Neil Crone - Enter Laughing

Flying into oblivion

Nice to be home...really nice to be home. I slept well last night for the first time in a week. Not sure if it was the mattress or the wife beside me. They were both pretty soft. Although one smelled better than the other. I'm home for a couple of days before heading back out west for a bit of a flying hell week. I have no less than 4, count 'em, 4 different flights out to Regina over the next week or so. I'm filming another project in and around Toronto and between it's schedule and Little Mosques I have become the Air Canada poster boy. It's going to get really ugly around the 2nd or 3rd trip out when I start running out of fresh movies to watch on the plane. Then I'll become one of those guys who talks to people on planes. The kind of guy you really hate sitting beside. No book, no ipod, no computer, no movie to interest me anymore...just human companionship. How hideous.

Regina Babylon

Wow. Here in Regina leading the wild and crazy, party-filled life of the celebrity. I am being picked up from the Hotel tomorrow morning at 6 am to go to set. Which means I will more than likely be in bed, asleep at 9 tonight. But I feel wild and crazy. So I may push the envelope and watch a movie in my room, maybe even order in some food. God, that is so 'Valley of the Dolls'. I know I'm only hurting myself with this indulgent, decadent behaviour, but I can't seem to stop. Today I napped and I've been gargling with salt water all day to keep my sore throat at bay. I know, I know, this is the stuff that Hollywood rags are chock a block full of, I'm being pulled under by the black swirling tide of Stardom...I think I'll read a magazine, and then, to hell with 6 am, I may just go for a walk.

A thin tight rope

Stephen Truscott finally vindicated. Mother of God, how long did this take? Since 1959, when at the age of 14, this kid had his life taken away from him. On death row for a short terrifying stint and then in 1969 parolled. Parolled into what? Into a life of anonymity, fear and shame...nice. Man, if you ever think your life is in the dumper, think hard on guys like Stephen Truscott, Donald Marshall, David Milgaard, Guy Paul Morin and who knows how many other innocent individuals languishing in prison or long dead. Freedom is sometimes a very thin tightrope we walk on. Do you think, that morning back in 1959 that as that 14 year old, clear-eyed kid woke up, he had any idea of the shit storm ahead of him? I don't know about you, but it scares the daylights out of me.

Flying can be really dangerous

Back in Regina this week. Lovely and cool here. Flew in on Air Canada Jazz, with those fantastically comfortable seats. Plenty of shoulder room if you're Ghandi and your choice of straight up or 1 inch recline. There was also this weird kind of lottery going on with the flight Attendants. When one of them came by with the beverage cart, I ordered my usual complimentary beverage and then, out of nowhere she comes up with, 'Oh! Are you Mister Crone?' as she checks some list on her cart.
'Yes' I reply, holding more tightly onto my coke, for fear that her list is some kind of grouping of people who are under no circumstances to be served soft drinks.
"Oh, well you have a lucky ticket and are invited to have up to $7.00 worth of free food or drinks."
I look at her as though she is joking. One eye scanning the cabin for a hidden camera. I just know that this whole transaction is on live feed to YouTube or something. But, no, she's on the level.
"Well, in that case I'll have a beer and some Pringles thank you very much."
I am delighted with my newly found free booty until I realize that not everyone on the plane is getting this kind of graft. In fact, very few are. So few, in fact, that I can feel the hot envious, angry eyes of dozens of 'paying for snacks' passengers on the back of my neck. What the heck was Air Canada thinking? This will only make a few people uncomfortable and many more pissed. As it is, I can't get off of that plane fast enough. I take a circuitous route out of the Regina Airport in case I'm being tailed. We lottery winners can't be too careful.

Shaking my head right off

I just had to ring in on the Michael Vick Dog fighting thing.  I really hope this guy pays big time for this.  It looks like the NFL is coming down hard, but looks can be deceiving.  He plays football too well and is worth too much money for some very powerful people to do without.  Understand, that if he were not a Pro Bowl Quarterback worth millions, he would be in prison for this stuff, no question.

A couple of years ago, I was filming the movie 'Against the Ropes', directed by the actor/director Charles S. Dutton.  Charles was a kind, very interesting man and we shared a number of pleasant conversations.  One lunchtime, however, I remember being flabbergasted as he explained his interest, passion really, for dog fighting.  This was an articulate, intelligent, 'artistic',  man telling me all about what a great sport this was.  I couldn't believe my ears.  Still can't.  I don't have the tools, thank God, for understanding how such brutality could ever be tolerated, let alone encouraged as entertainment.  What draws people to a level so base, when the world is crammed full of beautiful things to marvel at? Why are some individuals never satisfied unless they are awash in blood?  It's a large part of my theosophy to say 'to each his own', but man,sometimes it's really hard to keep my head from shaking right off.

Shadow Divers

I'm reading, well, I'm listening to, a remarkable book right now called 'Shadow Divers' by Robert Kurson. It's essentially the story of the deep wreck divers who discovered a German U-boat (as opposed to a what? A Dutch U-boat?? Sorry, sometimes I don't think) off the coast of New Jersey. That in itself is a riveting story, but there is so much more here. Kurson keeps you on the edge of your seat describing the incredible danger faced by these Deep Wreck Divers. These guys are like reverse Mountain climbers. The deeper they go, the more danger they face. Imagine willingly swimming inside a ragged hole in the side of a metal coffin, full of unknown hazards and, of course, dead bodies. Imagine being 200 feet down, in icey cold water, in visibility so black you can't see your hand in front of your face for the swirling silt. Good times huh? Their mortality rate is incredible, and on this U-boat wreck in particular. This book completely took me by surprise. As a recreational Scuba diver, I thought I'd find it interesting, but it is so much more. I can't stop listening. I'm sure I'm going to accidentally kill myself as I sit idling in the garage, listening to the end of a chapter I can't pull away from. It certainly helps having some dive experience, but this book would be enjoyable to anyone with a sense of mystery and adventure. Can't recommend it enough.

The Bourne Ultomato??

Oh man. Went to see The Bourne Ultimatum tonight and my poor wife was sitting beside the 'Loudersons'. You know, the guy who has to explain everything to his wife as it's happening, or add his own personal film interpretation...
"Oh, oh, now he's gonna kill him"
"Oh, so that guy's in on it too"
"Oh, so they're both bad guys"
...Oh God.

The poor cat must've also had a hearing problem because he was constantly asking his wife to repeat what had just been said on screen. I couldn't really get mad at them as they were so damned entertaining. At times it sounded like an ESL class...

"He said he's gonna shoot"
"Who's tooting?"
"No, he's gonna shoot him...with a gun."
"I don't want any gum."

It was dark, and I presupposed also, that the couple were probably very senior. But, when the lights came up we almost choked when we saw that they weren't that much older than us. We had to stay and watch all the credits, we were laughing so hard. Worth the price of admission.

Papa's got a brand new...son?

I’m thinking of ponying up the few hundred bucks for a DNA test. It might be a solid investment. There’s a good chance I could make that money back and much more if it turns out I’m one of the late James Browns children. Don’t laugh. Everybody's doing it. We’re popping up everywhere. So far the number is up to six. James, a very religious man apparently, took the bible verse ‘go forth and multiply’ very seriously. There may have been more than just a jiggy beat to tunes like ‘Sex Machine’, ‘Hot Pants’ and 'Get up offa that thing'. There’s no telling how many of us may be his progeny. And, more importantly, we’re all entitled to a slice of The Godfather of Soul’s estate. And even if I don’t make the cut on the Brown family tree, I figure I’ve still got a shot as one of Eddie Murphy’s kids. Nothin' spells luvin' like DNA.

Chocolate, beer and Our Town

As my oldest said on the drive home 'Man, that was the best day ever'. Suzanne and I had driven into TO with my 15 year old and a pal and my youngest, for an evening of 'culture'. Well, two decidedly different versions of culture, but culture nonetheless. My first born and his pal were heading to the Molson Amphitheatre to have their ears destroyed at a DreamTheatre Concert while my wife and I and number two son, were off to the Distillery District to watch Soulpepper Theatre company's production of Thornton Wilder's 'Our Town'.
And yes, it was, the best day ever. Outside of the fact that I was freaking on the inside as I watched the two teenagers skip happily off with the crowds going to the concert, wondering in my ridiculous parental paranoia, if I would ever see him again, it was a marvelous night.
The Distillery District, if you haven't visited it yet, is a wonder. It's a brick and stone oasis of music and art and the best coffee you will ever taste. There was a music festival celebrating Black History month going on and everywhere you strolled you could hear wonderful reggae and soca playing. And there is a chocolate shop right there...I mean you can see it being made! And the chocolate shop is right across from a brewery! I'm telling you I want to be buried there. As for 'Our Town', I can't say enough. Bless Albert Schultz for his passion and his vision and for putting that story and that message into my child's head. Number one child was picked up, safe and sound, later on and we happily made our way home from what was indeed, the best day ever.

Itchy feet

Finding myself antsy as hell for change...big change. Part of me wants to simply pick up and make a substantial move, like to BC or the east coast, something to really shake things up. Isn't it remarkable, and perhaps a little sad, that most of us spend our entire lives living within one hundred kilometers or so of where we came into this world? There is a whole planet out there for the taking, yet most us, and I number myself firmly in this group, are too frightened to make a move. Too worried about making the living out there, about change. I've always had this hunch that that frightening change is actually the best thing in the world, that if we will only leap, the net, as they say, will most certainly appear. It's one thing to stay in a place because you have found peace and contentment there. That's lovely. But to have fear as our decision maker is never good.

I'm getting soft...

At first I was completely bent out of shape by what I perceived as preferential treatment for Leaf player Mark Bell and his recent court decision allowing him to play the 07-08 season before serving his 6 months for drunk driving and leaving the scene of an accident. My initial reaction was that this was just another instance of the two tiered justice system, one for the rich and another for the rest of us. But then, after some consideration, I wondered if this wasn't actually progress. Was this evidence, not of preferential treatment, but of humane treatment, kind treatment, just treatment? The guy will serve his sentence. Yes. That will happen. They're just going to let him play hockey first. Does that change anything, really? Does that somehow mitigate or water down his sentence or the offence? I don't think so. He's not a murderer or a rapist, he's just a very young guy with a lot of money and not a lot of sense. He'll probably come through this a better person. Hamstringing his future by taking away one very precious year of a, lets face it, very short livelihood, wouldn't help him at all and frankly seems just spiteful. Good lord, I'm getting soft.

Get the lead out.

Yikes. Lead paint on childrens toys? Earth to China...what century is this?? Come on guys, there's no 'political' or even 'economical' excuse for this one. We, that is the entire freaking planet, have known about the dangers of lead paint for a long, long time. Long enough to understand that you certainly don't put it anywhere near humans, especially little humans who like to suck on things. What the hell are you people at Toy Century Industrial Ltd. thinking anyway? And while we're pointing lead coated fingers, where are the people from the toy's North American importer/distributor 'Target Toys' on this one?? The Chinese might have some shred of a ridiculous excuse for pleading ignorance or cheapness on this one, but Target doesn't have a leg to stand on. Shame on everyone involved. Yes, they caught it, yes they're being recalled, but why was this allowed to happen in the first place?

Starry, starry night

Suzanne and I laid outside on the trampoline the other night. Wrapped up in sleeping bags, staring up into the heavens. We were watching for the Perseids meteor shower. We tried to corral the kids into joining us but, alas, as is the case more and more these days, they had other engagements. And, as much I lamented their absence, I must say it was nice to simply lie there, just two of us, as though it were the really old days...back when it was only the two of us. It was lovely. I'd forgotten what it's like to just lie under a night sky and look up. It's endlessly fascinating by the way. Even without the occasional breath-taking meteor, you've still got all kinds of stellar stuff to grab your attention. You can get dizzy just counting the satellites buzzing by. Honestly, it's like the DVP up there. I know I've said this many times before, but there is a real, genuine connection to nature, to the earth, to the stars, that we as humans need. It's easy to forget when we spend so much of our days staying indoors and not looking up. But all it takes is a few moments staring up into those stars, the same stars that Homer, Jesus and Gallileo all stared up at, to bring you back into allignment.

Money talks, Men dig rocks

I've been thinking about those poor souls trapped in that mine in Utah. Doesn't look at all good. It never does, it seems, when men are trapped underground. Why, in this day and age do we still have to put men to work under the earth in deplorably unsafe conditions? Money of course. Men are far cheaper and much more expendable than robots and machinery. Would it not at least be a nice concession, or perhaps even, dare I say it, fair, if men and women who did lousy, dangerous, unhealthy jobs, were paid a kings ransom for their labors? That might, in some small way, offset what those families are going through now. Of course, if the mining companies had to pay their employees what they're really worth, you can bet they'd take a damn sight better care of them. I'd love to see those CEO's and boardmembers spend just a couple of hours down there in those God awful holes.

Whine it like Beckham, Bring it like Bobby...

David Beckham, soccer superstar and mega-wanker may not make it onto the field for the LA Galaxy's next match. His ankle became a little stiff after the last game and then swelled up a bit during the flight home. Hmmm...didn't Bobby Baun play a Stanley Cup final match on a 'broken' ankle?? In fact, if memory serves me correctly, didn't he return to the ice after the injury to score the game winning goal??? I rest my case.

Riding the tube.

What a fantastic morning. Had a little enforced day off (unemployed actor) so I threw some fishing gear in the car and headed up north to a little mystery lake my neighbour has been raving about. It's one of those deals you can't get to unless you comfortable killing and eating your own food or possibly your fishing partner. I took my float tube and fly rod in there and had a ball. The lake is full of scrappy little bass and is as pretty a spot as you'll find. There's also something very nice about fishing from a float tube. Maybe it's because your bottom half is submerged and you're that much closer to the water surface. It's also completely silent. I sat and watched a beaver mucking about on the shoreline for about twenty minutes. I had my nature hit and was back home by 1 o'clock in the afternoon. Pretty sweet. And you know, I had thought about staying home and 'working'. Writing, researching, networking, setting up the next paycheck. That's always something I wrestle with. It goes with being self-emplyed I suppose. But I'll tell you, I 've spent plenty of days 'working' and not come away feeling any better for my efforts. I've never, ever regretted a decision to spend time in the wild. And I always come away blessed in more ways than I can count.

Dream gigs

There are times when my acting gig is just a job, and not a very interesting one. Then there are times when it seems kind of magical. Tomorrow I'm doing some voice work in a new animated Christmas Special. I'm jazzed about this. Mainly because I did and still do watch all of my favorite Christmas specials every year. I have vivid memories of Frosty, Rudolph, The Grinch and Charlie Brown. If I even hear a bar of Vince Gueraldi's Peanuts theme, I am ten years old again and excited as hell. I remember a few years ago when I met Billie Mae Richards at a recording session. I didn't know who she was until she opened her mouth to speak and I heard the voice of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer...the same one from my idyllic childhood days. I'm pretty sure I made an ass of myself as I gushed on and on and begged her to do lines from the show. For me that was like meeting Pacino or Hoffman. Even better. So, when I get a chance to perhaps be a part of some kids childhood Christmas memories, I can't help but think I'm one lucky stiff. Life is good.

Sick as a dog?

I've been down with a throat thing all long weekend. Bummer in that we were supposed to go to a friends cottage for some fun. I tried to talk Suzanne into going up with the boys, leaving me behind. She can't do that. She's like that guy in the old war movies who can't leave the buddy behind for the enemy. She also cannot help herself from attacking any kind of illness in or around her family. I, like a lot of men I suspect, tend to adopt 'dog behaviour' when I am sick. I go to ground. I simply find a quiet, dark den of sorts and lie low until I feel better. It's a primitive approach but I find it generally works. My wife, however, needs to attack. For her the best defence is a good offence. Her love for me will not let me rest. She feels compelled (bless her forever) to constantly ply me with supplements, salves and teas. I drink until I feel I will explode. If I do not gargle every fifteen minutes, on the nose, she will know about it and she will take action. Eventually I will get better. Whether I would've gotten better faster using my 'dog' method, I will never know. At least I know that I am loved. And that always helps.

Sharing the magic

For the first time in as long as I can remember, I actually gave myself the day today to simply read. I also ate, drank and visited the loo, but that was it. A whole day with a book. I've forgotten what that is like. I realized too that a book is a very different experience when you give it large chunks of your time. It's really the way to do it, if you can. I finished the latest Harry Potter instalment and, when I finally closed the book, after the last page, at about nine o'clock tonight, I had a lump in my throat. I felt like I'd just said a very real good-bye to some good friends. I love that. That's what story-telling should be all about. That's real magic. Thank you Ms. Rowling for your wonderful gift. Of course, now my youngest son and I are the only ones in the house that have read the book so he and I immediately huddled and talked about the whole experience, in hushed tones, so as not to give anything away to the as yet, uninitiated. That's the second part of the magic...you have to share it.

Far from the 'maddening' crowds...

It may be a huge character flaw in myself, but I just cannot stand crowds. I especially cannot stand crowds in 30 plus degree heat. Safe to assume then that I will be as far away from downtown Toronto and Caribana this weekend as I can possibly be. I don't know how some people do it. I love a crowd if they're in front of me, watching me, clapping and laughing. I can't get enough of those crowds. But to be shoulder to shoulder with people, hardly able to hear myself speak. Yikes. I start to freak out. I actually find it physically and emotionally exhausting. Yet, as I say, and as the numbers prove, a lot of people really dig it. Perhaps it's the anonymity of a crowd that so many people love. They can come out of their shells in a crowd. Not me. I actually get quieter and quieter as the number of people around me grows. I'm great at a dinner party. I'm invisible at a big party. Go figure. My little brother (who is actually much bigger than me) will be riding his police horse all weekend at Caribana. I don't envy him or his horse their task. Between the heat, smog and the masses of noisy humanity, I think I'd just point horsey north and keep riding until I hit forest or lake.

The heat of Parenting

Shaking my head again this morning. It's getting a little sore around the shoulders from reacting to all of the nuttiness around me. Once again, some parent with the IQ of a bran muffin has locked children inside a vehicle in this heat. As they say in the old black and white movies...'There oughtta be a law!' And sometimes I think there should. It's easier to become a parent in this world than it is to get a drivers license. There should at least be a 'stupid' test. Prospective parents go in, take the test, which might be something like this...

Question 1

You are going to the beer store. You have your child in the backseat and the day is excessively hot. Do you:
A)Pass on the beer entirely and stay at home and play in the sprinkler with your kid.
B)Lock the kid in the car and boogie on in 'cause you can get a t-shirt in the new 24 pack of Lakeport.
C)Leave your kid with Murray 'cause he owes you one.

Individuals who answer correctly would receive a conditional parenting pass. Those who failed would be directed to the vasectomy/tubiligation clinic at the end of the hall.

Death or Portage

I found myself with a day off today so we threw together a quick one-day canoe trip into McCrae Lake, just off of Georgian Bay. It was a blisteringly hot day, but that's not so bad when you're in a canoe. Admittedly it's not so hot when you're under the canoe. There were a couple of portages today that I thought were going to be my final resting place. Three canoes too. This is what happens when, in a bold-faced attempt at bribing your kids to come along and enjoy your passion with you, you stupidly tell them they can each bring a friend along. As I humped those canoes over granite boulders and rock staircases I kept fantasizing about how wonderful a solo trip would've been. Just me, some cold beer, a book and maybe the dog. ( I didn't mention my fantasy to my wife, especially the fact that she didn't make the cut).
Still, it was quite wonderful. Always is. That's the beauty of canoeing. Everybody falls into the rythmn of paddling and chatting and laughing. We came home sunburnt, happy, pleasantly aching and very tired.