Macleans: Scott Feschuk

Heartbreak Resort & Suites (up the road from the hotel)

Scott Feschuk — Thu, 17 Apr 2008 06:27:49 -0400

Twenty minutes before game time at last night’s Senators-Penguins playoff matchup, and the atmosphere was electric! – by which I mean you could hear the quiet hum of the scoreboard, what with it being so funereal and glum. (See how I tricked you there? I’m quite the rascal.)

Anyhoo, so yes, the Senators are out of the playoffs, and good riddance to them. What a sorry display of a) hockey and b) having a pair. Dany Heatley set the tone perfectly when he wimped out and failed to take a hit behind the Pittsburgh net during the first period, and followed that up in the second with a stupid slashing penalty that led to Pittsburgh taking the lead. Did you hear that guy yelling at you from the 200s, Dany? That was me! Come to think of it, I kind of regret now that I didn’t come up with something more clever than calling you a bum or whatever. Guess the whole phoning-it-in vibe worked its way up to our seats from ice level.

For the record Ottawa wasn’t entirely hapless – a few players had some hap. But Jason Spezza must have set some sort of record for ice-based jackassery by passing the puck directly to a Pittsburgh Penguin on no fewer than seven occasions.

How bad was it? By the third period the kindly grandmotherly type sitting directly behind me – who throughout the game had been discussing bake sales and church bingo and Antoine Vermette’s hairdo with her friend – was moved to use Spezza’s name in conjunction with one of the English language’s more popular and colourful profanities. I for one was appalled, though mostly because now I couldn’t use it without looking like a copycat.

Moving on.

Here’s something you might not know or realize or care about me: Not wanting to wait until I’m 80 to be crotchety and unpleasant, because by then I’ll keep forgetting where I’ve left my Angry Letter Writing pen, I decided some years ago to get a head start on my curmudgeonosity by taking a real dislikin’ to the modern sports experience, what with its blaring rock soundtrack and insipid in-game time fillers (“Let’s go down to Kathy who’s going to engage in 90 seconds of soul-destroying banter with a semi-drunk obese gentleman who’ll maybe win $30 worth of cheese while we all die a little inside!”).

But here’s the thing: if you’re going to do it – if you, as a professional sports team, are going to embrace the multimedia, pump-up-the-volume shtick – you could at least put a little effort into it. I’m talking to you, Ottawa Senators.

True, the whole gladiator/centurion/Village Person thing didn’t go so well for you during the opening of Game 3 – but that still doesn’t let you off the hook for last night’s meant-to-inspire-us segment, which consisted of three people pounding on drums for four minutes, followed by an image on the video screen of the team’s mascot banging a gong for some reason, followed by – uh, that was it.

Really? We’re down three-zip, it’s do or die and you haul out... bongos? Too bad we didn’t make it to the Cup final this year: I would really have enjoyed the pre-game readings of Spalding Gray monologues.

Neither Defeat, Nor Dignity, Is An Option

Scott Feschuk — Wed, 16 Apr 2008 06:02:03 -0400

It’s tough being an Ottawa Senators fan right now. The team barely made the playoffs after a 15-2 start. They’re down three games to zip to the Pittsburgh Penguins in round one. And they’re suffering through a horrible slump in which Ray Emery hasn’t run a single Ottawa resident off the road in weeks.

How off the rails is this franchise? So off the rails that someone – in fact, probably several people – at the top of the organization thought it a good idea to send a guy dressed as a Spartan warrior, or a Roman centurion, or possibly a rejected Village People applicant, to centre ice before Game 3.

They gave him a shield and a sword. They gave him the mandate to rally the crowd. And they gave him a script that appeared to be random bits of dialogue found outside the soundstage where they filmed 300, in a pile labeled “Even Too Lame For This Movie.”

His task was to exhort the “Sens army” to “rise up.” The result was “painful to watch.”

Things that made the whole bad idea even more of a bad idea:

• the faulty microphone;

• the fact TV viewers could see the guy's dialogue written out on the inside of his shield;

• the fact the guy's helmet was way too big and kept comically flopping around on his head;

• the fact that it was actually happening.

Things that would have made the whole bad idea slightly less destined to go down in sports infamy:

• a pinpoint meteor strike at centre ice.

I wasn’t at Scotiabank Place Monday night – we’ve got tickets to tonight’s game: or, as my six-year-old son has taken to calling it, “the last game of the season” – so I can’t report how it looked in the building. I can report how it looked on TV. It looked like something someone was going to regret for a very long time. Also, a little bit like a dream that Elton John has had every night since the fifth grade.

I had assumed that years of watching The Office and Curb Your Enthusiasm had hardened me to endure even the most awkward televised moments, but I must confess I reached reflexively for the remote and briefly muted the proceedings – before deciding that I must subject myself to the full experience in the name of a) journalistic integrity, and b) being really happy I wasn’t the poor bastard dressed up in the cape and skirt.

Those of you who missed it will certainly want to avail themselves of the opportunity to watch how it all unfolded. (Note: After viewing, please proceed quickly to the emergency eye wash station.)

Five Ways to Kick Off Tonight’s Game That Would Be Less Embarrassing Than What Happened Monday Night:

1. Have Senator players come out for the warmup dressed as their favourite wizard from Harry Potter.

2. Kittens. Just fill the entire rink with kittens.

3. Do the exact same bit with the centurion, but this time inside the costume? Richard Simmons.

4. Everyone gets crochet lessons.

5. When the Sens take the ice, the guy up in the sound booth just cranks “Mandy.”

Getting Good Wood on It

Scott Feschuk — Tue, 15 Apr 2008 05:59:54 -0400

I am still recovering from last night’s Ottawa-Pittsburgh hockey broadcast – not the game itself, during which the Senators performed for two periods like professional hockey players and one period like a drunken squad of obese broomballers, but rather the Coach’s Corner feature with Don Cherry. Did you see it? No? Oh, you have to see it.

You have to.

(And you can, by clicking here – move ahead to about 5:55 into the clip.)

Coach’s Corner concluded with Don introducing some footage of Boston forward Marc Savard. The video showed Savard on the Bruins’ bench. He was staring at the blade of his stick. Then there was footage from a different game, but with Savard looking very much the same – again he was on the bench, again he was staring rather intently at the blade as he twirled his stick slowly in his hands.

Okaaaaay. Where exactly are you doing with this, Don?

Then came the answer. The horrible, horrible answer.

Don ordered the tech guys to roll the video clips again, so he could tell us what Savard was saying to his stick as he stared at it.

You heard me. Don Cherry was going to tell us what a professional hockey player – who, for the record, did not appear to be moving his lips – was saying to his hockey stick.

My family room fell silent, partly mesmerized, partly terrified. OK, mostly terrified. Was this actually happening? Apparently it was because –

“I love you,” Cherry said, softly.

Again, just to be clear – we’re seeing video of Marc Savard staring at his stick and hearing Don Cherry tell us what he thinks Savard is saying. To his stick. Which is a thing.

“I love you,” Cherry continued, gently. “I'm going...” – and here, for the record, we find ourselves in the middle of the sentence that prompted me to quite literally drop my beverage – “I’m going to stroke you.”

This touching sonnet concluded with Don Cherry using the public airwaves to instruct “all you kids out there” to run out to the family car, fetch their hockey sticks from the trunk and – sweet Mary, I can barely type the words – “take them in your bedrooms and love them.” Love your sticks, kids. Stroke them.

An aside: I’m not sure how much Ron MacLean earns these days – is it $400,000? Half a mil? All I know is that the man deserves a hefty Somehow Keeping a Straight Face bonus. Seriously, give the man $10,000. Give him $25,000. He earned it last night.

At one point you can hear MacLean chuckle a bit, and shortly afterward he offers a wry, “Got it, I understand” to Cherry’s erotic soliloquy, but anyone who can refrain from fleeing into the night or jabbing a sedative-filled syringe into the arm of the 74-year-old man who’s sweet-talking an inanimate object on national television clearly possesses formidable reserves of broadcasting skill and human fortitude.

Not only that, but MacLean managed to get off a decent line at the end of the segment: “Going to bed with my Sher-wood tonight.” Which led to the best part of the whole thing: Don replied, “Not touching that one!” As if Ron had been the first in the segment to utter a phrase with a sexual connotation.

Yes, that was the problem with this segment, Don: Ron’s pun. There was no way at all to read an alternative meaning into you instructing the children of the nation to go into their bedrooms and stroke their wood. No way at all.

In the next Coach's Corner: Don's advice to the youth of Canada on what to do about all those splinters.

The Pinnacle of Zeniths and Summits!

Scott Feschuk — Mon, 14 Apr 2008 08:02:25 -0400

CBC began its Friday night hockey broadcast by using the eloquent words of one of history’s great civil rights leaders to glorify a 41-year-old left winger for the Pittsburgh Penguins.
“The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience,” read the quote on the screen, “but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy. – Martin Luther King Jr.” Cut to footage of... Gandhi Gary Roberts!
When he wrote this famous line in his book Strength to Love, King referenced the good Samaritan and Abraham Lincoln and others who had made hard choices in life – but, you know, it probably applies equally to incredibly wealthy guys from North York who chase around a black rubber disc for money.
Makes me wish CBC was covering the Captials-Flyers series so they could liken Alex Ovechkin to Jesus Christ. Because, you know, the beards.

•

The final round of the Masters began with one of its most enduring traditions – CBS’s Jim Nantz turned up to 11, reading his “inspirational” scene-setting prose over the sound of 4,000 violins and the sad little whimpers of the English language being pistol whipped. “The Masters tournament stirs the soul! A spiritual replenishment!” Nantz assured us. “The circle of life at Augusta!... The precipice of history!... It’s a journey born in the heart!” Also, there will apparently be some golf.
Gusts of up to 30 mph were forecast for Sunday at Augusta, and three times that in the vicinity of Nantz’s noisehole. Only he, and possibly the bastard child of Norman Mailer and a thesaurus, could use so many words in the place of just one: wind. “That invisible yet undeniable intangible!” Nantz called it. He went on to say this of the Masters: “It’s a solitary journey, but it’s one that no player makes alone.” Whaaa? All that and not a single word about the disturbing fact that Brandt Snedeker, one of the two golfers in the final pairing, so closely resembles Clay Aiken? Talk about missing the story.

•

My experiences on the weekend led to an idea for a new reality show: Canada’s Worst Retail Sales Clerks. A couple hidden cameras, a couple trips to Canadian Tire and Home Depot, and you’ve got yourself a hit television program.
I'm confident the guys who "helped" me out would easily make it to the final episode. Put it this way: my quest for assistance in finding a plumbing part at Canadian Tire would have been less painful if the store’s employee had beaten me over the head with a baseball bat – but it would have taken him 40 minutes to stop talking to his buddy and find the right aisle.

Senators Fever! Catch It! You'll Be Cured By Next Week!

Scott Feschuk — Thu, 10 Apr 2008 05:20:52 -0400

For a loyal fan, it’s never a good sign when the first game of the playoffs arrives and your hockey team comes out with all the verve, energy and raw dynamism of a ballad by The Smiths. Alack, such was the case last night with the Ottawa Senators. During the game’s second shift, two of the team’s defencemen woke up for long enough to crash into each other, fall down and go boom – opening the door for a goal from Pittsburgh’s Gary Roberts, who I’m not saying is old but is the only player left in the NHL who eschews the Playoff Beard in favour of the Playoff Handlebar Moustache, which comes in handy when he’s tying ladies to train tracks and inventing the cotton gin.

It’s hard to pick a low point from last night’s game – was it Anton Volchenkov getting hit in the face with the puck? was it the injured Daniel Alfredsson continuing to casually eat his dinner up in the press box while his teammate lay on the ice bleeding from the face? was it alleged “tough guy” Chris Neil gently grabbing Sidney Crosby from behind – after Crosby had cross-checked and punched a Senator – and, instead of socking him on the beak, gently holding him and possibly cooing the chorus to Afternoon Delight in his ear? or was it that Bounce commercial where they try to convince you to put a sheet of Bounce into your garbage can and running shoes to make your garbage can and running shoes smell better?

Visitor to my home: “Are... are those Bounce sheets sticking out of your shoes?

Me: “Yeah, the TV told me to... uh... why are you on the floor laughing at me. Now why are you texting your friends? Why do you keep typing the word ‘idiot’? Now why are you phoning the newspaper to take out a classified ad and why are you asking the newspaper people whether they can put ‘complete moron’ in bold text over my photograph?”

My hockey team may warrant all the confidence of a Michael Bay production of a Brett Ratner film, but that doesn’t mean there’s nothing to look forward to during playoff season.

During the pre-game segment last night, for instance, Ron MacLean threw to commercial by dropping this on us from out of the blue: “Life, like an echo – you get back what you put in. And sometimes more.” First of all, I think it’s noble that CBC has hired a fictional character to write for MacLean – where do you come up with this stuff, Forrest Gump? Gold. Absolute gold. Second, we can now look forward to future high-level, life-affirming musings from MacLean. Suggestions for tonight:

• “Life, like a toaster – you get back what you put in, only warmer and browner.”

• “Life, like an elevator – you get back what you put in, only higher up or sometimes lower down.”

• “Life, like a whisper – you sometimes have to go, ‘Huh? What did you just say?’”

• “Love, exciting and new. Come aboard. We’re expecting you.”

Devastatingly Astute Observations, Vol. 1

Scott Feschuk — Thu, 03 Apr 2008 06:19:27 -0400

I just read that the Liberal Party office in Quebec cannot reveal the ultra-secret list of star candidates running in the next election in Quebec.

This can only mean one thing:

Mitsou.

You had a good run, Stephen Harper. You had a good run.

•

A new study shows that Botox, the drug used to temporarily “cure” wrinkles, can move from the face to the brain after injection.

You’re probably wondering to yourself: is it a good thing or a bad thing to have the botulism toxin residing in my precious yet fragile brain stem? Well, it depends. Sure, there’s always the risk – as the authors of the study conclude – that this neurotoxin may change the very circuitry of your spinal cord once it enters the brain. But on the upside, your thoughts will look 10 years younger.

Thank you. I’m here all week. Enjoy Boz Scaggs.

•

Ted Turner says that if we don’t address global warming, the results will prove “catastrophic.” Turner laid out his vision of the future on Charlie Rose’s PBS show: within 30 to 40 years, most crops won’t grow, most people will be dead and “the rest of us will be cannibals.”

First of all, you have to admire Crazy Ted Turner’s use of “the rest of us.” Clearly, the man includes himself in that phrase. Even though he is already 140 years old, Crazy Ted sees himself as one of the survivors four decades hence, marching confidently through his bleak, searing dystopia, stopping only to adjust his silk loin cloth and feast on the remains the less hardy with his good friend Larry King.

Second of all, rampant cannibalism? In just 30 years? I have really got to take better care of my teeth.

•

Britney and K-Fed are apparently rekindling their romance. There’s talk they may travel to Hawaii for a weekend getaway. Note to Hawaiians: if you even think you might want some Cheetos this weekend, better stock up before their jet lands. I’m just saying.

•

The successful creation of the world’s first human-cow embryos has been hailed by scientists but labeled a “monstrous” achievement by religious leaders, right-wing politicians and ponies, who assumed we loved them best and would choose to mutate with them first.

But no. Scientists at Newcastle University in England instead injected human DNA into eggs taken from the ovaries of a cow, creating hybrid embryos and at least a half-dozen obvious Rosie O'Donnell jokes. Social conservatives were apoplectic, and not just because the experiment may have given Michael Bay an idea for another crappy movie.

These embryos are intended to provide a limitless supply of stem cells to develop therapies for diseases such as – uh, I don’t know – partial cowism? Opponents insist this is just another dangerous step toward the ultimate perversion of nature, but those involved in the procedure played down its impact. “I don’t understand what the fuss is all about,” said Betsy, a three-year-old Holstein.

Just Like Rocky, Her Exploits Are 100% Fictional

Scott Feschuk — Wed, 02 Apr 2008 05:58:14 -0400

Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton said yesterday that she has something in common with legendary film boxer Rocky Balboa – she's not a quitter. Other things Hillary has in common with Rocky:

• She begins each and every day by repeatedly punching the frozen carcass of Dennis Kucinich.

• Has been steadily wearing out welcome among American public since 1976.

• Those huge manly biceps.

• Once spent 45 minutes locked in a sweaty embrace with Mr. T, if you catch my drift.

• Every time she’s introduced, insists on removing silk robe to reveal shirtlessness.

• His nickname: The Italian Stallion. Her nickname: The Whatever Heritage Will Make You More Likely to Vote for Me/Whatever Animal You Like Most. (ex. When speaking to little girls, she’s The Irish Pony!)

• Uncanny resemblance between James Carville and Burgess Meredith.

• She’s engaged in bitter rivalry with a charismatic black man who will ultimately be punched to death by Dolph Lundgren – assuming Dolph returns her calls and needs the money.

• Not only triumphantly climbed steps of Philadelphia Museum of Art, but did so under sniper fire.

• Just like Rocky, she will overcome adversity, rise to the challenge and... lose to her superior African-American rival. (Hmm, maybe she should have watched to the end of the DVD before making this comparison...)

Made in Canada

Scott Feschuk — Thu, 27 Mar 2008 06:27:41 -0400

According to the Globe and Mail, Liberal Leader Stéphane Dion was challenged by one of his MPs yesterday to “show what he's made of” and kick-start the electoral machine that remains unprepared for a federal election in Quebec.

One problem: most of us have already figured out on our own what Stephane Dion is “made of.” Here’s how it breaks down...

7% Snakes, snails, puppy dog tails.

18% Tweed.

2% Heart that beats with secret lust for Sandy Rinaldo.

23% Brain so powerful and high-pitched that only dogs can understand the decisions it makes.

29% Water (tap, not bottled).

6% Organ that used to be pancreas but has been reengineered to produce constant stream of excuses for not forcing an election.

3% Balls (currently the legally property of Mr. Stephen Harper, Sussex Drive, Ottawa).

11% Titanium endoskeleton that renders him completely impervious to flamethrowers, grenades and the cold, hard reality of his situation.

Mega Culpas

Scott Feschuk — Wed, 26 Mar 2008 06:28:17 -0400

David Paterson was recently sworn in as the 55th governor of New York. He is the state’s first black governor, its first legally blind governor, and its second straight ridiculously horny governor.

Over the past week, a number of Paterson’s “personal failings” have come to light. He cheated on his wife a bunch of times. He tried marijuana and cocaine. He got his mistress a government job. But unlike his predecessor in the Governor’s office, Paterson has a mitigating factor for each of his transgressions. He cheated on his wife a bunch of times because their marriage was failing and she was cheating, too. He used drugs back when he was young and foolish. He got his mistress a job because she was stacked, dude. Stacked! (I’m hypothesizing on this one.)

Other lapses that David Paterson will admit to in the coming days, and the mitigating factors he will use to defend them:

• Shot a man just to watch him die. (Mitigating factor: man was Scott Baio.)

• Let NASA use his basement to fake moon landing. (Mitigating factor: spectacle distracted America from traumatic release of Chicago’s debut album.)

• Co-wrote The Wiz. (Mitigating factor: see previous admission of marijuana and cocaine use.)

• Punched a dolphin at SeaWorld. (Mitigating factor: in all fairness, grinning bastard really had it coming.)

• Had sex with Eliot Spitzer’s wife. (Mitigating factor: had just heard Barry White song on car radio.)

• Had sex with Eliot Spitzer. (Mitigating factor: the man has soft hands.)

Know Your Hookers

Scott Feschuk — Wed, 12 Mar 2008 08:59:26 -0400

According to news reports, the “escort agency” that supplied New York Governor Eliot Spitzer with a petite brunette named Kristen – and a place in the Sex Scandal Hall of Infamy right next to the eternally tapping toe of Larry Craig – rates its hookers on a scale from three diamonds, for which the fee is $1,000 per hour, to seven diamonds, for which the fee is $3,100 per hour.

How do they compare?

Seven-Diamond Whore       Three-Diamond Whore

Horse enthusiast           Horse faced

Glossy, flaxen hair        Wig secured by Velcro

Heart of gold           Cirrhosis of liver

Voice like an angel       Voice like guy who ran
                   Charlie’s Angels – Bosley

Arrives attired in           Needs help removing
pricey lingerie           snow pants

Willing to dress up           Refuses to take off
as nurse, schoolgirl       clown costume

Foreplay includes            Lets you watch as
massage, striptease           she removes false teeth

Convincingly feigns       Keeps asking if you’ll
sexual climax           be finishing that
                   room service sandwich

Strategy Memo

Scott Feschuk — Tue, 11 Mar 2008 06:41:12 -0400

To Eliot Spitzer, Governor of New York
From Scott Feschuk, Certified Master Political Strategist*

First, the good news: your recognition numbers are through the roof! People around the world who had no idea you are Governor of New York now know that you are, for the time being, still Governor of New York apparently. Public figures with awareness levels this high usually run for president – but in your case, well, let’s just say you could pretty easily lock up the nomination to serve the next four years as Charlie Sheen’s wingman. (And yes, I’m aware of Ralph Nader’s decision to enter the race.)

As a Certified Master Political Strategist, I see two main problems, or “defining strategic issues,” that stem from you nailing that whore there in Washington:

1. You nailed that whore there in Washington.

2. (and this is the real fly in the ointment) People know you nailed that whore there in Washington.

Quick question: You’ve heard of masturbation, right? Saves time and money. Just throwing that out there.

Governor, your top priority (other than dodging the expensive china you’re wife is currently – duck! – hurling at you) is to reestablish credibility with New York’s working class, the kind of people (watch out – cutlery now!) who a) don’t have $4,300 to spend on four hours with a hooker, and b) don’t have $4,300.

You can do this by pursuing policy reform designed to reduce poverty and increase the minimum wage. Or you can go out and get it on with a good, old-fashioned $10 hooker. Make sure people see you. A vanity license plate LOVE GUV ought to catch an eye or two.

Also, you need to get ahead of this whole “Client No. 9” thing. It’s going to be on T-shirts, in late-night monologues, in your wife’s divorce petition. It’s going to be everywhere. Say the word and I leak that clients were given numbers based on their, uhh, magnitude – if you catch my drift. At the very least you’ll be given wide berth in the state assembly showers.

More broadly, as a Certified Master Political Strategist I can tell you there are Three Potential Courses of Action you can use to respond to this crisis:

Ignore it. Three words, Governor: no hablo inglés. Worked on this episode of Mr. Belvedere I saw.

Embrace it. You did have sex with that hooker. And you’d tap that again, because that #@&! was hot. This will increase your overall likeability factor with whatever demographic the Baldwin brothers are in.

Fight it. Maybe you didn’t have sex with that hooker. Maybe you were charmed by her waif-like innocence and instead spent the two and a half hours talking with her – you know, really talking – about her hopes and dreams and her family back on the farm in Kansas and how proud her Mama would be of what a strong and independent daughter she raised. And you bonded, the two of you – two strangers finding a moment’s peace and clarity in this crazy workaday world. And then she gave you a hand job. No one resigns over a hand job, Governor. It’s practically in the Constitution.

* Certification not applicable in the state of New York, or anywhere.

An Open Letter to Mother Nature

Scott Feschuk — Wed, 05 Mar 2008 08:11:21 -0500

Dear Bitch,

Are you for real?

We know it was wrong of us to stand idly by and let Al Gore show all those explicit photographs of what you’re going to look like 30 years from now. But seriously – ease off. You’re all powerful and you’re in a really pissy mood. We get it already. But enough with the apocalyptic downfalls of snow mixed with ice pellets mixed with freezing rain mixed with snow pellets mixed with the frozen tears of sedentary Maclean’s columnists who just can’t lift the shovel even one more goddamn time.

What’s eating you? Is it us? Listen, we all still have regrets about those 1970s commercials for Chiffon margarine – the ones with the catchphrase, “It’s not nice to fool Mother Nature.” The special effects were cheesy at best and some of those woodland animals really phoned in their performances. (You call that emoting, raccoon?) And yes, we bear a collective responsibility for failing to punish Hollywood for callously having you portrayed in films by not only Phyllis Diller but also Bette Midler. Next time, Scarlett Johansson in a fig leaf. We promise.

But you need to lighten up. You are quickly becoming our least favourite anthropomorphized figure since Squealer from Animal Farm and Jack Black. We know it’s not nice to fool you – but there’s nothing in there that says we can’t totally punch you in the face.

Sincerely,
Everyone

The Entirely Naked Truth

Scott Feschuk — Tue, 04 Mar 2008 10:45:55 -0500

Welcome to the Mailbag on Monday (on Tuesday), where we are just putting the finishes touches on our new book, The Other, Even Better Secret.

Our book confirms the premise of the runaway bestseller The Secret – that you can achieve most of your fond wishes and heartfelt desires simply by politely asking the Universe to give you what you want. Believe me – I know this first hand. How do you think Peter MacKay wound up falling into that deep pit and landing on top of Richard Gere, Fran Drescher and everyone who’s ever bought a Josh Groban CD?

But this new book also reveals the other secret – that the Universe is tuned to respond not only to your needs and desires, but also to your musical requests. Plus: it can pick up your take-out food and, if you ask nicely, stand in line for you at Starbucks. The Other, Even Better Secret: the perfect gift for anyone who bought The Secret but was a little depressed that there was nothing in there about the Universe making their bed for them.

Onto the questions. You can submit queries at scott.feschuk@macleans.rogers.com or through the Sympatico email link above.

Dear Scott: Maybe this is old news to you, but I just found out that Osama bin Laden has a big crush on Whitney Houston – to the point that a few years back he plotted to kill Bobby Brown and move in on his action. And yet Bobby Brown remains alive! Could it be that Bobby Brown and Bobby Brown alone holds the key to outsmarting and triumphing over the terrorists? – C.E., Edmonton

Unless the key is being impoverished and constantly baked, probably not. Besides, the U.S. State Department has gone on record as saying the whole rumour about Osama wanting to make it with Whitney is utterly baseless. I know it’s weird but we’re just going to have to get used to the fact that bin Laden simply wants to kill Bobby Brown for the same reasons we all do.

Dear Scott: OK I admit it – I actually watch the CBS Evening News with Katie Couric. I feel like I’m the only one. Sometimes I expect her to call me by name, as in, “President Bush vetoed the crime bill in the Oval Office today, Gary.” But I swear Katie is good at her job and it’s a good newscast. Seriously! What can she do to get increase her ratings? – G.H., Hamilton, Ont.

• Let moustache grow in – begin calling self “Walter.”

• Let crazy grow in – begin calling self “Dan.”

• Maybe get that Rosie O’Donnell on there to start telling them Iraqis what’s what.

• Buy two million TVs – tune them all to self.

• Work in a steamy subplot about about hot doctors and nurses making out.

• Every time she says “White House,” one article of clothing comes off.

• Goodbye video, hello puppets!

Dear Scott: Now that we have solved all the ‘could cause an election’ issues, we have the Cadman thingy. If the insurance industry was willing to offer a large policy on a very sick Mr. Cadman, what would they offer me? Can I get in on that action? I’m kinda old (a teenager when the Leafs last won the Stanley Cup) but I don’t drink or smoke or have fun (not since the Leafs last won the Stanley Cup anyway). I’ve never been on Survivor and I don’t watch the Idol shows, so my sanity is not completely up for grabs, unless you ask my wife. And besides, if the good die young, I ‘coulda’ been a politician and live forever. – R.W., Calgary

Alas, you overlook one crucial element: the key to attracting an offer of sweet, sweet candy from the Conservative party is having something that Stephen Harper wants. Chuck Cadman had a vote in the House of Commons. Stephen Harper wanted that vote. So you’ve got to reflect for a moment and try to figure out what you have that Stephen Harper might want, like maybe some charisma or a trim waistline.

Dear Scott: I need your help. My kids love the soundtrack to Hairspray. They listen to it all the time without any thought to the trauma they are inflicting on people like me. Against my will, I constantly find myself singing the words to Good Morning Baltimore. Please please please make it go away! – P.M., Waterloo, Ont.

This sounds serious. OK, here’s what you need to do. It’s going to sound radical but, clearly, desperate measures are required. Go to this YouTube link. Press play. Then sit back and watch as Janet Jackson attempts to teach a simple dance step to… Larry King. Try getting that out of your head: I don’t know that there’s been anything more bizarrely fascinating put to video since the screen debut of Andy Rooney’s eyebrows.

Scotty: Have you heard about this German company [the company’s name is OssiUrlaub] that’s offering a flight for nudists only this summer? Maybe there’s something wrong with me but instead of thinking about how maybe there will be some really hot naked people on board, I instead think about how awful it would be to be one of the people on the very next flight, after the nudists get off, and leave God-only-knows-what behind on the leather upholstery. – C.A., parts unknown

First of all: eww.

Second, I say it’s about time nudists caught a break. They’re desperate to attract the young folk to the ways of nudism, and maybe the opportunity to peel it off at 35,000 feet will do the trick. Think I’m exaggerating the problem? The American Association for Nude Recreation – which a) represents clubs and resorts with more than 50,000 members, none of whom ever have a pen on them, and b) actually exists – estimates that more than 90% of American nudists are older than 35.

For instance, a quick Google search reveals that at the Solair Recreation League, a nudist camp in northeastern Connecticut, the median age among members is 55. The median reaction among visitors is “desperately averting one’s eyes.” The median exclamation heard on the beach is, “Jesus, Walter, give us a little warning before you bend over like that.”

Solair is trying to revive its fortunes by altering its fee schedule. A yearly membership is $500 for people older than 40, $300 for people younger than 40, $150 for college students and zero dollars for anyone whose nudity doesn’t call to mind the image of distressed leather or the paintings of Salvador Dali.

A news article noted that, “No one is quite sure why nudity, at least the organized version promoted by the AANR and similar groups, is such a tough sell for younger people.” Actually, I have a few theories on that:

1. Thanks to the Internet, young people can now, at the click of a button, get their fill of grandmother-based crotch.

2. Five hundred dollars for a membership?! When you can take off your clothes for free down at Old Navy and get a complimentary lunch in jail?

3. Chubby dudes not in any way attired.

For these reasons, and many others related to unslightly thigh rashes, official nudism seems destined to remain a tough sell. But that doesn’t mean the sick, hippie freaks are going to give up. “I hope to get the word out to younger people that hey, it is OK, and here's a safe place to be, a very accepting place," one top nudist said. “Unlike any other place in life, people actually look at you when they talk to you.” Anything to avoid making eye contact with… that.

Great Moments in Leadership

Scott Feschuk — Thu, 28 Feb 2008 05:17:31 -0500

Regular blogging will resume next week, but until then…

“We will not defeat the government on this budget, but we will not support this budget. We will find a way to not defeat the government and express our disagreement with the budget.” – Stephane Dion, Super Genius

Imagine how Canadian oratorical history would have been improved if only some of our previous leaders would have had the courage of Dion’s convictions:

Laurier: “The nineteenth century was the century of the United States. I think that we can claim that it is Canada that shall fill the twentieth century.”

Dion: “The nineteenth century was the century of the United States. I think that we can claim that it is Canada, or possibly Norway, that shall fill the twentieth century. Norway’s looking solid. And I’ve got a good feeling about Germany. I guess what I’m saying is that Canada’s definitely in the top three of countries most likely to fill the twenti— hang on, forgot Japan.”

•••

King: “Conscription if necessary, but not necessarily conscription.”

Dion: “Conscription if necessary, but not necessarily conscription if necessary.”

•••

Trudeau: “The state has no business in the bedrooms of the nation.

Dion: “The state has no business in the bedrooms of the nation. It does, however, have a place in the bedrooms of the nation. [Awkward silence.] What?”

•••

Mulroney: “You had an option, sir. You could have said no.”

Dion: “You had several options, sir. You could have said no. Or 'Yes.' You also could have said 'Maybe.' You could have said all these things simultaneously. You could have said, 'Let me get back to you on that. How’s never? Is never good for you?', which would have been very clever, or 'Hey, look over there, isn't that Catherine Bach from Dukes of Hazzard?' – and then you could have rushed to your car and driven quickly away. You could have said words that aren’t even words, like 'Bleergh' or 'Woonf!' and used the ensuing confusion to adopt a smug expression. You could also have hummed.”

Phat Actress

Scott Feschuk — Wed, 20 Feb 2008 06:06:47 -0500

People magazine is reporting “exclusively” that Kirstie Alley is stepping down as a spokesperson for the Jenny Craig Company and plans to launch her own line of weight-loss products in 2009. Alley has released a lengthy statement explaining her decision (the ever-reliable National Enquirer says she was actually fired because she’s getting really fat again). The statement is reprinted below, along with my explanatory notes and elaborations in bold.

Statement from Kirstie Alley:

After lengthy negotiations, regretfully, the Jenny Craig Company and I did not come to an agreement to continue as their spokesperson.

My relationship with the Jenny Craig Company was nothing short of extraordinary. The people I worked with at Jenny were first rate [except for that bitch who’d raise her eyebrow judgmentally when she weighed me].

The program spoke for itself as the world watched me lose 75 pounds [people in Kenya and the Federated States of Micronesia were particularly enthralled by my dieting.] The last three years have been a win-win for all involved, especially all those other Jenny clients who took the journey alongside me [and the defenceless children I did not dip in chocolate and swallow whole while watching Days of Our Lives].

Just having [Jenny Craig clients] there with me was an inspiration and a motivation to continue. Thank you to all of you from the bottom of my heart [which doctors can now find again without a map and a trench shovel].

J.C. now has two talented pros on board, and I have no doubt that Valerie Bertinelli and Queen Latifah, along with the excellent products in the J.C. program, will steer the ship to continuing success. I personally wish them the same excellent results and amazing adventures that I experienced as the J.C. spokesperson. [Memo to Valerie and Queen: Fat people will hug and cry on you. Wear something washable.]

Somehow, I've also fallen into the position of "accidental" role model for, apparently, millions of people out there losing weight by whatever means. This was something I did not bargain for, or foresee happening [or have the ability to fully exploit financially on account of Jenny taking all the profits]. Nevertheless, it is something I've grown to embrace and something I intend to continue to pursue [eventually… hang on a minute… just gotta catch my breath here and… mmm! Cookie!]

As for me, I am from the school of "you may not be able to reinvent the wheel but you can sure try to better it" [is that in the Ivy League?] which has proven to be a very successful attitude for Michelin tires [Whaaa??]. Even my own mentor left a major weight-loss company when she was 51 years old and struck out on her own to create her own brand that we now know as "the Jenny Craig weight-loss program." I had not intended to make this announcement at this time, but after an online PEOPLE magazine article ran last Friday, announcing that I had stepped down as Jenny's spokesperson, I found myself bombarded with inquiries from the media and fans [Two qualifies as a “bombard,” right?]. So I guess it's as good of a time as any to announce that I intend to develop and pilot my own weight-loss brand that I hope to launch in 2009. [Until then: Keep eating, fatties!]

The weight-loss field is wide open and not immune to new ideas and improved solutions for the fat problems that plague many of us Americans every day [One of the fat problems that plagues Americans: Rosie O’Donnell]. I want to create something new that will help millions of people end the seemingly never ending fatty-roller coaster ride.

Other rides, besides the ‘fatty-roller coaster,’ available at the Fatty Amusement Park:

• Ferris Wheel of Cheese

• Yule Log Ride

• Deep-fried Octopus

• White Chocolate Canyon

• Pirates of the Caribbean Lime Steak

• Fun House of Pancakes

• Guilt-a-Whirl

I am especially passionate about seeing to it that our next generations are not struggling with the same weight issues that my generation has struggled with. [Although it would be great if just the very next generation could struggle so that I can afford that house in the south of France.]

There was a time when America was not fat, and that was in our not-so-distant past [In fact, it was March 12, 1997, at the precise moment a plane carrying Star Jones crossed out of American airspace]. I'm confident that I can create something exciting and innovative: something that if all goes well, will help change a fat America back into a fit America and will offer this country the healthiest, yummiest, easiest and most effective weight-loss program on the market. [Step One: Don’t eat so much. Step Two: Uhh, that’s it.]

If not, I'll see you at Central Casting.

Oh, but hey, don't "Call Kirstie" just yet. You'll be on hold too long. Call me next year. [Just don’t call me late for dinner!]

New National Pastime

Scott Feschuk — Wed, 13 Feb 2008 06:12:52 -0500

Accused drug cheat Roger Clemens appears before Congress today. What can we expect?

• The most crotch-grabbing seen on Capitol Hill since days of Clinton impeachment.

• Clemens enters ornate committee room by crashing through wall like Kool-Aid guy, casting doubt on ’roid-free claims.

• Claims mysterious mid-career weight gain came not from illicit substances but from eating delicious batboy.

• Brushes back aggressive senator by hurling his lawyer high and inside.

• Insists he gave “human growth” hormone to wife only because he thought that’s how you make a baby.

• Had no idea guy sticking needles in his ass was actually injecting anything – just thought it was fun.

• Consults not with attorney but with large talking mass growing on his left shoulder.

• Admits 60 Minutes appearance a failure in that he never got to meet Andy Rooney.

• Keeps saying: “Don’t make me angry. You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.”

Beaver Tales

Scott Feschuk — Tue, 12 Feb 2008 08:03:44 -0500

The new Bell commercial features a couple of forlorn dudes staring out the window of their luxury dude pad. They’re gazing across at another building – into the window of a condo where two hot babes are hanging out at what we’re led to believe is the swanky dude pad of a couple other dudes.

Forlorn Dude No. 1 inquires forlornly: “What do they got that we don’t?” (ie. Why are them rival dudes scoring hot babes while we’re sitting here being all forlorny?)

Cut to the women. One is watching TV and marveling at the number of HD channels. The other is using a laptop computer and marveling at the download speed of the Internet connection. (Fun girls.)

Subsequently, it is revealed that the rival dudes, the dudes who have landed these fine, fine babes, are… Frank and Gordon, the computer-generated beavers who have been inflicted upon a defenceless TV-viewing public since the 2006 Winter Olympics.

Okaaaaaaaay.

So what are we to take from this commercial? What are we being led to believe happens after the commercial ends?

I think it’s pretty obvious that we’re being led to believe these two hot babes screw Frank and Gordon.

I don’t see how you can take it any other way. The beavers are clearly romancing the chicks (they’ve even prepared food for them, presumably on the hair- and feces-covered 20-inch-high stove they have in the kitchen). The chicks are clearly charmed and there of their own accord. All that’s left for this abomination of nature to take its course.

What an oddball way to market your company as a reliable go-to source for high-definition television and high-speed Internet.

Hey, honey, we need to get an HD provider for our new high-def plasma. Should we go with Rogers?

No, the one with the beastiality ads. Human chicks on semi-aquatic rodents. That seems like a company we can trust.

I look forward to the next series of Bell ads, where Frank and Gordon discover their, uhh, special feelings for each other.

Like the Super Bowl, But Even Superier

Scott Feschuk — Tue, 05 Feb 2008 10:13:17 -0500

Welcome to the Mailbag on Monday (on Super Tuesday), where we are still trying to come to grips with the words chosen by Maria Shriver to endorse Barack Obama. “I thought, if Barack Obama was a state, he'd be California,” Arnold Schwarzenegger’s wife said to an L.A. crowd of 9,000. “Diverse, open, smart, independent, bucks tradition. Innovative. Inspirational. Dreamer. Leader.” That’s great, Maria, except you left out: “Parched, shallow, chronically anorexic. Viewed with detached amusement by the rest of America. Surgically enhanced. Somehow involved in the porn industry.”

As ever, these are actual questions from actual readers. You can send questions to scott.feschuk@macleans.rogers.com or just click on the Sympatico e-mail link above.

Dear Scott: Did you watch the big Obama-Clinton debate? Could you believe how nice they were to each other? – F.G., Waterloo, Ont.

Nice?! Hillary and Barack weren’t just nice. At one point during the “debate” I calculated there was at least a 5% chance they were going to start making out (at which point Wolf Blitzer would have interjected to say, “I just want to be precise here – can I get in on this?”) The best part was when Wolf asked each of them if they’d serve as the other’s running mate. A black man serving in the White House alongside a white woman: I was watching CNN but I swear I heard Bill O’Reilly’s head explode four channels over.

Dear Scott: Today I saw Robert DeNiro introducing Barack Obama. It seems like all the cool celebrities are going with Obama and staying away from Hillary Clinton. What gives? – B.D., Montreal

Hang on there! Sure, Obama’s got DeNiro and Oprah and George Clooney – but Clinton has secured the support of Barbra Streisand, Steven Spielberg and, uhh, does the guy who played Arnold Schwarzenegger’s genetically inferior brother in Twins count? No? Okay, then, Hillary is clearly going to have to come up with a bigger name to headline her team of celebrity endorsers. Let’s take a look at the field of potential names:

Judge Judy
Pros: Well-known across the country. Family-friendly, law-abiding image. Small but loyal fan base.
Cons: Bill might hit on her.

Dr. Phil
Pros: Well-known across the country. Could probably score bucketloads of Xanax for campaign team. Such a big prick that he’d make Hillary look sweet and decent by comparison.
Cons: Bill might hit on him.

John F. Kennedy
Pros: Fondly regarded as America’s sassiest president. Way more popular and horny than the Kennedys who are supporting Obama.
Cons: Dead – but then again so is Reagan and that hasn’t stopped every Republican from seeking his endorsement.

Britney Spears
Pros: Endorsement would get scads of media coverage. Probably has some delicious pork rinds trapped in her cleavage.
Cons: Mentally unstable demographic officially withholding political support in anticipation of Ralph Nader’s entry.

The Huge Killer Monster from Cloverfield
Pros: Intimately familiar with New York. Thick skin renders it invulnerable to most character, and all airborne missile, attacks. Record of public service includes merciless killing of annoyingly bland twentysomething hipsters who never should have gone back into the city anyway, the stupid idiots.
Cons: Easily mistaken for Ted Kennedy on a bender.

Dear Scotty: I’ve been reading the Couch Boys football blog you did with [Scott] Reid. With the NFL season over with, I’m going through big-time withdrawal when it comes to wagering on games. Any betting opportunities for Super Tuesday? – P.I., Calgary

Vegas has set the over-under at 17.5 for televised utterances of the phrase, “It’s going to be a long night.” Take the over. And I just don’t see how you can resist betting a few bucks on I Can’t Understand What James Carville is Saying (plus 6.5) vs. I Wish Ann Coulter Would Shut the Hell Up.

Dear Scott: I read that Britney’s father has been granted “control of her affairs.” What does that mean exactly? What responsibilities does he have? – G.V., Brampton, Ont.

The tasks differ in each case of this sort, depending of course on the life and work obligations of the incapacitated individual. In this case, in addition to having full authority over the pop star’s fortune (currently estimated at $40-million plus empties), Jamie Spears has been assigned by the court to exercise several other duties on behalf of his daughter:

• Must feed invisible hamster, Mr. Sequins.

• Those hours of late-night television static aren’t going to videotape themselves.

• Now legally obligated to flash his vagina at paparazzi.

Dear Scott: On the front of your magazine’s website, Paul Wells is described as a “celebrated Maclean’s columnist.” Who celebrated him and what was the party like? – F.F., Ottawa

Balloons, streamers, music, booze, naked dancing girls – you should have been there, F.F.! Come to think of it, we probably should have invited Wells.

Dear Scott: So on a snowy campaign trip through somewhere impossibly snowy like Vermont, it so happens that Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama are stranded...together...alone together...on a luxurious campaign bus. It is so impossibly snowy and blustery outside that they tie into a few bottles of bubbly. They then tie into some Louis XIII. All of a sudden Hillary is looking all kinds of hot, and they get real nice and acquainted-like, if you know what I mean. Nine totally normal and shameless months later, under heavy epidural, out pops a little product of their union. Describe the life and characteristics of this child. – J.G., Saskatoon

Fluent in English and bullshit by the age of three days, William Jefferson Obama was a precocious child prone to soaring oratory and inexplicable crying jags. His was a happy childhood as little Willie scampered playfully through the halls of the White House, where his mother worked as President and his father parked cars. Unsurprisingly, William evinced a keen interest in public service and at the tender age of 15 launched a maverick bid for student council president, losing handily to his Uncle Bill.

Whereabouts

Scott Feschuk — Mon, 28 Jan 2008 06:04:30 -0500

I’ll be spending my blog-based time this week over at Couch Boys, desperately trying to drum up some interest in an obscure sporting event taking place in Phoenix next Sunday. Come over and visit! We’ll be talking an awful lot about how handsome Tom Brady is and how totally awesome it would be if he came over to braid our hair, not that he ever would, but then again you never know because he seems so nice and normal. Also, we'll be "predicting" things.