The Rocket

French Canadians are the most ignorant people on the planet. There I fucking said it! You can separate from us now you whiny little shitbag chain-smoking cock suckers. I'm saying this now even though I didn't say it when I almost got killed in Montreal by some drunken fuck who tried to drop a beer bottle on my head from fifty feet up while I was walking under a grandstand. Apparently I was committing a severe crime against the francophone people by cheering for Michael Schumacher rather than Jaques Villeneuve. Fuck you.

Last night was the straw that broke the camels back. What little tolerance and respect I had for French Canadians is no longer. What happened? I went to go see The Rocket, that's what the fuck happened. Only people as ignorant as the french Canadians (I'm not even going to capitalize french anymore) can take a hockey story with great movie potential and turn it into a full out fucking cry baby fest.

For those of you who don't know, The Rocket is a film based on the life of hockey player Maurice Richard. By now you probably realize that the film has very little to do with hockey and is just a full out attack on English speaking Canadians and how we never give the french the respect they deserve. Oh man those where tough days for the french Canadians. The way they had to ride the back of the bus and drink from different drinking fountains. Oh no wait, that wasn't the french Canadians, that was black people in America.

What exactly would french Canadians have to complain about in a hockey movie?

1. According to this film, Maurice Richard never appeared in an All-Star game because he's a francophone. It's funny because if you read most biographies based on his career you'll read that he had appeared in fourteen All-Star games throughout his career.

2. League owners and coaches would never speak french. They would bark orders at the poor francophone players in English. This pissed them off. How dare they talk and yell at french Canadians in a different language. French (capital f cause it's the start of a sentence) Canadians would never dream of doing such a thing to English speaking Canadians.

3. Apparently Maurice Richard was robbed of the scoring title every year because league owners would fudge the numbers of other players. All this just so a francophone wouldn't win the scoring title. I'm pretty sure it was really because the french are shit with math and couldn't properly calculate their totals.

4. English players would injure francophone players and get away with it. In retaliation to getting hit in the head with a stick, Maurice Richard broke his stick over that players head and also punched out a linesman. When he was suspended for the rest of the season, the francophone people would not stand for it. They flooded the streets of downtown Montreal and began looting and rioting. Crashing in the windows of francophone owned stores. I know, it doesn't make much sense. It didn't make much sense either in 1993 when they did the exact same thing after the montreal Canadians won the Stanley Cup.


Anyway, don’t go see The Rocket. If you do, you wont be supporting Canadian Cinema, you’ll be supporting french Canadian cry baby cinema. Instead, wait for it to be released to DVD and rent it. I hear there’s going to be a uncut limited francophone edition that comes with a box of tissues and a coupon for 5 dollars off a two-four of Molson Dry.

An Explanation.

I think it’s about time I revealed the origin of the title of my blog. It comes from one of the many stories from The Decameron.

First day, eighth story.

Know then that in Genoa there dwelt long ago a gentleman, who was known as Messer Ermino de' Grimaldi, and whose wealth, both in lands and money, was generally supposed to be far in excess of that of any other burgher then in Italy; and as in wealth he was without a rival in Italy, so in meanness and avarice there was not any in the entire world, however richly endowed with those qualities, whom he did not immeasurably surpass, insomuch that, not only did he keep a tight grip upon his purse when honour was to be done to another, but in his personal expenditure, even upon things meet and proper, contrary to the general custom of the Genoese, whose wont is to array themselves nobly, he was extremely penurious, as also in his outlay upon his table. Wherefore, not without just cause, folk had dropped his surname de' Grimaldi, and called him instead Messer Ermino Avarizia. While thus by thrift his wealth waxed greater and greater, it so chanced that there came to Genoa a jester of good parts, a man debonair and ready of speech, his name Guglielmo Borsiere, whose like is not to be found to-day, when jesters (to the great reproach be it spoken of those that claim the name and reputation of gentlemen) are rather to be called asses, being without courtly breeding, and formed after the coarse pattern of the basest of churls. And whereas in the days of which I speak they made it their business, they spared no pains, to compose quarrels, to allay heart-burnings, between gentlemen, or arrange marriages, or leagues of amity, ministering meanwhile relief to jaded minds and solace to courts by the sprightly sallies of their wit, and with keen sarcasm, like fathers, censuring churlish manners, being also satisfied with very trifling guerdons; nowadays all their care is to spend their time in scandal-mongering, in sowing discord, in saying, and (what is worse) in doing in the presence of company things churlish and flagitious, in bringing accusations, true or false, of wicked, shameful or flagitious conduct against one another; and in drawing gentlemen into base and nefarious practices by sinister and insidious arts. And by these wretched and depraved lords he is held most dear and best rewarded whose words and deeds are the most atrocious, to the great reproach and scandal of the world of to-day; whereby it is abundantly manifest that virtue has departed from the earth, leaving a degenerate generation to wallow in the lowest depths of vice.

But reverting to the point at which I started, wherefrom under stress of just indignation I have deviated somewhat further than I intended, I say that the said Guglielmo was had in honour, and was well received by all the gentlemen of Genoa; and tarrying some days in the city, heard much of the meanness and avarice of Messer Ermino, and was curious to see him. Now Messer Ermino had heard that this Guglielmo Borsiere was a man of good parts, and, notwithstanding his avarice, having in him some sparks of good breeding, received him with words of hearty greeting and a gladsome mien, and conversed freely with him and of divers matters, and so conversing, took him with other Genoese that were of his company to a new and very beautiful house which he had built, and after shewing him over the whole of it, said to him: "Now, Messer Guglielmo, you have seen and heard many things; could you suggest to me something, the like of which has not hitherto been seen, which I might have painted here in the saloon of this house?" To which ill-judged question Guglielmo replied: "Sir, it would not, I think, be in my power to suggest anything the like of which has never been seen, unless it were a sneeze or something similar; but if it so please you, I have something to suggest, which, I think, you have never seen." "Prithee, what may that be?" said Messer Ermino, not expecting to get the answer which he got. For Guglielmo replied forthwith: "Paint Courtesy here;" which Messer Ermino had no sooner heard, than he was so stricken with shame that his disposition underwent a complete change, and he said: "Messer Guglielmo, I will see to it that Courtesy is here painted in such wise that neither you nor any one else shall ever again have reason to tell me that I have not seen or known that virtue." And henceforward (so enduring was the change wrought by Guglielmo's words) there was not in Genoa, while he lived, any gentleman so liberal and so gracious and so lavish of honour both to strangers and to his fellow-citizens as Messer Ermino de' Grimaldi.

*In the translation of the story I had origionally read, Messer Guglielmo's response to Messer Ermino is "let generosity be painted on this wall." Hence the title of this blog. Unfortunetly I could not find that translation for your reading pleasure.

Don't Tress on Me.

I don't get it. I was watching television last night and some lady (I can't remember who, but it doesn't matter) proclaimed her-self to be an actor. She said it with such conviction too.

I'm sorry ladies, but let me be the first to tell you that there is no victory in calling yourselves actors as opposed to the supposedly "sexist" term actress. Last time I checked, you guys are still totally separated from us men at awards ceremonies. If you really want to make it fair then wipe out the whole best female and best male category bullshit and make it all one. That would be a true victory.

If female directors have the balls to compete with male directors, how come actresses can’t do the same? What’s the matter? Scared you won’t get to win any of the little shiny statues?

Until that victory is achieved (or at least some sort attempt is made), I would like to reinstate the term 'actress'.

I better write something before I kill someone.

Been another "while since my last post." Lately I've been on an edge that's kind of new to me. My once strongest virtue patience has completely disintegrated. Why?

The Handy and Harman Canada Experience.

Lost my job last a couple of weeks ago. Things were going fine until I was put to work in the melt shop (my own request). I was now a metal refiner in training. After about a month and a half of doing bullshit tedious work my initial goal was finally coming into effect. I was happy.

The downhill is a long story. It's in my nature to keep stories concise. It's also in my nature to stand up and shout when others and I are being treated poorly. That was the main reason behind my termination at Handy and Harman Canada (despite what they claim.) For over a month I was working at an extremely close distance to a furnace that was melting and pouring various hazardous alloys such as Cadmium, Zinc, and Nickel. What was I given to protect my lungs with? A 3M N95 dust mask. A couple of days into the new position I had requested a respirator and anything else that was required for me to work safely. I was told it would all be ordered.

After about two weeks of working in the melt shop I was taken aside by my manager and we had a very confusing talk about my "attitude." The result of that conversation was me winning every argument presented by my manager and being told again that a respirator and anything else that the company was legally obligated to provide me with was to be ordered. Wasn't it already supposed to be on it's way? Confusing eh?

Three weeks later, still no respirator. What did I have? Constant pain in my hands and short breath. On a Wednesday I leave work at about 11 am because my hands are not quite functional. At this point I would also like to point out that I was still working on a 3 month probationary contract which at the end of I was to be provided with sick days, benefits and a pay raise (non union). Any hours I missed were not paid for and were my own loss. The next day I attempt to call in sick cause I woke up with such a pain in my hands that I at some points felt like crying. When I spoke with my manager he had asked me if I had gone to see a doctor. I hadn't and told him that maybe it was a good idea that I did. The end result of this conversation was me coming into work because I was "needed." Not much to my surprise, the moment I walked into work I was taken into his office and told that they were "terminating my contract." When I had asked for a reason why, my manager and some shmuck from human resources looked at each other for a moment not having the slightest fucking clue what to say. The response I got from my manager was quite vague "uh, we just don't feel it's working out."

The things we do for a living. I wish I had the patience to sit down and write out every fucking detail of my experience at that shit hole. The people at Handy and Harman Canada better pray I don’t muster it up.