Kennedy Gordon

Part of my work involves interviewing famous-type people, like Gordon Pinsent, Blue Rodeo, Jon Bon Jovi, William Shatner and Tortelvis from Dread Zeppelin. This week, I am going to be speaking with Brian Vollmer of Helix, a legendary Canadian metal band from the ’80s. I saw Helix live at the Sudbury Arena once, and they put on a great show, so this is an interview I know I will enjoy.

Of course, I gummed it up.

Brian and I have been emailing back and forth trying to set a time, and in the first of these emails, I referred to him as “Lips.” His reply was concise: “Lips is in Anvil. I am in Helix.”

I know this. I knew it the minute I clicked “send” on the email. See, I have a copy of the new Anvil CD, Juggernaut of Justice, sitting here on my desk, and in my head I was mixing up ’80s Canadian metal bands. This may be a result of having too tight a ponytail in the ’80s.

Luckily, Kick Axe was nowhere to be found. And we won’t even talk about Thor.

Helix plays at the Red Dog May 14. You should go, and you should bang your head, baby. I’ll have a full interview in the paper and online this week.

Here’s the latest episode of the books podcast I produce and host for Simply Syndicated. This one features the Book Club, our crew of hosts from our branch office in Leeds, U.K., talking about two of the greatest thinkers of the 20th century. You can listen right at the site or subscribe via iTunes. Books You Should Read is sponsored by Audible.com. Enjoy.

Here’s the best email I received this week. It came to my work account, no less. Internet spam robots, as it turns out, are really, really stupid.

To whom it may concern,

My name is Terry Thomas. I would like to know if you have Pine Lumbers
Available and i'm looking for expensive and less expensive ones you have.
Could you please let me know the prices  that are
2x12 S4S (1-3/4” x 11-1/4”)

I would be happy to make my payment by credit card if you accept them.

I await your reply,
Sincerely,
Terry Thomas.

My daughter wants to be a filmmaker. This is her epic.

As the city where I live talks about closing or changing a few popular toboggan hills because of risks and/or drunks, maybe, I would like to point out what we saw a while ago when we took the kids sliding at a certain hill that shall remain nameless.

• … When you stand on the ridge in my back 40, you can look down on this hill. When you get there, it seems impossibly steep.
• … On icy days, it offers a Guaranteed Broken Leg™ if I try to slide, but then again, I am very stupid.
• … Things you don’t want to see at the bottom of a toboggan hill: the snapped-off steering wheel of a GT Snow Racer.
• … Things you don’t want to see at the top of a toboggan hill: The other half of the GT Snow Racer, which makes no sense.
• … Things you don’t want to see in the bushes at the top of a toboggan hill: seven empty mickeys of rum and rye, a couple of dozen smashed beer bottles and tons of PBR cans left by people who don’t get the irony, but like the price. Well, it explains the GT Snow Racer situation.
• … Things you don’t want to see halfway up the hill: A winter boot. Belonging to a small child.
• … Things you don’t want to see halfway down the hill: “Whoah, someone made a jump — “

On the latest episode of Books You Should Read, I am joined by reviewers from two other continents for a look at the stories of hope that came out of the Holocaust, and the legacy left for modern Jewish writers. Remember, if you’re in the U.S., listening to the show can get you a free audiobook from our sponsor, Audible.

I am not very bright. This is no secret, because I tell people this all the time, and they laugh because they think I’m joking. But I learned, many years ago, the Dave Foley trick that involves sounding like I know what I’m talking about. Arching one eyebrow works, too. Wait, Dave Foley was pretending to not speak English. I got mixed up there.

Lately, my mental misfiring has been brought to the fore thanks to the recent change in our area code to 10-digit dialling. Now we have to dial the area code before the number, even if we’re calling next door. This has presented some challenges for me.

• I don’t know anyone’s phone number. I don’t even know my own. I keep a little card on my work phone with my office and cell numbers on it so I can rhyme them off confidently while playing phone tag, but ask me on the street and I have no clue.
• The only way I get a number into my phone is to save it when someone calls me. Now I have to get those people to call me again so I can save their numbers wth the “705″ in front, but I can’t, because when I press the button for their name, it doesn’t work, because I didn’t dial the area code, and I can’t dial the area code because I don’t know the number.
• For some reason, I remember my childhood phone number, but none of my adulthood home phone numbers.
• This is because of speed dialling, which has been around for about as long as I have been a grownup. My home number is “1.” Work is “6.” My mother is “2.” The pizza place is “3.” On my cell phone, I just click on the name of the person I want to call.
• I do know a few numbers by heart, but I know them only as patterns to hit. Ask me what they are, and I couldn’t tell you. Now that there’s an extra three digits to type, my rhythm is off.
• We are hardwired to type a “1″ before an area code, so that has been a tough habit to break. The other day, I was working away in my home office, so I used my cell to call upstairs to the living room from my studio to get someone to bring me a coffee, and I hit the “1″ first, and no coffee appeared, which I found confusing. I ended up having to put The Bionic Woman on pause and go get it myself.

Anyway, my significant other recently gave up her cell phone, preferring to go without, which had nothing to do with the thing about the coffee, I think. I myself am on my dozenth or so phone since the mid-90s, a list that has included that big chunky Motorola brick, but I am considering following her lead. Dialling is just too hard now.

Here’s my younger son, Tarzan, reminding the world how he got that nickname. Fifteen feet up, people. “I guess I’ll be Robin for a while,” he once told me, “but only until I get my drivers’ licence. Then I’ll be Batman.”