J.M. Filipowicz's Blog, page 7

Attention Improv Lovers

If you have ten bucks to rub together, I highly suggest that you head to the Staircase Theatre on September 27th.  It’s a small venue, only 67 seats, so I’d call or email to reserve if I were you because shows there tend to sell out fairly quickly.

What is this show about, you ask? Well we don’t know. We’ll make it up as we go along, just like a presentation in a high school French class. I do know we’ll be split into teams and judged by an anthropomorphic chicken, or possibly some other muppetesque critic.

I also know they’ll be laughs, because there always are. You might also expect screw-ups and awkward silences. All part of the fun!

All proceeds go to help keep my favourite theatre in business for another month.

BTW: If you don’t live in near Hamilton, I still suggest you go find some improv to watch. Check your local theatres and colleges! Whatever you find is sure to be better than anything on Netflix.

Wishing My Nephew a Happy Birthday

What’s going well

It’s the first Wednesday of the month which means Insecure Writer’s Support Group, where I regale the internet with my insecurities as an author. It would be appropriate now to talk about my book sales. The vast majority of copies sold have been purchased by friends or at least people I have personally talked to. I feel as if I’m constantly shouting into the abyss, begging the world to see me, to give me a chance, but I can literally count on my fingers the number of strangers who’ve purchased the novel.

But I’d rather talk about what’s going well. It was my wedding anniversary yesterday. Eight years and two children later we are still happy. To celebrate we spent way too much on dinner, and then saw a half-price movie to make up for it. I’m not going to tell you how much or why I love my husband, because I don’t want to gag you with all that saccharine schmaltz. Besides, if I were to adequately explain his awesomeness to you, you would be jealous and want him for yourself.

So moving on…

I had a great day rewriting my work in progress yesterday too. The beginning may actually be ready for human eyes. It’s quite a departure from Wardroids, but I’m sure that’s okay. It’s not as if I have a large fan base to disappoint.

Unless you count the folks at the Staircase Theatre in Hamilton. They are awesome and supportive and most of them have purchased my book. Improv is a hobby that I stumbled upon two years ago and loved it against all odds. I’ve grown from a shy nerd to a nerd who can get up on stage and make up a comedy skit on the spot! Later this month I’m going to be in an improv show.  September 27th is the date, and with only sixty seats in the theatre I’m predicting a sell-out.

Love Locks

Here’s my opinion on Love Locks as reported in today’s Burlington Post. Click to bigger. What do you think of the locks? Eyesore or awesome?

The article that I’m responding to can be found here.

What Should Be my Author Style?

This meme of two Georges chatting about writing female characters has been popping up all over the interwebs, the punchline of which is that George R R Martin thinks that women are people. In the interview George S responds “Obviously” and George RRM goes on to talk about how he writes ALL characters who aren’t necessarily like him, dwarves, kings, murderers, paraplegics, children, etc. He does research. He puts himself in their shoes. None of that stuff ended up in the meme. Just GRRM looking cool in his purple vest and turtle-pinned black hat giving his pro-woman one-liner.

The constant viewing of this image left me with two thoughts. The first is that it hurts my head that in 2013 the idea that women are people is still a revelation worthy of memehood. Good on GRRM for realizing this truth that should be obvious to everyone. My favourite line in the interview comes later when he goes on to say, “They’re more like me than they are unlike me. They have some special condition that they have a different set of genitals than I do.” You can see he gets the absurdity of this as much as I do. This is so much a giant duh that I can’t even bring myself to devote an entire blog post to it.

The second thought I had when over-viewing this meme, is that I don’t look like an author. I mean, that vest and hat paired with that beard and those glasses is an ensemble that screams novelist. With an author mother, I’ve grown up going to various book-writer shindigs and have seen many similarly distinct looks. Not all authors look like George R R Martin of course (though the white beard is a popular choice), but each has their own way of rocking a bookish anti-style that gives no doubt that they are the author and not just a sales girl selling books. My friend and volunteer marketing manager recently suggested that I do a signing dressed as Emily pictured on the cover of my book, which would mean showing a lot of midriff. I’m actually considering it, though after two kids my midriff isn’t as big a selling feature as it once was.

So what do you think? What does an author look like to you? Any suggests on what my author style should be? Talk to me in the comments below. Serious comments are welcome but absurdity is always encouraged!

The Rejuvinators Present Sketchsicle

Here’s my short vlog promoting the new sketch show I’m taking part in.

More details here.

See you all there!

My Review of #TheWolverine

I was initially puzzled by the need to release another Wolverine movie. Didn’t we just do a Wolverine movie? When X-men Origins: Wolverine came out I thought that maybe they’d follow it up with X-men Origins: Storm, or X-men Origins: Cyclops, or X-men Origins: Nightcrawler. They made X-men First Class instead, which was an entertaining prequel with James McAvoy doing a great job of filling Patrick Stewart’s shoes. But now another Wolverine movie. Why? I mean Hugh Jackman is cute and all, but isn’t it time someone else had a turn?

I can hear the protests. Wolverine is everybody’s favourite, you say. He’s immortal and totally badass and has freakin’ claws that come out of his fists! And if shear badassery is the only reason you love Wolverine, then by all means see the movie. Many a bad guy is clawed to death in Logan’s rampage of justice.

The plot (apologies in advance for spoilers): Logan saves a Japanese officer from being horribly killed in the nuclear bomb attack at Nagasaki, thereby perpetuating the cliché that if you are immortal, you have automatically been witness to every historical event in your long life time.  Fast forward to present day and Logan has grown his hair and beard long and is haunted by boring bedroom conversations with Jean Grey, whose epic awesomeness is insulted by her scenes in this movie. The Japanese guy (now obscenely wealthy) is dying of old age/cancer and wants to have Logan’s power for himself, giving his old friend the gift of being able to live out an ordinary life (except with claws).

For most of the movie, Logan acts as bodyguard to the old guy’s bland granddaughter, who has everyone in Tokyo after her. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why Logan took such an interest in protecting this girl. I was more emotionally invested in the grizzly bear he avenged back in the Yukon.

Anyway, despite turning down his friend’s offer of non-immortality, Logan finds his healing powers aren’t working anymore. Not that he notices right away. The whole not being immortal thing doesn’t even slow him down. He gets shot several times but just keeps clawing away at thugs like it’s another day at the office. Only later does he wonder why his wounds are still bleeding.

I would have thought that he would first notice the cuts left by his claws. He said in X-men that it hurt every time they came out, and when that didn’t immediately heal you’d think it would set off alarm bells. Logan isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed though. I’m starting to wonder what Jean Grey saw in him.

Still, Logan doesn’t really spend a lot of time contemplating his new mortality, he’s too busy clawing people, kissing the bland granddaughter, and saying “I’m The Wolverine” to whomever will listen.

Other characters include Yukio, a sword-fighting punk who can predict people’s deaths, and Viper, a villain whose outfits get progressively more ridiculous throughout the movie.

My favourite part came in the credits when we get a little cameo from Magneto and Professor X. Forget Wolverine, we need more movies with those two guys!

Final rating: Meh.

BTW: Isn’t it odd that Wolverine didn’t age at all between 1890 and 2000, but since 2000 he’s aged about thirteen years?

Staycation Vlog

More info on the Hamilton Fringe.

An Escape from Screens

Photo by Adam Filipowicz

We’re a screen family. As much as I try to limit my children’s tv and computer time (and I’ll admit I don’t try very hard) a normal day involves my six-year old surfing YouTube and playing Minecraft, while my four-year old absorbs herself in iPad games and Netflix cartoons. Going outside is optional and often the result of coercion. How can I blame them when I have a similar addiction, with days spent browsing the same old Facebook posts, and evenings spent curled up in front of the TV? And yet, I love the outdoors. I love to go on hikes in the wilderness, letting the sights and smells of the forest fill me with awe. I love swimming in lakes, pure and unsullied by chlorine. I love glimpsing moose grazing along the highway, and how they wait while several cars park to take their pictures. I love cooking meals over the campfire and camp stove and even how our culinary and cleanliness standards drop when living in a tent. I love sharing all this with my family.

The best kept secret of Algonquin park is the back-country sites. Sure, it’s well-known that you can canoe trip into the wilderness. What isn’t so known is that these sites are nicer than car camping sites. I car camped for years in full view of my neighbours’ campers, listening to their music and drunken goings on, sharing a bug-ridden “comfort station”, and waiting in line to brush my teeth. In the back-country you get a sizable section of forest all to yourself, along with a private beach to swim in, and your own toilet with a view of the forest as you conduct your business. No, it’s not a flush toilet, but it’s much less gross than the communal flush toilets in car-camping land and, being open to the air, it never achieves that vomit-inducing smell of the pit toilets in the main area. These luxury sites are cheaper too, about half the price of “developed” sites for a family of four.  All you need is a canoe, which you can rent, but we borrowed to cut our costs. Our site was a fifteen-minute canoe ride from the main beach so we were able to go back to shore frequently for the classic Logging Museum trail and a trip to the camp store for some ice cream and extra snacks.

We didn’t miss our tv; we had the sun setting over the water each night. We didn’t miss the computer; we were entertained by each others company.

Goodbye Futon, Hello Comfy Curb Couch

Eight years ago, when my husband and I got married, we received generous amounts of Bay gift cards which we amalgamated to buy a chocolate-brown, faux-suede futon, which has since served as our living room sofa. I was so excited by its acquisition that I made an animated flash cartoon to commemorate the occasion (I was into flash animation back then). The back folded down to become a bed for guests, resting on hefty metal legs which jutted out from behind while the futon was in couch mode and prevented the furniture from sitting flush against the wall. Many a toe was stubbed on those metallic monstrosities.

We loved our futon and it traveled with us to three different homes. It hosted quite a few parties in our walk-up apartment. In our condo, it witnessed my son, William, grow from an infant into a toddler. In our house, it saw William and his sister Jadzia grow into awesome children, though perhaps not so awesome if you’re a bouncy piece of furniture. Yes, our chocolate futon got a lot of abuse in recent years. When we brought Worf home as a puppy, he made a den under it, digging its stuffing out from underneath. It has become one of my daughter’s favourite places to pee (ranking above the toilet and slightly behind my husband’s desk chair). As a result, it has developed a not-too-pleasant odor. Eventually the futon gave up, resolving to remain in sleep mode for the rest of its days. Any attempts to lift the back only resulted in a sudden jolt backwards while attempting to comfortably watch Netflix on a week night.

Still we resolved to keep our ailing futon, only replacing it with a new couch when my daughter got over her pee-where-I-may phase, which has seen years instead of months. On Sunday night, the night before junk day, I was walking Worf around the block. Neighbours were putting out old furniture to be picked up by garbage collectors. It was then I noticed a comfy-looking couch on somebody’s curb.

I told my husband who, under cover of darkness, lifted the couch onto our car and drove it home where it replaced our poor, dilapidated, futon. The curb-couch seems brand new, comfortable, and pleasantly does not smell of urine. Instead, it has the subtle odor of someone else’s house, a house kept so clean as to avoid picking up very much odor at all. And yet the smell is there, as though the couch is still homesick for its old life, as though it fears the Lego cyclone that is our basement.  I’d be fearful too, were I a piece of furnishing which found itself in the Filipowicz house.