RIP John Hughes

I realize that just about every other blog's already posted this, but the news broke while I was at work and, well, lest I get canned for blogging on the company dime, I was forced to wait until I was home to sadly report that John Hughes, the Patron Saint of '80s Teen Flicks, passed away today at age 59. What a sad, sad day. Sure, that other '80s icon, Michael Jackson, broke records and was a trail blazer and all that jazz, but John Hughes defined teenage life in the '80s for anyone that graduated circa 1989 and captured the high drama of high school like no other director of the time. Who didn't run around yelling "Automobile? Lake! Big Lake! SCCHMBUMP!" And I totally remember joshin' "I'm thinking 'bout trying for a scholarship" to my friends in the stands after tossing a complete airball during a JV basketball game. Replete with the insolent moves, natch. This, of course, was followed by a long lecture on sportsman-like behaviour by the parentals on the ride home. I just sucked it up, though, cause I knew that John Hughes had my back. And if he'd seen my schtick, he certainly would've cast me in his next movie. I was literally joking about Ferris Bueller's Day Off just this afternoon, man. The important thing here, though, is that the teen-angst genre has lost one of its greats. Films like his can never be replicated, not only because we live in a far too politically correct environment today - another reason to love him more - but more importanly because nobody can distill a generation like he could. Rest in peace, John Hughes. There better damn well be dozens of retrospectives of your work cause I could use a little Vacation about now.

Pamela Westoby guesting and ghosting while Barker cottages. Still. If you like this, you might just like my book Hoyden and my flickr!

Finally! Suds Minus The Centre!

So I just spent the weekend in Chi Town at my 20 year high school reunion and, while there are many experiences that I can't elaborate on, I did discover this gem in my hotel room at The James that is PG rated enough to share:

Behold, the magical soap that "eliminates the unused center of traditional soap"! Thank the Lord! Finally someone found a way to eradicate that pesky centre! And, yes, I am conforming to Canadian spelling here. Cause I'm compulsively Canuck that way. Anyhoo, I have spent that past 37 years thinking "Damn. This centre sure is useless. I wonder how much waste we could reduce if we bounced it?" as I rubbed and sudsed that Ivory between my hands. I mean, all it does is get smaller...and smaller...and smaller...It's not like it just slowly disappears into a sliver that you eventually bond to a new bar, so I applaud these geniuses. I only have a few questions:

• What happens when this beaut finally gives it all up and breaks into pieces harsher than Lohan and SamRo?


• Doesn't everything have a centre?


• And if everything has a centre, doesn't this configuration now have multiple centres?

Call me a Luddite, just pass me the Irish Spring!

Pamela Westoby guesting and ghosting while Barker cottages. Where he's hopefully still using soap. With centres. If you like this, you might just like my book Hoyden and my flickr!

You Say Kaese, I Say Kaufmann!

I was sitting here, munching on my salad while watching The Bachelorette and guilting over the lack of posting, when a lightning bolt struck: cheese sculpture. I'd like to think that it was God speaking directly to me, but it was more likely my stomach. I'm gearing up for my 20 year high school reunion and I am hungray. But if I don't watch my figure no one else will, as my Great Aunt Trudie used to say. Anyhoo, cheese sculpture seemed right. What can I say? Somethings defy explanation. But syncronicity must've been at play cause I hit the web and there was some big cheese sculpting news. It seems Sarah Kaufmann, the reigning doyenne of dapper dairy da Vincis, experienced the sharp end of cheddar last week when her anniversary nod to astronaut Neil Armstrong fell victim to the lack of AC, much to the chagrin of visitors who were "audibly and visibly disappointed". I'd be audibly and visibly disappointed, too, if I lined up to see Neil Armstrong rendered in rennet and was left with a mound of Wisconsin's finest. I'd ask for my $4 back. And then I'd ask "Is anyone gonna eat that?" But I'm classy that way. Luckily for Kaufmann, she was able to beat the heat and redeem herself:

(photo courtesy of The Wapakoneta Daily News)

And fortunately for us, citizen journalism captured Kaufmann toiling in the flourescent limelight. Thank god for iReport! Nothing says cinema verite like cheese carving to check-out scan bleets.

Dairy debacles aside, life appears to be coming up all munster and asiago for Kaufmann. Seems Kaufmann just wed her man in a pirate themed ceremony where she pronounced "Our love is anchored in cheese". AND she made The Supermarket News this past weekend when she used her mad skills to carve Wisconsin dairy scenes in a 1,000 lbs of cheddar. Who knew life in the cheese carving world was as quick as microwaved Cheez Whiz on boiled broccoli? Kaufmann's dairy star is clearly on the rise. And I can't wait till she inks that riveting reality show deal.

PS. While technically not a sculpture, this is cheese art. And thus I had to post. Cause while he ain't no Kaufmann, I love Kyle from LA Ink. Kyle waltzed into the shop one day and proudly asked for a memorial tattoo for cheese. Seems poor Kyle suffered an accident that left him lactose intolerant. Pretty much my worst nightmare - and apparently Kyle's. So he decided to do what most folks do - toss out the Lactaid and get a cheesy tat. A man after my own heart.

Pamela Westoby guesting and ghosting while Barker cottages. Likely in the rain. If you like this, you might just like my book Hoyden and my flickr!

Putting The Cat In Cataclysm

So it's been raining torrents for the past couple of days here in Toronto, scuttling yet another summer's weekend and naturally indicating that The Reckoning is upon us. And so I spent the afternoon doing what most folks do on soggy Sundays - recovering from last night's ping pong tourney and searching for survival gear for Bucky. I mean, Bucky's cute, but he ain't no Michael Phelps. And he certainly ain't no Hawkeye. Hawkeye's da bomb. He sashays underwater like Esther Williams in Dangerous When Wet. When I showed Bucky this clip of Hawkeye in action, he just yawned and said that Hawkeye clearly didn't care about the effects of chlorine on his coat. And that the "mangy" (his words, not mine) Mutley was surely flea-ridden.

Methinks someone feels a little outshone...It's clear, however, that Bucky will never don a self-contained breathing apparatus and so I was forced to shop around for feline floatation devices, lest he squander his nine lives. Aside from the requisite Hello Kitty boots:

I figured I'd also pop for one of these nifty Float-A-Pet flotation collars (link via engadget):

And, of course, one of these uber-chic pet umbrellas. But only cause Bucky loves Rihanna.
Recognizing that The Reckoning will likely entail more than a Biblical deluge, I'd have been remiss if I hadn't also investigated other pet survival items such as the pet earthquake jacket:

This little piece of sartorial safety gear comes replete with aromatherapy that will help ward off the stench of decomp. Or in Toronto's case, the 2009 CUPE garbage strike (link via luxurylaunches and geekologie).

And if things should go all The Day After, Bucky would be completely covered. Literally:

Course Bucky could really care less about all the preparations I'm mulling over. He's more interested in grooming his privates and napping on his very dry couch like an insolent teen. But proper parenting ain't about gratitude - it's about worrying now so you don't worry later as the survivalists like to say. And about self-soothing with booze. Preferably Heineken.

Pamela Westoby guesting and ghosting while Barker cottages. Likely in the rain. If you like this, you might just like my book Hoyden and my flickr!

This Is So Weekend At Bernie's...

Breaking News! Cheney to attend Inauguration in wheelchair! Apparently the poor bastard pulled a muscle moving his crap outta the Whitehouse and is all laid up. Man's gotta be a capital 'P' Pack Rat to do that kinda damage. Still, it's good to hear he's still alive. If he is in fact still alive.

Finally

I can't think of anything to say that hasn't been covered by every single other blog and media outlet known to man. Except that it's about time. And finally. Finally it's over. We can now all breathe a sigh of relief now that the Bush's have vacated 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. You rock Obama - can't wait to see what you do over the next four [eight] years. Happy Inaugural Day!

Time For A Commercial Break

Normally I'd make a snarky, holier-than-thou remark about how folks who upload these video nuggets need a hobby, but as a viewer who's spent an untold amount of time viewing these vintage jewels, I clearly have more time on my hands than they do. Que sera. It got me through the prime time void known as The Bachelor. I will be forever prostrate in the presence of these video archivists for allowing me to elude Jason Mesnick and for permitting me a skip down techo-memory lane. And what a skip it was. And, yes, I was alive for all of these innovations. Save for the dial telephone. That was only a couple of years before my time.

Alan Greenspan and the Apple II C...cutting edge and prescient!

Apple Newton - The possibilities are limitless...you can beam things to other people! And it's only the size of Encyclopedia Brittanica!

How To Use A Telephone! Remember...until Saturday midnight please use your present directory and make your calls in the usual manner!

Oh, House, just press the button!

Imagine! Stereo and video!

Yes, there was a time when folks used these now-overlooked relics. Today I needn't worry about whether a payphone was in proper working order, though, because I'd have to be bleeding from every orifice before I'd use one of the germ infested things.

The greatest invention since colour television itself! And it has all seven functions! And superb cabinetry! Gee! What more could a gal ask for?!

Mmmmmm...cryogenic corn!

In case you've had too much of that Pillsbury good popcorn!

You can shop at the electronic mall!

Welcome aboard! Complete absence of vibration! The travail truly has been taken out of travel...

A steak?! In coach?! That'd never happen today...

Costner? A dog? At work? You are so outside the box, man.

Have I ever attended a meeting...in my bare feet? Well, yes. Yes, I have. Course I got a rather curt email from HR and a pack of OdorEaters, but that's an entirely different story for an entirely different post.

Oh, Crying Indian, how we love thee. As a child of the '70s, I could only end with you.

Blackout!

So we're in the middle of a blackout here in the Big Smoke. Which blows cause the temperature is, like, -29C with the windchill. That's -20F for you Imperialists out there. Bloody cold. By the grace o god I didn't lose power, something that I lorded over Bucky this morning. Strangely, my declarations of "Do you know how lucky you are, cat?" fell on selfishly deaf ears. But that's likely cause he's all cushy and never experienced a temperature extreme in his life. Not like I have. I remember Leningrad 1944, man. Now that was cold. Anyhoo, power outages always make me think of the Lou Grant episode aptly titled "Blackout". I was all about Lou Grant in the late '70s. I wanted to be Lou Grant, which in retrospect is a bit odd. For 9 year old girl. But I also wanted to be either Roy Scheider or Richard Dreyfuss in Jaws, so whatev. Anyway, this particular episode was all about how the The Tribune struggled to produce a paper during a power outage. Compelling drama. Jack Bannon, played by Art Donovan, was all smug cause he'd kept his manual typewriter despite the mocking of his coworkers and was all "who's able to write now, bitches?" A sentiment I whole-heartedly echo. I'm all about the low-tech just so I don't get snookered in power outages and the like. Which is I guess why I've always held a torch for Jack as well. I think back to that episode and think "Dammit. You and your convictions are so sexy." I mean, how is your trusty IBM Selectric II going to save your ass when things go all Mad Max? Just saying. It's all because of and for Jack Bannon that I treasure my dynamo pig flashlight. You will forever be in my heart, Jack. For those within The Zone, I hope you get your juice back soon. Remember to drain your pipes and check on your elderly neighbours!

Interesting side note discovered in my morning travels: Terri Nunn, lead singer of Berlin, appeared as a 15 year old girl trying to get pregnant in the second season of Lou Grant.

Pamela Westoby still guesting and ghosting while Barker tans his tush. If you like this, you might just like my book Hoyden!

This Recession Needs More Rachel!

God, it's been a good week. I just ate a bunch of jube-jubes. The remaining time left on the Bush clock can be counted in hours. No one perished on flight 1549. And The Rachel Zoe Project officially launched on Cosmopolitan TV in Canada. What more could a reality TV junkie ask for? We should all thank our lucky stars. Maybe it's the jube-jubes talking, but The Rachel Zoe Project, a Bravo born program, is chock full of all things delicious and delusional. I adore the fact that, during this time of catastrophic job cuts and widespread foreclosures, our dear Rachel is concerned with nothing more than collecting the next Birkin bag and hiding the purchase from her hubby. I mean, I know that's what I'm doing. Except replace "Birkin bag" with "baked beans" and "hubby" with "cat" and you've pretty much hit it head on. Bucky goes as crazy for old Bush Brothers as Rachel does for vintage Balmain. That's right. My kitty goes bananas for cured bacon. That and I think he's got a crush on Duke. But I digress. Despite the ridiculous focus on all things fashion and the wide divide between Rachel's rarified air and the rest of the pedestrian populus, this show is beyond addictive. Between the warring assistants Brad and Taylor, the pursuit of insane couture and the quips of "Do you die?" and "Shutting it down", Rachel and her entourage prove the perfect remedy to roaming the list of want ads and Walmart Deals of the Week. And in the process she actually seems likeable, which, for the Stylist Formerly Known As Raisinface, is quite the feat. Simply put, for me The Rachel Zoe Project provides the sweet escape necessary during these harsh economic times. That is beyond the Heineken and shots of Goldschlagger. Oh, and for you lucky duck Yanks out there, there's even a chance to meet Ms. Zoe. From Obama to Target, you Americans get all the fun.

Pamela Westoby still guesting and ghosting while Barker tans his tush. If you like this, you might just like my book Hoyden!

RIP Ricardo Montalban

It's with great sadness that I report that Ricardo Montalban, aged 88, journeyed into the great fantasy island in the sky. One of the first Mexican actors to hit it big, Montalban was known to many as Khan in Star Trek II, but to me he'll always be Mr. Roarke from Fantasy Island. God, I loved that show, largely due to the fact that it was one of the few shows I was permitted to watch at the ripe old age of 7. Embarrassingly, when I heard the news today I quipped to a coworker, Lara, "Oh, man! The dude from Fantasy Island died!" Lara, a young 'un, immediately replied, "Fantasy Island? What's that?" I was all "You know - Da plane! Da plane!" and explained how all the hot stars of the day guested on it. Blank stare. I totally had to explain Fantasy Island to her. Which made me feel old. Real old. But I digress. Ricardo, you will be sorely missed. God speed and may all your leather be Corinthian. And this video nugget goes out to Lara. Consider yourself enlightened.

Pamela Westoby here guesting and ghosting for the Marvelous Mr. Barker. If you like this, you might just like my book Hoyden!

My So Called Life...Truly...

Back in the day when Sex and the City was all the rage, I would always get “Hey, you’re a single writer and you live in a big city – you must relate to Carrie sooo much!” At which point I’d do a mental eye roll and calmly yet non-condescendingly explain that, not having Carrie’s fabulous career, salary, body and ability to purchase untold number of Manolos, Carrie’s character really didn’t “speak” to me. Not that it was an evil show – it’s just that Carrie’s character was practically my polar opposite. I’d rather be shot than caught sipping Cosmos at the latest Zagat-rated Manhattan hot spot. Which is poopy cause from SATC to Desperate Housewives to Cashmere Mafia to Lipstick Jungle, there’s been a dearth of shows that speak to gals like me. That is to say, thirty-something single, cat-owning women who have found themselves in dead-end careers being pitied by their married friends and asking themselves “What the hell happened to my life?” Until Being Erica. And for that I say hallelujah.

Debuting Monday night on CBC, Being Erica focuses on the life – or lack thereof – of Erica Strange, a 32-year old, under-achieving Torontonian who’s found herself in the midst of a mid-life crisis. The opening voice over sets the tone perfectly: “You know that woman who seems to have it all together? The career, the solid relationship, the family? Yeah, well. That’s not me.” Definitely a sentiment I can relate to. More than just a lamentation of singledom and cube life, Being Erica proves to be a quirky cross between My So Called Life and Joan of Arcadia while attempting to answer the question “If you could do it all over again, what would you change?” With the help of a mysterious therapist, Erica, played by Erin Karpluk, investigates her regrets and is given the opportunity for the ultimate ‘do over’, something I find rather tantalizing…starting with…oh…last Saturday night...but, as with MSCL and Joan, going back isn’t as clear cut and easy as it seems. Even as a 32 year old in a 17 year old body. Emotional and poignant, Erica humourously revisits her past and finds herself with more questions than answers. I know. Very existential, but I guess that’s the point.

Beyond the philosophical, Being Erica is solidly written and the timing of Karpluk is excellent. Karpluk can at once make hair removal hilarious (thank god I never used an Epilady!) and desperation accessible (“So pretty and such a disappointment”) thus making her character utterly relatable. Well, at least for me the disappointment part is. Ultimately, I wonder how limited the possibilities are, but I hope, like with MSCL and Joan, Being Erica holds up to its premiere and proves to have staying power. We – and by ‘we’ I mean us single thirty-something ladies pecking away in cubes – need more shows heralding imperfect beings and imperfect lives because, let’s face it, it could really be called Being Pam…which is I guess why Jer asked me to guest tonight…flattery will get you everywhere…

Single ladies tune in - Being Erica airs on CBC on Monday nights at 9pm.



About me...and, yes, I am perfectly comfortable speaking in the third person...actually I'm just lazy and copied an existing bio...

A Toronto-based writer and photographer, Pamela Westoby was raised abroad by corporate gypsies and lured back to Canada by the smell of poutine and a scholarship to the University of Western Ontario. A Girl Friday by day and student of pop culture by night, Pamela has sought to capture the glitz, glam, and grit of the metropolis and to truthfully document the kitsch and camp of Americana. A lover of Heineken and all things Hello Kitty, Pamela aspires to become a pageant judge and professional bowler.

Oh, and if you like Being Erica, you’ll love Pamela’s book, Hoyden!