Every year since I’ve had a platform to spout opinions, I’ve made my Oscar choices. My choices are based perhaps one-quarter on my actual opinion based on what I’ve seen, and three-quarters on educated guesses. My guesswork is better, because I have no emotional attachment to a movie I’ve never seen, so my judgment is not clouded.  For example, I’m STILL angry that Shakespeare in Love won best picture over Saving Private Ryan. Seriously, Academy — Shakespeare in Freakin’ Love??

This year, however, I’ve seen a lot more of the nominated (and not nominated) movies than ever before. (Speaking of not nominated, I think a few outstanding movies got shafted this year, like Margin Call, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2, Warrior, and my favourite movie of last year, Win Win.) I can, therefore, base my opinions on actually SEEING some of the movies, which doesn’t help.

So, let’s take a look, shall we?

Best Supporting Actress: A tough call. There are two actresses from The Help, which I have not seen and am in no rush to. Two from one movie always has the chance of cancelling out each other’s vote. I doubt if enough people saw Albert Nobbs actress Janet McTeer to win. Berenice Bejo from The Artist has a shot, because The Artist is a huge fav with the Hollywood crowd. So does Melissa McCarthy from Bridesmaids, although I doubt the academy would want to give its most prestigious award to an actress whose most famous moment involves shitting into a sink. So, I’ll have to go with what appears to be the odds-on favourite, Octavia Spencer from The Help.

Best Supporting Actor: No contest here. Canada’s very own Christopher Plummer will win for Beginners. Everyone else can stay home. (And by the way, Academy, Jonah Hill, Oscar nominee? Seriously? Albert Brooks got shafted out of a nomination; he is outstanding in Drive.)

Best Actress: An impressive field, and a tough call. First, scratch Rooney Mara for The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. A surprise nominee, she is the one sure bet NOT to win in this category. Glenn Close for Albert Nobbs is a possible, but she’s been doing a lot of TV lately, which lessens her movie cred. Michelle Williams is apparently excellent in My Week with Marilyn, but she still seems to be the outsider. I think it’s down to Meryl Streep (17^th nomination, just two wins) for The Iron Lady, and Viola Davis for The Help. Streep could win every year, really, which is why she has so rarely ever won. But still, my gut says Viola Davis.

Best Actor: Earlier in the year, George Clooney seemed to be the clear favourite for The Descendants. But the tide seems to have turned towards Jean Dujardin from The Artist. He is wonderful in this film, oozing charm and hurt at the same time. It’s really an outstanding performance in a really charming movie. So sorry, George and Brad and all of the others… it’s the Frenchman’s moment.

Best film: If I had a vote, it would to go Hugo, which was a triumph of movie making. And there’s still a chance it could win, but again, momentum seems to have switched to The Artist. (An aside: some writers have said that if The Artist wins, it will be the first silent picture to win since Wings won the first Oscar ever. But The Artist is NOT a silent film. It has a full musical score, and plenty of sound effects. It is a film without dialogue, but not silent.) The Help could squeeze in there, but from what I’ve heard, it’s still seen as a bit of a feel-good lightweight, not unlike The Blind Side from a couple of years back. Although I prefer Hugo and would be happy if it won, I’m predicting The Artist. Any film other than the three I’ve mentioned here would be a shock winner.

Other choices:

Animated feature film: Rango, the only one that made an impression this year.

Cinematography: Lots of good choices, but The Tree of Life is ALL cinematography, so it should win.

Art direction: Either Hugo or The Artist. I have a feeling that The Artist is going to clean up at Hugo’s expense, so The Artist it is.

Costume design: Same thing. And same result. Artist wins again.

Directing: Should go to Martin Scorsese for Hugo, will go to Michael Hazanavicius for The Artist.

Foreign Language Film: Canadian film, Monsieur Lazhar, will lose out to A Separation from Iran.

Makeup: Albert Nobbs, for making Glenn Close look like Glen Close.

Music: The Artist, because there is music in every frame of this picture.

Writing (adapted screenplay): The Descendants, because it needs some Oscar love.

Writing (original screenplay): A tough call. I wouldn’t think The Artist could win for a film with no dialogue, but if it does, it will sweep every award. I think it will go to Margin Call, which is a very complex story with excellent dialogue. Outside chance: Bridesmaids, to acknowledge the rise of female gross-out comedy.

The Simpsons — indisputably, in my view, the greatest show in the history of television, comedy or otherwise — long ago stopped being appointment television. At the peak of its brilliance, The Simpsons simply dazzled week after week, with its groundbreaking blend of scathing satire, spot-on parody, screamingly funny sight gags and just the right touches of sentiment. It was, unquestionably, brilliant. Sadly,

Notice that I said it was brilliant. The Simpsons is no longer brilliant, or even shining. For a time a few seasons ago, The Simpsons teetered on the edge of being unwatchable. My three sons, who grew up watching the show and adore it fiercely, simply stopped watching it altogether. In their view (and I could hardly dispute it) the show was such a pale shadow of its former self that it was actively desecrating its legacy. Struggling to watch some of the worst episodes of years past (there was one episode in Season 20 that I stopped watching half-way through, so I guess I’ve only seen 498 ½ episodes), I couldn’t argue. But I have always held out hope that the show would at least provide me with a solid laugh or two, which I figure is worth 23 minutes of my time. On occasion, it can still amaze.

Take this season, for example. Season 23 began with five episodes of epic awfulness (even the reliable Halloween episode tanked), but then went on a streak of three episodes (Lisa discovering that the book series she adores is a sham; Homer becomes a sales rep for vodka; Krusty gets cancelled — again) that reverted to its classic mixture of parody and satire. Amazingly, those three episodes wouldn’t have looked out of place in the series’ best (or maybe better) years. That’s why I still watch The Simpsons. While I know there is no hope for a true classic anymore, The Simpsons still has the ability to produce a real gem amidst the cubic zirconium it cranks out today.

And now, in honor of its 500^th episode, I would like to add my list of the top Simpsons episodes to the 15,237 other Simpsons lists that litter the Internet. I can’t rate them; it would be like choosing a favourite child. So here, in no particular order, are some of my all-time favourite episodes, and some that are just favourite moments:

• Homer the Heretic: Homer quits going to church. During a commercial break the first time this episode aired, I got a call from my brother Todd, who was in tears of laughter while watching the show. What other show in TV history would have the guts to feature God in a cameo. (Nice teeth, good smell, a class act, all the way.) A masterpiece.

• Homer at the Bat: Mr. Burns puts together a team of ringers to win a beer league. Some of the best sight gags in the show’s history.

• The Homer They Fall: Homer becomes a boxer. Might be my all-time favourite. When Homer walks into the ring to fight Drederick Tatum wearing a robe that simply says “Opponent”, and playing his theme music, “Why Can’t We Be Friends”, I almost lost it.

• Radio Bart: Bart falls down a well and adopts the personal of Timmy O’Toole. Razor sharp satire of the media’s infatuation of this kind of story.

• Mr. Plow: Homer again, in what I suspect is the most frequently cited episode in Top 10 lists.

• Krusty gets Kancelled: The first time, that is. An all-star show featuring Johnny Carson, Bette Midler, Elizabeth Taylor and others. The parody of Carson’s last show, which featured Midler crooning to Krusty, is one of those little Simpsons moments that make the show funny on so many levels.

• The Last Temptation of Krust: Krusty gets cancelled, again, then becomes a cutting edge comic, and then sells out. The Canyonaro commercial at the episode’s end is the funniest song in the show’s history.

• Cape Feare/Sideshow Bob Roberts/Sideshow Bob’s Last Gleaming: Had to list three great Sideshow Bob episodes. Bob running for mayor is one of the show’s great political statements. Kelsey Grammer is brilliant as Sideshow Bob, and the show’s dialogue is always elevated a notch for Sideshow Bob. And remember… no man who speaks German can be all bad.

• Homie the Clown: Yes, Homer again, this time as a substitute Krusty. A perfect blend of my two favourite characters.

• Homer’s Enemy: The semi-infamous Frank Grimes episode. An odd episode that stands alone as a classic.

• Bart Sells His Soul: No other show on TV would deal with issues like do souls exist. Also, Uncle Moe’s Family Feedbag.

• Mother Simpson: Homer finally meets his mother, radical Mona. It makes my list most because of the genuinely beautiful moment at the end where Mona has again left Homer, and he sits alone in the desert while the closing credits roll, accompanied by a beautiful piece of music by the show’s brilliant musical director, Alf Clauson.

• Marge Be Not Proud: Bart gets caught shoplifting at Christmas. Features security manager Don Brodka — that’s right, Don Brodka — and a lovely ending.

• You Only Move Twice: The family moves to a new town when Homer gets a job. His new boss? Hank Scorpio, voiced brilliantly by Albert Brooks. One of the few times when the show goes off the rails that doesn’t result in a train wreck.

• The Itchy and Scratchy and Poochie Show: Another great satire episode, with the Simpsons writers taking dead aim at the show’s hypercritical fans.

• Das Bus: The kids become stranded on an island in this Lord of the Flies spoof. Not a great episode, but it does have one hilarious line: “I’m so hungry I could eat at Arbys.”

• Girly Edition: Bart and Lisa co-host a children’s news show. Parodies of sappy human interest stories from TV news are priceless.

• Mayored to the Mob: Homer becomes Mayor Quimby’s bodyguard. Mark Hamill’s self-deprecating appearance as himself is one of the best guest voice appearances.

• Behind the Laughter: The Simpsons story as told in a Behind the Music parody. Hilarious end to a truly terrible season.

• Mr. Spritz Goes to Washington: Krusty goes to Kongress. A late classic, with some brilliant political insights.

• Midnight Rx: Homer and Grandpa smuggle cheaper drugs in from Canada. Features the great gag: Welcome to Winnipeg. We live here. What’s your excuse.

But no list can be complete without mention of some of the worst. The list is long and depressing; in fact, I stopped making this list with a few seasons to spare. Among the worst: Simpson Tide (Home joins the Navy, with brutal results);  Lost our Lisa (Lisa takes a bus to a museum; painful to watch); Lard of the Dance (Homer and Bart collect lard); Marge Simpson in Screaming Yellow Honkers (Marge gets a Cayonero SUV, episode ends with family being menaced by rhinos); Monty Can’t Buy Me Love (Mr. Burns finds the Loch Ness Monster); Brother’s Little Helper (Bart takes mood altering drugs); E-I-E-I Annoyed Grunt (tobacco and tomatoes are mixed together in possibly the worst episode ever); Saddlesore Galactica (Home and Bart adopt a racehorse in this appalling episode);  The Frying Game (an episode so bad, I’ll leave it up to the Simpsons Episode Archive to describe it. “Homer is sentenced to community service after nearly killing a rare insect found in his backyard pond. While working in a Meals on Wheels program, Homer befriends an elderly old woman. When the woman is thought to be dead, Homer and Marge become murder suspects after being named the sole beneficiaries of her will. Homer is convicted and sentenced to the death penalty, but just before he is scheduled to die in the electric chair, it is revealed that he’s a contestant on a new reality show called “Frame Up” and the old woman is alive and well.” Every bit as bad as it sounds.

As for episode 500 tonight, I can’t say that I have high hopes. The previews look bad, but I’ll be watching. And I’ll be watching 501, and 502, and on and on until the series, in the words of Troy McClure, becomes unprofitable.

I sure do not have any love for Linda Sloan on this Valentine’s Day. Boy, she makes me mad! She said that I’m only nice to my friends, and that’s just not true!! I’m nice to everyone!! Sure, I’m NICER to some people more than others, and REALLY, REALLY NICE to people who are my REAL FRIENDS, but I’m nice to everyone!  And I have lots and lots of friends, most of them live in the country where I live, but so what? My friends who live in those big ugly cities like Edmonton (ugh!) and Calgary (double ugh!) get lots and lots of friendship from me. Just because my friends who live in little towns get a little more friendship from me doesn’t mean I’m unfair. I’m going to write her a letter and tell her I’m not coming to her stupid old party, and none of my friend are coming either!! I don’t want to go anyway, because they always serve roast beef (ugh!).

February 15

Well, I send stupid face Linda a letter saying I’m not coming to her crummy old party, and I wasn’t taking any of my friends either. And guess what she did, diary!?! SHE TOLD ON ME! Or as least, I think it was her. She’s a poopy pants who is part of the Red Gang that I don’t like. Anyway, diary, all sorts of people are mad at ME for not going to her stupid party. But why should I? She said stuff that I don’t like, and I don’t think is true. Well, not completely true, anyway. And I told my friend, little Stevie Carter, who’s best friends with Ally Redford, not to go to the party, and guess what? He got in trouble! He sent Linda jerk face a note in class that called her a “liar liar pants on fire”, and for some reason that made people mad! I guess he shouldn’t have had everyone in his Grade 5 class pass the note back to Linda, because everybody read it (duh!). And you know who else read it? Raj Sherman, that pest who lives across the street. He  used to be part of my gang, but now he’s part of the Reds Gang! What a jerk!! He’s ALWAYS criticizing Ally about everything. So Raj told her at recess what Stevie said to Linda, and Raj told Ally that should stop being friends with Stevie. And you know what, diary?? SHE MADE STEVIE SAY HE WAS SORRY!!  And now, guess what? I have to go to her stupid old party and pretend I like Linda. And roast beef. Ugh.

Boy, I can hardly wait until I grow up and don’t have to play all these stupid games. Maybe I’ll go into politics!

OK, she didn’t exactly put it that way. Judges are generally a little more sophisticated than that. But Madam Justice Amy Molloy, in refusing to imposed a mandatory minimum sentence as ordered by Harper’s crime fixated government, did call a mandatory sentence she was supposed to impose “fundamentally unfair, outrageous, abhorrent, and intolerable”.

Hey, that’s way better than ‘shove it up your ass’.

So, exactly why did Justice ‘Let ‘Em Go’ Molloy defy the Harper government? Is she one of those soft on crime judges who set killers and rapists and parking ticket scofflaws free to terrorize the innocent citizens of Harperland?

Here’s the story.

Molloy was presiding over the trial of a chump named Leroy Smickle, who was charged with being in possession of a loaded handgun. What was the Smickle (isn’t being named Leroy Smickle punishment enough?) doing with a loaded handgun? Was he holding up a liquor store, brandishing it in a bar, walking down the street waving it at passers by? Nope. Poor ol’ Leroy was in his apartment at 2 a.m., in his undies, striking what he thought was a cool pose for his friends on Facebook. This is itself not a crime, but it should ben. When police broke into his apartment, ol’ Smicky was reclining on his couch, operating a webcam.

Here’s the funny part. The cops weren’t looking for Smickle. They were looking for his cousin, who they suspected had illegal firearms. They just happened to find Smickle posing with his piece (and by that, I mean his gun). He was so startled when the cops came in that he dropped his computer and his gun, which must has made for much hilarity amongst his friends on Facebook.

Now, what would you think is a reasonable punishment for a guy sitting in his apartment with a loaded gun? According to tough-on-crime Tories, this was a gun crime, and this kind of assault on law abiding Canadians requires a mandatory THREE YEARS IN PRISON. Yep, three years for being a doofus posing with a gun in your own apartment.

Smickle, by the way,  has no criminal record, and good career prospects. In Harperland, where the government knows best, there is no room for debate when such a heinous crime is committed. Three years in jail, no debate.

Except, Justice Molloy thought otherwise. She sentenced him to a year of house arrest.

“In my opinion,” the wise judge said, “a reasonable person knowing the circumstances of this case and the principles underlying both the Charter and the general sentencing provision of the Criminal Code, would consider a three-year sentence to be fundamentally unfair, outrageous, abhorrent and intolerable.”

Right on, sister.

In Harper’s world, there is only black and white, no shades of grey. This is an example of the inherent danger, even stupidity, of mandatory minimum sentences. Smickle’s only real crime was in being a doofus. If Justice Molloy had imposed the mandatory, Smickle’s life would have been ruined. A guy with no criminal record and no criminal intent would have been sent to jail, his whole life derailed over one moment of harmless stupidity. And of course, there is not just the human cost, but the cost to the government of Canada to lock up a guy for three years.

Americans have had plenty of experience with mandatory sentencing. It has been a colossal failure, filling prisons to capacity, ruining countless lives and costing the government billions. When the Harper government was considering mandatory sentencing, some American lawmakers — from TEXAS, of all places — came to Canada and told the government is was a bad idea. Hey, if Americans are going to tell you something is a bad idea, you should listen.

But Harper didn’t, of course. It’s good politics to get tough on crime. It sells well with the base. It doesn’t matter that lives will be ruined, that prisons will be filled with people who made stupid mistakes, that billions will be spent. In the past, judges may or may not have been guilty of being too lenient with house arrest. But if I had to choose between the occasional criminal getting a slap on the wrist when he should have gotten jail, or guys like Leroy Smickle going to jail for three years for basically nothing, I’ll take the soft-on-crime option anytime.

Hey, if I’m ever in front of a judge (God forbid), I hope I have a judge with the intelligence and intestinal fortitude of Justice Molloy. Give me the common sense of a judge over the Stephen Harper’s mandatory minimum stupidity any day.

I can’t say that it saddened me, or even shocked me — poor Whitney had been on a terrible downward path for years now. But when a megastar passes, even one whose best days were far behind them, it still comes as a bit of a surprise.

It’s not an exaggeration to say that Whitney Houston was one of the most influential singers of her generation. And, sad to say, that is not necessarily a good thing.

Houston has to take the blame for creating the genre of Overwrought Female Ballads, a style of music that dominated and polluted the airwaves for years. For it was Houston (or perhaps we should be blaming Clive Davis, the ubber-manager who discovered her) who was the first popular singer to belt out every song at maximum volume, stretching out every note to the point of torture. It was Houston’s colossal success that ushered in Maria Carey, Christina Aguilera, and approximately 27,492 American Idol contestants. Yes, Whitney Houston has a lot to answer for.

There are few songs that set my teeth on edge like I Will Always Love You, Houston’s monstrous, inescapable hit. With all due respect to Miss Houston, I HATE that song, or more accurately, I hate the Whitney Houston version. The song was written and originally performed by Dolly Parton, and her version (believe it or not) is subdued and quite touching. Houston amped it up and sucked the emotion out of it.

Houston was one of the most successful recording artists, male or female, in history. Yes, she sold millions upon millions of albums (my guess is that 97 per cent were sold to women, the remaining 3 per cent to gay guys or guys buying albums for their girlfriends), but her songs were the worst kind of pop pap. Compare the songs of Houston to those of Amy Winehouse, another gifted female singer who died this year. There was artistry and emotion in Winehouse’s songs; Houston’s work was all commercial artifice. Looking at the list of her huge hits — Saving All My Love For You, How Will I Know, The Greatest Love of All, Didn’t We Almost Have It All — is almost depressing. Why depressing? Because I know these songs! I don’t know why or how, but I know them all, and they are all pretty awful.

Am I being cruel? No, just honest.

I know a lot of people will disagree, and maybe question why anyone would write something negative about someone who isn’t even in the ground yet, but I’m not actually criticizing her. I take exception to her music, which was clearly the product of a cynical team of music writers and producers who cranked out middle-brow ballads that sold millions.

Her decline, from humble beginnings to megastar to object of derision on Saturday Night Live to early death, is a classic sad showbiz story. I feel badly for someone who had so much talent but squandered it all on dreadful music.

First, Redford takes her cabinet on a tour of Alberta. Price tag for this little public relations exercise (which comes, by total coincidence, with an election two or three months away): $100,000. The opposition bellows, the media yawns, and Redford gets the photo op she wanted: the premier riding the LRT. (My guess: her first ride ever on public transit.)

This is flagrant politicking with public money, but nobody seems to care. I will give props to Lloyd Snelgrove, one of the massive number of departing Tories, who quit the caucus in disgust with the premier’s profligate ways.

Perhaps emboldened by the minimal public and media reaction to her tour stunt, Redford and her new gang concocted a “retreat” for MLAs, held in the tony interiors of the Jasper Park Lodge, at a cost of $70,000 to the taxpayer. Oh, and 25 candidates for the Tories were invited to attend as well, even though the party had to pay for their attendance . After all, in a couple of months, most of them are going to be MLAs, so why not give them a taste of power, PC style?

I have no problem with MLAs going on retreats to discuss stuff. I went on one while I was an MLA, although the best we could afford was a night in Sylvan Lake. But this retreat stinks, top to bottom.

Consider for a moment that a large number of the MLAs in attendance will not be running for re-election. How much work do you think a guy like Doug Elniski — the one-term goof who isn’t running again — is going to put into this retreat? Or how much effort will Carl Benito — the most disgraceful of a disgraceful bunch, so utterly shamed by his conduct as an MLA his own constituency wouldn’t let him run — put into the brainstorming sessions? Or how about Iris Evans, or Ken Kowalski, or Ed Stelmach, or Ron Liepert, or Janis Tarchuk, or Mel Knight, just to name a few. Belly up to the bars, boys.

A Redford spokesman says the retreat will focus on the agenda for the upcoming session. Really? A session that will last just long enough to pass a bill or two and a budget that the Tories will carry into the election. You need a two-day retreat for that?

Really, it’s kind of breathtaking. In any other province, a party in power that pulled a stunt like this just before an election would be roasted over the coals by the opposition and the media. But in Alberta, it’s business as usual, Tory style. Redford is clearly feeling pretty confident that she can throw a $70,000 pre-election holiday/retreat for her caucus, and a $100,000 public relations tour, and not worry about the fallout.

One of these days, the arrogance of the Tories will come back to bite them in their ample asses.

Won’t it?

The announcement on Tuesday that CITY TV is going to produce a Canadian version of the aging U.S. reality show (16th season) caused much excitement in the press and online.

Why the excitement for a Canadian version of a cheesy (but admittedly stupidly entertaining) American TV show? Are we excited that there will be something worthwhile to watch on Canadian TV? No. We’re excited because the potential for really, really terrible TV is so huge! This could be awful on an epic, only-in-Canada way.

Less-than handsome candidates! Poor production values! Desperate attempts at multiculturalism! Political correctness! This baby has classic Canadian TV written all over it.

First, for those of you unfamiliar with The Bachelor (and it’s little sister, The Bachelorette), here’s the concept.

It starts with a bachelor who — despite being a fabulously handsome millionaire who develops wind farms, rescues baby seals and builds schools for disadvantaged children in Uganda using recycled water bottles he personally collected from dumpsters — can’t find love. The bachelors are generally considered to be ideal men, a catch for any woman, so why these guys can’t “find love” is one of the eternal mysteries of The Bachelor.

The bachelor is thrown into a venomous pit of women who, just like him, can’t find love. The first episode is always one of the best, as the women are paraded in front of the bachelor like prize dogs at the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show. They are then herded into a mansion for a cocktail party, where the sparks generally begin to fly thanks to the potent combination of stress, TV cameras, and lots and lots and lots of white whine. Each week, the bachelor takes some of the girls on impossibly romantic dates (which he always claims to have come up with, although exactly how one guy books Carnegie Hall for a private concert from the reanimated corpse of Franks Sinatra is never explained), and decides which of the increasingly-desperate women gets a rose, which signifies they get to hang around for another week of humiliation. (I have a theory why Bachelor relationships flounder. Once you’ve had a gourmet meal in a hot air balloon over the Grand Canyon, two-can-dine-for-$20 night at Kelsey’s is just too much of a comedown.) As the season progresses, sweethearts and villainesses emerge (Ooooh, I just HATE that scheming Courtney. Why doesn’t Ben see her for what she is??) until there are just two left. The Bachelor then must decide which one he chooses, resulting in either a marriage proposal or a promise to “explore a relationship”.  (In one infamous but fantastic episode, the bachelor rejected both.) In 15 previous seasons, The Bachelor has spawned exactly one marriage. So, success!

So that’s what The Bachelor is all about. It is a guilty pleasure, and I am guilty of getting pleasure out of this tawdry spectacle. (Seriously, what’s not to like about a tawdry spectacle?) Now The Bachelor is coming to Canada, on a semi-network not known for its high production values, or anything else for that matter.

So what will we see on The Bachelor Canada? I predict …

• The show will be hosted by someone from the stable of Toronto CITY TV people. In other words, someone nobody has ever heard of.

• The Bachelor will be an entrepreneur, likely something in the renewable energy field. He will like to ride horses, fish, snowmobile, ski and play hockey. Lots and lots of hockey.

• He will wear flannel shirts.

• He will be named either Gordie or Doug McSomething.

• In a nod to Canadian multiculturalism, there will be at least one Indo-Canadian, at least one Asian-Canadian, and one African-American Canadian. (The Bachelor U.S. used to have at least one black woman in every season, but over the past few years the show has gone lily-white.)

• In a nod to inclusiveness, there will be at least one Differently Abled-Canadian. I’m thinking maybe deaf, so there will be sweet scenes of The Bachelor learning sign language.

• All the romantic dates will occur in Toronto or nearby. There will be one date at centre ice at the Air Canada Centre (Toronto Maple Leaf players will act as waiters), one at the Hockey Hall of Fame, one at the CN Tower (including the obligatory bungee jump), and a private concert at Massey Hall featuring the Barenaked Ladies, or maybe Sam Roberts. There will be one date on the set of a CITY TV program, although this will require that CITY TV produce a program.

• Somehow, Tim Hortons will be involved.  I’m thinking a very cheap group date.

• Since CITY TV is ‘edgier’ than most American TV, there will be cameras hidden away in the hotel suite during the notorious ‘overnight dates’. This will prove to be disappointing when the only action captured is The Bachelor reluctantly watching a Ryan Reynolds movie with his date.

• There will be a romantic proposal at Niagara Falls, followed by a brief courtship, and a quiet break up . The event will go unnoticed.

• After one season, CITY will decide that the costs of producing The Bachelor Canada ($2,000 an episode) are prohibitive, and it will be canceled.

You know what it is. I can barely utter it without snickering.

It’s world-class. And yes, technically, it’s two words. But whether it’s one or two, the one thing I know is that no arena is going to make Edmonton world-class, or “put Edmonton on the map”.

First, Edmonton has been on the map — in fact, all maps — for hundreds of years. See, it’s right there, just north of Red Deer. Always has been on the map, always will be.

But world class? Nope.

We may have a few “world class” buildings around. The Art Gallery of Alberta is kind of a baby world-class building. The Winspear Centre has world-class acoustics and is an outstanding concert hall. West Edmonton Mall is definitely world-class, in that it is the largest mall in North American, and can still make a point of being the largest functioning mall in the world, in that many mega-malls in China are mostly empty. The Fringe Festival is world-class in size if not in quality, and the Folk Fest thinks it’s world-class, but isn’t really.

But after that, the list gets pretty slim. Or ends altogether.

Now that we are about to get our first glimpse at “our” new arena, the “world-class” term has arisen again. John McKinnon in the Edmonton Journal went on today about how the area will move Edmonton to world-class status.

Sorry, Edmonton boosters. It takes more than a flashy new ice palace to make a city world-class.  Edmonton just isn’t a world-class city today, and it won’t be a world-class city tomorrow.

Exactly what “world-class” means is difficult to define. Clearly, there are some cities that are world-class — Paris, London, New York, Tokyo, Hong Kong, etc. After a handful of mega-important cities, the list gets more difficult to define. Is Sydney, Australia a world-class city? Sounds like it. But how about Auckland, New Zealand? Is Vancouver world-class (might be if they didn’t have the Canucks)? Is a teeming place like New Delhi world-class?

To some, Toronto ranks as world-class. But the mayor of Toronto, Rob ‘911’ Ford, is putting the big push on to get an NFL franchise for Toronto to make it … yes, world-class. In Ford’s view, all it takes to be world-class is to have an NFL franchise, so welcome to the world-class club, Cleveland and Baltimore!

Here’s my definition of world-class. If you have to ask if you’re a world-class city, and if you think adding new hockey arenas and art galleries will make you a world-class city — then you’re not a world-class city.

Let’s be honest here, folks. Edmonton is too cold to be world-class, not cultured enough to be world-class, not architecturally interesting enough to be world-class, not touristy enough to be world-class, not rich enough to be world-class. We just aren’t, and we never will be.

And frankly, who cares? The world-class definition is dubious at best. I wish the Edmonton media types and politicians would expunge the term world-class from their vocabulary. We’re not going to be a world-class city, so let’s concentrate on being a livable city, a quality city, and a good place to live and work. Please, folks, let’s not pretend or aspire to be something we are not, nor ever will be. Please, let us have a moratorium on the term ‘world-class’.

Edmonton: not world-class, and proud of it.

Anyway, let’s begin with provincial politics …

Our Dear Leader, Alison Redford, dropped a major hint this week as to when the next election will be held. We already know that under her “fixed” (a-hem) election rule, it will be held sometime between March and May. But this week, she promised a speech from the throne, and the passage of a budget. Passing budgets is a lot like passing a kidney stone — it’s a long, painful process. Since the Legislature won’t reconvene until Feb. 7, and it takes some weeks to pass a budget, we can eliminate a March election. Candidates across the province are breathing a sigh of relief, since nobody likes the late winter campaign. So, the best bet appears to be sometime in April for the actual vote. Now, we’ve been promised all sorts of stuff by Alison Redford before. Remember the promise of a full judicial inquiry into the health care system? And the fixed election dates promise? (She did promise to return $100 million to the education system, but since that was the promise that got her elected, she had no choice but to make good on that one.) So, I’m not holding my breath on the promise of passing a budget. She’ll have to get the OK from Ron Liepert first.

With so many PC heavyweights (and I do mean heavy … nobody spends 20 years in politics and comes out weighing less) retiring this time, there are going to be some pitched battles for those safe Tory seats. There are even pitched battles for unsafe Tory seats, as we’ve seen when the evidence of skullduggery in Carl Benito’s PC association came to light. Benito, arguably the most disreputable MLA in the Tory ranks (and that is a hotly contested title), is toxic. He’s the Mill Woods MLA who promised to donate his salary to charity, and never did. He’s also the guy who forgot to file his city taxes, and blamed his wife. Naturally, PCs in his area are anxious to get rid of him now before the voters do. But his constituency organization tried to pull a fast one by organizing a nominating meeting during the Christmas season, and neglected to inform a couple of people who were interested in running against him. The party stepped in and nixed the meeting. Benito, of course, was unavailable for comment, but there is no doubt that he and his cronies on his board tried to pull a fast one. Frankly, I hope Benito wins the nomination, so Liberal candidate, former MLA and my friend Weslyn Mather can kick his ass.

Onto the national scene …

Something tells me the Northern Gateway pipeline is never going to be built, at least not in its current configuration. The hearings will take 18 months, followed by who knows how long to pump out the report, followed by the inevitable lawsuits, and ultimately a Supreme Court ruling. This is the way we do things in Canada. We’re looking at years and years down the road before any work can be done, if it is ever done. Since most of the pipe will run through B.C., and most British Columbians won’t see any direct benefit from it (why should they spoil their province for Alberta’s profit, they will say), I can’t see this thing ever happening. Frankly, I think the Keystone project will get the go-ahead after the November election in the U.S., which will take the pressure off the Northern Gateway project.

And speaking of the U.S….

Mitt Romney is, after one real primary victory, already being hailed as the certain Republican nominee. I may be wrong, but I think there are 49 states yet to hear from, but American talking heads say he is not the “inevitable” nominee.  They are probably right, but not because he’s such a wonderful candidate. His opponents are the weakest, weirdest, least appealing group of half-wits, nit-wits and no-wits every to be assembled by a major American party. Ron Paul may well be the nuttiest guy ever to run for the nomination of a party, and he finished SECOND in New Hampshire. And what does it say about a party when a candidate, Romney, is tarred with the epithet “moderate progressive”? Romney is the only Republican candidate who has even a remote chance of beating Barack Obama, and even then it’s a long shot.

And finally …

Last week I teed off on a really terrible TV show, Work It. Well, let’s end on a positive note. I’ve found a really funny show, called Portlandia, which runs on the IFC channel in the States but not, for who knows what reason, on IFC in Canada. Starring Fred Armisen (Saturday Night Live) and Carrie Brownstein, Portlandia pokes gentle fun at the laid-back, locked in the 90s vibe of Portland, Oregon. Fresh, original, satirical without being cruel, Portlandia is a little gem. Check it out.

And speaking of cable (which I kinda was), last month I berated Shaw cable for putting Sportsnet on a Sports 1 tier, which meant I had to pay an extra $10 a month just for one channel to watch the Oilers. Well, lo and behold, just a few days after my gripe, Shaw adds Sportsnet to its basic package, and I dropped the Sports 1 package. Good for them.  Clearly, my stinging denunciation of Shaw has made a different.

And speaking (again) of writing, your humble scribe is still seeking employment. I’m about a week away from applying for a greeter job at Walmart (“Welcome to Walmart… ask yourself why you’re here.”), I would appreciate hearing of any jobs that require a writer. Turns out this blogging thing pays very, very poorly.

Then there’s Work It.

I’ve been some bad television in my day. I remember Mr. Ed, a show about a talking horse. And My Mother the Car, a show about a talking car. I remember Life with Lucy, the attempted return to TV of Lucille Ball at age 75 which was so terrible you felt sorry for Lucy. And I remember a Canadian show called The Trouble with Tracy, which was the cheapest, shoddiest, lamest show I’ve ever seen. But it was Canadian, produced on a budget of $15.47 per episode, so it gets a bit of a pass.

Now, joining the pantheon of puke, welcome Work It. And unlike the above mentioned shows, which were all products of different times in television, Work It has no excuse.

Awful barely begins to describe it. I’ve watched a lot of sitcoms that I allow about a 15 minute window before I shut it off. I couldn’t turn off Work It. It was so stunningly terrible, so jaw-droppingly wretched, I couldn’t take my eyes off it.

Here’s a preview: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M9Joid6wx3Q

Now, this is clearly a terrible idea. But, done correctly, in the style of broad farces that the British do so well, it could almost work. Some of you may remember Bosom Buddies, a sitcom that starred Tom Hanks and Peter Scolari. They played a couple of guys who couldn’t find accommodation, so they dressed up as chicks and got a room at an all-woman’s hotel. It was a broad farce in the style of TV comedies at the time, and it kinda worked. They were immediately seen as very ugly women, and their ruse was quickly uncovered. But the women in the hotel liked them, so they got to hang around. Stupid, yes. But thanks to reasonably funny writing and a general ‘we know this is stupid, but let’s have some fun’ attitude, it worked well enough.

Nothing about Work It works.

First, the two male characters are, even with Lon Chaney himself doing the makeup, impossible to disguise as men. The main guy is at least 6’2″ and fairly jacked ( and yet, he goes into his wife’s closet — she’s maybe 5’6″— and somehow finds clothes that fit). He does not have one single feature that could be remotely described as feminine.

Remember when the guys from Monty Python or the Kids in the Hall would dress in drag? Even at their most comedic, they looked more like women than these guys. And yet, in a office filled with women NOT ONE SINGLE WOMAN CAN SEE THAT THEY ARE CLEARLY MEN! (Apparently, the pharmaceutical company doesn’t do particularly good background checks either.)

Work It will be cancelled quickly — honestly, I was anticipating it being yanked half-way through it’s first episode — but you’ve really got to see this before it goes away. The production is extraordinarily cheap, like everyone involved never expected it to get to air so they didn’t put any effort into it. The acting is sub, sub par, the jokes so bad even Dane Cook wouldn’t tell them.  Why would I encourage you to watch it? Well, it’s not very often that you get to see something this terrible on TV anymore. It’s like a relic from a bygone age. Watch it and marvel at the thought processes of the guys who wrote it, the actors who agreed to be in it, and network executives who gave it the green light. And this is from the network of Modern Family!

Seriously, folks. You have to watch this at least once to appreciate just how awful it it. Me? I’ve had enough. I’d rather watch a full season of Whitney then sit through Work It again.