I'm a staunch believer in doing the right thing. In timing. In getting out while the getting's good. Bill Watterson knew it. Gary Larson knew it. George Lucas had absolutely no idea whatsoever. And judging from my last few reviews, I don't either (ah, just kidding.).

But seriously... the time is now.

As some people have noticed, it's been a loooooong time since "PoolMan Does..." appeared on the MRFH front page on a regular basis. A surprising number of people, actually. It's sometimes shocking to have people you had no idea even read your work come up to you and express their disappointment that you haven't been keeping up. And I haven't. It's been a long, long while.

Life moves so very quickly... it seems cliche, and it is, but it's true nonetheless. Things change and move and adapt. Priorities shift. The immeasurable gift of being able to write for the Mutants is and has always been a privilege, for me and all those that follow. There's real greatness here.

But I think it's time I hang 'em up and let someone else have a try. While I personally believe that the MRFH would collapse in a massive singularity if Justin quit (unlikely, seeing as the server is wired to his pacemaker), I believe just as strongly that it can survive without me. I find myself exploring new avenues in life, facing daunting challenges and discovering wonderful new passions. It's time for me to focus on these new things, and leave the fun of this particular project to those with the drive to enjoy it as well as I always did.

Being with the MRFH for all these years has taught me a lot about a great many things. First and foremost, it's taught me that friendship isn't necessarily always found just next door. I've travelled to the USA on multiple occasions to meet the excellent Mutant staff. I've braved Detroit winters (hardcore, my friends, Vancouver's got nothing on a Yoopee winter) to become close friends with a man who, scant years ago, was nothing more than green text on a black screen to me. Over the years, all the Mutants have become special in my eyes. In most cases, I helped select these fine people to be our writers. But over time, there's not a one of them who hasn't made me laugh or feel special or welcome a dozen times over. These people are my friends. Justin, Kyle, Sue, Lissa, Drew, Nancy, Shalen, Clare, DnaError, Andie, Alex, Rich... they're all people I can't help but smile when I think of them, each and every time.

Not only them, but also their wonderful spouses and familes! Justin came and read at my wedding, and I managed to make a barelegged photographic mockery of his. Truly, Caramel is a forgiving and terrific woman. Drew's then-girlfriend and now-overlord Lady Luck was patient enough to see through the howling masses and appreciate that here was a gang of people so eager to meet him that they couldn't even bother to wait until he was in handshake range to express their joy. Lissa's husband Duckie is really all he's cracked up to be, a great guy (and a consumate bowler). And believe it or not, I'm pen pals with Sue's daughter (no matter how creepy Drew makes it out to be). I've had the good fortune of meeting so many of the good people that support my friends, the extended Mutant family.

What I'm trying to say with all this is that the MRFH is special. It's a collection of wry reviews about odd movies, sure, but moreso it's a collaborative project built by people who share a common love of film and wackiness, and a desire to shape a community of friends. It's a rare thing we've built, and I love it. But I can't hang on forever.

And so I take my bow, and thank all those fine people, and all you readers, as well. This is not "goodbye"; I guarantee I will be back. This is a "see you later". But as I said to the MRFH staff not too long ago, I look forward to seeing what the next phase of the Mutant Reviewers From Hell looks like.

Without me.

Thanks for reading,
PoolMan

It was my second senior year of college (insert Tommy Boy joke here), and I felt like I was floundering, without a sense of direction or purpose for a future career. I lived off campus for the first time in a small apartment, and divided my time between finishing out my classes and working at a really scary company run by a guy with the worst B.O. you've ever smelled. Even my fledgling movie review website was floundering, as my friend Kym left and I felt adrift on a sea of weirdness.

Okay, okay, this shouldn't be about me. Hang in there.

So without much fanfare, on September 10, 1998, I wrote these words on MRFH's updates page: "Welcome our two new Mutant Correspondants... PoolMan, from the tudra-infested nation of Canada, pulls out the stops for Monty Python And The Holy Grail." It was the first of many, many, many, many Canadian jokes that would be coming, but little did I know that the heart and soul of MRFH just made his debut. We called him PoolMan, because we already had a "Sean" on board — but after so many years, I can't imagine a MRFH without the PoolMan trademarked name. Can you?

In many ways, Pooly is a mirror universe version of myself — tall versus short, musically inclined versus sings like a buffalo, hairy versus... hairy. Okay, that comparison is breaking down. PoolMan quickly became part of the new core of MRFH known as "the six": Justin, PoolMan, Kyle, Andie, Clare and whosits. DnaError. For many years we forged reviews from the sweat of our brow and the tackiness of our front page. The first time that I knew Pooly and I had become good friends is when we staged a fake Canadian takeover of MRFH, and laughed ourselves silly at the outraged comments that flew in.

Another MRFH fact that's fading into history: once PoolMan became one of the official "leaders" of the site, we even gave him his own MRFH spin-off website. PoolMan's Picks, now lost forever, had one of my favorite articles from him entitled "A Day In The Life Of MRFH".

Two years later, and without the expectations of internet-fueled sexual escapades, Pooly agreed to come hang out for a week in Detroit. Thus began the grand tradition of Mutant Summits, as the community of a webpage expanded into the real world. We watched The Doom Generation and screamed, we tormented Denny's waitresses and laughed. It was so much fun, we not only did it again, but again and again!

Indeed, Mutant Reviewers is infused with this Canadian organism known as PoolMan, and there's hardly a place you can turn to on this site where you won't be reading his excellent reviews, articles or comics. You know those little personal banners that headline every review? Drawn with love and care by PoolMan himself.

So now in 2007 we've come to a moment of change. To be completely honest, I wish this day had never come; some things in life are too good that you just want to preserve them forever. But MRFH should always be a fun hobby and a passion for its writers, and not a chore. When PoolMan and I started talking about his increasingly busy schedule and the fact that writing for MRFH was straining him beyond the load limit of his beard, I knew a time of change was about to come.

What makes this more bearable is knowing that, as he said, Pooly won't completely leave us. We've awarded him a new special position of Mutant Emeritus, which allows him to fall into semi-retirement while still retaining the option to write reviews and articles when the passion reignites deep within his wintry heart. After nine years of giving enormous loads of time and effort to MRFH, I think he deserves this place of honor. Don't you?

PoolMan... I mean, Sean, I have only one thing left to say: you're a great friend and having to say this brings tears to my eyes.

Yeah. So… I'm not a big fan of endings. Never have been. I tend to get super-involved in whatever I'm doing or reading or watching, to the point where I hate when it's over; so finales, happily-ever-after or not, are usually a real downer to me. I'm rarely satisfied by the endings of books, and a good TV show going off the air can send me into a funk for days. (Why, Arrested Development… why???)

So in light of that, I refuse to consider PoolMan's impending departure an ending. Sorry. Won't do it. I prefer to think of it more like a beloved actor scaling back his role on my favorite show; true, he'll be around less, but he's still contractually obligated to appear in a few episodes per season and to stop by to raid the snack bar. Poolie shall be our David Duchovny, just with more facial hair and on a show that hasn't started to suck yet. He'll still be around, it'll just make his contributions that much more of a special occasion.

Come to think of it, he's probably just doing it for the publicity. Or angling for a raise.

In case it's not obvious, Poolie, I'm joking because I can barely wrap my head around the idea of your leaving us. I don't know of any way to say this without it sounding cliched, but you've been a driving force behind this crazy place for so long, it's impossible to imagine it without you involved in some capacity. You're large, in charge, incredibly insightful, and one of the wittiest human beings I've had the good fortune to meet. Plus you can drink your own body weight in Killian's, which has to count for something. And I'll never forget how you took the application of a smart-mouthed, unpolished kid from the mean streets of Jersey, looked deep within your heart, and said, "I want to go to lunch, just give it to this guy." Powerful words, my friend… words that changed my life forever.

So farewell but not goodbye, you magnificent Canadian bastard. You were tall and hairy and added unnecessary "u"s into all of your words, but for so many wonderful years, you were ours. Good fortune to you in your future endeavo(u)rs, my friend, and know that you'll always be welcoume to come back and borrouw your parking space anytime you want. I'll leave a light on and keep some beers cold in the fridge for ya, buddy. Till then, luck be with you, whatever path you choose.

When I first met PoolMan, I was just a hack writer, dribbling adjectives and adverbs on the pages of my life like warm maple syrup across the pancake of mediocrity. And he... well, he was just a swell lookin’ pair of legs in a skirt. But did Pooly laugh at my hopes and dreams, at my unrealistic aspirations pitted against the inevitable march of years?

You bet he did! About the inevitable march of years anyway.

Also at my accent. Can you believe a Canadian laughed at my accent? Sheeesh! What is the world coming to, eh?

Despite this, PoolMan took me under his immense wing. He taught me many things, like how to spell words like colour and honour in ways that my third grade teacher never would have approved of. I learned from him that there is something immensely fraternal about quoting Monty Python in unison, and that it is the wise woman who stays out of the line of fire during bottlecap wars.

In return, he, recognizing my life experience and Yoda-like wisdom, asked me heartfelt and curious questions like, "Just how old are you anyway?" and "Why do you have a problem with that nickname?"

But we still managed to became great friends. At least, I’d like to think so.

The fact of the matter is that if Pooly were leaving MRFH altogether, this tribute would have a much different tone to it. But he’s not leaving. Not really. Our Canadian comrade is merely stepping back from the center of the dance, to hang out by the punch bowl and eat all the cookies. I know that if necessary, he’ll still join in for the occasional Chicken Dance or Hokey Pokey. This is as it should be, because Pooly is such an integral part of MRFH, it’s become well nigh impossible to imagine it without him.

Besides, he’s got tenure.

In any case, it has been a rare and wonderful privilege to get to know this William Riker among beardliness, this looming presence of justice on the forums, this quoter of the Knights who say Ni, this man who wears a plunger on his head with pride, and who dons a kilt with — one can only assume — the sure and certain knowledge that his knees are exposed to constant and elemental danger. Also drafts. That, my friends, is courage of the finest kind.

Pooly, I wish you, most sincerely, the very best always.

Alas, Poolman, I hardly knew ye.

So it's a good thing you'll still be around. If nothing else, somebody has to give Justin a sharp poke every so often, and who better than a giant kilt-wearing Canadian? Thanks for the review laughs, the forum jollity (I still chuckle at the memory of that crazy eyerolling avatar), and for the banner which you got nearly perfect on the first try. I love my webby Goth font and spiky hair and raised eyebrow. We've never met, and you still knew exactly what to do. Way to go.

So here's a bottle of ginger ale across your bows (sorry, the teatotaller doesn't even know where to get the right kind of real ale) and a hearty not-exactly-farewell.

See you around, big fella.

Like vultures and Dementors, we Mutants can sense a demise. Well, usually, I guess. I haven't been here through the departure of that many Mutants. But sometimes, you know it's probably coming, and you really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really don't want it to. Even if it is for a good reason. (Good as in "happy", not good as in "understandable". I mean, understandable is desirable, but I vastly prefer "my other interests are really taking off and leaving me little time" to bad reasons like disease or other misfortune.) Anyway, this is all my way of saying I didn't want to have to write this, even if Pooly isn't going far.

Poolman's been a Mutant Reviewer as long as I've been a reader, so it's hard to imagine the site without his constant presence I'll especially miss the way he and Justin make digs at each other. There's just something so fun about a pair of friends who can make snarky comments about each other in public, and it's one of the things that I think attracts people to this site. Since Pooly's going Emeritus and Canadian/American relations are still an easy target, I doubt that will change, but I'd still say we're breaking up Batman and Robin (although I'd probably get beaten up for that. More like Starsky and Hutch or something. Or Han and Chewie.).

Anyway. This is turning to maudlin, so let's get into favorite memories of Poolman.

It's kind of hard to pick out specific reviews. I've always enjoyed Pooly's fannish glee over the sci-fi like stuff, like Star Wars and Alan Moore and Matrix. Equally amusing is reading his despair over the same, and how badly potential genius was butchered. But I think my favorite site-related Poolman effort has to be the Canadian takeover. You have to admit, that was absolutely brilliant.

Pooly's always been an incredibly supportive person on this site. Unfortunately, most of the good stories aren't mine to share, but I vividly remember one person making an announcement about an incredible triumph, and thanking Poolman specifically for all his support. I know of two pen pals who he means a lot to. I think that's pretty special, when you can help someone that much without ever seeing their real face.

However, on-line memories I often find to be nebulous and they all pale next to actually meeting Pooly in person at Justin's wedding. The real thing lives up to the online expectations, and the legs that kilt shows off! Poolgirl is a very lucky woman, who I still really hope to meet someday because I suspect we'd get along extremely well. But being able to watch Monty Python and the Holy Grail, go bowling, see Sin City, and generally harass each other in person was fabulous.

Like I said, I hate this to get to sad (which is why I started with a comparison to vultures and Dementors, of course), because Pooly's going Emeritus, not jumping into the Black Hole of Doom that Justin keeps in front of his office desk like Monty Burns does or something. (I suspect Bobbie and Alex are dancing on tables in India.) But still, it does feel like an era is ending, and I can't help a little sniffle.

I'm sad, but mostly just wistful at Poolman's Grand Farewell. As I understand it, he's not gone for good. He's just moving on to busier and more time-consuming things, but he will always have a place both here on the Mutant Reviewers staff and in our hearts.

And keep in mind he'll always be around, watching over us and almost certainly wearing a kilt, so it's one of those situations where "If we remember him, he's not really gone."

The situation reminds me of those iconic childhood images of a father putting their child on a big two-wheel bicycle for the very first time, and then running along besides the bike holding it up while the child pedals furiously. Finally, when the time is right, the father lets go and watches proudly as their child rides off, proud and firmly in control of the bike and of their own destiny.

I'm not entirely sure who is who in this particular metaphor. Because when I see it in my mind, everyone involved, even passers-by and a lazy dog sleeping in a front yard, are wearing kilts.

That's weird.

I love you, Poolman!