Much as I tried to pull together at least a preview of a project that I’m working on for this column today, it is not to be; there is much back burner simmering to be done before that column is ready to be savoured.
But speaking of food … here’s something I wrote in the Spring of 2013, and have revised and updated for your dining and dancing entertainment. Bon Appetit!
Not since Marlon Brando and his moo moo ate their way through Hollywood on the back of non-returnable advances for movies he did everything possible to avoid making has there been so many entertainment types hell bent on changing career paths by killing off their meal tickets.
Thursday it came to light that Canadian rapper Drake was being a social mediot by bad mouthing Rolling Stone magazine for bumping his cover story in favour of the late Philip Seymour Hoffman. News flash, Degrassi Boy: Hoffman has more cache dead than you will ever have alive. A simple “I’m disappointed in the turn of events, but understand Rolling Stone’s editorial decision. 
Respect PSH” would have sufficed. Instead, he show-boated. And like fellow rap asshat Kanye West, Drake will attempt to deflect now that people have taken to hating him more than they do already. He’ll mea culpa and return to his life shilling for the Toronto Raptors basketball team.
I’m not exactly sure why, but a few days ago I finally pulled the DVD of Night of the Following Day off my shelf and watched it twice: once as it was intended to be watched, and once with the director’s commentary. It still haunts me.
When Marlon Brando died in 2004, the Toronto Star asked me to write an obit, which I was delighted to do. I’d been fixated on the Method-making Nebraskan ever since 1972, that ‘comeback’ year of The Godfather and Last Tango in Paris.
Bullseye Records of Canada
Segarini: Don't Believe a Word I Say 