Mis dos voces (My Two Voices)

Lina Rodriguez's Mis dos voces (My Two Voices) takes a hard look at Canadian immigration, with extended thoughtful honest accounts, as three women share their experiences.

It's impressive how naturally they speak, how they can continue talking for such a long time, without pausing or searching for the right word, the films presents a solid look at natural spoken language.

How do you keep the narrative flowing while being filmed for such a long time?, perhaps the language just naturally diversifies when compassionately asked sincere open-ended questions.

It's nice to see people who care about one another and genuinely seek widespread well-being, while candidly sharing what they've practically learned in order to help others in similar situations.

They don't mince words or sugar coat things.

But still warmly share experiences people can relate to.

I know that learning a new language can be tough especially if you start your studies later in life. I'm a bit out of practise these days but I can share some tips I've learned which may help. 

It's really daunting at first because there's so much for you to learn. And you're striking blind from oblivion and seriously hoping to gain some traction.

Keep at it though.

Rome wasn't built in a day.

It can take time to acquire new language skills. I still have so much to learn.

But if you put in an effort you'll find you're making progress and you'll start to notice patterns and shortcuts that can help you express your ideas.

In the beginning, there are a lot of bad days and not being able to communicate is frustrating, but as time passes good days emerge and make things much more interesting.

After you start having good days if you have another bad day it isn't so bad, because you can focus on the good day memories, and rationally expect more of them to come.

Years later a day may dawn where you find you understand quite a lot. I haven't made it particularly far. But there are a lot of conversations I can have.

It just takes a while to build up vocabularies and then match the correct words to the sentences.

But when you suddenly find you can do it.

That's a really cool feeling.

My experience has been much different than that presented by the women in this film.

I just share what psychological strategies helped me in order to aid people in similar circumstances. 

Démanty noci (Diamonds of the Night)

The blunt tiresome imposition of exacting extremist cacophonous doctrine, inflexible coercive stone totalitarian limited unimaginative codes.

With everything narrowly prescribed with short-sighted grim oppressive tidings, the threat of harsh dismissive punishment leads to absent playful recalcitrance. 

With people fearing for their lives the tension palpably pervades, otherwise constructive interactive harmonious multidimensional communal initiatives. 

It's difficult to courageously refuse when facing tenacious organized opposition, even if that's what must be done to preserve inherent lithe vitality. 

Two characters in Démanty noci (Diamonds of the Night) see an opportunity to break free, from a train taking them to a concentration camp during the carnage of World War II.

Youthful and free of guilt and alertly aware of their people's innocence, they flee through a nearby wood with the hope of finding food and warmth.

Director Jan Nemec captures their frightened thoughts as they beg at rural lodgings, deprivation producing uncharacteristic distracting wild unwholesome rumination.

They hold it together however and don't act on their destructive impulses, making their way through the inclement climes while others gather to track and hunt them.

The desperation is manifested through shocking visceral lamentation, as others seeking to maintain their freedoms incoherently give chase.

Divided the country's people do the work of their oppressors for them, everything they're forced to do against their will an abomination.

What country understood Nazi oppression more than the routinely terrorized Soviet Union, who lost millions of its own citizens before it outmatched Hitler's armies?

Who was more deserving of a hero's welcome in contemporary legend and heraldic song, after the war came to an abrupt end and Nazi Germany was reduced to ruin?

Yet who now uses the same brutal tactics to subdue a country against its will, to force the peaceful democratic Ukraine to abandon nation, hope, and freedom?

Historical street cred valiantly gained as Russia fought off Berlin, now lost to their embrace of fascism and imperious monstrous violent aggression.

Who would have ever thought it would come to this twenty odd years ago when amicable thoughts, were disseminated far and wide as the world sought widespread peaceful accords?

It has though nevertheless and the people of Ukraine bravely fight on.

Unwilling to yield once more.

United together as one.

*Written last winter.

Le vent souffle où il veut (A Man Escaped)

A French resistance fighter is woefully captured during World War II, and sent to a brutal prison from which escape is notoriously challenging.

Not one to give up hope he correspondingly applies himself nevertheless, and goes about acquiring tools to help him furtively break free.

The rules within are rather strict so conversation remains quite limited, but he's still able to learn requisite facts from his locked down brethren through stealth and cunning.

Warnings abound regarding improbabilities and potential stool pigeons messing things up, most residents resigned to their fate yet still encouraged by the lieutenant's (François Leterrier) bravery.

His neighbour timorously worries that his escape plans will be detected, and the entire block punished for such ambitions, his fears brought upon by age.

Another prisoner attempts to escape but is unfortunately caught while attempting to do so, his maladroit efforts still supplying the officer with helpful intel regarding necessities.

There are still Nazis to fight and France needs him to secure liberation.

He continues to gradually progress.

Increasing his speed, when he's sentenced to death.

Patiently awaiting the miraculous day when he constructively frees himself from his prison, director Robert Bresson slowly builds up the tension as he meticulously choreographs each struggle.

The palpable concrete uncertainty drives the resonating raw desperation, as hope and logic still efficiently marshal remarkably high spirits considering the circumstances.

The painstaking steps the laborious plan effectively contravenes instantaneous postures, while the cold calculating inhuman pressures chaotically motivate exacting rigour.

Mixed with brief candid exchanges lies irrepressible undaunted light, resplendently illuminating inherent audacity through exoteric recourse to fathomless plight.

Attempts are made to rob prisoners of war of any desire to do anything but, simply follow a severe routine absolutely obscuring identity and purpose.

But the enlivening knowledge of the pervasive injustice recalibrates ethical strides and intuitively guides them.

A prison break film which follows a plan and authentically labours from dusk 'til dawn.

Memorable scenes clandestinely crafted.

Distinct deliberation.

Ecstatic pause.  

A Beautiful Life

A resilient fisherman makes a day-to-day living helping some friends down at the nearby docks, living on a sweet boat that his parents left him after they wound up in a tragic accident.

One of his mates likes to play music and he assists at his gigs around town, one night impressing a legendary widow with his exceptional singing and practical songwriting. 

She likes him so much that she invites him to patiently record at her in-house studio, with her daughter producing the songs, it's an incredible opportunity.

But he isn't ready at first the temperamental transition playing with his head, he still doubts his homegrown talent and trepidatiously remains hyper-critically unsure.

His songs are solid however and as he records them enthusiasm blossoms, and after the first release is met with applause self-assured belief tantalizingly manifests.

Moving from the wharf to superstardom in a couple of months still takes quite the heavy toll.

With newfound relationship responsibilities. 

Tantamount tension.

Consummate joy.

I suppose a lot of people are shy and it's difficult to prepare for mass observation, the overwhelming scrutiny of every micromovement generating controversy, buzz, and takeaway. 

I see the most ridiculous stuff in the For You news section on my cell (can someone hook me up with better articles?), it's like Malibu Stacy getting a new hat, I'm really just not that into it.

Nonetheless, I recognize that people are and that mundane trivialities build community, or through the relationships and fashionable choices of famous stars conversations matriculate.

I worry that fame can alter an otherwise innocent unique trajectory, that it's easy to filter out distractions when you aren't being meticulously criticized. 

If you can harness that tumultuous energy and use it to fuel your celebrated progression, I imagine that things would work out and that your outputs would consistently diversify. 

That's what the Beatles did anyways, they took that worldwide hysteria and responded impeccably. 

It's mind-boggling what they achieved from 1965 to 1970.

So many bands would deal with Satan for the albums Help! and Let it Be.

And for The Beatles, those aren't even the good ones.

Insanely good band.

Cool film too.

*Seriously, between 1965 and 1969 The Beatles released Rubber Soul, Revolver, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, The Magical Mystery Tour, The White Album (a crazy good double), and Abbey Road. With Yellow Submarine thrown in the mix too. Plus a bunch of hit singles that weren't on the LPs. It baffles the mind how anyone could have ever produced so much amazing pop in such a short period of time. I can't find anyone to compare them with. Plus their sound consistently changed throughout. How did they pull that off? They did stop touring early on. That may have played an instrumental role. 

Speedy

Perhaps one of the first exuberantly stately carefree yet stern comedic films, wherein which cherished productive pastimes feature prominently in the outlandish narrative.

It's 1928 and Babe Ruth's a playin' for the stalwart Yankees, whom Speedy (Harold Lloyd) zealously follows throughout the day while improvisationally engaged at a soda fountain.

The city has decided to create a vast network of interconnected streetcars, and has set about buying up the extant tracks currently owned by local entrepreneurs. 

Pop Dillon (Bert Woodruff) owns such a peculiarity but doesn't want to sell for paltry chump change, so the prospective buyers nefariously apply themselves to their lucrative ill-gotten banal dysfunction.

Speedy moves from job to job and provides quite the look at the old school city, while taking Jane Dillon (Ann Christy) out to Coney Island to sample practically everything it has to offer.

But one night he becomes aware of the dastardly plan to outwit grandpappy, hoping to start a chaotic dispute and destroy his streetcar in the process (not if the Civil War Vets have their say!).

He can only keep his track if said car runs at least once every 24 hours, thus the maintenance of his plucky vehicle remains eruditely paramount should he wish to stay.

Assistance is thus required and Speedy knows just whom to call.

Calamitous reckoning rambunctiously ensuing.

Age old cacophonous retro zounds. 

I like how films like Speedy take a shine to a particular town, and without being too preachy or pushy gingerly interweave many of its local highlights.

With historical change consistently duelling with resonant traditional ways and means, progress paradigmatically pigeon holes sundry specifics with vehement posture.

Tough to imagine individual tracks uniquely owned by different people throughout the city, who could work them as they saw fit at different times throughout the day.

Was it ever like that with trains as well at a time when perhaps many companies clashed, each seeking to lay down track more efficiently and efficaciously than its rivals?

You really see how the protests regarding the treatment of urban horses are necessary as they transport people around, it even looks like one is ready to collapse when it takes off down the street with a streetcar in tow. 

For a look at the roaring twenties Speedy mischievously delivers, providing practical playful glimpses into entertaining life.

Without overlooking old school definition to harmoniously serenade the future.

Perhaps somewhat too endearing.

But not without exspeedient charm. 

Fool's Paradise

A humble generally mute man unconcerned with popularity, is released from a mental hospital and finds himself living on the streets (Charlie Day as Latte Pronto). 

But as fate would have it, he's a dead ringer for a widely sought after Hollywood star, and a reputed producer accidentally takes note and asks if he'll take part in one of his films (Ray Liotta).

Neither fortunately nor awkwardly, the star he's replacing suddenly passes, and he finds himself moving in on his career, soon married in the confusing spotlight.

A down-on-his-luck casting agent soon befriends and seeks to represent him (Ken Jeong as the Publicist), and he sees neither reason to protest nor oblige as he doesn't particularly care about what's happening.

His career slowly spirals out of control since he really has no idea what's going on, but still shows up on set and at dinner parties to make obliviously sincere appearances.

He's somewhat like Chaplin's Little Tramp but without the rambunctious versatility, the intense perplexing permutations which make his films so entertaining. 

He's also kind of like Peter Sellers in ye olde Pink Panther classics, although without the bemusing repartee which leads to intuitive blundering captivation. 

Perhaps if they'd been born at a later date they would have been more concerned with sleaze, and less drawn to borderline wholesome clever family friendly endeavours.

Imagine Charlie Chaplin having matured watching generally uncensored prime time romps, would he have even bothered to pursue filmmaking, and if so, to what inspirational degrees?

A contact once pointed out the protruding mean-spirits in contemporary comedy, whereas there used to be a sense of congenial accord there's currently much more dispiriting sadism. 

Perhaps the same sentiments were there in the past but the tighter censors encouraged less carnage, or a more enthusiastic communal embrace, striving to disseminate respect and well-being. 

Not all the time, the insouciant management of integral cheek still startlingly manifest, where to establish the balance difficult to say with relative collegial im/precision.

Then again, Fool's Paradise may be making this very same point without having expressed it.

Could be taking an ironic swipe. 

Lamenting what's clearly missing. 

The Net

At the dawn of the Cyber Epoch when the emboldened internet was beginning to prosper, a group of clever yet malevolent programmers sought to gain unprecedented 😏 limitless access.

Yet they didn't prognostically count upon a lone systems analyst in Venice, California, who one day stumbled across a cryptic disc unwittingly exposing their dishonest loci (Sandra Bullock as Mr. Bennett). 

She doesn't microanalyze it however before heading to Mexico on vacation, her first extended break in years, she still comes equipped with an ample workload.

Including the coveted disc the existence of which is known by the terrorists, who track her to that very same resort and arrive enamorously a' callin'.

After escaping her seducer's clutches (Jeremy Northam as Jack Devlin)f she unfortunately crashes her impromptu zodiac, and miraculously survives only to awake to find her identity has been stolen.

Not just her trusty ID everything she owns is in fact gone, she tries to verify her identity, but beyond cyberspace she hardly knows anyone.

Plus her mother is struggling with amnesia and barely recognizes her devout care (Diane Baker as Mrs. Bennett).

An ex can assist but their history's awkward (Dennis Miller as Dr. Champion).

It's psychotically defined worst case!

I suppose the odds of this happening are slim but just to be safe if you spend a lot of time online, make sure to still maintain a physical real-world appearance perhaps with neighbours or friends or family (awkward! [just kidding {sort of}]).

I know it's fun to escape on the net and pretend like you're in a sci-fi novel, but the real world also has compelling features like endemic wildlife, cheese and wine.

I wonder how the doomsday scenario presented in The Net plays out on a daily basis, or if the companies hired to provide internet security still have insane access to private information. 

When even the Supreme Court can't seem to keep a secret, you wonder if something's up.

But the checks and balances spiral out of control first someone designs the system and then you trust them to implement it. Then you hire someone else to try to break into it and trust what they're telling you is precise. To be safe, you hire another company to secretly monitor the first enterprise in question. But what if they all went to the same school? 

And devotedly love Tangerine Dream and Kraftwerk?

Billions to keep things safe on top of what we already spend on hospitals and schools.

Law and order aficionados can be somewhat too serious. 

But you may want flag waving zealots for these specialized jobs.

And pay them well, they must get offered incredibly high sums to misinform. 

Cool film from back in the day.

Still remarkably relevant. 

*I'm not critiquing Edward Snowden. I think he should be pardoned. He risked everything for everyone. He couldn't be more North American.

Brainstorm

So far, I've had trouble getting into virtual reality. Don't get me wrong, it's kind of cool, but as a substitute for the real thing, it disappoints. Perhaps the technology has significantly advanced in the last 15 years, I haven't checked it out for a long time. But way back when I was highly critical, criticism accepted, I could have have been more open.

I do like watching nature documentaries as a substitute for the real thing, since there are so many places around the world I'll never get to see. I know it's not the same thing, they're not meant to be holistically immersive, but since it's unlikely that I'll ever visit Indonesia or Vietnam 😢, I appreciate being able to watch related wildlife programming.

Brainstorm is some cool old-school sci-fi (1983) that takes an imaginary look at virtual reality, wherein which ingenious scientists actually create realistic virtual experiences.

At first, the genius is rewarded with scientific applause and technological accolades, but soon disreputable agencies seek to weaponize its potential.

It's classic innovative idealistic scientists confronting the corruption of their work, with Christopher Walken erupting in fury near the beginning of his outstanding career.

Fortunately, it predates internet hypotheses so it's still possible to hide the work. It's like they're trying to take out SkyNet before it has the ability to shift and mutate.

If you're fascinated by old school special effects or varying degrees of authentic realism, effects that were made without the total reliance on computers, effects relying on the creative manipulation of the dynamic production qualities of the time, and an erudite knowledge of electronics, Brainstorm's concluding moments are fun to watch, scientific artistry chaotically applied.

Directed by Douglas Trumball, who worked on the special effects for Blade Runner, 2001, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, and Star Trek: The Motion Picture (it still has cool effects), it's nice to see a tech wiz at the helm, don't recall ever hearing of a similar transition.

I still feel like virtual reality is cheating when it comes to interpersonal experience, I still like talking to people and don't mind getting burned regularly for being honest.

Sometimes I'll ask a question that I know the answer to because I can't think of anything else to say, and then I'll be ridiculed for having asked the question, sigh, it's always the same old story.

Brainstorm isn't Inception but still makes a cool historical impact.

A pioneering look at this type of story.

When special effects were really starting to take off. 

Starcrash

Evasive creative space pirates habitually manoeuvre to outwit the law (Caroline Munro and Marjoe Gortner), until one grievous inopportune day when they suddenly find themselves sentenced to life.

Fortunately for them, a courageous ship was sent out on a vital mission, to discover whether or not a powerful weapon exists, in the far off reaches of space.

As fate would have it, they were no match for the irate destructive colossus, yet three bold innovative cruisers escaped, their whereabouts heretofore unknown.

The space pirates, imaginatively engaged in improvised spur-of-the-moment shenanigans, soon find themselves tasked by the galactic Emperor (Christopher Plummer) to voyage to locate his forlorn son (David Hasselhoff [Hasselhoff does not show up in spellcheck!]).

They respond with innate gusto and are soon soaring throughout the heavens, following clues and appealing hyperbole wherever the seductive stars collide.

As the Emperor's rival the foul and cruel ignominious usurper known as Count Zarth Arn (Joe Spinell), plots to take over the galaxy with his formidable insufferable Lava Lamp. 

When the first two ships lead nowhere our reluctant heroes digress abandoned. 

But one cast-off vessel remains. 

Harbouring symphonic destiny. 

It's all in good fun unconcerned merrymaking inconclusively driving this campy space romp, through the spirited realms of theoretical melee to the upstanding spawn of illustrious bewilder.

Strange how Lucas found a way to make Star Wars seem so much more real, than his robust and ample competition there's no doubt it was a stroke of genius. 

Still though, when it doesn't work out why not add a robot programmed down south (Hamilton Camp as the voice of Elle, Judd Hamilton as Elle), to emphatically uphold intergalactic chivalry as starstruck maidens bravely prosper.

Perhaps space isn't the lofty officious spectacle it's pretentiously thought to be, perhaps horseplay and mischievous exaggeration at times do qualify its stately grandeur.

If not how would cultural propagation consistently redefine and reconstitute, throughout mutating in/animate continuums elaborately cascading in flagrant nadir?

When superlatives fail to provide what else awaits beside kitschy inexactitude? 

Netflix etc. have so much potential.

As does the old school compelling variety. 

Hud

Three generations of a ranching family actively live together in the American mid-west, father and son at ethical odds while the observant grandson comes of age.

Gramps (Melvyn Douglas) is an honourable man who takes responsibility for his actions. When it becomes apparent that his herd of cattle might have foot and mouth disease, he doesn't try to sell them for scandalous profits. 

His son Hud (Paul Newman) on the other hand only sees an enormous loss, and would have sold the cattle to his neighbours and spread the problem across the land.

He also cavorts around town with other men's wives out in the open, and routinely gets into fights and drinks too much and has a furious temper.

Thus, two visions of America irascibly compete home on the range, one steady and trusted and true the other only seeking crass self-fulfillment. 

They're consistently at venomous odds and don't freely beat around the bush, it's plenty awkward intergenerationally so, how do you progress in such heated circumstances?

The grandson (Brandon de Wilde) isn't sure what to do both the adults offering disputatious alternatives. 

The next generation of an adventurous country caught between competing undefined dreams. 

I reckon it's generally like this from one unique epoch to the original other, integral factors and intermediary zones cultivating community while self-obsessed visions tar with the same brush.

There isn't much ambiguity here it's clear to me Hud's quite the rapscallion, and there's nothing sublime or misunderstood about his way of life, he's just a first rate self-centred jerk.

There's something to be said for community building for playing a role big or small in such construction, perhaps not requiring mandatory parades or laudatory ubiquity, but still with a general sense of collective well-being (like you find in Québec).

There are thousands of chill roles to play and many aren't that bad if you show up and work, although things can be tricky from time to time, I try to keep quiet, unless my silence offends.

In one scene from Hud grandpappy relates how the munificent cow built so much of their culture, providing material for clothes and other things while also encouraging nourishment.

I immediately thought of the millions of bison who had historically resided on the plains. 

There was a built in network of ranching way back.

What a tragedy, how things unfolded.

*Not the Broncos win on Monday night versus Buffalo. That was amazing. 🏈

You've Got Mail

Well, it looks like way back when, when giant bookstores starting taking over, an adorable romantic comedy was made to help soften the corporate blow.

I remember the old school crisis and how it effected the local markets, not that independent bookstores disappeared entirely, but I certainly don't see them as much as I used to.

I suppose I don't really know who financed You've Got Mail, but it looks like a traditional piece of propaganda, that makes for a much more pleasant hostile takeover, complete with big business male conquering small business female.

I wonder how it was received at the time.

There's no doubt it's clever.

The internet was just starting up and people were just beginning to use email. 'Twas a fledgling monumental paradigm shift in the ways in which the entire world operates. The people at You've Got Mail clearly understood this, and went about crafting a related narrative.

Which was inherently endearing. 

If not ominously inevitable. 

I do rather like Chapters/Indigo, it is a cool place to look for books, each individual store having to pass the Proust and Dickens test, before definitively delineating its classical authenticity. 

Stick a Starbucks in there.

What a brilliant idea.

A Christmas bonus to whoever thought that one up.

It was a shame to see so many independents go under though, they had character and savvy and weren't quite so freakin' imposing.

My favourite bookstore will always be the local bookshop from my youth, a cool little place where I found my first volume of Proust (after watching Little Miss Sunshine) and many other cool books over the years, the owner used to even feature photos of raccoons in winter, and even took the mayor of Hamilton to court (and won if I'm not mistaken [long before Andrea Horwath who I imagine is doing a great job])!

25 years after the release of You've Got Mail I find myself dreading another paradigm shift, where Chapters/Indigo and bookstores everywhere go out of business, and one's forced to shop online.

That's all I've been doing since the pandemic hit and I have no idea how those stores have coped. All I know is that books used to feature prominently in the mainstream narrative (see You've Got Mail or The NeverEnding Story), and I never really see them mentioned anymore.

There should be money for prestige films that might win Oscars that focus on books. Obviously, I love film. But books and music still feature heavily in my life.

Perhaps I'm just being anxious, and nothing's really wrong, but I keep hearing bad restaurant tidings, and my laundry alarm went off while I was editing this sentence. 

I worry because I don't know many people who read books.

But I never really have come to think of it (outside of University).

Good thing Dad made sure I read as a child.

That was one thing he sincerely pushed. 

Honestly, when I was really young illiteracy still existed in the mainstream mind, and learning to read was regarded as a great thing, like we really had evolved. 

Another step in the wrong direction?

Getting my COVID booster soon. 

Good Morning, Miss Dove

The age old fascination with dependability and routine, as applied to flourishing bucolic life, through tranquil age and consistency, intergenerationally sustained. 

A clever recent University graduate travels home to see her Dad, who brags about her success and dreams of lucrative dividends. 

But he suddenly passes on and she soon soon finds he's been embezzling funds, and in order to avoid shock and scandal, agrees to gradually pay back the debt.

Thus, she refuses to marry a reliable brilliant eager suitor, and takes a job teaching geography at the local primary school, where she remains throughout her life.

It's the old world stiff-upper-lip resigned to duty and objective sacrifice, without flinching or even the  consideration of much more personally enriching paths.

She doesn't entertain regret or destructive bitterness or disastrous envy, and settles into a steady job she devotedly keeps for years to come.

As time passes, many local students must deal with her requisite tests, her level-headed impartiality encouraging widespread lifelong respect.

When she unexpectedly falls ill several ex-students visit her in the hospital. 

The dedication of an honourable lifetime abounding with reticent heartfelt allegiance. 

It's nice to see that dismal alternatives aren't generally focused on in Good Morning, Miss Dove, that the rewards of service and fidelity are angelically uplifted with enchanting charm.

Also nice to see the profession of teaching narratively celebrated and highly regarded, with the advent of new technologies breaking down timeless methods of instruction.

Do people dislike their fellow citizens so much is there that much social tension promoting A.I?, I honestly doubt it would ever replace teachers, but if I'm not mistaken, others disagree.

Then again the sale of CDs and cassette tapes has greatly decreased in recent memory, I hope artists still make comparable amounts from Apple Music etc. but I'm afraid I rather doubt it.

Professional movie making has been significantly challenged by online streaming and Netflix etc as well, my new remote even came with a Netflix button, I've never seen the like for CBC or CNN.

How else did artists used to make money and encourage independent thought, oh yes books!, is the younger generation reading? It's amazing how much you can learn from reading if you just put in a little time and effort.

Has the internet taken billions away from artistic endeavour as part of a plan to promote obedience, or was it just an unfortunate byproduct skilfully envisioned by pent up grouches?

At least schools are still prominently functioning and pandemic experiments proved infertile.

Doesn't mean they won't try again.

Working on my vinyl collection. 

John Q

I'm happy that we have great health coverage in Canada and Québec, and I'm glad that everyone has access.

I'm glad my friends and family and neighbours can see a doctor or visit the hospital without having to pay out of pocket, and that the wide variety of services available continue to expand beyond limitation.

I know it's frustrating having to wait.

It would be nice if things moved more quickly.

But the services are still available and they're available across the board.

Watch Michael Moore's Sicko watch John Q check out the nightmare, awaiting the privatization of health services if there's less of an emphasis on public health.

Imagine you suddenly had to come up with over $200,000 to pay for medical bills, which the insurance plan you had paid into for your entire life wouldn't cover.

Imagine that if you couldn't come up with that money one of your loved ones would die.

Without public health this isn't a rare occurrence. 

Without universal health care it's par for the course.

Universal health care is a sign of enduring progress and practical community, a sustainable way to ensure widespread health at all times across the land.

If we can hire more doctors and invest in hospitals wait times should decrease, and more of our medical school graduates will find the jobs they've worked hard to get.

One of the big differences between private and public health care, as outlined in Maude Barlow's Too Close for Comfort, is that public health care workers put people before profits, while private health is more interested in money.

Thus, the private hospital sets a goal of profits to be earned in a specific month, and then sets about trying to earn them. If there's a shortfall come the 31st heads will roll and people will lose their jobs, hence services are cut for employment security's sake, as administrators with no medical knowledge try to save money. If they save money and produce higher profits the private board running the hospital is more impressed. Therefore, there's an impetus to be as cheap as possible while pretending to provide expert service.

In the public system people care about health and finding more efficient ways to take care of each other.

While providing access to all kinds of different specialists.

For a thriving culture.

It's a total win-win.

Person to Person

Hyper-obsessions with the omnipresent, the characteristic need to express thoughts and emotions, the honesty clarity genuinely beaming, the established difficulties perpetually stoking.

The potential scoop inertly resting within unconcerned inanimate shade, wholeheartedly uninterested in asking questions of an inconsiderate aggressive nature.

Trying to learn a new skill indubitably applicable to arts and crafts, yet unaccustomed to the invasive practices at times associated with acquiring information.

The incipient stages acrobatically wherein which versatile material may flexibly emerge, counterbalanced with awkward politesse and innate feelings of communal well-being.

The joy of life sincerely illuminating multifaceted random cause, as someone who vividly cares goes frolicking about with cheerful genuine stalwart integrity.

A scrutinizing look at urban communities interactively drawn towards communicative life, without much of a focus on automobiles or ye olde home ownership or raising a family.

The unmarried masses productively relating inhibitions cast off and merriment proclaimed, within a volatile spectrum reciprocally radiating instantaneous clash.

So much happening within the city so much free time to extract and chirp, who knows indeed what to imaginatively make of it, fun to lose yourself within the immersion.

I did have problems with observant delineations vocally defining social miscues, which unfortunately turned me into that guy even long after I had learned not to generally share them.

I eventually adapted and grew and slowly mutated into a traditional mode, but I was still prone to humorous outbursts which could at times lead to passionate scorn.

Nice to see the people in this film constructively givin' 'er nevertheless, a cool cast with creative narratives offering thoughtful insights into variable phenomena. 

Books and film and music and poetry there's ample room for a life of the mind.

It certainly never grows boring.

Especially with wildlife sightings. 

A River Runs Through It

Family first and foremost reciprocally resigned in pristine pastures, a sturdy minister and his adventurous sons tenderly taken care of by an adoring mom.

Strict but not overbearing the natural tendency to erupt in play, openly encouraged within temporal limits reasonably applied each and every day.

Fly fishing forges the backbone of glib inquisitive rural endeavours, local rivers and fields and forests ebulliently itemized in joyous caricature.

It's focused on several times and becomes something artistic if not spiritual, the youngest lad remarkably entertaining with paramount dexterous improvised brilliance. 

His older brother's somewhat more tried and true and spends six years away from home at school, learning the integral ways of literature to be creatively taught with bucolic industry.

The younger takes to the wild and emphatically learns the art of journalism, freely expressing his withering whimsy with a festive fair-hand and spry open-mind. 

But somewhat unsettled somewhat borderline reckless he pursues risk-fuelled gambling and drink beyond reason. 

Yet still never arrives late for fishing.

And always puts on quite a show. 

Narrated with old world omniscience as if oracled fate was clairvoyantly hewn, exciting moments and tragic expenditures objectively passing with sagacious sentiment.

I remembered so many exuberant hours curiously exploring throughout my youth, as I watched those rambunctious lads engage in resolute countryside quorums. 

Such a shame when disciplinary regulations counterintuitively produce wanton interludes, the legionary impetus of the pervasive patterns alternatively encouraging adventitious catalogues.

Such a shame when a lack of order counterintuitively begets despotism, through the unfortunate contemptuous dismissal of laidback chillin' and relaxed intuition.

What a consistent pain applying reason and logic to find realistic solutions.

Sport always seems to fend off carnage.

The arts unfortunately lacking commensurate mass appeal.