There is nothing we love more than to walk along Spanish Banks, ear phones snuggly tight in our aural canal, powering down the beach listening to beat music remixes to energize our appreciation of the great outdoors.
Dating back to the late 1960s, we have written a regular music column, first for the city wide Vancouver student newspaper, then as arts & review editor of Simon Fraser University’s student newspaper, The Peak, and after that in mainstream media, and since the turn of the century online, both on VanRamblings and a raft of other online non-affiliated online publications.
Today, four of our favourite remixes, which we listen and dance to again and again on our slidey living room floor (and elsewhere) …
Cake | Rhianna | Sweater Beat Remix
Cloud Number 9 | Bryan Adams | Chicane Remix | (long my ringtone)
Need U (100%) | Duke Dumont | Skreamix | (80s funk done up right)
That Thing | Golden Boy | Eton Messy Remix | (thank you Lauryn Hill)
Christmas of 1989, Cathy asked me if she might have the children on Christmas Day, as her mother would be in town and very much wanted to spend Christmas Day with her two grandchildren, Jude and Megan.
Now, just the previous year Cathy and I had come to the bitter end of an arduous and discomfiting 10 year, million dollar separation and divorce journey that had near bankrupted me. Although I had sole custody of the children from 1978 through 1981, because Myrtle (Cathy’s mother) hated having to go through me to see her grandchildren, she financed what turned out to be a brutal seven year campaign to wrest sole custody away from me in favour of Cathy having the children year round, in the court proceedings setting about to deny me access to my two loving children.
In order to pay for the legal fees necessary to put my position forward in the Supreme Court (and to preserve my access to Jude and Megan), I worked three jobs simultaneously, teaching, working as a social worker, as well as a corrections officer, taking an inheritance from my aunt, as well, to fund legal fees from 1981 through 1988 — going so far in the late eighties as to cash in my teacher’s pension to pay off the last of my legal bills — all but living in the Supreme Court throughout the 1980s, until one fine day, Supreme Court Justice Patrick Dohm seized himself of our divorce and custody matter (which meant that all future proceedings would be directed to his court), with Justice Dohm finally deciding in 1988 that “enough was enough”, scolding Cathy, instructing her to “behave”, and then awarding the two of us joint custody, which gave me 183 days of access to the children each year, Wednesday evenings, Friday evenings through Sunday evenings, half of each of the Easter and Christmas holidays, as well as all summers, from the beginning of July through the end of August.
Note of reflection: I will say this, had I to do it all over again, I would not have fought what was for me a half million dollar custody battle with Cathy throughout the 1980s. Some people are meant to be parents — Cathy is not one of those people. Had I not fought with her, gone to court half a dozen or more times each year for seven years, because Cathy is who she is, I likely would have spent just as much time, perhaps even more time, with Jude and Megan throughout the 1980s than I did by fighting with her in court to maintain my access to the children — and would most probably have a better relationship with my children than is the case today.
In 1988, as per the Supreme Court ruling of Justice Dohm, in the first year of the Court mandated agreement I was given the latter half of the Christmas holidays as access, which meant that in 1989, I would have the two children from the last day of school through Boxing Day morning. But as Myrtle was in Vancouver during Christmas 1989, Cathy asked if she might have the children from the end of the school term in December through Boxing Day morning.
“Raymond, you know you want to spend time with the children. School gets out for the holidays on Friday, December 22nd and Boxing Day is only four days later, which would give you very little time with Jude and Megan. If you take them for the second half of the holidays, you would have the children from Boxing Day through the late evening of Sunday, January 7th — which would give you the children for thirteen full days, more than three times the number of days you would get if you just had them through Boxing Day, which I’m sure would make you happy.”
The more time I got to spend with the children the better, I had long thought, so I agreed to take the children from Boxing Day through their return to school on the 8th of January, agreeing to forfeit spending Christmas Day with the children in favour of a longer period with the children over the holiday season, granting Myrtle her Christmas wish.
Now, given the previous seven year history of our rancorous divorce, I should have known something was up, but being the good-hearted, naïve fellow I was then (and remain today), I readily — if stupidly — agreed to Cathy’s plan. And thus the conditions are set for part one of today’s story.
A bit of background as to why I should’ve been wary of Cathy’s intentions:
On my birthday on August 11th 1989, Cathy drove over to my home to drop the kids off, as Jude, Megan and I prepared to spend my birthday afternoon together, after which we would attend at The Cannery Restaurant for my much-looked-forward-to birthday dinner.
Cathy drove up in her late model Jetta, parked illegally across the street, leaving Jude and Megan (who were all dressed up) in the car, approaching me as I stood on the front lawn of my home. Cathy said, in an angry tone, “I want to talk with you.” “Something contentious?” I asked. “Yes,” she said, to which I replied, “Could we put off having that discussion until tomorrow? I’d very much like to speak with you, and I’m sure we could work out to your satisfaction whatever it is that you feel needs doing — it’s my birthday, though, and as you well know from having been married to me, I like to steer clear of any sort of contention on my birthday.”
Before I knew what was happening, Cathy balled up her fist, and moving her arm back and then towards my face hit me squarely on my left cheek, with such force that it knocked me to the ground. With me now lying sprawled out on the ground, Cathy stomped back across the street, got back into her car, and drove off, the children looking at me piteously through the rear window of their mother’s car as she speedily drove off.
Cathy could have her moods, and that is an example of one of them.
Boxing Day 1989: the Beginning of a Three Month Interregnum
As pre-arranged and agreed upon, Cathy dropped the children off to my place in the late morning of Boxing Day 1989. Upon alighting from their mother’s car, both children approached me to say that they wanted to go shopping for clothes, the first stop on our buying spree to be Aritzia at Oakridge where Megan had scoped out exactly what she wanted to acquire, with Jude asking afterwards that we drive downtown to Robson Street to a shop where he wanted to acquire a pair of jeans he’d had his eye on, and were on sale on Boxing Day. The three of us spent that day after Christmas day bopping around town, shopping, walking along crowded streets, stopping off for lunch, driving around Stanley Park and out to Horseshoe Bay — the children loved to be driven across the landscape of our region, soaking in the sights, listening to the radio and spending time together — before heading home for dinner, and a night in together watching a video.
Jude and Megan had chosen Good Morning Vietnam as the video, and after cleaning up the kitchen post dinner, set about to create the warming conditions to watch the Robin Williams movie, the three of us all snuggly & toasty warm in our pj’s and housecoats, sitting on the sofa hot chocolate in hand, and snacking on an array of chocolates and shortbread cookies.
At 11:30pm, the front door buzzer in my apartment sounded, with me thinking, “Who could that be at this time of night?” In fact, it was two Vancouver police officers, who asked to be let in, who told me that one of them would be knocking on my apartment door within the next minute. When the officer arrived at my door, I greeted him, the officer looking into my apartment to see Jude and Megan on the sofa staring out at him, the officer asking, “Are you two alright?” “Yep, we’re fine,” they said. The officer asked me to step out into the hallway of my apartment, which I did.
The officer explained to me that a frantic Cathy was in the foyer of my apartment building, court order in hand, exclaiming that I had not returned the children to her earlier in the day, as per the court order (a court order which she had re-proclaimed for this evening event). Cathy contended, the officer said, that I had not returned the children to her, so she called the police to enforce the court order — which he and his fellow officer were now compelled to do. I set about to explain the circumstance, but the officer was clear that the court order trumped whatever exclamation of events I was presenting to him. The officer asked me to return to my apartment to instruct the children to get dressed, and prepare to return to their mother’s home — which I solemnly and reluctantly set about to do.
Within 15 minutes, Jude and Megan were in the custody of the officer, after which they took the elevator to the main floor, reuniting with their mother.
I had no contact with the children for the next three months. Despite the fact that I was earning good money, I had no desire to spend even more money taking Cathy back into court, before Justice Dohm — who, no matter what he ruled, would at the end of the day, as had been the case in the past, have little effect on Cathy’s arbitrary and injudicious conduct.
Megan was born on March 26th, 1977. March 26th, 1990 would not only mark her 13 birthday, but her entrance into teenage hood. There was no likelihood that I was not going to move the sun, the moon, the stars to become a part of the celebration of the young woman I had raised, despite the fact that we’d had no contact with one another for three months.
So, I did what any good father would do: I arranged to have a large bouquet of birthday helium balloons delivered to the offices of University Hill Secondary, addressed to the young woman, Megan Jessica Tomlin.
That afternoon, I received a telephone call from Megan asking me to pick her up from school, which I did. Megan told me how disconcerting and embarrassing she found my outré birthday gift to be, but that her friends prevailed upon her that afternoon, saying what a wonderful gesture it was, that she couldn’t possibly not see how loving the gift was, and that she must, must, must get in touch with me as soon as was practicable.
For the next nine years, Megan’s and my relationship was steady and as close as it had always been, with no breaks away from one another throughout that entire time period, trusting confidants and friends with one another, lovers of baseball both, father and daughter, advocate and advocatee, Megan in charge (Megan always had to be in charge, then and to this very day), decided and loving, independent, feminist and caring.
In the coming weeks, VanRamblings will publish a list of our top 20 films of 2019, from Teen Spirit (now available on Amazon Prime) back in February through all the films yet to screen in Vancouver — from Clint Eastwood’s new film, Richard Jewell (December 13) to director Jay Roach’s story of the takedown of Fox News’ Roger Ailes, Bombshell (December 20), plus Greta Gerwig’s all-star cast adaptation of Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women, and Sam Mendes’ epic WW1 blockbuster, 1917, both set to open Christmas Day.
Now, two of VanRamblings’ top 20 films of 2019 that demand to be seen … Best Propulsive Good Time Hollywood Popcorn Flick of 2019
The first Hollywood film of 2019 that offers movie patrons a guaranteed good time inside a darkened movie theatre, a film for the whole family, the last film made by 20th Century Fox before they sold the company to Disney, a glorious barn burner of a film redolent with heart-in-mouth and tug-at-the-heart emotion, not only one of the greatest racing movies ever made, but an infectious, engrossing true life drama that features some of the finest onscreen performances of the year, Matt Damon as you’ve never seen him before and Christian Bale sympathetic and at top of form, with a supporting cast who will pull you into this audience-pleasing story like mad.
In other words, a must-see film at the multiplex. And it opens today! Ford v Ferrari is expected to win the weekend box office handily with as much as $31 million at 3,528 venues across the continent (and, likely, another $20+ million in foreign markets over the first weekend, with China and the rest of Asia set to screen Ford v Ferrari in the weeks to come — all of which oughta make the film a solid 2019 Oscar contender). The Disney-Fox film follows an eccentric team of American engineers and designers, led by automotive visionary Carroll Shelby (Matt Damon) and his British driver, Ken Miles (Christian Bale), who are dispatched by Henry Ford II (Tracy Letts) and Lee Iacocca (Jon Bernthal) to build a new vehicle to defeat the dominant Ferrari at the 1966 Le Mans world championship in France.
Click on the graphic above to access reviews for Ford v Ferrari on Rotten Tomatoes
The Probable Best Picture Academy Award Winner for 2019
Opening today for two weeks only in exclusive engagement at the Vancouver International Film Festival’s Vancity Theatre on Seymour Street — where advance tickets for the three screenings each day this weekend are already sold old — Martin Scorsese’s gangster opus, the capper of a directorial career that spans fifty years, the film that opened the New York Film Festival to rave reviews, a film that clocks in at 209 minutes that will seem like half that time the film is so enthralling, one of the five films that will garner the most Oscar nominations — a probable Best Picture Academy Award winner come Sunday evening, February 9th — The Irishman is, as Boston Globe critic Ty Burr enthuses, “a masterpiece”, a film Richard Roeper in the Chicago Sun-Times says is “the best film of the year and one of the best films of the decade,” and as other critics have written …
… a genuinely new, deeply satisfying, serenely confident film presented with subtlety, wit and resonance, a sumptuous film that tells an epic, extraordinary tale of organized crime’s grip on American life as seen through the eyes of one outwardly ordinary man, a film that is a revelation throughout, intoxicating, history-making cinema, a melancholy eulogy for growing old and losing your humanity, a film to be savoured in every one of its 209 minutes, a knockout story that is surprisingly, surpassingly delicate, told by a master filmmaker with heart and sombre introspection, a film that takes a deep dive into the darkest of souls but manages to remain engaging, lively, funny, full of grace, tender, reflective, mournful, a film of grandeur and bloody memories, a heartbreaking film that presents Joe Pesci as you’ve never seen him before, with superb performances from Al Pacino and Robert De Niro — together for the first time in a Scorsese film — and an absolute must-see at the cinema.”
So, that’s it: two of the best films of 2019, both deserving of your time and scarce dollars, both films (in their own way) epic and unforgettable cinema.
The term “shit election” was coined by Liberal Party apparatchiks Scott Reid and David Herle, and Conservative Party eminence gris Jenny Byrne (no mean feat being an eminence gris at only 42 years of age), although, for the sake of propriety, the title of that particular episode of The Herle Burly podcast — where for the past month and more all three have weighed in on the current federal election — eventually was titled The Seinfeld Election, “where the various political parties offering candidates in the 43rd Canadian federal general election are throwing the kitchen sink at the public and at each other, effectively turning the race into an episode of Seinfeld: an election about nothing.” And so this election has proven to be.
If you look at CBC’s poll tracker above, the intentions of the electorate have barely shifted since the writ was dropped on Wednesday, September 11th. The two leading parties have been stuck at 33% for the past five weeks, while the NDP have inched up a couple of points, as have the fortunes of the Bloc Québécois. Elizabeth May’s Green Party has failed to move the needle at all, as is the case with Maxime Bernier’s People’s Party of Canada.
Chances are that for the first time in a decade, Canadians face the prospect of a hung Parliament, with no Canadian federal party emerging with enough seats to form anything other than a precarious minority government. If, as the poll above suggests, the Liberals garner 140 seats, the NDP 25 and the Greens 4, together the three parties would not have enough votes to pass a budget or any legislation in the Parliament of Canada. If the Bloc outdoes expectations and garners 40 seats, Bloc leader Yves-François Blanchet could effectively align himself with Andrew Scheer and the Conservatives, for a non-coalition / “working agreement” majority — a very real prospect.
Up until a week ago, it looked as if Justin Trudeau would be able to form a government of around 154 seats (170 seats constitutes a majority) with the support of Jagmeet Singh’s NDP and Elizabeth May’s Green Party — and all would be right with the world. Canada would continue to have progressive government, both domestically and on the world stage.
One week ago, the Liberals were leading in all provinces across Canada, except on the Prairies (the base of support for the Conservatives), with 40% of the vote wrapped up in the three largest, and most seat rich, provinces: British Columbia, Ontario and Québec, and the prospect of 154 to 164 seats in Parliament. But, alas, no more. Bloc leader Yves-François Blanchet — with his message of “Québec for Québecers, we’re not interested in federal politics, we’re interested only in representing the interests of Québec” — has decimated prospects in Québec for both the Liberals and, more particularly for, the Conservatives.
In Québec, Liberal support has dropped 6 points to 33.1%, the Conservatives dropping from 23% to 16%, the NDP on the rise at 12.8% (up 3 points), and the Greens a non-factor (again, as is the case with the People’s Party of Canada). Only a week ago, the Liberals were looking to win between 50 and 60 seats in Québec (out of 78 seats). But no more. The Liberals will hold on to only 30 – 33 of their current 40 seats, the Conservatives will be decimated, winning maybe 2 seats (down from 11 in the last Parliament), the NDP could hold on to a half dozen Québec seats, while the Bloc Québécois will pick up the rest, with 40 seats or more.
In 2019, no federal party policy platform, no issue, and no federal party leader has fired the imagination across a cross-section of the electorate.
In 2015, cannabis legalization brought out hundreds of thousands of new voters, Canadians who would otherwise have stayed home, a commitment by the Liberals to raise minimum pension payments for seniors to $2000 a month by 2024 (more on that tomorrow), a return to sanity in Ottawa — with Justin Trudeau committed to holding regular press conferences, as well as regular town halls across the country, in contrast to a secretive and elitist Stephen Harper government, which hadn’t had a press conference since 2006 — a commitment to a child tax credit for families that would make life easier and more affordable for young families, a commitment to proportional representation, to building transit infrastructure and affordable housing across Canada, allowing scientists to speak freely and openly on issues respecting the environment, and the introduction of assisted dying legislation saw a record number of Canadians going to the polls.
In 2019: nada, nothing, zilch — aside from a commitment from Andrew Scheer to gut infrastructure spending, gut foreign aid, and a commitment to do nothing on the climate change file. And the electorate yawns.
As we write above: a “shit election” — when there is so much on the line.
