: a few measures, repeated over and over again.
_Do not worry, I will find you. Hear me and I will find you._
Over and over again.
—
My traveler is stolen, and not meant to be thrummed by a single chord, but I manage. I hurtle towards the planet at great speed. The surface fleshlife will only think my ship an asteroid; they cannot hear me within it. If they see the traveler decelerate they will find reasons to explain it. Gravity, they will say; asteroids do not slow down of their own accord. Perhaps they will blame a micrometeor impact for my course corrections.
I will land in the ocean, and emerge in my shape. I will find my friend whom I left so long ago. He should not be alone. He should not sing just one song. There is so much more still to be heard.
I will find him, and we will raise our songs in chorus together.
7
Feb
– The way that Green Arrow somehow shoots an entire flight of dagger-icicles with a single arrow
– When Hawkman is in his armor he totally has an armor potbelly
– The way that Stargirl was the most annoying character ever
– The fact that Geoff Johns’ dialogue is, what, maybe two steps above George Lucas’ dialogue when the former tries to get all Meaningful and Important and the orchestra rises up in the background
– The way Dr. Fate sounds kind of like a Muppet
– How the members of the JSA constantly refer to those not there by their full names, which makes one wonder if, when they have a barbecue, they say things like “Sorry I’m late – Al Pratt forgot to pick me up. Did we get the hamburger buns?” “No, Alan Scott is getting the buns, and Wesley Dodds is getting the beer”
– Actual line spoken by Hawkman: “Why what, Green Punching Bag?” No really somebody paid Geoff Johns to write that
– Being reminded of the fact that the Golden Age Flash and Green Lantern would look incredibly dorky in real life
– How everybody’s attitude towards Clark is about one degree shy of actual outright cocksucking
– The constant carping by Hawkman (played by an actor who is 38) about how he and the Justice Society were fighting crime when Clark (played by an actor who is 31) and Oliver (played by an actor who is 33) were little kids, like having three days’ worth of stubble suddenly makes you super-old
– HEY EVERYBODY J’ONN SAID HOW HE LIKES COOKIES AND THEY NAMECHECKED MICHAEL HOLT SO THIS IS THE BEST SUPERHERO TV MOVIE THING EVER
– Hinting of “the coming apocalypse” by Amanda Waller to give hope to Smallville fans that maybe the Fourth World will be the one major story arc Smallville does not completely fuck up
– That I knew it was going to be this shitty in advance and I still watched it
4
Feb
So in lieu of content that takes me a while to write, here is the only commentary I will give on Siege:
3
Feb
I’ve given a fair bit of thought as to what makes So You Think You Can Dance Australia so much better than its other English-speaking cousins – it’s easily better than any of them, which is somewhat quizzical given that of all the English SYTYCDs it takes place in the country with the smallest population. But it’s definitely better than the Canadian version, easily better than the American and the less said about the dreadful British show1 the better.2
I could muster the cynical answer, which is that the Aussie version, by dint of geography, is less contaminated by the flaws of the American show than most others.3 There are of course the audiovisual aspects to it: the editing and pacing on the Australian show is just heads above any of the others to an extent that’s so glaring that the show really has its own visual language unlike any of the other franchises, and one that’s engaging to the watcher.
Perhaps it’s cultural – a relatively small country where competitive dance has flourished more than one would expect, with amateur dance following in its wake, might generate a better show. Certainly the egalitarian nature of the show helps refine all styles – although the judges stress that classical dance training helps to round out a dancer’s skills, there’s never that ever-present patronization towards hip-hop that’s unfortunately become a characteristic of the American show. Watching Jason Coleman comment to a B-boy on the first audition episode that his air-flares, while athletic, had mediocre form is something that almost never happens on the American show, where “dancing on your head” is treated like something kids do on monkey-bars at the gym rather than its own high-impact and high-difficulty skillset.
Of course, Coleman, Lythgoe and Matt Lee deserve some portion of the credit for making this version of the show the best, because the three of them have clearly decided that they would rather be mentors than celebrities and they act accordingly.4 Constructive criticism is the rule rather than the exception on this show: returning dancers are quizzed as to what they’ve been doing the past year to improve and eliminated dancers advised in detail as to what they need to do to better themselves. And they never – ever – play favourites, as was evident as of the second episode when Forever was knocked out after a horrible tryout and Don (of Bohemian Rhapsody b-boying fame) was told straight-up that without demonstrated improvement outside of his genre he wouldn’t even advance to the top 100, let alone top twenty.5
And credit needs to equally be given out to Australia’s young dancers – and old dancers, given that the cutoff age for this show is 35, higher than anywhere else,6 and this year an awesome 35-year-old female hip-hop dancer auditioned and kicked ass – for constantly seeking to be the best. The judges have set a high bar, but without the active cooperation of the dancers that bar is meaningless; over and over again in auditions you hear from dancers how they spent the previous year going to classes, training outside of their genre, doing whatever they could to improve.
That relentless drive to be better permeates this show like nothing else, and it’s what makes this show the best competitive-talent reality show anywhere in the world, bar none. It’s why, from the very first audition of the third season, you know you’re in for a treat:
I’m not sure what I like about that clip the most: the audacity of a pop-and-locker dancing to Vanessa Carlton (of all things), or him busting out a flying somersault leap just to show he can, or Lythgoe getting involved enough to mouth along with the song, or Coleman visibly pleased with the audition and his comment to that effect. But it all comes together to demonstrate a collective aspiration to excellence, and you got to give props to that.
I’m looking forward to this season greatly.
3
Feb
Peter Sprigg, of the Family Research Council:
And I’m talking repeatedly.
2
Feb
It’s never been an actual secret that John Baird, Canada’s current Minister for the Environment, is gay. He’s just not openly gay; he doesn’t advertise it because, well. Tory.
Anyway, the Tory candidate running in a Toronto MP by-election was asked about the Tories’ record on gay issues, and was challenged to name one openly gay Tory MP, and she named John Baird. So he’s basically been outed.
This is almost entirely meaningless, except for the life-affirming fact that gay people can now take pride that they can be stupid dipshits just like straight people. And isn’t that a wonderful thing?
2
Feb
As we await the airing of the first episode of Lost’s final season, our minds naturally drift back to other, similar experiences… other times we’ve seen the final seasons and episodes of complex, episodic shows… final episodes which often sucked. Like Battlestar Galactica.
Shows like Lost and BSG (my fingers are getting tired) have a particular challenge in finding good endings because they’re not just “arc” shows with continuing storylines, they’re also “mythology” shows: a lot of the fun of watching them is getting more and more details of the backstory, details that are most often unknown to the main characters as well as the viewer. Not all arc shows, or even all SF/Fantasy shows with arcs, are mythology shows (Buffy, for instance, flirted with being one but never really was, as the mythology was both inconsistent and mostly irrelevant to the plot), but it’s hard to think of a mythology show that isn’t SF or fantasy. (Soap operas don’t count because there has to be a sense that the mythology was created before the show started, whereas the revelations in soap operas are generally retcons.)
What makes mythology shows different from others in terms of how we watch them is that we’re not just watching for the story, the characters or the performances: we watch, in large part, because we want to better understand the world the writers have created. As wiser people than me have noted, we humans have a built-in tendency to look for patterns, and we feel a kind of pleasure when we identify one we didn’t see before. The flip side of this, though, is that if something we think is a pattern turns out not to be, we can get very annoyed. This is what happened with BSG: by the end of the series finale we had all the pieces to the puzzle, but for most fans they didn’t fit together to make anything meaningful – or at least the picture they created was so far from what we expected as to have the same effect. So here are some lessons the producers of Lost could take from the final season of Battlestar Galactica:
What have you done for me lately?
Fans are fickle creatures. No matter how much we enjoyed the first five seasons, if the final season – and the final episode – aren’t satisfying, we will quickly toss you on the Junk Heap of Forgotten Pop Culture Artifacts.
Don’t marry your ending
Ronald D. Moore has said that he had the final scene of the last episode – where Head Baltar and Head Six wander around New York and watch dancing robots – planned out from the beginning. Which is great, except that after several years of making things up as he went along, that scene no longer made a lick of sense. Honestly, after all the things that came up in the series, the last message he wanted to leave us with was “hug your robots tight”?
A good example of a show that did this right was Babylon 5. J. Michael Straczynski made a similar comment while the show was running, saying that he already knew the ending… except that when circumstances changed (the original lead actor leaving the show) he changed the ending, making it the ending of that character’s story but not the overall series. B5 had its share of problems in its last season, but marrying the ending wasn’t one of them.
Exposition does not equal drama
Sure, fans of mythology shows want to find out the answers to all your mysteries. But those answers need to come out of drama and conflict, not just be parceled out in economy-size lumps of exposition (or worse yet, explained in post-series interviews.) We wanted to know who Head Six and Head Baltar were, but having them suddenly talk about God as if they spent weekends with him was not an interesting way to do it. We wanted to know the connection between the Colonies and present-day Earth: having a newscaster explain it was not an interesting way to do it. And so on…
Some revelations are optional, some are not
The producers of Lost have said that not every mystery raised in the show will be resolved. Well, good, but it’s important to discriminate between which mysteries the fans will accept you leaving unanswered (or otherwise defusing) and which they won’t. How do you know which is which? One clue is to look at the mysteries you yourself defined as important. For instance, BSG spent much of a season teasing us by having some characters hear bits of a mysterious tune. During the season finale, in a very well-executed and dramatic sequence, we discover that they’re actually hearing “All Along the Watchtower” – at which point the camera zooms out to a view of the whole galaxy, and zooms in to what is recognizably our Earth. Wow. So what was the significance of the song – why were they hearing it, and why that song? It’s obviously related to the mystery of the connection between the Colonies and our Earth – the equation is laid out for us visually in that sequence. So when Moore says (after the series is over) that the song didn’t have a significance… that there are just tunes that somehow reverberate through human (or Cylon) consciousness throughout time and space… we may feel just. A tad. Cheated.
Don’t give up the ’shippers
Remember what I said above about exposition not replacing conflict? This goes double for relationships between the characters. As much as we love learning about the mythology, a lot of viewers are even more invested in what happens to the characters, particularly their love lives. Don’t try to elide these issues or wrap them up too tidily. Avoid having characters fall out of airlocks or have their parentage retconned so that the writers don’t have to deal with them anymore. In improve, this is a kind of blocking called cancelling: instead of resolving the conflict that’s been raised in a scene, you come up with a reason why it just isn’t an issue. (“Oh no, a bear!” “It’s okay, he got caught in a bear trap.”) Look at the relationship between Kara/Starbuck and Lee/Apollo in BSG: on the most basic level, people wanted to know Will they wind up together? Was he her one true love, or were her feelings for him just another one of her self-destructive qualities? Not to mention her whole dying-and-coming-back-to-life thing, and the question of whether or not the Kara in the final season was the real one. So with that amount of screen time and fan speculation invested in a relationship, what you don’t do is have her disappear into thin air just when all the impediments to them being together have been removed. That’s not tragedy, it’s not irony, it’s just cancelling.
2
Feb
BEST PICTURE: Avatar, The Blind Side, District 9, An Education, Precious, The Hurt Locker, Inglorious Basterds, A Serious Man, Up, Up In The Air.
Well, first off the new game everybody has to play is “which five of these wouldn’t have gotten nominated if the Oscars hadn’t decided to super-size this category?” My guess is Up, District 9, An Education, The Blind Side and Inglorious Basterds. So that leaves Precious, The Hurt Locker, Up In The Air, A Serious Man and, yes, Avatar. Precious and A Serious Man have no chance. Up In The Air can play spoiler and potentially win, but I don’t think it quite has the support to do it. But really, this is about whether James Cameron making a zillion dollars impresses people more than the best war movie in years and a major artistic achievement.
BEST DIRECTOR: Kathryn Bigelow for The Hurt Locker, James Cameron for Avatar, Lee Daniels for Precious, Jason Reitman for Up In The Air, Quentin Tarantino for Inglorious Basterds.
Basically I’m just gonna repeat my comments from Best Picture for this one: this is between Bigelow and Cameron. Bigelow has the DGA award, Cameron has the Golden Globe.
BEST ACTOR: Jeff Bridges for Crazy Heart, George Clooney for Up In The Air, Colin Firth for A Single Man, Morgan Freeman for Invictus, Jeremy Renner for The Hurt Locker.
Renner’s nomination is a pleasant surprise – he got a couple of SAG noms and a lot of critics’ awards, but no Golden Globe nomination at all. I think he has an outside shot at it as a dark horse. That having been said, the award this year is primarily a two-way fight between Jeff Bridges for never having won an Oscar and George Clooney for never having won an Oscar. Freeman has two Oscars and isn’t going to win one for Invictus, which was kinda boring. Firth isn’t going to win for A Single Man because he’s had better odds with other things.
BEST ACTRESS: Sandra Bullock for The Blind Side, Helen Mirren for The Last Station, Carey Mulligan for An Education, Gabourey Sibibe for Precious, Carey Mulligan for An Education, Meryl Streep for Julie and Julia.
I’ve never even heard of The Last Station and Helen Mirren has an Oscar already so forget about that one. Carey Mulligan isn’t famous and beloved enough to win an Oscar in young-ingenue mode so she’s not gonna get it. Gabourey Sibibe has a shot, but I don’t think Oscar gives her a statue because A) her movie wasn’t that good and B) Oscar is still wary of the black people. So it comes down to whether Hollywood feels like giving Sandra Bullock an Oscar for making Hollywood so much money over the years, or whether they want to give Meryl Streep another award for being Meryl Streep, because Meryl Streep is probably about four or five Oscars short of her deserved total right now and everybody knows it. I’m pulling for Meryl Streep because she is fucking awesome.
BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR: Woody Harrelson for The Messenger, Matt Damon for Invictus, Christopher Plummer for The Last Station, Stanley Tucci for The Lovely Bones and Christoph Waltz for Inglorious Basterds.
Matt Damon was in a movie so dull that Hollywood actually didn’t give Clint Eastwood a directing nomination, so no. My high opinion of The Lovely Bones is an outlier and Tucci won’t win for it. (If he’d been nominated for Julie and Julia, he might actually have had a longshot chance.) Harrelson has made a lot of enemies in Hollywood and I don’t think even a truly great performance will get him the award. Christopher Plummer has a serious chance because he’s never won an Oscar and he’s quite old and everybody thinks he’s great, so he might get the proxy lifetime achievement award. But Christoph Waltz has to be considered the odds-on favourite.
BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS: Penelope Cruz for Nine, Vera Farmiga and Anna Kendrick for Up In The Air, Maggie Gyllenhaal for Crazy Heart and Mo’Nique for Push.
Cruz is only here because she’s really popular with a lot of nominators; Nine was an overblown piece of crap and everybody knows it. The Up In The Air ladies will probably cancel each other out. Gyllenhaal has a good chance with her turn in Crazy Heart, but she’s young yet and will get more nominations in the future (or so goes the logic). Really, I would be shocked if Mo’Nique doesn’t win this.
BEST ANIMATED FILM: Coraline, Up, Fantastic Mr. Fox, The Princess and the Frog and The Secret of Kells. There is some serious competition in this category this year so I’m mentioning it, although I think Up still squeaks out with the win.
1
Feb
When I was a kid, there was this awesome picture book I read, one of the sort where the writer/artist had put in all sorts of diagrams and little details and so on, and it was about this race of tiny, fuzzy hippopotamus-like people divided into two kingdoms which were at war. But I can’t remember the name of it.
Is this ringing a bell with anybody?
UPDATE: In comments MIB correctly identifies it as Trouble For Trumpets, which now checking eBay I discover is stupidly expensive. And what’s worse is that at some point I’ll buy it, because that’s the sort of book I wanna read with my kids if and when I have any.
1
Feb
My weekly TV column is up at Torontoist.
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