I’d planned on getting another Secret Government Robots done for today, but then I didn’t. I have let down my legions of fans* and will no doubt be pilloried for it.** I will try harder next week.***
*Legion of fans does not actually exist.
**PDR will not be pilloried.
***Results may vary.
Hey, I’m reviewing another Canadian Heritage commercial! This time we’ve got a bunch of Irish kids whose parents died on the trip to North America and some Quebecois families who take them in. That’s nice. But there’s a catch! The kids are to take on the family names of their new guardians! HORROR! But when the kids tearfully point out that they’d rather keep the names that represent their real lineage, everybody is like “That’s cool”. There’s really only one line in this one that I can see being especially quotable and that is “No! We have to keep our Irish names!” though I admit that as a bearer of the name Patrick, I’ve had “Patrick, Patrick O’Neil” thrown my way more than once. I would imagine that anyone named Molly Johnson heard about this one on a regular basis. I have never been able to make out the name of the adorable little girl, though. Katrine Ryan? Kathleen O’Royem? Katya Nguyen? Yeah, that’s probably the one.
So we’ve got a story about Canadians letting orphans keep their identity and a mild quotability quotient. What else is there to say? Well, I like the soundtrack to this one. It’s starts with that ominous churchy sound and at the end when everything is happy is turns into a lively jig. Way to play, music. Plus, Molly’s new dad has a glorious moustache. All in all, I’m going to hand out Four And A Half Pieces of PDR’s Reviewing System Cake for this one. It entertains and educates, I guess.
But why did Molly’s mother care so much about keeping her name that it was apparently the last thing she spoke to her daughter about? I mean, when Molly grows up, she’s liable to get married and I doubt they were letting women keep their own names in those days so basically if she finds true love Molly is going to have to defy her mother’s dying wish? Great! Way to mess with your daughter’s head there, Mrs. Johnson.
Today’s Phone Guys. Nothing else to say.
In the interest if keeping track of all the dream cliches I manage to experience I will point out that I had a nap today in which I dreamed my teeth were falling out. I’ve always heard that that is one of the very most popular dreams people can have, but I’d never had one so far as I can remember.
Full disclosure: My teeth didn’t actually fall out, but they were trying to and I had to keep my jaw clenched so they would stay where they are. I was all talking through my teeth while trying to arrange a dental appointment. That counts right? Right? Yeah, probably that counts.
This last weekend I slept in three different rooms in my apartment. Now, I’m fully aware that this is not an interesting fact, but it does allow me to title this post without it being blatant lies.
Haiku!
Danger from the moon!
We can’t hope to defeat it,
but we can join it.
Hey, speaking of terrible PDR Poetry, like two months ago some song lyrics came to me in the shower and I saved that as a draft on this site for posterity. Well, now that we’re trying to update the site I want to get rid of all the unpublished drafts, so I’m going to go ahead and put this here. It’s even stranger than my usual poetic attempts, but that’s okay because I can blame the shower. I give you, Puppets On Fire:
Runnin’ out of ammo and food again. Every day the same old thing.
If brains were bullets you’d have a knife, but that’s good enough for this damn life.
Fenced in, strung up where could we go? Only places left were the ones we didn’t know.
Freedom is worth a hefty price, but hey, we still have appetites.
People say there’s nothing to be done, but it sure don’t feel that way holdin’ a gun.
Shame it’s such a gruesome act, ’cause nothing really compares to that.
The map was on the placemat back, but we stayed focussed on all the snacks.
The fence had holes bigger than the gate. We told the boss he said “that’s okay.”
We were puppets on fire, our strings did no good. Burnin’ on the ground, just lifeless wood.
From those ashes smoke did arise. The way it moved it looked so alive.
In our places we ate and cursed. Trapped in this spot what could be worse?
So that dark column blew across the sky. We watched it and waved goodbye.
