I live in a household populated by women. That includes my wife and three teenaged daughters and if we’re counting pets, two female cats. The dog’s a male. He’s been fixed. I truly love my family and as a special bonus, I really like them too. My favourite time is spent with them, individually, as a group.

There is one ingredient that gets missed in an estrogen-enriched home such as ours. Ok when it comes to hard labour, a crop of sturdy sons might come in handy. But although my wife is gorgeous, she’s also tough, and even if there’s something that feels vaguely wrong about her lifting of heavy objects that I can’t quite manage, we, as the cable guy would say, “git er done.” Besides, there’s no way I would trade a daughter for a son. No. Way. And we’re talking teenage girls here.

Full disclosure. I am not imprisoned by this condition. Life offers all kinds of male time – excellent man cave, rehearsals and shows with my loud and fast punk band, mountain biking, etc etc. But one thing in our household does take a decided
turn toward the feminine. Media.

Right now that phenomenon is (or isn’t) manifested in the hockey lockout. Yes I am no longer obliged to spend frustrating lonely evenings muttering to myself in front of the basement TV. But as for impact on our household? Zilch. Action movies? Guess how many Willistaloneaneggers have appeared on our embarrassingly large number of TV’s. Zip. At least not on purpose. The number of car chases, gangland hits or flamethrower fights in my living room? Diddly squat. Oh but I can recite lines from chick flicks. I am familiar with the cast from High School Musical. I know the way of Glee. So to say that I’m behind on my action movies would be an understatement of missile-firing exploding-helicopter-gunship proportions.

Last weekend, on a boy’s night in a secret North Shore home theatre I caught up. Oh yes I did. If you’re a male and you haven’t seen The Raid Redemption well, your man-ly-ish-ness is about to get a weapons upgrade. File the following DVD case headline in the ever-growing stack of lines I wish I’d written: “1 Minute Romance, 99 Minutes Carnage.” Yep, that was on-brief.

You know those noises audiences make in reaction to a particularly violent, or crazy or gory act on screen? Kind of a “whoa-oof” noise? You’ll hear that about 3 times in a good Bond Movie. I made that noise at least 30 times in those aforementioned 99 minutes.

I showed the following trailer to my enthusiastically aggressive Rugby playing daughter. She lost interest in the time it takes to say, “lock and load.”

Who can blame her, Gossip Girl was on.





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