Cops and whiners and a bird called CB

We could use some help out here in the boonies. There’s been a crime. A couple weeks ago, one of Ontario’s finest police officers was driving between Dunnville and Cayuga in the wee hours of the morning. Suddenly an oncoming "reckless" driver forced the cop off the road. He crashed his cruiser into the mighty Grand River, totaling the vehicle. So now the authorities are on the look-out for the aforementioned "reckless" driver.
I’m thinking they should look under the cop’s hat.

Sergio Garcia is not this year’s British Open champ. However, he has - in my book - seized the coveted Whiner Of The Year Award...and it’s only July. It was a slam dunk after his post- tournament press conference Sunday, when he blamed everything and everybody from slow trap rakers to bad bounces off pins. I think he even claimed that on Saturday night a tipsy Lindsay Lohan ran over his golf clubs with her SUV.
Here’s the deal, Sergio - ever since Old Tom Morris began whacking clods of sheep shit around a meadow with a hickory limb, one thing has remained constant - nobody likes a whiner.

My neighbor and I are raising chickens, free range style. We’ve got 18 of them - actually received them when they were just a day old. Now 5 weeks along, 17 are unremarkable, ugly, rapidly-growing half-feathered creatures. The 18th bird is the rounder of the bunch. He came into this world with a crooked beak, the bottom portion drifting out at a 45 degree angle from the top. His name is CB (for Crooked Beak). Because of his defect, CB is unable to eat properly. He does his damned-est at the feeder, all day long, but he is at present time maybe one third the size of the others. We shove worms down his gullet occasionally. This delights him (as it would us all, I assume). CB’s size, and his unique expression due to his beak, has rendered him a look comparable to one of the Dead End Kids, or maybe a member of the Lollipop Guild from The Wizard of Oz. If they make a movie of his life, Jimmy Cagney will play him. CB has personality coming out of his pores. He’s forever hanging around the door of the pen, dying to get out into the big world beyond. He’s got a little guy’s cockiness about him. He even walks differently than the rest. The rest of the brood, I’m forced to admit, have rosemary and olive oil and a hint of sage in their futures. I’m thinking more and more, though, that CB might avoid the axe.
Got a feeling come January or so, he’s gonna be sitting on my couch in front of the TV, drinking a vodka martini and smoking a cigarette and asking where’s the goddamn clicker.

Film Fests, Con Conrad, Bogus Barry

Hey - we found out that the feature film version of All Hat has been picked to premier at the Toronto International Film Festival. I'm told that this hograssle is the biggest film fest in the world so that's good news. More to come on dates, ticket info, etc. Or check out the festival site, as I'm thinking there's a pretty good chance they know more about this than me.

Conrad Black is now Lord Con, after having his ass convicted in Chicago last week. He's now attempting to come back to Canada, whose citizenship he spurned when he became Lord Black of Cross Booger, or whatever it was. Good luck with that, My Lord. I'm thinking of asking for his Order of Canada once they get around to stripping him of it. I figure I'll just have to clean off his greasy fingerprints, and remove the ermine trim, and it will be fine.

Speaking of liars, Barry Bonds cranked two dingers last night, bringing him to within two of Hank Aaron's record. And to think - his marvellous late-career stats are all from the result of his ingesting flaxseed oil...oh, and massive amounts of steroids. For the record - as much as I admire Mister Aaron, for both his ability and his character, Babe Ruth is the greatest home run hitter of all time. (check his home run to at-bat ratio). And the ol' Bambino did it on hot dogs, beer and hookers.

Ingest that, Barry.

Backwoods Blog

After two years of steady nagging from my friend/editor/world wanderer Jen Barclay, I've finally created a website. So quit nagging, Ms. Barclay. I can say that because she's currently living in England, a safe distance away.

This will be a sporadic blog, not a daily blog. I'll sound off when I have things to report re books or film, or when I feel compelled to comment on how the great American justice system has come to the rescue of Scooter Libby, or perhaps my feelings on the humanitarian efforts of Paris Hilton (whenever such efforts might begin).

If really strapped for news, I might report exciting tales about my golf game. I am incredibly consistent right now, having shot 77 one day last week, and 94 another. Let's see Tiger Woods sprinkle in that kind of variety with his scores.

I'll also be keeping my eye on Prime Minister Stephen "Puddn'head" Harper, and the jackass who runs the Ontario Provincial Police, Julian Fantino, who has publicly stated that he has no problem with a dozen of his officers standing back and watching while two TV cameraman get the shit kicked out of them. Ah, Scooter Libby would love it here. Cheney too, for that matter.

On the professional side of things, I've just finished the first draft of a new book. The story deals with a murky political situation in a small Ontario city, revolving around a proposed landfill to be situated on prime farmland. Country noir meets city noir.

Stay tuned.