Remember: Everyone Can See You

I've heard of Facebook causing marriage break-ups, and YouTube causing people's houses to get trashed when party invites get out of hand.

This, however, takes it to another level:

A British man who murdered his wife after becoming enraged when she changed her relationship status on Facebook to "single" was jailed for at least 18 years late Thursday.

Edward Richardson, 41, stabbed wife Sarah, 26, to death in a "frenzied and brutal" attack at her parents' home in Biddulph, central England, last May after she altered her profile on the Internet social networking site.

Facebook

A decent parody of Facebook.

Will Make Movie For Food

I was goofing off on Facebook when I should have been doing some editing, and I ran across a new Facebook "group."

Groups are what happens on Facebook when a few people get their pants in twist about something, and before you know it some guy from New Zealand is one of 25, 987 people "Pledging to Stop Violence Against Rabbits in Manitoba," or whatever.

Anyway, the latest buzz in the Canadian film scene is Bill C-10. It's full of taxation mumbo jumbo, and somewhere in there is a provision stating that the government won't give tax credits to films and TV shows that it finds offensive, or not in the public interest.

Horrors! Every actor, writer, director and other frequent Starbucks regular instantly went nuclear. As usual, they went ballistic over the whole free speech deal, and are crying about censorship from Big Brother.

Yeah, right. Mark Steyn and Ezra Levant, writers both, were up on charges in front of Canadian Human Rights commissions for expressing their views. Where were the film grads then?

As if Canada were in the business of closing the mouths of whacked-out filmmakers. Every night on Canadian TV I see a new acid trip come over the airwaves. Poorly written, poorly shot, and delivered with a healthy dose of sanctimony: "We don't shoot our stuff like Americans. That would be so...American." In other words, Canadian filmmakers airing stuff in Canada make it look like crap on purpose. Who needs production value when you have a maple leaf on your backpack?

For the record, if the government were to end tax credits for garbage films, it is not censorship. Censorship is when the government sends a squad of thugs to your house and throws you in jail for making a film. When a government merely cuts the money supply on people that want to play Spielberg all day while showing Ed Wood ticket sales, it's called good business.

Earlier this year, I had my eye on a couple of grants and thought about applying for them. I wanted to make an independent film and thought that my corporate video background would give me a leg up: completed projects, money made, happy customers, so forth. I had the script set, actors ready, my own equipment. Just a little extra dough for some locations and better lighting gear would give me a green light.

Not a chance. The government has been "censoring" mainstream storytellers for decades. When I talked to the guy in Ottawa about my project, he told me my project "was not very viable," whatever that means. If I had a First Nations angle, or a multicultural story, or something "that is not mainstream, but can only be told through government assistance," then I'd be all right. "Genre films," were out. Also, a film school background would help, especially if the film was "experimental" in nature.

In other words, make something no one wants to see, and that doesn't have a hope in hell of making money.

So it was no go. Did I cry and moan and create a group on Facebook? Nah. I put the phone down and said to myself, "All right. Another four months and I'll be able to finance the lights on my own, then try and draw an investor, and make the damn movie. Maybe next year, if I have to."

Today's storytellers in Canada make me ill. I don't want to talk to a filmmaker that can't make his film without begging from the Feds. You want to make a movie? Then make the damn movie. You spend all your life whining and protesting to the government about every little gripe, and then get surprised when they ask you to put up the goods?

I also don't want to hear from anybody about "experimental filmmakers" needing assistance. No. They do not. They need to get a job, and get a life. Earn some money. Buy a camera, rent some gear, get costumes at Zellers, find some investors, go to Home Hardware and make your own dolly gear. Filmmaking equipment is so relatively cheap and good now, that there is no excuse for not doing it on your own when you have to. Twenty years ago, producing your own film would have been a hell of a task. Now, teenagers are doing it.

Need assistance? Hear you go: a dolly can be made with 1-inch plywood. Make it a 40" x 30" piece (sorry, don't know the metric on that). Take eight rollerblade wheels and bolt them into pairs. Place the four pairs on each corner of the birch board (birch is best). Bolt a stool to the board, and leave space for your tripod. Bolt a handle to the board, so a buddy can push it. Next, lay down two long stretches of 3/4" PVC pipe. Place your new dolly on the PVC pipe. Push.

That dolly just cost you $95.

What's the matter, chumps? Afraid you can't put up? Make your little movie so we all can see it, rather than have the taxpayers blow three hundred grand on a piece of junk that I won't see unless I stay up until 3am watching the Bravo network.

Last week I heard a morning DJ fawning over "I Met the Walrus," a short film about some Canadian guy who met John Lennon back in the day.

The short was up for an Oscar. A six-minute animated flick about a singer who died over thirty years ago.

This is the best Canada can show at the Academy Awards? I wonder why.

You Tube Publicity Leads to Mayhem in London

This has happened more than once. The last time I saw a report like this it involved Facebook, when an English girl posted her party on the web, and her mother's home ended up getting demolished.

The internet has been going through twists and turns in the last couple of years, as more and more websites battle for the supremacy of turning you into a "somebody." This noteriety comes with a price: anybody can say anything they want about themselves, or you. The consequences of this information can be extreme.

In this story, an 16-year-old London kid was going to have a party with about 30 invited guests. However, details of the bash were put on You Tube, and several dozen uninvited teens crashed the gates. They trashed the place, stole booze, beat up the birthday boy's brother, and broke his father's nose. 6 teens were arrested.

Bummer night. You can tell it's a You Tube world when a 16-year-old has thirty friends to invite over for a birthday party.

I went on Facebook the other day and took a look at a few of the people that have labelled me as 'friend.' If you're not hip to Facebook, a friend is someone that knew you a hundred years ago, writes you an email, and then never writes you again. You're put into a "friend list," and there you remain.

You're like a collector's item from their distant past. Maybe they pull you out once in a while, blow some dust off, look at you in the light of the window, and put you back. Maybe they print out your picture and draw mustaches on it. Either way, you're theirs to keep, unless you 'unfriend' them, and who would want to be so rude as to do that?

Facebook is the Ebay of society. Instead of trading old lamps and hockey cards, you get the chick that sat next to you in first grade and the guy that made everyone laugh with the hand-under-the-armpit fart trick.

Of the 150 Facebook friends that I have, I'll bet that I've heard from 10 of them more than once. The rest just kind of hang out in cyberspace. I suppose they check in once in a while, but I'll never know it. If I update my "profile" by saying that I'm reading a newspaper on the john, three friends will probably write to tell me that I'm being too graphic, while the other 147 remain in the shadows, eavesdropping on me like spooky CIA agents. Were I, say, to write that I'm throwing a party on Friday, 150 people might descend on my house unannounced. And if I were a 16-year-old boy writing about having a party, well, let's just say dad wouldn't be too impressed.

You Tube, Facebook, Flickr, Digg, Blogger (which you're reading now), My Space, the list goes on. I've logged into a few of them, and it amazes me the amount of personal information that ends up there. People that use them need to ask themselves some hard questions: do I really know who's looking at me right now? And if so, do I really want them looking at me right now?

One thing that this English kid's hard luck story does prove is the answer to the most important party question. Where is the best place to have a party? Someone else's place.

More on the party that got out of hand here.

Polar Bears? Save the Ice - I'm Having Margaritas

I was goofing off on one one of those Facebook sites when I came across a group dedicated to saving the planet. A woman with an infant in her arms left the following message: "Oh, my heart aches for the polar bears." Actually, she put it in capital letters. I can't figure out if that is because the baby in the picture was screaming and so she shouted to be heard, or if she's just a regular enviro-boob. They seem to be shouting all the time, anyway. The only pollution they don't seem to care about is of the noise variety.

I could go on a long-winded rant about this woman's priorities, but instead I'll pull a cheap move and re-print something from February 2nd. I can't bring myself to write too much more about the environment right now, and my mind hasn't changed much since then, so here goes. Enjoy.

From the Daily Mail (UK):
Global Warming Sees Polar Bears Stranded On Melting Ice

They cling precariously to the top of what is left of the ice floe, their fragile grip the perfect symbol of the tragedy of global warming.

Captured on film by Canadian environmentalists, the pair of polar bears look stranded on chunks of broken ice. Although the magnificent creatures are well adapted to the water, and can swim scores of miles to solid land, the distance is getting ever greater as the Arctic ice diminishes.

"Swimming 100 miles is not a big deal for a polar bear, especially a fat one," said Dr Ian Stirling of the Canadian Wildlife Service. "They just kind of float along and kick. But as the ice gets farther out from shore because of warming, it’s a longer swim that costs more energy and makes them more vulnerable."

Bummer.

I don't know what to say about this global warming thing anymore. In the 70's it was global cooling. In the 80's it was warming. Then in the 90's it became 'climate change,' which was a great turn of phrase for the enviro-boobs and unemployed people that wanted to yell at lumberjacks. With the words 'climate change,' bitching about mankind's sins became an all-season sport, snow or shine, blizzard or heatwave.

I studied anthropology in school. That's what the degree says on my wall, anyway (both the degree and the wall are made from tree products. Apologies all around). During those classes we had to look back at history and count the number of ice ages and such. The theory then was that there were three big ones and a bunch of smaller ones.

Not so long ago, Toronto was under a mile of ice and the Great Lakes didn't exist. The ice had to recede in order to leave those puddles behind. So I guess one would have to say that global warming is a damn good thing. Without it, there would be no shopping on Yonge Street, and there would be no forests for the enviro-weenies to run around in.

The conceit of human beings is astounding. The idea that we parasites could affect this planet in any major way is a laugh. It's also a great chuckle watching the National Geographic specials and hearing the narrator give the Obligatory Guilt Trip. At the end of every episode, they always manage to say that such-and-such a thing will cease to exist if Man doesn't change his evil ways. Why? Because the ecosystem is fragile.

Fragile? Tell that to the people in central Florida. A fragile tornado dropped out of the sky the other day and obliterated a town, killing 20 people in the time it takes to make toast.

Katrina, she didn't look too fragile, did she? We stewards of the Earth gaped in slack-jawed wonder at her power, cowered beneath concrete, and watched as she kicked over levees as if they were anthills.

Or the tsunami (Random Aside: can someone tell me where tidal wave went?) That surfer's wetdream wiped out thousands of people and destroyed entire villages and towns in less than ten minutes.

We're supposed to protect the environment from us? Please. More like the other way around. We're as nothing on this spinning globe. Anytime it feels like it, it can give one big belch and we're history.

The Earth is not fragile, and to refute the article above, neither is a bear's grip. Timothy Treadwell could tell us that, were he still around. He's the guy who took his girlfriend up north to live with his furry friends. Treadwell's method of approaching bears was to slowly slink up to them while singing "I love you" in a high-pitched voice. He and his girlfriend are now bear shit.

Our conceit is limitless. The Earth has been through ice ages, massive earthquakes, hurricanes, innumerable volcanoes spitting sulphur into the sky, catastrophic meteorite impacts, so forth. But hairspray and unleaded gas will be the planet's demise?

Ours, maybe. But the Earth doesn't give a damn about us. Ask the next skydiver whose chute doesn't open how fragile the Earth is, and how much it cares. You'll get two four letter words in response. The first is shit!, the other is thud.