Mildred the Guppy's New Year's Letter

Happy New Year Everyone!

I hope you've all made your resolutions for 2007. I know I have. This year I'm not going to react when Cordelia (could she be a duller possible shade of brown?) goes on and on about how many babies she's had. When we're all gathered around the swordplant having coffee, I'm going to hold my tongue when she starts up with the incessant bragging.

Similarly, I'm going to stop complaining about that giant orange POND SLUG that overwinters with us. He's getting fatter every year. I don't know what they feed out there in that outdoor pond, but it's clearly going straight to his hips.

I also vow to spend less time in the lower left hand quadrant of the tank making eyes with Vladimir (blue with flashy yellow highlights). Carlos complains when I do that, but perhaps if Carlos took his eyes off that slut Cordelia for ten seconds, I wouldn't feel the need to find attention elsewhere. And don't get me started on Carlos' obsession with Lobelia (brown with a boring grey tail) and Petunia (who I'd bet money has had her swim bladder enhanced). Those two short-finned vulgarian harlots have had at least a hundred little guppies. Oh well, it takes the POND slug about ten minutes to reduce their broods to a manageable size.

In other news, I swam the length of the tank in just under two point one seconds with my afternoon swimming group. It's just a group of us girls that train every afternoon. I simply adore everyone on my swim team. Except Brangeline. She and Pratt have started "adopting" guppy babies from all over the tank. They insist the youngster need homes. That they're orphans. Several of us have tried to explain that the babies are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves, at least the stupid ones who don't swim right into the gaping maw of the Pond Slug are. Has she ever seen any of the rest of us trying to look after our kids? NO! Of course not. We're having coffee and training for swim meets.

Still, the media eats it up. Brangeline and Pratt were named the New Breed of Parent by Guppy Magazine this year. My friends were very disappointed. They were convinced I'd make the cover for my heroic performance of two point one seconds in the Swim the Length of Tank event.

If I wasn't making a New Year's resolution to stop bragging, I'd tell you that I shaved a good quarter of a second off the previous winning time. Helped that Carlos was on my tail! That man is insatiable.

Anyway, Happy New Year to all. And if you drop by the tank, please feel free to sprinkle a few flakes our way. Low fat please. I'd hate to start looking like the Pond Slug. Or Cordelia, who (what else is new) is pregnant again.

Sincerely,

Mildred

Frank's Christmas Letter

Greetings all!

Well, it's been a busy year around here which is why I haven't been in touch more often. Keeping an eye on Susan and James is NOT EASY, especially when you've got a schedule like mine. Is it just me or is there more stick fetching, swimming, rock digging, barking and peeing on stuff to do every year? Not easy when a guy sleeps eighteen hours a day!

Susan and James continue to be involved in many extra-curricular activities. Susan still has that huge red thing that she insists on visiting at least four times a week. As far as I can tell, all it does is eat apples and get massages. Oh, and I guess it carries her around a bit, but last time I checked, she had a car for that. A car that could be going to Linley Valley for an off-leash walk instead! The only bonus is that there's a huge buffet at the barn where the thing lives. Seriously. The buffet is nearly as big as a house.

She's recently started driving the thing around in a huge grey box. You should smell the panic scent coming off her before she does that! I don't think the thing even likes it. I don't blame him. He doesn't get to go off leash when we finally get to the trails. He's all trussed up just like when he goes around and around in circles in the ring.



She seems to expect me to go with her when she takes the red thing on these fear-smelling trips. She makes me wear my red bandana and keeps calling out for me to follow them down the trail. I say, hell, no. If you need me I'll be sleeping by the truck. What am I? The littlest hobo?

Once she got mad when I wouldn't come and tried talking trash about how I'm supposed to be a cattle dog and what's wrong with me. Last time I checked, IT wasn't a cattle. Sometimes I think the thing is causing her to lose her mind and imagine that she's living in an episode of Deadwood, only without all the hookers and swearing.

And then there's James. His bicycle has gotten really big and loud in the last year or so. It's also turned red, which is probably a bad sign and gives me a nervous feeling in my stomach, because it reminds me of Susan's red thing. He sings this song when he's around it. Something about "on a steel horse I ride." I'm not sure the rest of it, because I usually take off when he starts singing.

His new bike goes extremely fast and he likes to wear special outfits when he rides it. Instead of the little cycling pants and bright shirts and shell on his head he wears what looks like six or seven delivery man outfits all on top of one another. Only the shell on his head got smaller. I heard him and Susan raising voices about the size of the shell. She said the shell she wears when she rides her red thing is three times the size of the one he wears when he rides his red thing. She said he looks cool in his small shell, but she'd prefer he looked safe. I could tell he liked it when she said that part about him looking cool.

I can't get past the fact that they BOTH insist on doing hobbies that require them to wear shells on their heads. My people. I swear they are trying to give me a gray muzzle.



In other news, Halloween was a nightmare this year. It seems like every year people set off more RPGs. I've had to make a run for it a few times. It always upsets Susan and James when I take off. Why they don't see the need to take a more defensive position in these dangerous times is beyond me. They run after me like I've done something wrong.

Well, I guess that's us this year.

I hope you all have a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. And if you stop by, please don't forget to bring biscuits. People are constantly forgetting and to be honest, it's offensive.

Sincerely,

Frank

New Cover and a Second Chance

For anyone who is curious, here is the U.S. cover for my new book:



I'm quite smitten with this cover. Now I just have to wait until the book comes out next fall. Seems a long way off!

In other news, CTV is re-airing the entire season of Alice, I Think. It will be on CTV Monday through Friday at 7:30 p.m. See below for times in other areas. Tune in if you missed one or didn't catch it the first time or simply want to enjoy it again.

On Air
Alice I Think on CTV

Clarification...

about MySpace "application": I think it was MySpace itself that rejected my bid to join. Perhaps someone impersonating me has been perving their way around there, scaring little kids and putting up inappropriate pictures.

You know where MySpace has that little message that says: "This message is not being sent to Tom". Maybe they have another one that says: "This message is not being sent to Susan Juby. Who is a freak.

Heh.

I'm not allowed to participate in Wikipedia, either. I'm banned or blackballed or whatever you call it. I've never done more than look at Wikipedia pages, but still I'm persona non-grata.

This is why I write unflattering things about the Internet. We don't get along. Plus, it is eating my life.

Anyway, I'm happy to see other people are joining Alice MySpace!

Her Space

Alice, I Think, the TV show, has a Myspace page!

Alice, I Think

I have to confess that Myspace has always weirded me out a bit, but I've found some great music on other people's pages. I haven't joined the Alice Myspace yet because my membership application was, sob, rejected by the administrators. Oh well. It's important to keep some standards. Still, I hope the rest of you join.

This here? This is procrastinating behaviour. Just like giant posts on Christopher Hitchens essays. I must go write. A book.

Funny Girls

I've always found Christopher Hitchen's writing a bit self-indulgent. I often wish he'd just get to the point but then when he does, I'm disappointed in what he comes up with.

A recent article in the New Yorker mentioned his habit of writing articles during dinner parties. That certainly explains a few things. I'm aware that he's considered a virtuoso intellect. That may be, but I've never found any evidence of him being a comedic genius. Perhaps the dinner party writing method is to blame for the essay he's written this month for Vanity Fair. Women Aren't Funny.

I can imagine the dinner party that produced this particular essay...

Setting: A dinner party.

Cast:
Christopher Hitchens, famous writer
Carol Blue, Hitchen's wife; according to New Yorker article, somewhat famous for her aversion to being mistaken for a housewife and tendency to cultivate a false air of rock-star puzzlement at the more mundane aspects of life, such as shopping for groceries and getting dressed
Graydon Carter, famous for being the editor of Vanity Fair and, before that,Spy
Salman Rushdie, famous for being "fatwah'd" by Ruholla Khomeini for his book, The Satanic Verses; a good friend of Hitch's
Martin Amis, writer famous for his brilliance as well as for the vicious reviews garnered by his last novel, Yellow Dog; Hitch's best friend
Hitch's daughter, not yet famous
Maid, not famous
Bartender, also not famous

Blue: Hitch, darling? Must you leave now? We've just begun the soup course.

Hitch: If you'd do up your bathrobe, sweetie, you'd be so much more convincing. I must write a little something for Graydon, eh wot. Pip, pip. I'll be back momentarily. You won't even miss me!

2 minutes and 12 seconds later

(Hitchens staggers out of his office clutching a piece of paper and a large, half-empty bottle of gin.)

Hitch:
Everyone! You simply must listen to this! Ha, ha! I do not know how I come up with this stuff.

Maid: (Who is trying to serve the salad course.)
I bet know where you got it.
(She gives a meaningful look in the direction of the Hitch's rather ample behind.)

Hitch:
In the part I'm going to read to you, I'm making some tremendously insightful and innovative points about how women are humorless bitches who are completely dominated by their biology.

(He begins to read)
"Humor is part of the armor-plate with which to resist what is already farcical enough. (Perhaps not by coincidence, battered as they are by nature, men tend to refer to life itself as a bitch.) Whereas women, bless their tender hearts, would prefer that life be fair, and even sweet, rather than the sordid mess it actually is."

(Stops reading)
Now is that not brilliant!?

Martin Amis:
Oh, Hitch, you old sot. You do know how to wind people up!

Hitch:
Shut up, Amis. Your last book tanked. Salman, what do you think?

Salman Rushdie:
Very provocative. But if you really want to upset the apple cart, so to speak, you should suggest that women and humor are entirely antithetical.

Hitch:
Brilliant idea. And by the way, don't worry, Salman. We've checked all the staff. Not one wants to kill you. Ha. Ha.

(Hitch staggers back into his office with a fresh bottle of whiskey.)

3 minutes and 10 seconds later.
(Hitch, nearly unable to stand now, reels out of his office, with a cheap jug of Portuguese wine in one hand and his article in the other.)

Hitch: (In a slurred voice)
Salman, I've incorporated your changes. Now here's my big closing argument. This'll get them so fired up they'll forget I said it was an excellent idea for the U.S. to invade Iraq.

Martin Amis:
Aren't you still saying that?

Hitch: (Ignores Amis. Begins to read.)
"For men, it is a tragedy that the two things they prize the most—women and humor—should be so antithetical. But without tragedy there could be no comedy."

Blue:
Christ, I've caught my leopard print heel in the hem of my satin bathrobe. Dear God, what shall I do?

Hitch:
Blue, I keep telling you, God is Not Great. Ha! Get it? That's a joke. God is Not Great is the title of my new book.

And gentlemen, wouldn't you say women get funnier as they get older? Look at my darling Blue. She's got to be at least twenty-five now.

Maid: (Whispering so the mens' hearing aids won't pick it up.)
In her dreams. Man, this guy is such an assweed.

Blue:
Did someone say my ass is fat? That's unfair! It just looks fat because I left a towel on under my bathrobe. Hitch and I have so many heady and serious discussions that I can never remember to get completely dressed! See, if I take off the towel, like so, my ass looks much slimmer.

Hitch: (Ignoring all of them.)
Before that part I have this brill bit where I say that the only truly funny women are "hefty or dykey or Jewish, or some combo of the three."

Isn't that priceless!?

Maid: (Not bothering to whisper anymore.)
Bite me.

Hitch's thirteen year old daughter:
Dad, you are such an embarrassing, reductive windbag. Can I have twenty bucks so I can go see Margaret Cho in concert?

Martin Amis:
But Hitch my dear fellow, might not one say the same thing about a lot of male comics?

Hitch:
Shut up, Amis. Your last book tanked.

Salman Rushdie:
I think the bartender you've hired is looking at me funny. Are you sure you had him properly checked out?

(Hitch falls down and passes out, the bottle of cheap wine explodes all over the dinner table and its occupants. As Hitch comes to a rest on the floor, he is still holding his Vanity Fair article. Graydon Carter gets up and takes it from his hand.)

Salman:
Jesus! I told you to background the staff before I came for dinner! Now I've been attacked, damn it all.

Graydon:
This little piece should stink up the January issue a bit. Just like in my old Spy magazine. They don't call me the Pretty Boy Provocateur for nothing!

Martin Amis:
I thought I was the Pretty Boy Provocateur.

Salman Rushdie:
I'm sorry gentlemen, but I'm quite sure that particular title is mine. Okay, maybe it wasn't a bomb but merely a bottle of cheap red wine, but I'm sure that bartender is looking at me funny.

Blue:
My heel. It's still caught! How I wish I were still in grad school.

Hitch's thirteen year old daughter: (As she picks Hitch's pocket.)
Dad, if you don't mind, I'm going to liberate a fifty. I'd like to pick up a book by Cintra Wilson or Stella Gibbons before I go to the Cho concert. Funniest. Women. Ever. Bye!

Martin Amis:
I think you should all know that I'm a genius. Same as everyone here. No matter how badly my last book did. And Rushdie, how do you know that bartender isn't looking at me? I've caused a few controversies in my time, I'll have you know.

The end.

***

Well, since the Hitch brought it up, let's take a moment to celebrate all the fantastic funny women we know. Here are a few of the first ones who come to mind:

Margaret Cho
Stella Gibbons
Maria Bamford
Cintra Wilson
Miss Alli
The Go Fug Yourself Girls
Meg Cabot
Irma Bombeck
Janeane Garafalo
Mary Walsh
Michelle Jaffe
Teresa Toten
Carrie Fisher

Of course, some of these women may fit part of his criteria, but I'm on a roll here and will not be deterred by facts. In that way, I'm like Hitch. It's true that I worship at the alter of many a full-figured and/or lesbian and/or jewish funny woman, but they don't own the whole stage! (Forgive me for running out of linking steam halfway. In my defence, I have a book to finish but you can Google the rest. It's worth it.)

Of course, the list doesn't include the many non-famous hilarious women I know. Good old Hitch needs to lay off the pipe or stop mixing his drinks or something. Seriously.

Report on Stuff

For some reason, this struck me as a hilarious heading when I thought it up. It appears I was mistaken.

First: thanks so much for the comments! I love getting them. Sometimes, when I feel like I can't write another word I'll get a comment like the one from melrose plant and will be invigorated to keep going. Thanks also to Anonymous and Ginger, my friend S.D. and of course, Maggie!

But back to business and the report on stuff. So here goes...

Went to see Casino Royale on Friday. It is the first movie I've gone to see in a theatre in months. After fifteen minutes of commercials (uniformly grating) and twenty minutes of trailers for crap upcoming movies, I realized why I've found it so easy to stay away. I rent my favourite TV shows on DVD in order to spare myself commercials and previews. Why would I pay $10 for the privilege of watching them on the large screen? It used to be the heavily buttered popcorn made up for it, but since I've started going to the theatre just to get popcorn, that argument no longer holds.

But back to Bond. James Bond. As the reviews promised, Daniel Craig made an excellent Bond. He was halfway between hilarious and hot. His uber buff bod and fierce yet sticky-out-y lips reminded me of, in equal parts, a British Secret Agent, a soccer hooligan and a monkey. If you don't believe me, watch him in the scene near the end when he's sitting on his sailboat with his bare feet perched on the edge of the boat. I half expected him to lift a foot to scratch behind his slightly protruding ear at any moment. The number of running and jumping and hanging off high objects stunts did nothing to remove the primate impression.

That said, he was dynamite in a suit and has marvelous, penetrating blue eyes (like many British Secret Agents) and was fascinatingly volatile (like most soccer hooligans). Nicely played, Craig. Nicely played.

In other news, no one called to ask my opinion about who should win the Liberal Leadership Race. I have always wanted to be polled about politics. Alas, even the regular telemarketers usually disqualify me in the first few questions.

"Excuse me, ma'am. I'm conducting a poll. It will only take a few moments."

"Uh, okay."

"Do you smoke?"

"No."

"Thank you for your time."

Click.

Hmmfff.

When I was in university they hung up on me because my household income was too low.

Anyway, the Liberal Leadership Convention is over and since no one bothered to ask, I'd like to volunteer the information that I am a single-issue voter these days and my vote is up for grabs. My single issue: the environment, the environment, the environment.

I know the Libs didn't do anything other than make promises the last time they were in power, but I have hopes that the new Leader, Stephan Dion, will change that. He was unable to accomplish much during his short tenure as Environment Minister, but I'd imagine that's because his government was short-lived and hampered by their lack of power. Mr. Dion wasn't my first choice, but I'm willing to give anyone who names their dog Kyoto the benefit of the doubt.

That's it then. My report on stuff. And now back to your regular programming.