Neil Crone - Enter Laughing

That's Hedley!!!

So long Harvey. I've always held Harvey Korman way up there with my personal biggies: Dick Van Dyke, Jerry Lewis, Don Knotts. Guys that just plain made you laugh for all the right reasons. Plus I grew up with them, all of them. They were not only seminal to my personality but to my career choice. Some actors went to theatre school and spent years learning their craft. I learned most of mine from watching tv...watching these guys. I will happily admit to stealing and/or copying bits from all of them and making them my own. Isn't that what role models are for, after all? And Harvey Korman was a huge one for me. I have grown up to be a sketch artist, comic actor and cartoon voice...just like him. Well, not just like him. No one was ever just like Harvey Korman.

Happy birthday to me...

Pretty perfect birthday today. Several key ingredients fell into place...
A) Day off
B)No colonoscopy scheduled for today
c) Fantastic Dinner with beautiful wife and smart ass children
D) Aforementioned dinner featuring very large, very cold beer.
E) Chocolate Cake...goes surprisingly well with cold beer.
F) New Mitre Saw
G) Did I mention I got a new saw?

Hope your day was as wonderful.
Joy and Health
Neil

A long overdue hug.

Hats off to my buddy Cosimo. Owner of Terroni restaurant here in Toronto. I've known Cosimo for a few years but we've never met until this afternoon. We were put together through email a number of years ago when Cosimo was diagnosed with colon cancer. Like cancered folk do, we bonded very quickly and firmly even though all of our conversations were in cyber-space. Until today. The universe works in wondrous ways. I had made arrangements to meet Carlo Rota, a friend and co-castmate on Little Mosque, at a restaurant named Terroni. It just so happens that Cosimo not only runs the place but is a lifelong chum of Carlo....I arrived at the restaurant and with hardly a word spoken Cosimo and I were embracing like brothers. Because, I guess, we are. Chemo and radiation brothers. Another one of the weird little gifts of the big black dog, cancer...you make friends for life, however long or short it might end up being.

Celebrity indeed.

I'm very lucky. I'm part of a hit TV Show. The success of Little Mosque on the Prairie has brought many, many blessings into my life. Not the least of which are the wonderful souls I get to work with day in and day out. I was in the middle of laughing my keyster off today, while filming, and it suddenly occurred to me 'Jesus, I'm getting paid to be here.' I won't lie to you, life is good.
Still, you have to be careful. You don't want to start believing your own press clippings and getting a swelled head. Luckily I have evenings like a couple of nights ago to keep the old ego well in check and to vividly and comically remind me that while I may, at times, think myself a celebrity, I am still and always will be a 'Canadian' celebrity.
I was at a big CBC Fall launch do. The whole cast was there. At the top of the evening before things really got rolling, a girl came along and handed out special red-strapped name tags with each of the performers names on them. Except mine. They couldn't find one for me. I therefore had to join the rest of the cast of Little Mosque on the Prairie as their 'Guest'. Irksome, but pretty funny. Best of all though came later on in the evening. A snazzy car had been set up alongside a facsimile of one of our sets, where advertisers and other attending VIP's could have their photos taken alongside various cast members. I was making my way over to this car to take my turn inside it when the girl operating the camera ( who also looked to be about ten, by the by) took me by the arm and politely asked 'Would you like to have your photo taken with the cast of Little Mosque?' I just looked at her, looked at my 'Guest' label, looked up to heaven and laughed. Celebrity indeed.

Auditioning for a new car

I've been biting the bullet lately and making the rounds to new car dealerships. Not something I like doing, but like a digital exam or tetanus shot, something I can't really avoid either. It's amazing how many flavours car salesmen come in. In one day of test-driving I bumped into everything from completely indifferent to sickeningly fawning. Walking into a car dealership is like an audition, in reverse. I'm in the directors chair this time and the sales rep is trying to get the part. And, just like many actors I've seen, a lot of them blow the audition the minute they open their mouths. It's quite amazing. And, just like in an audition scenario, inevitably the person who is sincere, who is normal, who is happiest in his own skin, will be the directors first choice. But those people are remarkably rare. I've met one so far that I actually enjoyed interacting with. I don't like the car buying transaction. It seems to me to be based largely on subterfuge and deception. Neither of which is a role I am remotely interested in playing.

...and a great memory to boot!

Here's another one of those little epiphanic moments that kind of make you feel just a little ashamed of being human. It's hard to watch this and not wonder what other miracles we're not taking in because we're at the top of the food chain and we've come to believe everything here is for our use and abuse. To think that we put these beautiful beasts in circus's and abased them for our own entertainment. Think about that. I've met car salesmen who weren't as clever as this creature.

A man can dream?

Why does this never happen when I'm around? In Morris, Illinois a tractor trailer hauling 14 tons of Double Stuff Oreos overturned and spilled it's load of goodies over four lanes of traffic. Can you feature that? See, that's why I always carry a shovel in my trunk. Not for snow or anything like that. For cookie emergencies. I'd be out there with my flares blocking off the area, just heaving loads of those bad boys into my trunk, the back seat, my briefcase...wherever. You'd be surprised how many free Oreos a determined guy can stuff into a Volkswagon Beetle. And can you imagine, if in a perfect world, as I was out there shovel in hand, a Milk truck overturned as well??? A man can dream.

Where's the Risk?

I was a little flabbergasted to note that the OPP laid 163 street racing charges over the long weekend. That's just the OPP. I wonder how many the other regional police services totted up? Is it just me or does that number seem a tad incredible? 163? Man oh man. And the guy who set the record, who dialed it up to 239 klicks per hour in an 80 zone, was only 17! Street racing wasn't even on my radar at 17. Hell, I didn't get my drivers license until I was 21. When I was 17 my buddies and I were probably riding our bikes around the neighborhood or playing football or sitting inside playing Risk...talking about girls. I can draw only one conclusion from this street racing phenomenon. The board game industry has dropped the ball.

Freezing my lilacs off.

Okay, okay, what's with the weather? I can only assume that since it is May 19 and I am sitting here in a sweater with my wood stove blazing that the Apocalypse cannot be far away. I think I just caught a glimpse of one of the Four Horsemen trotting down the main drag of Sunderland. He may be on his way to the Co-op. Probably picking up a new scythe. It's freezing! Even the poor lilac blooms don't want to come out. They're like reluctant brides peering out of a church bathroom door. The birds are doing their best, cheerily peeping and cheeping keeping a brave beak on, but you just know they too are dying for a little sunshine and warmth. I went out for a post dinner walk last night and saw my breath for the love of Pete. Where's Global warming when you need it?

Get in line, Miss? Mister?

I'm having a hard time getting my head around the governments latest announcement that it will now pay for sex change operations. I have no issues with the procedure itself. If that's your deal, go for it. God knows it can't be much fun walking around feeling like you've been equipped with the wrong gear. I'm sure those are some very unhappy people...and I'm all for happiness. It's just that this particular procedure seems to have jumped the queue a little. There were a whole whack of us who have been patiently waiting for free eye exams, chiropractic, physiotherapy, blood tests etc, etc, etc, when this little lady (or man) just waltzed (or sached) to the front of the line. Why? This is simply an issue of fairness and prioritizing. The main function of a health care system should be, first and foremost, keeping people alive and healthy. Once we've made sure we're all seeing clearly and disease and pain free, then, I think, we can address issues of gender. Again, I'm not dismissing these people or downplaying their distress...just get in line with the rest of us.

The art of listening.

Sometimes I can't believe how important the art of listening is...or how rare. How many times have you met someone who, even after repeated shared conversations, never ever asks after you or your family or your children or your interests? These are the people, and believe me the entertainment industry is rife with them, who are happy to talk with you for hours, provided the conversation is centered about or around them. I've come to realize that there are really only two main qualities to look for in potential companions, friends or even tolerable acquaintances; a sense of humor and the ability to listen. The latter is particularly precious as listening implies caring. When someone sincerely listens to me and asks questions of me they are telling me that they are interested in what I have to say and perhaps more importantly that they are confident enough and happy enough in their own skins to share life's limelight. Always a portentous start for a relationship. Conversely, I am learning, if the conversation flows only one way it's best if it's a short one.

Somethings rotten in the land of cotton.

I've not been to the American south in a while. I was thinking about it, but now I'm not so sure I'm ready. There seems to be a slight problem down there still, a small tear in the time/space continuum perhaps. Judging from the latest news out of Marietta, Georgia, that part of the world is still living in the 18th century. When Steve 'Bone Head' Norman, owner of Mulligans Bar in Marietta, started selling T-shirts featuring a picture of Curious George eating a banana, with the words 'Obama in 08' underneath, I knew we still had some work to do in the South. This is head-shakingly appauling and every man, woman and child of integrity should be up in arms over this. Norman, in typical cracker fashion, is claiming the image has nothing to do with race, that he chose the monkey image because it actually looked like Obama. Oh, good answer pal. That makes us all feel much better. I'm frankly a little terrified. We have technical innovations that can put the knowledge and wisdom of centuries literally in the palms of our hands. We are routinely sending spaceships up into orbit and back again. We have probes landing on Mars and we have medical breakthroughs that are extending all of our lifespans incredibly. Yet there are still those amongst us who harbour and foment the most egregious bigotry and hate. Something's very rotten in the land of cotton.

A walk to remember.

I just wanted to post a follow-up to my Meagan's Walk entry. I can't say enough about this wonderful event. There is something about a crowd of people, all of whom have been touched by cancer in a very real way, that just reaches you on a level like no other. Meagan's Walk is primarily all about raising funds to research and cure pediatric brain tumors. This is all about kids with tumors in their heads. Not a whole lot of those children make it. And when you stand in front of and talk to and walk amongst parents of these children and hear many, many stories and see many many pictures of the beautiful little angels these people have lost, if you have any soul at all...you are changed.
And when, once we had completed the walk to Sick Kids Hospital, we formed a human chain completely encircling the building, raised our hands together and hugged the place as one, there was not a dry eye in the house. Rarely have I taken part in such a moving, soul-satisfying, change-making event. Thank you folks. I am a better person for having shared that with you.

My oh Myanmar

Do you not just love these tools in Myanmar? Fat, rich little boys wearing cool army uniforms with shiny medals. And what exactly are those medals for do you think? The Campaign of Grotesque Greed. The Battle of the Graft. The Medallion of Dishonor. The Liar's Cross. Man, if those poor bastards weren't so busy trying to stay one step ahead of cholera it'd be nice to see them stage a lovely little revolution and string a few of those porkers up. But, that's hard to do when you're sitting in the remains of your house, waist deep in sewage water, holding your children over your head to keep them dry. Sometimes I want to scream. Life is not hard. It's really very, very simple. Love one another, look after each other and pay it forward. Before you know it we're all happy, healthy and rich beyond our dreams. But obviously there are a lot of folks who are not only not on that page...they haven't read the book. One thing is dead certain. The military has no place in the decision making of any country, anywhere. That, as we have seen ad nauseum throughout history, is a recipe for disaster.

Meagan's Walk

Going to do Meagan's Walk this Sunday morning. I like taking part in most charitable functions. It makes me feel good. Still, if I'm being honest, some just speak more to my heart than others. The first time someone contacted me about doing Meagan's Walk I immediately knew I'd like it. Check out the link for a full description of the walk and Meagan's story. It'll touch your heart too, I'm sure. In a nutshell though it's a five kilometer walk from Ontario Place to Sick Kids Hospital, where (and this is the really cool part) all of the participants join hands,encircle the hospital and give the building a big hug. Love that. I have my own reasons for wanting to fight cancer and for loving Sick Kids...not least of which is the fact that my 13 year old son is bouncing around just fine after having a van run over his leg this past winter. Thanks to Sick Kids. If you've got your own reasons, or if you'd just like to feel good, we'd love to have you join us on Sunday. Cheers.

The final verdict.

How very strange to see my old friend Rob Smith in the paper again today, this time convicted of his various child pornography charges and looking at a prison sentence. A real prison sentence. And a prison sentence as a pedophile. We just never know do we? We just never know what demons somebody may be lugging around with them. Rob, as any one who knew him will tell you, was the nicest, kindest, most generous and charming guy you'd ever want to meet. He really was. But, he was also a very, very sick guy. And no one knew. Not even his wife. The woman he slept beside and kissed goodnight. That, of course, is gone now too for him. As is his role of father. I can't think of a more complete way to obliterate a life than the one he chose. And I suppose we all have a choice, don't we? Some are just a lot harder than others.

Corporate giving?

I saw a guy walking around downtown today carrying a sign that read 'Extreme financial stress'. It was weird. He had a suit on, nice shoes, the whole Bay street thing. And I wondered what his story was. In way too deep and the bottom fell out? What has to happen for you to get to that point, where you figure all you've got left is a sign to carry? Wouldn't his time be better spent interviewing for another gig? He had the suit and the shoes and the haircut. A lot of cats don't have those. The other side of the coin was that even though I watched him for some time, I didn't see a whole lot of folks digging into their pockets to help him out. Maybe that's because most of us these days could probably carry the same sign, most of the time.

Life is so Good.

I listen to a load of books in the car. Just finished a beauty. A short little title, 'Life is so Good' by George Dawson and Richard Glaubman. Glaubman, met with and interviewed 102 year old Dawson. A man who went to school for the first time and learned to read at 98 years of age. Walking the six blocks to school for three years in a row. It's a remarkable, moving and thought provoking story. Here is a man who really has life figured out and has lived in three separate centuries to prove it. In a nutshell George's philosophy is 'don't worry'. And how true that is. If you want to feel great and inject some much needed perspective into your life, pick up a copy of Life is so Good. Because, it really is.

Bad day in Brampton

Someone has some serious 'splainin to do. The tragic murder of Rahimullah and Nazifa Shahghasy, in a Brampton plaza two days ago raises a number of unsettling questions. First and foremost, why was the individual who attacked Nazifa granted bail? Who was the genius who deemed this guy stable enough to walk around? This does not sound like a 'disgruntled' or 'unhappy' person. Those people don't generally carry nine inch kitchen knives and attack, without provocation, innocent bystanders. Nor do they stab themselves in the throat afterwards. Somebody on some committee somewhere apparently slept through a lot of their University psych classes.
Secondly, and this is something perhaps even more disturbing, why did no one else step in to help these people? From all accounts I've read and listened to it sounds like people were running into stores and locking up. Granted somebody called 911, but why was Rahimullah the only one to go to his wife's defense? Surely there must have been a large number of witnesses? That smacks a little of Kitty Genovese. I don't know. I may be talking through my hat here. These things sometimes happen very fast and who knows what goes on. Still, I remember stumbling into the middle of a robbery in highschool. It took me all of two seconds to jump in and try and stop what was going on. I ended up getting stabbed for my efforts. But I don't ever recall having to stop and 'think' about helping someone. I hope that's not something that we're now aspiring to.

Music Night

Music night at the public school tonight. I love music nights. There's no downside to a whole whack of kids making loads of wonderfully imperfect music. It's great. Because you know that for everyone of those kids singing just slightly off-key or not quite fretting that chord perfectly or just missing that downbeat...there is a parent or two or a grandparent who is hearing only the sound of the angels. There"s something about watching your kid make music, even bad music, that lifts your heart like nothing else. It's very different from watching him or her score a goal or make a basket. Those things have their own joys, but music is, to me anyway, something more akin to where we all come from.