Rotating Pineapple

The Halloween dance was better than the welcome to school dance. I remember that about Grade 7. At the welcome to school dance, all the kids laughed at me and told me I couldn't dance. At the Halloween dance, nobody cared. I was wearing a ghost costume. Like I was expected to be Barishnikov in that. My friend, Helen, told me she was going to the dance dressed as a punk rocker. I pictured her in safety pins, a black torn dress and a green mohawk. Instead, she came as Charlie Chaplin. We danced. - The next year, it was $2 to get into the Halloween dance. $1 if you wore a costume. I went to the dance with a cheap masquerade mask over my eyes. I got in for a dollar. This offended a handful of kids and they spent the rest of the dance lobbying the management to charge me an extra dollar. - In Grade 4, my friend, Matt, and I thought it would be great to go out for Halloween dressed as Pac-Man. "We could chase ghosts," I said. "They'll be scared."

I sort of met Jian Ghomeshi in 1993 when he and Moxy Fruvous did a concert at Mount Royal College, where I was a theatre student. One of my colleagues later got to interview the band for a school project, but I digress. For my non-Canadian readers, Jian Ghomeshi is a former Canadian pop musician who later became a CBC radio personality. He was fired recently after details of his sex life were exposed. He wrote a long defense of himself on Facebook. He certainly didn't claim to be a perfect angel. He admitted that his sexual proclivities are a tad unusual but also suggested that the reason he'd come under fire was he'd sparked the ire of a jilted lover who was out for revenge. You know, at first I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. I've never been a serial dater. I count the number of serious relationships I've had on one hand. Like all breakups, mine came with hurt feelings on both sides. Most of the women I was involved with have mo

I had a dream the other day that I was taking a shower with Malcolm X. That's really freakin funny I don't remember where the shower was located or why we were showering together (I'd like to think we were just strangers who were getting ready for a dip at the swimming pool.) In my dream, Malcolm X was washing his hair while chastising me for being a white devil. He spoke with the fury of a revival preacher - telling me that Allah would hold me responsible for the atrocities my ancestors committed upon his people. I didn't argue with Malcom X, and for two reasons. The first was that I knew he'd probably whup my ass in a debate. The second was that it was obvious I was dreaming. After I left the shower, I walked into a kitchen and opened a fridge. Malcolm X's disembodied head was in there. It was yelling at me and eyeballing the bacon. "Don't you be serving that to my brothers," it said. "The swine is a filthy beast and so

December 1, at the very earliest. I don't want to see any Christmas decorations anywhere throughout the month of November. I never get my wish. It's not even Halloween and the stores in my neck of the woods are already hauling out the Christmas cards and the plastic Santas. I was at Costco the other day and they had artificial Christmas trees for sale. Good grief. Sometimes I wish I was American. If I was American, Thanksgiving would be in November and that could act as a bullwark against incessant Christmas marketing. Up here, Halloween is the last commercial holiday before Christmas so the stores get all red and green as soon as November hits. Sometimes, I almost expect them to make a commercial event out of Remembrance Day. Maybe I shouldn't be so hard on Christmas. Without it, plenty of our merchants might not even be in business. I understand that it's a "Christianized holiday" but it's more of a shopping event than it is a religio

I think I would be totally cool with going the rest of my life without alcohol. Look, I won't pretend to be teetotaler. I have imbibed in the past and, on a few occasions, I've been rip-roaring drunk. The most famous example was my 18th birthday, when Mr. Alcohol told me it would be a good idea to break into a real estate office, call my friend's girlfriend so I could insult her, and then throw up in another friend's sink. Gene Simmons, the bass player for KISS, says he has never been drunk or high in his life. "I've never heard anyone say something cool while they were drunk or stoned," he said, and I guess I want to be the sort of person that Gene Simmons thinks is cool. Exhibit A: Someone who thinks I'm cool Okay, so my booze-free life style isn't influenced what Mr. Simmons may or may not think of me. I guess I don't drink because I honestly don't see why I should. I understand that alcohol has served as a social lubricant

For years, whenever I asked a seasoned reporter to name his favourite movie about journalism, I could pretty much bet the farm he would answer with "All the President's Men." I could hardly blame them for it. After all, Woodward and Bernstein's reporting brought down a president. Next to starting World War III, that's probably the biggest thing a journalist can do. When journalists watch All the President's Men, they are dreaming. They are saying: "Man, wouldn't it be great if I could write a story like that too?" There are many reasons why All the President's Men succeeds. For one, it is based on a true story – a drama about the collapse of an American presidency. But for reporters - be they seasoned or novices - the movie also functions as wish fulfillment; All the President's Men could be viewed as a fairy tale. It contains several wonderful performances by Jason Robards (he won an Oscar for it) and, of course, Robert Re

I guess I was about nine the time my mom took me to the bird sanctuary. It was understood that the sanctuary was a safe place for birds to be. In my nine-year-old innocence, I believed that the ducks understood this, and they may well have, for they flocked there in great numbers. And there was a river and on the river were ducks. The ducks were hungry and they were trying to decide between foraging for food in the river or taking seed from the stranger on the riverbank. I was that stranger. I had a bag of feed with me and the ducks would eat it if I sprinkled it on the ground a respectable distance from where I stood. This did not make me happy. I wanted the ducks to eat from my hand. My mom said one of them might if I held my hand open and sat very very still. And so I sat very very still. My hand was open and filled with feed. Ducks would waddle up to me, get frightened, and run back to the water. There was one brave duck who got closer than any other. Then

Shteevie: Hi Taylor Swift. Taylor Swift: Hi Shteevie. Shteevie: Thank you for consenting to being interviewed by The Rotating Pineapple. Taylor Swift: You are welcome. S: Ummm. Do you like pineapple? TS: Kinda. S: So do you like to write songs? TS: It's okay. I mean, I always wanted to be a meatcutter but I never had a talent for it, so I had to fall back on music instead. S: Really? TS: Yeah. It's sad. Every year, millions of little girls aspire to the meatcutter trade but so very very few of them will actually make it. And the really sad thing is that a lot of those little girls are amazing meat cutters - they can handle cleavers like a monkey handles coconuts. I saw a five-year-old girl from Lafayette cut an entire pork roast in 23 seconds. But do you think she'll make a living at it? Probably not. Talent isn't enough. Prettiness isn't enough. Tenacity isn't enough. You just have to be in the right place at the right time to make

Lionel Richie and I were at West Edmonton Mall one winter afternoon. We were there because I was taking my friend's daughter, Juliana, for a day at the waterslide park. Lionel Richie was there because he wanted to buy a new Versace sweater. Also, he needed some hair products for his afro. He could only get both products at West Edmonton Mall. "Tell ya what," Lionel said from the cell phone in his Porsche. "I'll pick you up in Calgary and then the three of us will drive to Edmonton. How does that sound?" "Cool," said Jules, who really likes Porsches. Lionel shows up. He's wearing the Calgary Flames jersey I bought him for Christmas. His mustache is gone. Jules hates mustaches so he shaved it off to please her. I shaved this off, mofos. We're about to get into the car when I notice it's a coupe. "Oops," says Lionel. "Guess one of you will have to ride in the trunk." "I'll do it,"

This is a true story. I went to Best Buy in Ottawa tonight so Ashley could get an IPad Mini. There was a sale going on and she wanted to buy a 62 GB model for about $450. Keep in mind this is Ottawa, a city of about one million. Also keep in mind that iPad minis are one of the most sought after electronic commodities available today. And let's also keep in mind that there are a limited number of iPad minis for sale. The Ottawa Best Buy probably doesn't get a shipment of 50,000 iPads everyday; it shouldn't be expected to either. We go to the iPad sectionand we tell the manager we'd like to talk to a salesperson. He goes off to get one. Shortly afterward, we are joined by a man who looks like he's about 60. He begins talking and I learn the following: - He has to buy a new iPad because he dropped his old one on the floor and the screen shattered. - His favourite thing to do with the iPad is read. He goes to a site where he can download books for fre

When you think about it, purses make more sense than wallets. I can't fit my keys in my wallet. I also can't put my chap stick in there. That wouldn't be true if I carried a purse. Laugh if you want but I've seen women carry all sorts of outlandish stuff in their handbags. I'm not just talking about the usual makeup, nail polish and feminine hygiene products either. I've seen women open their purses and pull out paperback novels, tupperware containers filled with salad - even a bunch of those cool Russian nesting dolls. The verdict is in: Purses are more practical than wallets, but men won't carry purses unless they are Scottish. I own a few coin purses but I don't own any sling-em-over-your shoulder purses that your mom might wear to the grocery store. I have a laptop bag that kind of looks like a purse. Thing is - when most people see it, they know there's a laptop in there. That's why I don't get beat up when I wear it in pub

When  I  was  25,  I  noticed  that  “thumb  tack”  rhymes  with  “bum  crack.” This  enabled  me  to  compose a  rhyming  couplet that  amused  my  then  girlfriend. Some  time  before that,  the  two  of  us  went  to  a  hockey game  between  the  Calgary  Flames and  the  Nashville Predators.  The  game  ended  in  a  3-3  tie  but  what  made  it  notable was  that  a  guy  from  England  took  off  all  his  clothes and  began  running around  on  the  ice.  In  the  car  on  the  way  home,  my  girlfriend said:  “It’s  too  bad  he  wasn’t  more  hung.” The  person  who  gave  me  this  note  title  is  a  mother of  two  children. I  imagine  that  the  inspiration for  this  title  is  that  she  has  stepped  on  thumb  tacks  and  Legos  before  and  is  curious as  to  what  I  think  would  be  more  painful. I  have  never  stepped  on  a  thumb  tack  (and  I  am  not  about  to)  but  I  have  stepped  on  Legos  and  those  mothers hurt.  It  is  eno

I  remember  when  Beavis  and  Butthead  was  one  of  the  most  popular  cartoons on  TV.  Created by  one  Mike  Judge, it was  a  crudely animated  show  that  lampooned  the  worship  of  stupidity.  The  titular  characters were  teenaged  metal  heads  who  had  no  ambition,  no  common  sense, and  no  friends besides  each  other. They  spent  their  lives  making fun  of  music  videos  and  being  ambivalent about  pretty  much  everything. I  imagine  Disney animators  saw  it  and  wanted to  rip  their  hearts  out. - I  am  an  aspiring  author. My  friend,  Joe,  is  a  successful  novelist who  is  currently making  a  killing thanks  to  the  sudden  popularity of  electronically  published books.  He’s  famous for  eschewing  traditional publishing  and  is  a  solid  convert  to  the  e-pub  world. I  am  happy  for  my  friend  but  I  am  worried  about  the  direction that  e-pub  may  be  taking us.  I’m  sorry  but  I  just  don’t  think 

If  I  worked on  a  cattle ranch,  I  would  say  moo  a  lot.  Seriously,  saying moo  to  cows  never  gets  boring.  Cows  are  stupid. I  remember  when  our  newspaper started  putting  out  one  agriculture page  every  issue. Suddenly,  one  of  my  responsibilities  was  to  get  one  picture, every  week,  for  the  farm  page.  Problem is  that  there  just  isn’t  a  whole  lot  of  excitement  in  the  world  of  farming. Our  sports  guy  could  get  pictures  of  football  players or  basketball  players or  hockey  players. Our  news  guys  could  get  pictures  of  people  getting their  faces  painted or  people  playing violins  or  guys  in  kilts  throwing  telephone poles.  But  the  farm  page  –  not  a  whole  lot  to  pick  from.  Ooh,  there’s Farmer  Bob  and  his  new  tractor.  Exciting stuff.  Let  me  get  your  picture,  Bob.  Click.  There  we  go.  Riveting. And  so  I  started  taking pictures  of  cows. Seriously,  I’d  be  drivi

There are only two possible answers to the question: “What is the sound of one hand clapping?” The first is that it sounds like skin slapping skin. You can make this sound if you open and close your hand over and over again really fast. You are clapping one hand. The other answer is that it doesn’t sound like anything at all. If I am clapping one hand, I might look like I am Zorro doing the first wave of the Zorro sign. Really, all I’m doing is swinging my hand through the air. That doesn’t make a sound at all. If my hand had holes in it, it might make a swooshing sound. Other than that, the sound of one hand clapping is probably as quiet as a mouse peeing on cotton. Perhaps I am being disrespectful. I understand that the riddle of “one hand clapping” is a zen exercise and it is supposed to help with meditation. I am sure lots of bald monks in orange robes think about it a lot when they are doing their exercises in Tibet. I don’t think I’d be very good at contempl

When I was 10 years old, I became fascinated with a movie called Creepshow. I saw the tape box in the video store and its cover art, depicting a leering ghoul sitting in a cinema box office, intrigued me. My dad rented it for me even though it was against his better judgment. I just wouldn't shut up about it. Plugging that movie into the Betamax player that evening, I felt this cold creepy sensation inside me, like I was about to cast a spell from the Necronomicon. Creepshow had five stories (or "jolting tales of fear") but my two favourites were the ones that dealt with zombies. The best was the first one - Father's Day- where a patriarch's corpse claws its way out of its grave to exact revenge on a number of people, including Ed Harris. Wow. I have hair. There was another story where Leslie Nielsen kidnaps the bartender from Cheers and then buries him up to his neck on the beach so that he'll drown once the tide comes in. Later, the barten

I put a toonie in a vending machine the other day. I did it because my kid saw the machine and became enraptured by it. "Ball," he said. The vending machine was filled with round plastic containers which my son, using his 20-month old brain, interpreted as balls. So I bought a ball which, strangely enough, contained a miniature beach ball. I blew the ball up and handed it to my son. He immediately became obsessed with it. For the next 10 minutes, he threw it around the house. Then he became interested in an empty water bottle in my recycling bin. The beach ball was abandoned. I'm looking at it now. It's a deflated multi-coloured pile of rubber lying on my living room floor. - I used to know a person who made a lot of money with vending machines. He told me there was a lot of overhead he had to pay before he started making money. The machines themselves were expensive and he had to pay rent to a number of institutions in order to house his machines.

I'm a hard person to read. Pretty much every girl I've ever dated has told me that. They never know how I'm feeling about anything, or even if I'm feeling anything at all. Wish I had a dime for everytime I was asked what I was thinking about or if I'm okay. Most of the time I am okay and when I'm thinking about something, it's not very earth-shattering. I'm probably counting the tiles on the bathroom ceiling or wondering if the water I am bathing in is filled with paramecia. Come join me in my cell Been told I'm like a moth, man. Won't fly too far from the flame or I'll freeze. Won't get too close or I'll burn. Gotta spend my life flapping my wings, getting tired... Uh huh. Last year I placed second in the World Brooding Championships. I was directly behind Al Pacino. Pacino's latest movie - How to Put in Your Contacts - Here is the first line from my favourite Leonard Cohen poem: "The reason I write is to make

It was the transmission that almost wrecked her Christmas. She could hear it clunking even as far back as Thanksgiving. She knew she had to do something about it soon or it would become a real big problem. That’s what Jack, the old guy who lived in the trailer across from her, told her when she came back from her job at the truck stop. The car was so noisy that people were coming out of their trailers to see what the problem was.“Transmission’s goin,” Jack called to her, dropping a cigarette butt into a Mount Everest of cigarette butts between his feet. “Best look after that.” Yeah. Best look after that. Easy to say when it’s just you and your wife and you both get pension cheques that enable you to do nothing but chain smoke all day. Not so easy when you’re a single mother of three and you’re working cutting hair in the crappy salon tacked on to the north side of Al’s Route16 Truck Stop. Not so easy when Al Roker, the fat cat who owns the truck stop, has no sense of