Family Reunion.

It's no literary achievement to liken the Trans-Canada Highway to a major artery of the nation. But I do have a small twist of my own to put on that metaphor: The No. 1West is the artery of Canada. The major vein is the No. 1 East.

Maybe it's just a product of the summer vacations my parents chose, or maybe it's in accordance with the sun, or maybe it's just that Pet Shop Boys song. Regardless, my natural instinct is always to start heading west. I don't need any encouragement to travel in that direction. Heading east, on the other hand, signifies a return. The job is done, the motivation has no pulse, and all that's left is a more relaxed path between rest stops.

And so, when I begin a trip by heading east to Regina, it always feels a bit like I'm going against the flow.

It was still a good trip, though. Friends were met, eggs were broken, bowls were shared, and bunnies danced.

Of particular note, though, was my evening with the grandparents. I was staying the night, and after the seven-course meal (ah, grandmothers), the three of us settled down in front of the television. Alternating between a romantic comedy and a hockey game was pleasant, but the eventually the Leafs won and Minnie Driver got the man of her dreams. The next movie on cable was "Hallowe'en", and I think you all can appreciate why I quickly suggested we turn off the television.

However, small talk runs out after a while, and that's when the photo albums came out. Leafing through page after page of grandchildren, I couldn't help but think about the Wii I had in the trunk of my car. That's supposed to be all the rage with seniors nowadays, isn't it? Wouldn't they enjoy it? I decided against it, ultimately, but it did remind me of something else I brought with me.

"Say, Grandma... a friend of mine lent me a CD by a country singer named Corb Lund -- he's actually from the town of Taber, right by Medicine Hat. It's actually quite good, and I think you'd like it, so I made you a copy. Hold on, and I'll get it from the car."

When I came back inside with the CD... pandemonium.

My grandmother had convinced my grandfather that Corb Lund was a close personal friend of mine, and they had to get that CD playing as soon as possible, even if it meant rearranging all the ornaments covering their stereo, and pulling out the surrounding furniture to find out where the stereo used to plug in.

I tried to downplay the issue, and convinced them that they didn't have to remodel the living room tonight. I also tried to clear up the "friend" angle... they now think that Corb's a close personal friend of the guy who lent me the CD. I call it a partial success.

However, I was certainly convinced by this point that hooking up a video game console would have been too great an undertaking, so once again, I put the idea of the Wii aside.

Then, later that evening, a game of checkers was proposed, but dismissed when no checkerboard could be found, and my grandfather admitted that he hadn't played checkers in over a decade...

Later still, the topic of bowling came up, and they commented on how nice it was to be able to bowl year-round. Of course, it was still a pain getting to the bowling lanes...

I want to reassure you all that I had a wonderful time, and that I treasured their company. But let me tell you this, my friends: Never once, in my wildest dreams, did I ever imagine that I (or anyone) would feel guilty about not playing video games with my grandparents.

Seriously, I think we're going to have to invent a word for this.

Interruptions at dinnertime.

Whoops.

I was planning the list of ingredients to pick up for Round 2, when I find out that my parents are visiting the next night.

Round 2 got pushed into a dark little pile in the corner of my bedroom, right next to a pile of unopened bills, two stacks of CDs lying on my coffee table, and a few days' worth of laundry.

Round 3 was pre-empted by an evening of Vietnamese food, served by a kind man who unlocked the door for us when we arrived ten minutes after closing.

My parents left today, but Round 4 would still seem self-indulgent, after seeing the care packages my mom snuck into my fridge when she wasn't looking.

And so, as it is wont to do, life gets in the way of my little plans.

At least I've still got the aubergines.

EXCITING LATE-BREAKING NEWS: There've been way too many shirt-of-the-day posts lately, and now it's time to correct that. I'm off to do some photojournalism!

Oh, and it's fullscreen, too. Naturally.

I don't think I'll cause any controversy when I say that "The Secret of NIMH" is an exceptionally eerie children's movie. I remember watching it in my grandparent's house in Cupar, Saskatchewan. I didn't understand a single bloody thing that was happening, but I was entranced nonetheless. Was I just another youth brainwashed by the television? Usually, but this was different. This time, the television was smarter than I was, and I could tell I was not the one in control. I was expected to keep pace with the story, and it was unapologetic to viewers who couldn't. (Hey, I was six at the time.) Was it really that creepy, though? Take a look for yourself.
Gah! For starters, we've got an ugly giant owl and an ugly ancient rat, both with glowing eyes. Powerful and aloof, you can already envision the "NO VISITORS" sign they'd have on their front doors. At the bottom, in a framework of roots and vines, there are two angry-looking mice, one scared child mouse, and an evil-looking cat. Dead center: a gangly raven, a red jewel, and Mrs. Brisby herself, looking for all the world like the weakest and least important character on the poster. You can tell that she's "as timid as a mouse", because she knows that that's the only mice don't get eaten. As for the jewel, it's shining with a light that floods the entire poster. Whatever the jewel is, it's probably the only thing that can save Frisby from those two monsters overhead. But it's also probably something that she really shouldn't be meddling with -- its power will certainly come with a price.

That isn't exactly accurate to the movie, mind you, but that's the impression the poster gives, and that's certainly the impression I got from it when I was six. I haven't seen the movie since, though, but I've seen bits and clips over the years, and while the plot seems a bit less ethereal and the owls and rats a bit less scary, it's still got that same atmosphere. If I'm going to use it as a reference point this November, though, I felt I should do my homework. So, I ordered the DVD, and it arrived in the mail this morning.
...
Huh?
Three children are giggling in the open field (no twisty roots), and oh, look at that silly raven. He's playing with a piece of string! Isn't that cute? There are no bad guys visible (nor is there any hint of conflict). All of the characters look happier, cuter, more theme-park-synergistic. As for the timid, vulnerable Mrs. Frisby, she's 2/3 the height of the frame, staring right at the camera, and wearing the red jewel harmlessly around her neck. She is large and in charge. This Mrs. Brisby looks like the type of mouse that could stick her finger into a gun barrel and watch it explode harmlessly in the farmer's face.

I don't even have to go into the issue of whether it's faithful to what the director intended -- this cover is simply a downright lie. Why on earth would MGM do this? My guess is that they simply decided to mire themselves even deeper into that tar pit of "Family-Friendliness" -- the idea that a good children's film should alleviate boredom, and do nothing else. They're ashamed of this movie because it tries to do more.

Or maybe, just maybe, they're deliberately trying to deceive those sorts of parents into buying this film for their children.

I can dream, can't I?

A really big lump of coal.

My mother phoned me yesterday, to find out my Christmas schedule. While talking about holiday plans, she also told me that she'd bought my Christmas present. Then, for some reason, she gave me the following hints:

• It's really expensive.
  
• I won't like it.

... What?
Does this make any sense at all? What on Earth am I supposed to do when I get it? If I don't like it, should I be honest? Worse yet, if I do like it, will she believe me when I say so? Is it ungrateful not to like a present which the giver knows you won't like? Maybe I'll just have to appreciate its practicality.

Then, there's the question of exactly what I'll be getting. If you think about it, it's actually quite a difficult set of hints. Sure, there are plenty of cheap things I don't like (Norah Jones, vinegar), and plenty of expensive things I don't need (car, house, private yacht full of pianos), but a combination of the two? It boils down to things she thinks I need. Here's what I've come up with, besides a car full of vinegar:

1. Cell phone. Not only would my parents think I'd be somehow safer with it, but they'd also have a way to contact me at any time. A win-win situation, for them.

2. Golf clubs. Every summer for the last ten years, my mom asks me if I want to go golfing, and I always reply that I don't like golf. Clearly, my attitude would change if only I had my own set of equipment. At the very least, I'd be guilted into using them this summer.

3. A Caribbean cruise/resort. Once, I walked into a travel agency, and asked them what sort of wild adventures they could offer. My choices were: a resort, a resort, a cruise, a resort, and Las Vegas. Now, those choices are perfectly entertaining, but it galls me that we're asked to believe an all-inclusive hotel where we're not supposed to leave the grounds is an "adventure". Besides, I weary of people who can only measure the quality of their vacation by the average daytime temperature. There is life below thirty degrees, you know... and yet, I have an eerie suspicion that this is something my newly-retiring parents want to do "as a family."

If anyone else has ideas, I'd love to hear them. It'll help me brace for what might be the most awkward gift exchange I've ever known.

On the bright side, I don't think my parents even know that I hate monkeys.