Last week my daughter and I went to see “Cosmopolis,” un film de David Croneneberg.  RPattz was the big draw for her (she’s cool about it!  Don’t judge!) and I would go see Disney On Ice if Cronenberg directed it.  I’m dying to meet him.  I think he would tickle my intellect, the primordial part that thinks that everything convex represents a plundering penis, and a vagina is a portal to the mystery of the universe. At least that’s the gist I got from Videodrome.

As for Cosmopolis, don’t ask me.  It was a bit like watching Shakespeare or an Almodovar movie without the subtitles, where you catch maybe every third word and you have to pay hyper-attention to follow the plot.  I know you don’t visit this blog for comprehensive film reviews so I won’t go on but just to say that it is visually exciting, there are a couple of hot sex scenes, two really funny parts, and a really bad haircut. It was an allegory, intertwined with satire, wrapped tightly in an enigma and stuffed into an asymmetrical prostate like a jolly little butt plug.  Cronenberg:  Call me!

How I feel about Cosmopolis is how I feel about watching team sports on tv.  I can look at the screen, stare at it, not know at all what’s going on, but be perfectly happy.  This goes for basketball, hockey, football, and baseball.  However, the other day I went to Meat Dept on Danforth and they have installed a tv on the wall so they can watch Euro Cup all the live long day. Cruelly and deliberately, I made the butcher tear himself away from the screen to cut up a chicken “just so.”   While he happily obliged, he is sweet, I looked up at the match that was going on.  There is something about soccer (or European football, whatevs) that sets me off into a rage.  Dudes running willy nilly back and forth on a giant field, the dull roar of the crowd, and the commentators that make everything sound exciting when it’s not.  This is what being in my head is like at 2 o’clock in the morning when I can’t sleep.  Metaphorically, the dudes are all my inane thoughts, the roar of the crowd is the giant knot of nerves forming in my stomach, and the commentators are my own twisted judgements that turn the most mundane day time activity into an endless loop of strife:  PAY HYDRO BILL, MAKE FREDDY A SANDWICH, WRITE A BOOK, RENOVATE THE UPSTAIRS BATHROOM, EMPTY THE DISHWASHER, CHECK MOUSETRAPS, TRY A ZUMBA CLASS, BLAH BLAH BLAH!

Anyway this week soccer is everywhere and you just can’t escape it.  The other day my Remainder Man (the one who got away), came over to work on his car.  I let him park his junk in my driveway…not a euphemism!  He has a trailer full of crap and a 1990 BMW he is resuscitating back to health.  I like to stand around and watch him get underneath the car and tinker with the pipes.  Then as he gets all covered in grease and sweat, I get this overwhelming desire to want to marry him.  That day, after about an hour of writhing and twisting, he finally succeeded to get the car running around the parkette without drips and then he wiped WD-40  all over his muscly forearms, he said:  “Let’s go to Gaby’s for lunch, Ireland versus Italy.”

“I’m in!  Just let me run upstairs and change my panties!”  Pro-tip to all men:  Forget the $90 bottle of Hugo Boss, just spray some WD-40 on and you will save $80 and be able to take a lady out to lunch.

So we get to Gabby’s on Queen Street and there are four screens showing the match so there is no escape from the visual nightmare but at least the sound is muted.  We sit down in our usual spot near the window.

This is me watching soccer:  “That guy is cute!”  “He’s got high water booty!” “I like that shade of green on their uniforms!”

This is my Remainder Man watching soccer while texting his girlfriend the entire time and giving me the play-by-play:  “She wants to buy a tarp at Canadian Tire.” Tap, tap, tap, “She’s on-line now, there’s 4 in-stock at Lakeshore.” Tap, tap, tap,  “It’s 100 bucks, she wants to know if I’ll pay half,” Tap, tap, tap, “Sure, why not?  It’ll keep the mosquitoes out,”  Tap, tap, tap.

Believe me, if I had a lady boner in my backyard, it went back to its concave ways  by the time the wings showed up.  That afternoon, while my Remainder Man was getting poned from his phone, I watched an entire soccer match.  And I slept pretty well that night.

Here’s the Cosmpolis trailer, go see it and let me know your thoughts: