Dan Yates.

It died.

My tumblr is dead. I didn’t like it. 

Everything has been moved to my new exciting blog (with a shiny domain): danyates.net. 

There are parts of the Internet used to document bizarre sexual fetishes and others, I’m sure, reserved for cannibals. And then there’s this decidedly less criminal, but equally dark and desperate, corner of the World Wide Web (Federation) that appeals to both sensibilities (in a PG kind of way) with the polygonal charm of Dire Straits:

On Thompson, Comics and Nonsense

If you’ve had the unpleasant experience of dating me you’ll know two things: I don’t look as skinny shirtless and I’m not as smart as I look (when I’m clothed). 

I dress the part though — Cosby sweaters in the winter, V-neck sweaters in the summer, glasses … I live it, too, in a misleading way. Oh, I’ve got a bookshelf filled with the staples of a young adult who dreamed of grad school — Salinger and Hemingway, biographies of Castro and Shatner, and token Can-con favourites (Richler, mostly. I’m Regina’s almost Jew.) — but they’re mostly for show. I’ve read some and enjoyed less, but at one time I had the intention of perusing them all. Only intentions are like Cookie Crisp cereal. They’re amazing and perfect, in theory, but unavailable in Canada and out of my grasp. And, hey, there’s stuff on the Internet to watch.



Even now, there’s a copy Hell’s Angels — Hunter S. Thompson’s uncompromising look at the famous motorcyle club … says Wikipedia — sitting on my coffee table. It was once strewn on the table with a bookmark on the third page, as if to say, “Yeah, I’m reading this and I’m about to get serious about it.” It’s since been buried under receipts, bills and comic books, as if to say, “I’m a busy guy, life’s demanding and comics are way more fun than actual books, but only the great comics. And then only Batman and Superman. I don’t have time for bullshit. Sorry, Flash.” 

And so I confess: I’ve haven’t read any Hunter S. Thompson. While I’m attacking my geek credibility, I haven’t even watched the Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas film (Every time I try it’s 2 a.m., I’ve been drinking and I inevitably fall asleep). 

That said, I know enough about the guy to fake a conversation (and insist on watching his movies intoxicated). He’s like the Communist Manifesto. You can do an exhausting amount of reading or you can glance at a simple three-paragraph summary. Either way you’ll get the gist of it. Same deal with The Flash: Dude runs fast. What more do I need to know?

Here’s today’s exercise: Who do I know more about? Hunter S. Thompson, the world-famous writer that my friends talk passionately about, or The Flash, the DC Comics character that I’ve heard Batman mention and been bored by with every cursory glance? Yes, one was a real person and the other is a fictional character, but apples and oranges aren’t that different.

 

Note: In comparing Thompson to The Flash, I’m not saying Thompson was a cartoon character, but he was (more than once).

For the purposes of this exercise, Thompson is listed below as ‘T’ and The Flash as ‘F.’

1. Birth name
T: Hunter S. Thompson (I’m assuming)
F: Barry Allen
Score: T (1) - F (1)

2. Pseudonym 
T: Don’t Know
F: The Flash, of course.
Score: T (1) - F (2)

3. Profession
T: Writer.
F: Don’t know
Score: T (2) - F (2)

4. Other activities
T: Noted curmudgeon.
F: Being The Flash, of course.
Score: T (3) - F (3)

5. Famous headgear
T: That hat Johnny Depp wore. 
F: Various masks and winged helmets.
Score: T (4) - F (4)

6. Noted contributions to the world
T: Gonzo journalism.
F: Don’t know.
Score: T (5) - F (4)

7. Dedication to physical fitness
T: Don’t know.
F: Cosmic treadmill, yo.
Score: T (5) - F (5)

8. Super powers
T: Creative liberties. 
F: Super speed.
Score: T (6) - F (6)

9. Contributions to other media (other than print)
T: Series of films starring the aforementioned Depp (Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, The Rum Diaries, Rango).
F: Seldom thought of TV series, only slightly better than The Cape.
Score: T (7) - F (7)

10. Alive or dead?
T: Dead.
F: Dead. Then alive again. And alive on multiple Earths.
Editor’s note: That scores two points, plus infinite. Don’t ask me to explain. The Multiverse is more convoluted than The Matrix. It’s cooler, too.
Score: T (8) - F (∞)

Flash wins. Comics are more fun. I don’t care what you think, Brainiac. 

• The exercise above only proves that erroneous claims by lazy writers could easily be corrected (but aren’t) by checking Wikipedia and references to celebrities, movies and breakfast cereals can (I hope) drive Google traffic to an upstart blog. 

Dan Yates writes when it’s convenient for him. Follow him on Twitter and send your fact-checking notes to yatesdan@gmail.com.

When good wrestlers sing badly

I’m a fan of professional wrestling. I can’t defend it. It’s bad, awful even, almost all of the time. I know. But when it’s good, it’s really good. We’re talking edge-of-your-seat, arms-in-the-air, we’re-eating-supper-in-the-living-room-tonight good. I can’t convince you of that though. If you don’t “get” pro wrestling, the last thing you want to do is watch it, no matter how enthusiastic I am. I can appreciate that. I’m the same way with Glee. For that reason, we’ll skip over my recap of the 1989 Great American Bash (you’re welcome). Instead, let’s watch clips loosely related to wrasslin’ and laugh. Because all of us — wrestling fans and, ugh, everyone else — can appreciate kitschy, time-killing online videos. United Nations take note. 

There’s an incestuous cycle of celebrity in Hollywood: Directors want to be producers. Actors want to be directors. Musicians want to be actors. Everybody wants to be a musician. You’re not cool until you can play guitar, you’re not an artist until you can cry on command and you’re not powerful until you’re making artists cry. I get it.

The results of these ambitions can be good, like Johnny Depp, or bad, like Keanu Reeves.  

Pro wrestlers, like their Hollywood counterparts, have personal demons, drug issues, marital struggles and even head-shaking side projects.

At some point in his or her career, every pro wrestler wants to be something else (an actor, a businessman, a dedicated husband and father), which is why this exists:

That’s MVP — Montel Vontavious Porter for the uneducated (educated) — former prisoner, ex-WWE wrestler and featured player (alright, cameo) in the criminally underrated MacGruber. When he’s not wrestling, expressing his uncomfortable opinions on Chris Benoit or live Tweeting Japanese earthquakes, he’s making music. 

Maybe it’s the abuse — a wrestler’s body pays a great physical toll — the difficult life spent on the road, a lack of job security or ridicule from mainstream media, but, at some point, a wrestler has to branch out. The list of wrestlers who have retired and respectably faded into obscurity isn’t long, while the list of 60-something wrestlers who’ve run short on cash is growing. Maybe that’s why Hulk Hogan took up “acting,” why Mick Foley is doing standup comedy in sports bars and why a wrestling legend is appearing on Canadian reality TV. It’s definitely preferable to wrestling in front of Juggalos in the middle of the night.

MVP, and I’ll give him credit for trying, is doing music. And it’s not bad. It’s not great, but, in my estimation, he’s far exceeded the standard set by his peers.

Read More

That’s me screenwriting for dummies

Several months ago, I was writing comedy sketches for a would-be (and didn’t) public access TV show. A few of my sketches were alright, most were bad, but it was fun (for a while). We even filmed one. It never materialized and remains on the cutting room floor or, more accurately, on a table in the cutting room, because I don’t think anyone took a stab at editing it. The world will have to wait for my buddy cop show starring an inanimate apple and banana …

But it was fun. I briefly thought, “Yeah, I could do this. At least for public access.” I took one glance at a properly formatted script and got cocky. It was short. Brief. To the point. Books are so, ugh, wordy.

“Well that’s easy,” I said to myself. “‘Do this. Go here. Say these things.’ I don’t need to go to school to do that.”

I began penning an imaginary pilot for a TV show I creatively titled “Untitled TV Project.”

Here’s the pitch: Freaks and Geeks meets Degrassi. Don’t scoff at that. I don’t possess a magic wand that I can tap on my head, conjuring up original ideas. Besides, next to wheat and hockey players, Canada’s greatest export is teen melodrama. It’s familiar, comfortable territory and, if nothing else, it’s a start.

I wrote one scene before I got bored and resumed reading episode capsules for Gene Simmons Family Jewels.

Here are 15 lines of dialogue you’ll never see in Hollywood or even Canadian Hollywood (I think that’s one street corner and three production offices in Toronto).

I’ll probably never writer a screenplay, but if I do, I promise to weasel in as many references to Canadian children’s authors as possible. And apples and bananas.

Dan Yates is switching to poetry. Snap your fingers at yatesdan@gmail.com.

Talkin’ about Dan

Dan Yates here. I have a blog. Let me introduce myself.

But first, if you’re a prospective employer who googled my name to learn what kind of person I am, please skip ahead to Part 2.

Part 1

So I was born …

I wasn’t a natural athlete, but I had one distinct advantage: I was tall. I couldn’t throw and I certainly couldn’t run, but coach could pluck me down at first base and I could lean and catch (Yes, I know. Shut up.). It was a skill that served my teams well until Grade 6, when our third baseman went through a growth spurt and started putting his new weight into his throws. He was hurling this thing at me … even when the fat kids were running the bases. I couldn’t keep up. I’d lean in, then lean back, then cower. I quit. My hopes of being a professional athlete ended at 12. I wasn’t going to be a ball player, not even the Ed Sprague kind. 

I threw myself into nerdery: video games, pro wrestling, music, film and TV consumed me. I devoured media at a rapid pace. Watching reruns of Saturday Night Live was “research,” I told myself. My trivia skills will impress my peers, I thought. My e-fed (fantasy pro wrestling league) was a mere hobby, nothing more. 

I didn’t have many friends. 

At 18, one thing was evident: I would never make a living swinging a hammer. I went to university. I took a sociology class. I studied journalism. For a brief period of time, I was going to change the world. 

That didn’t happen. My interest in social science has waned, I remain plagued with anxiety while talking to strangers and my concerns pertain mostly to keeping my head above (figurative) water (I can’t swim.). Sorry, Africa. 

 

At 26, my tastes haven’t matured. So I’m going to play more video games, watch more wrestling and make less money. Sorry, Mom. 

But, hey, if you’re reading this you’re probably my friend. Things are getting better.

Part 2 

I intend on keeping a record of my hobbies, interests and thoughts in this space. I will work hard to make my entries both fun to read and insightful, relying on my demonstrated track record of witty and provocative criticism at dinner parties. I look forward to hearing from you.

Dan Yates writes when it’s convenient for him. As a lifelong fan of the Toronto Blue Jays, he’s not very busy in October. Follow him on Twitter. Throw curveballs his way at yatesdan@gmail.com. More on Yates’ hat and plugs here.

• Images via various online sources, but really the New Yorker.