I Am Lao Flicks Superman

I Am…

On Saturday, I dutifully wore a red t-shirt and white shorts* to celebrate our country’s one hundred and thirty-ninth birthday.

Ironically, I spent most of the day in the car with Mrs. J and Tug on our way to Rochester, New York for a party, so no one other than my passengers saw what I was wearing in honour of my country**.

Of course, after a few hours in line at the border, I wondered why I was so proud of being Canadian. I can just picture your intake of breath. Your indignation. Allow me to elaborate.

So many people were breaking the rules. Driving on the shoulders, cutting people off, even utilizing the commercial trucks only lane. it was sickening.

I don’t like it when people break the rules like that. It’s not fair to those who have been waiting patiently in the line. In fact, a lot of the time these line-jumpers end up causing an even bigger delay.

What made it even worst was the fact that every single one of these inconsiderate people had an Ontario licence plate.

Not a great way to set an example, especially considering that a good chunk of the traffic in line with us were US Citizens returning home.

So, while I am proud of my country, I don’t know if I am always proud of the people that live in it.

Certainly you will point out that this happens everywhere, not just in Canada, but it doesn’t really matter, does it?

Wrong is wrong, no matter where you live.

Lao is the Time

After the eight hour car trip*** we arrived at the party to scattered applause and a plethora of questions regarding our tardiness.

I made my way to the keg and ran into one of my cousins, who poured me a refreshing beer and clapped me heartily on the shoulder in welcome.

After some mingling and drinking, word spread around the party of the formation of a friendly game of Lao Ball.

I’m not sure what the real name of this game is, but essentially it involves kicking a wicker ball over a volleyball net. In fact, the rules are very similar to volleyball, with the exception of which parts of the body you are allowed to hit with – that is, anything but your hands.

We played until it became impossible to see the little wicker bugger. It was great fun, and in hindsight I learned that the first rule of Lao Ball is to trash talk as much as possible.

If anyone knows what the real name of this game is, or where I can find info, please let me know in the comments.


One of my cousins is a great film maker. You won’t see anything of his at Cannes or the Toronto Film Festival****, but they are masterpieces just the same.

I am not sure if I am allowed to elaborate on them, as they are in pre-production. However, I am going to see if I can convince him to put clips on You Tube when they are released in August.

This is really just serving as a place holder*****.

Superman Returns

I’m not going to spend a lot of time writing about this movie. It was a wonderful homage to my favourite superhero. Not to mention a tribute to the old movies.

Superman Returns picks up where Superman II left off******, thus eliminating all of the crappy sequels.

It is an epic film, and will leave you believing that a man can fly.

* – Well, they were off-white. Cream, perhaps. Either way, it was close enough to white to play off the red shirt that I was wearing in honour of our flag.
** – We actually had a large Canadian flag bandana in the back area behind the rear seat head rests.
*** – Normally the trip is about 3-3.5 hours.
**** – Yet.
***** – See what I did there, Steve? Yeah. I went there. Now you’re going to be famous.
****** – So I’ve been told.