A Perfectly Cromulent Blog

Base(ball), how low can you go?

Let me preface these comments regarding today's Astros-Padres game I attended at Minute Maid Park by saying that I am, and always shall be, a St. Louis Cardinals fan. I'll root for the Astros when they're playing anyone else in the NL Central or the hated Mets, but seeing as how the Division race is wide open, I have to admit feeling more than a bit of glee that the hometown team dropped 2 of 3 to the pathetic Padres. That said:

1) If you must instigate that annoying tradition of doing "the wave" during a game, doesn't it make sense to wait until the other team is batting before starting it? I'm not saying the Astros 8th inning rally would've come to anything had Biggio not had to deal with thousands of drunken morons standing up and yelling as the damn thing wound around the ballpark, but it certainly didn't help.

2) Fans running onto the field is not funny. It brings the game to a screeching halt, and probably doesn't make the players feel all warm and fuzzy after the attack on umpire Tom Gamboa by white trash poster boys William Ligue Jr. and son. Personally, I believe any players on the field/turf/ice when a fan decides to stretch his legs should get a free shot at the interloper. It would cause a dramatic decline in such incidents, methinks.

I mean, when was the last time somebody tried it at a Colts game?

Blow by blow

What does "meteorologist" mean in Latin? It means "liar." - Lewis Black

Hot damn, there's another hurricane out in the Atlantic, and a low pressure system in the Gulf, which means that all our local news organizations are girding their loins for more breathless coverage of the impending (maybe) catastrophe (or not).

Tropical storms and hurricanes are a big deal in the paved swamp I call home, i.e. Houston, TX. If you don't believe me, check out some of these images from when tropical storm Allison breezed through our humble town a couple years ago. It demonstrated both the awesome destructive power of nature and the necessity of having a cooler for the beer you were planning on drinking during the basketball game until the electricity went out.

Our family was lucky, in that neither our home nor our cars flooded. And once the power finally came back on, we discovered that all local programming (we didn't have cable) was fixed on the admittedly impressive images of the aftermath of the storm...for roughly the next three months.

This kind of coverage was understandable with regard to a titanic bastard of a storm like Allison, but it was only the latest in the local networks' long-standing pattern of milking every possible bit of fear and suspense out of viewers at the approach of tropical weather systems. It hardly seems to matter that computer models are roughly as accurate as a Ouija board while a storm is more than 48 hours out, or that storms like Allison are rare beasts indeed, for these days our doughty weatherpersons breathlessly report every developing tropical depression as if the End Times were upon us. Coverage increases in intensity until the tension is almost to much to take.

I call it "hurricane porn."

First, there's the foreplay, which (unlike in actual pornography) can take several days. It starts with Doppler radar and satellite images that grow progressively larger and, dare I say it, more tumescent as the system approaches the coast. Cloud cover grows and the winds pick up, and most TV stations will have reporters positioned along the coast in areas projected to be in the storm's path. These hardy souls eye the camera with come hither looks of dire urgency (I wish I could find screen captures of local ABC reporter Jessica Willey standing on a pier in Galveston during Claudette's rainy approach wearing a soaked-through white blouse - more than ratings were rising that evening, let me tell you). The anticipation continues to build in this fashion until landfall, which is where you get...

Hot hurricane action: water crashes furiously over the sea wall, palm trees whip back and forth in an orgiastic frenzy and street signs waggle suggestively in the wind. Meanwhile, the rhythmically swaying area street lights almost seem to keep the beat for the omnipresent frenzy. This is the period where one sees the most pervasive coverage. TV stations will often interrupt regular programming in order to cut to live shots of their other reporters, who can be found "braving" the storm by standing right in the middle of the heaviest wind and rains. Speaking only for myself, I'd have a lot more respect for a newsperson who did their report from a bar, sipping a beer and leading off with, "You know, you'd have to be a real idiot to be outside on a night like this..." Maybe someday.

Fortunately, the actual hurricane footage can only last so long, as most systems weaken rapidly once they make landfall. This is why television stations are so desperate for that money shot. You'll know it when you see it: a roof flying off a department store and disintegrating, or one of those aforementioned reporters getting blown into a ditch. If the networks are really lucky, they'll get film of a fireman rescuing a baby from a rooftop, or a woman pulled from her car just before it's covered by rising floodwaters. After something like that, you can't help but feel spent.

Once the storm has blown inland, you can finally bask in the afterglow: blue sky shots of boats beached thirty feet above the tide line, hapless shmoes sweeping water out of their bedrooms, and the weatherman telling us it "could've been worse." That's when you light a cigarette and compare property damage with your neighbors.

I'm waiting for the NOAA to extend hurricane season by a month and a half so it can include May and November sweeps.

Hyperbolic local news broadcasts are nothing new. We Houstonians are regularly treated to investigative reports about strip clubs and hard hitting stories about local contestants on "American Idol" and the like. The problem with hurricane porn is the same as with the boy who cried wolf, then the wolf raised him as one of her own and the boy went on to found Los Lobos...or something: it's hard to pay much attention to the stormcrows when the storms keep veering off into Louisiana or Brownsville. Eventually, another monster hurricane is going to hit Houston, and we're all going to be screwed because we're waiting for Jessica Willey's bikini-cam report.

Pop quiz, hotshot

Question: You're a former (pop princess/iconoclastic diva) whose audience has been (shrinking/dwindling) recently. Sales of your last album were (disappointing/pathetic) and murmurs of ("has-been"/"has-been") have already begun to spring up in some quarters. How do you (renew interest in your bland, generic dance-pop/revive your flagging career without having to do another one of those annoying documentaries)?

Answer.

Conversations with Famous People, Pt. 4

The Year: 1992
The Place: Walnut Creek Ampitheater, Raleigh, NC (Lollapalooza)
The Person: Soundgarden frontman Chris Cornell

<Pete, not paying attention to where he's going, walks into a tall, long-haired man and is knocked down>
Chris Cornell: Oh, sorry kid.
Pete. No problem...hey, you're Chris Cornell!
Chris Cornell: Yep.
<walks away>

Break this rusty cage with more "Conversations with Famous People."

"Your clothes. Give them to me."

Gotta love that Smoking Gun:

AUGUST 27--Arnold Schwarzenegger once told a magazine interviewer about participating in an orgy with other bodybuilders, noting that "everybody jumped on" the woman involved and "took her upstairs where we all got together." The California Republican added that not every muscleman participated in the gang bang, "just the guys who can fuck in front of other guys. Not everybody can do that. Some think that they don't have a big-enough cock, so they can't get a hard-on."

Mercy.

Schwarzenegger's lewd talk appeared in the August 1977 issue of Oui, a now-defunct adult magazine published by Playboy. The six-page Schwarzenegger interview was conducted by author Peter Manso and flagged on the magazine's cover with the headline, "Arnold Schwarzenegger on the Sex Secrets of Bodybuilders."

At the time of the Oui story, Schwarzenegger, then 29, was appearing in "Pumping Iron," a documentary on the bodybuilding circuit. In the Q&A with Manso, today's gubernatorial wannabe spoke about his sex life, drug usage, and belief that men "shouldn't feel like fags just because they want to have nice-looking bodies."

Truly ahead of his time, that one.

I'm glad I wasn't a teenager in the 1970s. I like to think I would've been the cool kid in the leather jacket listening to the Clash and the Ramones. But I'm afraid I would've been the guy in bell bottoms and and a white guy Afro, hanging out in a friend's Good Times van listening to Kansas. The horror.

Anyway, if the Smoking Gun article does anything, it will widen the rift between Schwarzenegger and more conservative Republicans like McClintock. Arnie has already discussed his stand on issues in this CNN article, where he discusses his pro-choice stance, and his support of a "domestic partnership" arrangement for gays. That alone has shown him to be pretty far afield from the Republican platform.

As for the revelations of (*gasp*) group sex and (*shudder*) pot and hash smoking...hey, it's California. I'm sure some of the other Republican candidates will jump all over him (metaphorically, of course), further exposing the hypocrisy in the political process. I'll be disappointed if Arnie's team backpedals on this and tries to make it sound like he was making things up to impress his interviewer. Embrace your inner freak, baby. And while you're at it, tell us more about that "mind-cock" theory you brought up in the interview.

And now that I think about it, one comment might come back to haunt him:

Most bodybuilders are straight, regular street guys, though a lot aren't serious. Many in California are punks, beach bums just lying around in the sun and maybe collecting unemployment.

There goes the unemployed beach bum vote.

More monument mania

Rollin', rollin', rollin', keep them tablets rollin'...

MONTGOMERY, Alabama (CNN) -- Workers relocated the Ten Commandments monument from the rotunda of Alabama's state judicial building Wednesday morning as supporters of suspended Chief Justice Roy Moore vowed to continue fighting its removal.

About 10 a.m. EDT, workers rolled the monument, on a wooden frame, out of the rotunda and into another part of the building.

Outside, more than 100 supporters of Moore, the judge who had the slab placed in the building in 2001, sang hymns, prayed and lay face-down in what they called a show of repentance.

Decorum keeps me from muttering "Jesus Christ" as that last part.

"I believe that this is going to be a ripple effect across our nation -- at least that's my hope," said Phillip Nunn, who brought his family to Montgomery from Georgetown, Kentucky. "Americans will start realizing that if we don't speak up and if we don't start going to the voting booth, then we're going to have more of this. But if we take a stand, we can make a difference."

A grateful nation thanks you for your sacrifice in bravely supporting the Ten Commandments in the hostile environment of the Deep South. Maybe you could come to Texas next and take a stand in favor of Shiner Bock.

[Protest organizer Rev. Rob] Schenck said the building's manager has told them the monument will be moved to a back hall of the building, out of public view. He called the removal "a morally cowardly act."

"I can only believe it will be temporary, because otherwise they would permanently remove it from the premises," Schenck said. "They're not going to that extent. I think they have a feeling what might happen in the long run."

That's one way of looking at it. Personally, I think the State is waiting until Schenck and his gang of reactionary goobers inevitably skulk off before trucking that baby out of there.

Supporters compared Moore's stand to that of the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., arguing that the civil rights movement never would have happened without the defiance of unjust laws.

Words fail me.

[Civil rights lawyer Morris] Dees called that "a bogus comparison." The more appropriate parallel, he said, would be to civil rights-era Alabama Gov. George Wallace, who resisted federal court orders requiring Alabama institutions to accept African-Americans "as a demagogue for the purpose of advancing his political career."

Stop stealing my lines, Dees.

You're out of the club

The LA Times has a report on some shiny, happy Goths:

Getting in Touch With Their Dark Sides -- in a Happy Way

In what has become an annual ritual, nearly 1,000 black-clad, death-rocker types from around the country invaded Disneyland on Sunday for what organizers officially bill as Bats Day in the Fun Park.

Attendees simply call it Goth Day. The event started five years ago with about 90 people going to Disneyland for the simple irony — a morose crowd in a place best known for making people happy.

Right. Simple irony. Sounds more like when you catch your friend, the indie film fan, renting "Forrest Gump." At Blockbuster.

For the clueless, or those who mistakenly think being Goth means wearing trench coats and worshiping the devil, a crash course on the subculture, which originated in the 1980s: Gothness is about appreciating darkness — whether in music, literature, clothing or a theme park ride.

Do they play Sisters of Mercy in the Haunted Mansion?

The event is held now because the park has longer hours in summer and the last Sunday in August is the first non-blackout day for season ticket holders. And you'd be surprised how many Southern California Goths have annual passes, said San Diego Web designer Joey Large, 33.

"Most of the Goths I hang out with are not dreary people," she said. "They're pretty perky."

The disconnect between Goths and Disney isn't as great as one might think, Large said, adding that Disney has a lot of evil — think Pirates of the Caribbean, the "Nightmare Before Christmas" movie or Maleficent, Sleeping Beauty's nemesis.

The "wenches" in the Pirates of the Caribbean ride had to be shown carrying food so it would look like the pirates chasing them were hungry and not, in fact, drunken rapists. "The Nightmare Before Christmas" is about as evil as "Space Ghost Coast-To-Coast," and Maleficent...well, she's pretty bad ass. "Sleeping Beauty" came out over 40 years ago, however, and she still got killed by the good guy. Hell, they all do: Scar, The Queen from "Snow White," Ursula, Jafar, Gaston. In my opinion, the Gothiest Disney villain was Cruella DeVille, and she lived.

Maybe I'm speaking out of turn, but if you're a Goth and you want to take your kids to Disneyworld and get your picture taken with Belle and Mary Poppins, don't make excuses and claim it's all because "Disney has a lot of evil." It does, but it's the boring "exploit our third world labor force" brand of evil, not the cool kind. Be up front about your weakness for the Mouse and hopefully, some of your brethren will understand.

The rest will snicker at you behind their black, laqcuered fingernails.

KOTOR update, Pt. 4

"Sandpeople. Or worse."

Various personal obligations have kept me from kicking as much Dark Jedi ass as I'd like lately, but I still managed to complete the mission on the scenic, resort planet of Tattooine.

And at the risk of sounding like a Star Wars bigot, the sandpeople are assholes.

I'm getting way too fond of Force Persuade, which allowed me to dock in Anchorhead without paying, for starters. I wish the option for FP was always on, so your character could make people drop their pants or run errands for you. That wouldn't be very Jedi, I guess.

There are a number of preliminary tasks that have to be completed before heading out into the trackless wastes of the Dune Sea: you need a hunting license from the slimy Czerka bastards, where you'll also find that sandpeople raiding parties are becoming bolder in their strikes. They will offer you a bounty for bringing back their chief's gaffi stick. Personally, I would've asked for his head, but I'm a stickler for detail.

You'll also track down Bastila's mom in the cantina. Turns out dad went out to hunt a Krayt dragon and never returned (I think I have that right). Anyway, mom wants his holocron. She and Bastila argue. You look at your watch and eventually make peace.

If, like me, you tend to scroll through some of the conversations more quickly than you should, you may not discover that you'll need some kind of translator droid in order to infiltrate the sandpeople enclave until you actually get to the entrance. This is mucho annoying, so do yourself a favor and pick up HK-47 before leaving Anchorhead.

[HK-47 is almost worth the price of the game on his own. Think a dangerously psychotic Bender from "Futurama" (he actually refers to you as a "meatbag" at times). He's the only character I don't need to be prompted to interact with.]

Anyway, you'll head out into the Dune Sea, rescue some idiot miners whose sandcrawler is besieged by sandpeople, kill more sandpeople who materialize and attack you (and are actually pretty tough), rescue a hunter whose wife has booby trapped his battle droids (ah, domestic violence in the Star Wars universe), and finally get to the sandpeople enclave.

Even with HK-47, your erstwhile translator, you can still choose to sneak in and kill everyone (you recover sandpeople togs and weapons before entering their territory). The droid's a good fighter, and seems to enjoy it besides. Not slaughtering them means you have to procure moisture vaporators to appease the chief, which is friendly and all, but not as fun as pure bloodlust. Should you choose the former route, he'll give you his gaffi stick in thanks, and allow you to wonder the enclave. And while this should probably go without saying, don't rifle through their stuff while you're there; it really pisses them off. If you want to hear the riveting history of the sandpeople from their storyteller (who makes Winston Churchill seem positively terse), you'll need to get the pearl from the heart of the Krayt dragon and return it to them. Having listened to the history, I can safely say you should just take the damn thing back to the license place and collect some credits.

An amsuing thing to do after the sandpeople enclave, but while still wearing the sandpeople robes, is to go to your menu screen and select "Return to Ebon Hawk." You'll be transported to the ship with no clothes. I thought Bastila was awfully nonplussed at the idea of walking aroung the docking bay in just a bra and panties.

And yes, I realize you can probably achieve the same effect by just un-equipping their clothes. Unlike most of you pervs, I never bothered to try it.

The last big quest, which will get you the holocron, the Star Map, and the dragon pearl all in one fell swoop, is killing the Krayt dragon. I made the mistake of stocking up on medpacs, injectors, and other health for what I felt sure would be an epic battle. Don't bother. All you have to worry about is herding a bunch of bantha towards the dragon's lair to lure him out, where he is swiftly dispatched by the mines laid by one Komad Fortuna, a Twi'ilek hunter you meet at the lair. I'll grant you, it's a big-ass dragon (I saved an extra game slot right there just so I could have a shot of Diablo standing next to it...kind of like a swordfisherman), but even in Dark Forces they let you fight one, and that one with (I think) a club.

I didn't play pazaak, and after a couple time trials in the swoop races I decided it was too useless for words. There's no way to upgrade your swoop, and the side quest regarding the young racer and his unfair contract seems like it belongs in MLB 2003, not here.

Bastila and mom reconcile, HK-47 joins your party, and soon you're heading off to Manaan.

All you zombies

For those who foolishly ignored the lessons of "Day of the Dead," now we have scientific proof that once the zombies are upon us, we're all doomed. Check out Kevan Davis' Zombie Infection Simulation v2. You'll need to have Java enabled.

I only found one instance where the zombies didn't infect everyone, and that was when the simulator drew an open city space with no external access. So I guess instead of being eaten alive, the survivors would merely starve to death.

Or resort to cannibalism, which would be nicely ironic.

You can also bone up on life in a post-zombie apocalypse at the Survival Guide for a Zombie World. I like how she lists a houseboat as her preferred hideout, even though she has the aquatic zombie masterpiece "Shock Waves" listed on her Movies page and should know that mere water can't deter hungry zombies (especially Nazi zombies). Faux pas, my friend. Faux pas.

Finally, here's a weight loss plan I bet Jared never thought of:

I'd like a foot-long brraaaaaiiins...on parmesan oregano bread, please. Hold the onions.

A monumental pain in the ass

Commandments monument may be moved soon

MONTGOMERY, Alabama (AP) -- About 100 demonstrators prayed Monday outside the Alabama Judicial Building, keeping up their opposition to a federal court order to remove a 5,300-pound stone representation of the Ten Commandments from the building's rotunda. ... Many of the monument supporters spent the night in sleeping bags on a plaza outside the building and nearby steps, and one scaled lattice work on the side of the building and spent the night on a ledge. The unidentified man climbed down after daybreak.

As much as I understand the fundamental (heh) need for the religious right to constantly pat itself on the back, it seems a more...oh, Christian way for them to act would be by volunteering or acting in a manner supposedly consistent with their faith. Surely Montgomery has a soup kitchen or two. Are there no elderly or indigent people who could benefit from the protestors' obviously ample free time?

The funny thing is that Judge Roy Moore knows he's wrong. He's known it since that night in 2001 when he took a page from Robert Irsay's playbook and waited until after business hours to erect a 2 1/2 ton tribute to his own ego. I find it hard to believe that even an intolerant, Bible-thumping demagogue like him ever thought for a minute that his actions would pass the Establishment Clause test. As Moore's legal maneuvering continues, it becomes obvious he never did.

Even if he doesn't successfuly appeal his suspension from the bench, and disregarding - for the moment - the new lawsuit just filed on behalf of a Christian talk radio host, all this legal drama is a great warm-up for a run at a higher office. Here in the South, a mere 140 years removed from a little dust-up called the Civil War, people still love it when someone stands up to the federal government. A comfortable 77% of Alabama residents polled recently voiced approval for the monument. Combine that with some juicy footage of state police in riot gear shoving the protestors rudely to the ground as they enforce the federal court order and you're in landslide territory. He got 54% of the vote when campaigning for Supreme Court in 2000 as the "Ten Commandments Judge," after all.

What I really want to see if Arnie pitching himself as the "Conan, what is best in life?" candidate in California. Now those are some commandments.

Contemplate it...on the Tree of Woe.

Mountain, meet molehill

From an article on celebrity Democrats' opposition to Arnold Schwarzenegger becoming governor of California in today's IMDb:

Cybill Shepherd has also been vociferous in her opposition to Schwarzenegger - she told American show "Access Hollywood," "That would be the worst tragedy in the history of California."

The worst tragedy in state history to this point being the fourth season of "Moonlighting."

Love don't cost a thing

Especially when you find it in a free weekly newspaper.

Here at APCB, we believe that love is a dish best served cold. So periodically, we'll post personal ads (usually one of those "missed connections," since they're the most hilarious) culled from area weeklies in the hopes of helping two people find that special someone. Enjoy.

NOTE: These are actual ads from last week's Austin Chronicle.

1) 6/03 Travis County Detention Center. I was in for public intox, you stole nachos from 7-11. We talked all night about joining the carnival. Ready to run my tilt-a-whirl? Call. #2157

2) You: Led me to the secret keg, left the party when your friend ran into the cactus. I helped cancel your credit card, lit your cigarettes, miss your conversation. #2094

3) Green Muse, hot afternoon, July 1st-ish. I shooed a fly from the pastries and you covered them. Wanted to chat but was meeting someone. You're hot as donut grease. Brandon. #2101

I think if someone ever tells you you're "hot as donut grease" you should marry them immediately.

I know how he feels

From the IMDb:

Ewan McGregor's 'Star Wars' Depression Led to Boozing

Movie star Ewan McGregor has admitted to binging on alcohol in order to cope with the depression brought on by his role in the "Star Wars" prequels. The Scottish actor saw his career skyrocket when he played the role of Obi-Wan Kenobi in the hit franchise, but soon felt the pressure of being an international movie star.

Oh. That kind of depression. I thought...never mind.

Ewan admits, "I used to get drunk before meeting journalists. I thought it would get me through. But then it just leads to you saying things that you wished you'd never said - stupid things." But the father-of-two has now curbed his boozing ways, and is happy to be recognized as Obi-Wan by young fans.

Stupid things like this?

"It's not some s**t like 'Independence Day' or 'Godzilla.' 'Star Wars' is like modern fairy tales and fables. It's a complete entity of its own, and it so has to do with my generation." - Premiere magazine, May 1999

Or maybe this?

"There's nothing cooler than being a Jedi Knight." - Details, November 1997

Joking aside (and acknowledging the comments about "ID4" and "Godzilla"), he shouldn't back away from calling Lucas's dialogue "crap"...it is crap. Why apologize for allowing alcohol to loosen your tongue a little?

Ewan McGregor has a standing invitation to join me at Rudyard's anytime for a pint or six of Bellhaven and to complain about Star Wars. Hell, I can be found most days doing that anyway.

They'll ban Joe Walsh's "ILBT" next...

To the Sir-Mix-A-Lot Mobile!

Thai ban for "Big Flabby Buttocks"

BANGKOK, Thailand -- Thailand's culture ministry has issued a list of 18 love songs -- including "Big Flabby Buttocks" -- which it wants to ban as part of a campaign against music it says could encourage promiscuity or marital infidelity.

The list was compiled by the ministry's Culture Watch Center and includes songs which contain "improper" content or are offensive to "public decency," The Nation newspaper reported Friday.

Songs on the list include several by two of Thailand's best-known artists and one song that was released two decades ago but has only just come to the attention of the moral guardians, The Nation said.

I'm sure some of you would say that if the government of Thailand wants to maintain "public decency" they'd issue a ban on big flabby German and American tourists who come to Bangkok on "sex cruises" for the purpose of banging underage girls. Baby steps, people.

Rather than being overly conservative, [MR Chakrarot Chitrabongs, permanent secretary to the culture ministry] said the agency was simply doing its job preventing negative changes to Thai society.

Because cracking down on the sex tourism trade would damage the economy, apparently. I can't wait until 2040, when the most popular reality show in America is "America's Funniest Snuff Films," and the moral custodians in Thailand are up in arms over DJs playing George Michael's "I Want Your Sex" at wedding receptions.

I wanna text you up

The Los Angeles Times offer further proof that the movie industry has its elbow firmly planted on the pulse of the American public:

High-Tech Word of Mouth Maims Movies in a Flash (registration required)

Word of mouth — buzz — has long been an element in a film's success or failure. But rapid advances in technology, in the hands of an "American Idol" culture quick to express its vote-'em-off sentiments, has accelerated the pace of communication so much that Hollywood feels the reverberations at the box office almost immediately.

"In the old days, there used to be a term, 'buying your gross,' " said Rick Sands, chief operating officer at Miramax, referring to the millions of dollars studios throw at a movie to ensure a big opening weekend.

"You could buy your gross for the weekend and overcome bad word of mouth, because it took time to filter out into the general audience," he said. "Those days are over. Today, there is no fooling the public."

Yes, it's quite a tragedy that people are relying on the opinions of others to help better shape their viewing preferences. Only now, instead of looking to the bloviations of some professional or amateur windag, your friends can give you immediate feedback. Is anybody unhappy about this other than CEOaf Sands and his ilk?

"The Hulk" opened with $62 million but fell 69.7% by its second weekend. "2 Fast 2 Furious" started off with $50.4 million but dipped 63%. "Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle" turned in a disappointing $37 million and then saw its fortunes drop by 62.8%. And the much-maligned "Gigli" was in a class by itself, plunging faster than the scariest summer thrill ride — a disastrous $3.7-million opening weekend, followed by a record-breaking drop of 81.9%.

By Jove, I think I'm sensing one of those trend things here.

Some of this summer's biggest hits, such as Disney's "Finding Nemo" and "Pirates," showed the kind of staying power that comes only through positive word of mouth.

Paramount's lower-profile "The Italian Job" also did steady business from late May through the summer and has grossed $97.1 million.

And underdogs like the spelling bee documentary "Spellbound;" the non-narrative documentary on birds, "Winged Migration;" the British-Indian soccer comedy "Bend It Like Beckham;" and the lusty British-French drama "Swimming Pool" thrived on a smaller scale this summer because they got people talking.

So let me see if I have this straight...if studios put out garbage like "Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle" and people tell their friends they don't like it, it doesn't make a lot of money? And smaller, better-made movies have a shot at making decent box office, meaning studios might actually try to produce better quality films? And the problem is where, exactly?

The most entertaining aspect of this article is the fact that all the executives who are bitching about the proliferation of text messaging and internet word-of-mouth are the ones behind summer crapfests like "Gigli." Meanwhile...

"Amidst the hype for all the blockbusters, we just kind of quietly put the movie out there and let the consumers do the marketing for us," said Nancy Utley, head of marketing for Fox Searchlight. "Consumers are banding together and protecting themselves from all the marketing out there.

Sounds like Nancy better start getting her résumé in order.

Studios obviously need to find some way to counter this. They already seed internet message boards with stooges who offer positive buzz for upcoming films, how long before they start hiring people to hang out in chat rooms and spam PM lists with fake praise? Maybe the MPAA will film a "Please don't text message" commercial to go along with the annoying "Please don't download movies" ad already playing in theaters.

Oren Aviv, marketing chief for Disney, gets the last word:

"Make a good movie and you win. Make a crappy movie and you lose."

Bold words from a man whose annual bonus will owe a lot to a clownfish and a slurring pirate. For now though, he's right.

Is it a pine box?

No? Pity.

Magician Blaine to Be Suspended Over River Thames

LONDON (Reuters) - American magician David Blaine, dubbed "the modern day Houdini," is to be suspended in a glass box over the River Thames in London for more than six weeks without food.

The flamboyant, 30-year-old New Yorker, famed for spectacular stunts atop poles and frozen in ice, is to be hauled into solitary confinement on Sept. 5 in what he called "the most extreme exercise in isolation and physical deprivation ever attempted."

"Modern day Houdini?" Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't Houdini actually, you know, escape from things? How does getting suspended in a box like a window washer make you comparable to the greatest escape artist of all time?

We have thousands of people in America subjected to isolation and physical deprivation in this country, you self-absorbed publicity whore: we call them 'homeless.' Starving yourself for no reason doesn't make you a magician, it makes you an idiot.

You want respect for your "art?" Jump over the damn Snake River Canyon.

"What kind of a name is Poon?"

How you take the following news about the casting for the next "Fletch" movie will depend on your attitude towards Kevin Smith movies, "SNL" cast members, and the works of Gregory McDonald. Courtesy of Greg's Previews:

Given a few days following the big announcement in Variety, there have been a few more statements that clarify some issues about the casting, and they're all nicely presented for your perusal over at NewsAskew.com. On their 8/14/03 updates, they have a detailed statement from Kevin Smith on the Jason Lee issue, specifically, but I think this quote best sums it most of it best: "In Harvey's perspective, Lee has been the star of movies that didn't open, nor go on to earn very much. So, actually, to Harvey, the unproven Jimmy Fallon is potentially worth taking a risk on, as he hasn't struck out yet."

While it's hard to argue with Weinstein's reasoning behind not using Lee (his biggest movie to date has been "Vanilla Sky," and I suspect most people weren't lining up to see his mug), they can't possibly be serious about Jimmy Fallon. What exactly converted the honchos at Miramax to his cause? His numerous restrained performances as a Red Sox fan in "Saturday Night Live?" Or maybe the consummately professional way he cracks up at his own jokes during skits? Unlike on TV, I guess Smith will be able to edit those out (though I bet we get a hell of an outtake sequence over the closing credits).

Lee may be an unproven commodity, but Fallon is worse than that for a possible film franchise: he's a blip. He's the Rich Hall of the early 21st century, and when Lorne Michaels conducts his next purge, Fallon will be back to playing the Comedy Pouch in Saugerties, NY.

Luckily for us, Smith has a hole card:

Smith also says that he thinks the actor that is closest to the Fletch of the novel is Ben Affleck. Of course, Kevin has also been very honest in his opinion in the past that he thinks Affleck should play all roles (even "the shark in Jaws 5"; that's from the "Evening with Kevin Smith" DVD set).

Looks like the someone's cranking up the publicity for "Jersey Girl" a little early.

Dear Film Threat Forum

If you had told me two weeks ago that Chris Gore and company at Film Threat were ever going to get off their asses and update the message boards, I never would've believed you. But there I was last night, sitting at my computer, when in walked the most amazing woman I'd ever seen. She was 5'9" (without the stiletto heels), blonde, and built like a brick server farm. Before I could even ask her what she was doing in my office, she was all over my keyboard. She worked my mouse (nice width, with a 10" cord) like a pro. My (extremely) hard drive hummed to life as she logged me on, repeatedly, to the brand new Film Threat message boards. After a few hours of this, needless to say, I was spent.

Anyway, the Film Threat Forum is up and running. If you're familiar with the site, you know we get all kinds, but there should be plenty of interesting stuff concerning filmmaking, the movie industry, film reviews, and unfocused jackassery.

"You might remember me from such celebrity phone calls as..."

Hey, are you looking to give your next anniversary a little extra 'oomph?' Or would you like to congratulate a friend on his big promotion? More importantly, do you delight in hearing former A-list celebrities humiliate themselves? Me too, so let's head over to Hollywood Is Calling.

Here's the scoop from the Houston Chronicle:

At HollywoodIsCalling.com, a scrappy-looking 2-month-old Web site, all that's required is your credit card number or electronic check in the amount of $19.95, and within seven days you can expect to hear from one bona fide, if slightly faded, celebrity wishing you Happy Halloween, get well soon, or congratulations on your retirement. The 15-second phone call works out to over a dollar a second, which is, if you think about it, a small price to pay for the privilege of knowing that, for example, hunky Lorenzo Lamas is incredibly excited that you're turning 40.

Only $19.95?! For Lorenzo "Chilly" Lamas?! Where's my Discover card?

Wait a second, what other personalities could I could exploit with my sawbuck?

You can order up Fred "Rerun" Berry, who sounds, by the way, extremely eager to talk to you.

"I bet you that I've made more calls than anyone on this service," Berry says, explaining that he'd rather phone his fans than meet them in person because some of them are rather odd.

On the '70s television show What's Happening! Berry used to play that funny, heavyset, dancing character named Rerun in a red beret and suspenders. In his real life, Berry has experienced drug and alcohol problems, gone through recovery, gone through six marriages to four women and become an ordained minister. But he seems happiest being thought of as lovable old Rerun. He legally adopted the nickname as his middle name, and even now, at 52, he wears his trademark beret and suspenders during public appearances. When he calls his fans through Hollywood Is Calling, he tells them it's Rerun and says a line from the show, "Hey-hey-hey." Sometimes they scream.

That sounds like an appropriate reaction, followed by, "How the hell did you get my phone number?"

Some of the celebrities listed on the site seem harmless enough (David "Makin' It" Naughton, Greg "B.J." Evigan - I'd rather get a call from "The Bear"), but there are several there I wouldn't allow in my home, and don't particularly want harassing me over the phone. Todd Bridges, for example, or the Barbi Twins, who frankly scare the shit out of me.

A call from Lou Ferrigno would be wicked awesome, however.

Many of the celebrities involved admit there is a certain amount of embarassment, although "Rerun" insists hearing the excitement on the other end of the phone is reward enough. Others aren't so charitable:

"Well, obviously it's a way to make some extra money," says Lamas. "I mean, why else would I take time out of my day to call perfect strangers?"

Oh, I don't know. Maybe because they're not making a sequel to "Gladiator Cop?"

Lame-O

The MTV special on the 25 lamest videos of all time aired again recently, and while there's no question most of those featured deserve censure, I found it amusing that the network which used to legitmately champion the banner of "Music Television" so readily manages to turn on the bands that helped make it what it is today.

There's no question that our children need to be sheltered from clips like "Ice Ice Baby" and "The Macarena," but where would MTV be without these videos? I remember watching the network in the Dark Ages, when the bread and butter of the station seemed to be concert footage of April Wine and endless replays of Rush's "Red Barcheta." Without crap like Wham!'s "Wake Me Up Before You Go Go" and "Seventeen" by Winger, MTV wouldn't have made it out of the '80s.

Janeane Garofalo, one of the hosts, brought this up when Vanilla Ice himself, Robbie Van Winkle, made an appearance to permanently retire "Ice Ice Baby" (a scene which is now the stuff of legend). MTV never had a problem with exploting a burgeoning musical trend - whether it was new wave, hair metal, or grunge - and then casting it aside when the next new thing came along. Stay tuned for the next installment of "25 Lame" to feature Sum 41 and the Dashboard Confessionals.

And as appropriate as it might have been to include Arsenio Hall and Don Johnson ("Awww" by "Chunky A" and "Heartbeat" had the honor of coming in at #s 2 and 1, respectively), selecting videos by has-been artists is pretty weak. I guess setting aside a couple slots for N'Sync or Jewel would've been hitting too close to home.

"Meat's meat..."

"...and a man's gotta eat."

I just finished watching "Motel Hell," the classic tale of a farmer struggling to stay afloat in troubling times by spicing up his meat products with human flesh. It's something we can all relate to, I think.

While it's amusing (in a pathetic sort of way) to note that this is the third time I've seen it, or interesting to point out that star Rory Calhoun has appeared in what might be considered a trifecta of B-movie goodness ("Motel Hell," "Night of the Lepus," and "Hell Comes to Frogtown"), it's downright stupefying to note that I caught the movie on American Movie Classics.

As anyone who's read my Film Threat stuff knows, I have much love for genre films of a more...esoteric nature. But American Movie Classics? I like Nancy "Ballbricker" Parsons and Wolfman Jack as much as the next guy...but American Movie Classics?

Hard not to see it coming, I suppose. Ever since "Biography" on A&E became indistinguishable from "E!'s True Hollywood Story" (seriously guys, Joan Rivers?), I knew AMC could only re-run "Sophie's Choice" so many times before audiences started clamoring for something a little...meatier.

It's a vindication, of sorts. I've been bitching about the lack of attention paid to low budget cinema for years, and while one basic cable channel's airing of a 23-year old horror spoof doesn't exactly signal an entertainment paradigm shift, it's at least a pleasant surprise.

I'm holding out for "Chopper Chicks in Zombietown" next.

Bush hugs tree?

Lost in all the power grid hoopla was this story about El Presidente's environmentally-themed visit to the Santa Monica Mountains in California:

Bush touts conservation efforts in California

Bush touting conservation efforts is kind of like John Wayne Gacy endorsing the Boys Club of America.

Conversations with Famous People, Pt. 3

The Year: 1996
The Place: Barnes and Noble Bookstore, Dupont Circle, Washington, DC
The Person: Supermodel Tyra Banks

Tyra Banks: Hi.
Pete: Hi.
Tyra Banks: Who should I make these out to?
Pete: Could you make one out to 'Pete' and one to 'Dave?'
Tyra Banks: Sure.
Pete: Thanks a lot.

The action never stops with "Conversations with Famous People."

What about erotic cakes?

Bakery domain/pr0n story coming up. But first, fun with quotes:

B.J.: "Frank, it's the oldest profession."
Frank: "A bakery?"
Col. Potter: "Tarts!"
Frank: "Tarts? Peach? And strawberry?"

U.S. site triumphs in 'bimbo' bout

GENEVA, Switzerland (Reuters) -- The U.S. owner of Web site bimbo.biz Wednesday fought off a legal challenge from Spain's Bimbo S.A., pledging that he would never use his site to sell competing bread or cakes.

Californian Lars Taylor insisted that not even the famous Iberian baker could claim as a trademark a common word defined in Webster's dictionary as slang for "a morally loose woman."

His still-blank site, Taylor said, would probably cater for the "adult, novelty and humor" market -- far from the family oriented merchandise associated with the Barcelona-based firm, and unlikely to confuse Web surfers.

I love cultural differences. The bewilderment the Spanish feel at the American defintion of "bimbo" is close cousin to the involuntary juvenile snickering I fall prey to whenever I see a Bimbo truck on the highway.

Cybersquatting is pretty obnoxious, but I agree with the UN copyright agency that this wasn't the case here. Besides, most people Googling for "bimbo" aren't looking for sliced wheat.

They might be looking for buns, however.

Best Scorpions album cover ever

I'm talking about "Blackout," of course.

Overlooked, I think, in the midst of everyone clapping New Yorkers on the back for not acting like Visigoths, is the disturbing news that both Canada and the United States are claiming the whole thing started on the other's side of the border.

"The source is an outage in a northeastern United States power plant," said [Canadian defense minister] McCallum's spokesman Shane Diaczuk.

In the U.S., officials were looking at a power transmission problem from Canada as the most likely cause of the outage, said a spokeswoman for New York Gov. George Pataki.

Uh oh, you know where this is going don't you?

"Hello, Domino's? I'd like a large, thin crust with sausage and Freedom bacon, please."

And our military is already stretched so thin.

Posse clownitatus

Some slow news days are worse than others.

Insane Clown Posse Named Worst Rock Band

LOS ANGELES (Reuters) - Insane Clown Posse, the Detroit rap duo beloved by teenage boys for their creepy face make-up and X-rated lyrics, have been named the worst band ever by Blender magazine.

The music publication's September issue said Insane Clown Posse "sound even stupider than they look," and derided them for rapping about "40-ouncers and venereal disease."

Lists like Blender's "50 Worst Artists in Music History" are designed for no other reason than to goad people into sputtering paroxysms of indignation. The magazine can look forward to lots of letters and e-mails saying, "How could you be so stupid as to leave 'X' off of your list? You guys wouldn't know good/real/honest music if it sat on your face." or, alternately, "There's no way 'Y' belongs on your list, you guys are retarded/jealous/ignorant assholes." Meanwhile, and bearing an eerie similarity to the obscenity hooplah surrounding 2 Live Crew in the late 80's, ICP will reap oodles of undeserved publicity for their curiously repugnant mix of rap, metal, and scatology.

To prove my point (and so you won't have to buy the magazine), here's the whole list:

50. Iron Butterfly
49. Toad the Wet Sprocket
48. Master P
47. Goo Goo Dolls
46. The Spin Doctors
45. Gipsy Kings
44. Manowar
43. Mike & the Mechanics
42. Rick Wakeman
41. Whitesnake
40. Blind Melon
39. Bob Geldof
38. Nelson
37. The Doors
36. 98 Degrees
35. Paul Oakenfold
34. Live
33. Japan
32. The Hooters
31. Arrested Development
30. Richard Marx
29. Skinny Puppy
28. Crash Test Dummies
27. Color Me Badd
26. Celine Dion
25. Jamiiroquai
24. Bad English
23. Creed
22. Primus
21. The Alan Parsons Project
20. Howard Jones
19. Dan Fogelberg
18. Pat Boone
17. Benzig
16. Oingo Boingo
15. Yanni
14. Yngwie Malmsteen
13. Mick Jagger
12. Tin Machine
11. LaToya Jackson
10. Air Supply
9. Lee Greenwood
8. Vanilla Ice
7. Asia
6. Kansas
5. Starship
4. Kenny G
3. Michael Bolton
2. Emerson, Lake & Palmer
1. Insane Clown Posse

I don't have a problem with including artists just to piss people off - Doors fans across the nation are probably leaping to the defense of the Lizard King as we speak - but get some historical perspective. Without the Bay City Rollers or NKOTB there wouldn't be a 98 Degrees, for example. And, IMO, including bands like Tin Machine, who were around for one album, is about as challenging as putting one-hit wonders on there (shocked, shocked I am that Vanilla Ice and Color Me Badd found their way onto this list).

From the preponderance of prog rock outfits and the utter lack of any bands of the nü metal variety, I suspect this list was cobbled together by twenty-something dudes making fun of their parents' record collections. The only thing that irritates me is that someone actually got paid for it.

And one more thing: There's no way Oingo Boingo belongs on your list, you guys are ignorant assholes.

KOTOR Update, Pt. 3

Maybe I'm an idiot, but it didn't really look like there was a clear path for you to follow once you finish training on Dantooine. I don't remember any of the Jedi Council saying where I should go first, so I picked Kashyyk. Mostly because I wanted to see if it was as fabulous as I remember from the "Star Wars Holiday Special."

It is.

It goes without saying that you should take your walking carpet friend Zaalbar out and about with you on his home planet. Especially considering his asshole brother has entered an unholy alliance with the Czerka Corporation to capture wookies for slavery. Oh, the howls of indignation...and man do they howl. I think I actually jumped the first time one of the other wookies snarled at me. Luckily they're all being subdued by The Man, so if you want to practice your Dark Side skills, insulting an oppressed species like wookies is a good place to start.

You've also acquired a new companion from Dantooine: Juhani, the redeemed Catha (She's a cat-humanoid, get it?) Jedi you rescued from the Dark Side in the Star Map ruins on Dantooine. Personally, I'm going to keep Bastila in my party.

More Mandalorians show up on Kashyyk, still up to their typically nefarious tricks, and they're pretty tough. They wait until you unequip your weapons before decloaking and attacking, forcing a bit of planning with the shields and the adrenal doses and whatnot. I like how the game essentially forces you to figure out how to use the queue and mix up Force and melee actions in order to survive (it definitely comes in handy on Tattooine).

Yet most of this takes place on the ground, in a sinister place called the Shadowlands...a whole planet full of tree cities and you spend two-thirds of the time running around on the forest floor. Nice.

Once you get the Star Map, you find Zaalbar's disgraced father, recover the fabled sword of Bacca, and help overthrow the Czerka and their Wookie accomplices. Cue triumphant fanfare.

Lots of Dark Side opportunities here. I used Force Persuade more times than I care to admit (not that it did me a lot of good) and the final puzzle for the Star Map goes a lot easier if you answer from a Dark Side perspective. A lot easier...I couldn't see a clear way to do it in Light Side fashion. It was so bad, apparently, that my fellow Jedi-cum-romantic subplot Bastila expressed concerns about my turning evil.

All of your cohorts continue to have personal issues: Bastila would like to look for her parents on Tattooine; Mission wants to find her brother, "Griff," who ran off with some Twi'ilek skank and left her on Taris; Canderous is still having inadequacy issues about losing to the Republic; and Carth just needs to be bitch-slapped.

You also acquire a new companion: Jolee, an ex-Jedi who is reminiscent of an older Samuel L. Jackson (no relation to Mace Windu that I can figure out). Jolee's vaguely insulting and condescending banter offers a welcome change from the friendly and/or conciliatory approach you have to take most of the time.

One more thing: I can't emphasize how refreshing it is that (so far) no character in the game appears to have any connection whatsoever to anyone in the movies. In case you hadn't heard, Lucas is going to put Chewie, Grand Moff Tarkin, and (allegedly) the Millennium Falcon into "Episode III," thus managing to include almost every character from the orginal trilogy in the prequels (Lando and Han may actually miss the cut, though I wouldn't count out their appearance as scruffy street urchins, a la Oliver Twist and the Artful Dodger). Bah, I say. Obviously, setting this game 4000 years in the past allowed the game developers to avoid that little pitfall, and kudos to them for it.

Next, on to Tattooine.

Don't take my word for it...

Listen to what this guy has to say:

Ask me to name the greatest rock & roll song of all time and I have to say it's a three-way tie between Slobberbone's "Gimme Back My Dog," Count Five's "Psychotic Reaction," and Elvis Costello's "(What's So Funny 'Bout) Peace, Love, and Understanding."

That from Stephen King's new Entertainment Weekly column.

I've never heard "Psychotic Reaction," but I think Elvis Costello is pretty good company. And while some may argue that King should've hung it up after The Stand, I will continue to extol the virtues of Denton, Texas' own Slobberbone to any and all who care to listen. I've seen them live about three dozen times and will continue to do so as long as they keep touring (currently 250-300 dates a year). They are, quite simply, one of the best bands - rock or otherwise - that I've ever heard.

KOTOR Update, Pt. 2

"Dantooine. They're on Dantooine."

Once upon a time, the Jedi had an Enclave on Dantooine, a planet that looks a lot like South Dakota. While here, your character will become a Jedi apprentice, solve a clan feud, wipe out some Mandalorian raiders, and search abandoned ruins to discover what is giving Darth Malak his power.

More importantly, you finally get a damn lightsaber.

How did you get to Dantooine? You stole the Ebon Hawk, the pride and joy of Davik, a noted Taris crime lord. Also in tow are:

Mission Vao (somebody must be from California) - Teenaged Twi'lek scoundrel
T3-M4 - the obligatory beeping and whirring astromech
Carth Onassi (no relation to Aristotle, I suspect) - internally conflicted solider from the Endar Spire
Zaalbar - Mission's Wookie pal, has probably sworn a lifedebt to you by this point. What are the odds that you'll be able to up your Light Side points towards the end by releasing him from it?
Bastila Shan - Jedi Sentinel, harboring some not so Jedi-like feelings for you if you've played your cards (and your responses) right
Canderous Ordo (I guess "Ponderous" would've been too obvious) - Mandalorian soldier. Ordo's the only guy who really worries me, as he's far enough into the Dark Side to actually have it be of concern.

There's a screen in the menu system that shows your character next to their Dark/Light side force points. The more Light Side points, the bluer the background and more beatific you look. Further into the Dark, and the background becomes red and infernal, while your character's face becomes darkened by shadow and he looks like he's having trouble breathing.

Dantooine's a pretty easy level. The toughest enemy I can remember was an albino horn kath hound. I usually found I could handle just about any combat with Bastila and Canderous in my party. Jedi training is, for purposes of advancing the plot, pretty easy. Anyone with a remote grasp of geology should be able to handle the final riddle in the ruins to solve the planet's big mystery and get your butt on the hyperspace lane to Kashyyk.

Other observations:

- Ed freaking Asner is Jedi Master Vrook. Thank Christ Ted Knight didn't play the trainer
- You can never have too many computer spikes
- Man, those Mandalorians are a surly bunch

Mr. Kaneko, I'm ready for my close-up.

Having just watched "Godzilla vs. Megaguirus" and "Godzilla, Mothra, and King Ghidorah: Giant Monsters All-Out Attack" for Film Threat (reviews to be posted shortly), I have just one thing to say to Toho: put me in your next movie.

I want to be an extra in a G-film. I want to be one of the multitude fleeing Godzilla's arrival as sirens wail and crisply dressed Tokyo Civil Defense personnel attempt to move us in an orderly fashion. It can't be that hard, there are hundreds of 'em (if not thousands) in every one of those damn movies.

Better yet, make me the Ugly American tourist. I can bitch about eating raw fish and drinking rice wine, then look around in comical bewilderment as everyone starts evacuating the sushi bar. Think Sheriff J.W. Pepper in "Man With the Golden Gun." I'll even wear a Hawaiian shirt and cowboy hat.

For added hilarity, you could film me trying to fight the tide of fleeing Japanese, then looking up in horror as a giant foot comes down and crushes me. It doesn't have to be Godzilla. I'd settle for King Ghidorah, or Gigantis, or even that punk Megalon.

You don't even have to pay me. Just fly me out there and put me up in a hotel on the Ginza. I'll wait for your call.

"Hola, amigos."

Some prefer the refined stylings of a Smoove B, others the streetwise wordsmithing of the "H-Dog," and still others are drawn to the sincere, yet supremely pathetic Jean Teasdale.

I have been, and always shall be, a Jim Anchower man.

You Gotta Be Careful With Fireworks

(excerpt)

The pony keg was right there, so we used it to put out the fire. Thankfully, when we were done, we still had about a quarter of the keg left. We sat and drank until the seat cooled down, then yanked out what was left of it and threw it to the bottom of the quarry. The car smelled like beer and burnt cat, but it still ran, so we drove it home.

C'est magnifique.

G.I. Joe could kick his ass

Un-freaking-believable.

BBI proudly introduces the latest issue in its Elite Force series of authentic military 12- inch figures, President George W. Bush in naval aviator flight uniform. Exacting in detail and fully equipped with authentic gear, this limited-edition action figure is a meticulous 1:6 scale recreation of the Commander-in-Chief's appearance during his historic Aircraft Carrier landing.

Coming soon, the George W. Bush Texas Air National Guard figure (image not available) and the George W. Bush DWI action figure, complete with Maine arrest report.

R.I.P. Herb Brooks

Herb Brooks, long time hockey coach and architect of the United States' "Miracle on Ice" against the Soviet Union at the 1980 Winter Olympics, died in a car wreck today.

Brooks was behind the bench when the Americans pulled off one of the greatest upsets ever, beating the mighty Soviets with a squad of mostly college players.

That shocking victory, plus beating Finland for the gold medal, assured the team a place in sports immortality.

The young U.S. team was given no chance against a veteran Soviet squad that had dominated international hockey for years and had routed the Americans 10-3 in an exhibition game at Madison Square Garden the week before the Olympics.

On Feb. 22, 1980, the U.S. team scored with 10 minutes to play to take a 4-3 lead against the Soviets and then held on. As the final seconds ticked away, announcer Al Michaels exclaimed, "Do you believe in miracles? Yes!"

It remains one of the most famous calls in sports broadcasting history.

Hell yeah, it does. I still get chills when I watch a replay of the game and the clock runs down those final seconds.

I don't know why I watched the US-USSR matchup that day. I was 11 years old, not really a hockey fan, and probably ended up on the station because there wasn't anything else on. That, or Mom was listening from the kitchen (I don't think Dad was home). And while I can still remember a few of the Super Bowls and World Series games prior to that, and have watched countless games of most every sport since, the "Miracle on Ice" remains the greatest sporting event I've ever seen. It represented a unique covergence of localized and global factors (the low ebb of American morale in the face of the Iran hostage crisis, heightened tensions following the USSR's invasion of Afghanistan, the arrogance of the Soviet team), the likes of which are unlikely ever to be duplicated.

I still remember Ken Dryden saying, "They're relying too much on Jim Craig, he's making too many great saves," and less than a second later, almost as if it was scripted, Mike Eruzione making the winning goal. I was lying on the living room floor as I watched, and I think I went from prone to airborne in about half a second (no big deal for a pre-teen, but I'd probably double-herniate myself if I tried it today). I spent the rest of the third period cringing every time the Soviets touched the puck. Even after Michaels' legendary call, the full impact of that game didn't really seep into my pre-adolescent mind at the time. I'm just glad I got to see it.

ESPN.com as a nice write-up here. And I'll bet you anything HBO airs it's own documentary again some time in the next couple days.

So long Herb. I wish you'd worn your seat belt.

Endless Gov

That California gubernatorial recall imbroglio is getting pretty fun to watch. It makes the current walkout by Senate Democrats here in Texas look positively tedious by comparison.

As many as 193 candidates could be on the ballot in October, which would offer voters more choices than they got on the MLB All-Star ballots earlier this summer. The final number of those certified is supposed to be released Wednesday, and a random drawing for order of names on the ballot will be held today.

We know who the big names are already: Davis, Bustamante, McClintock, Huffington, and Mr. (Total) Recall himself, Arnold Schwarzenegger. It's getting through the remaining 188 that's going to take some doing. Unfortunately, our trusty media friends aren't doing a very good job of ramping us up on the rest of the field.

I understand the concept of budgeting precious column inches and air time to those candidates who seem to have a leg up on their opponents. However, I have to question the reasons behind relegating some of them to the second tier of interest.

For example, several stories (including this one from the San Fransisco Chronicle) in the last two days have focused on the wealth of the recall candidates, always displaying Arnie (who earned $26.1 million in 2001) front and center, and usually featuring Arianna Huffington (approx. $100,000 a year) and Bill Simon ($3 a year). But what about Larry Flynt? His empire is worth in the neighborhood of $400 million, yet you have to turn a few pages before you get any ink on him.

And what of Georgy Russell? She's a successful entrepeneur, has actually lived in California longer than either Schwarzenegger or Huffington, and is, frankly, cute as hell. A recent AOL poll even showed her with higher name recognition than Huffington. Could she be the Howard Dean of the recall movement? You wouldn't know from reading the Sacramento Bee: their front page listing of candidates doesn't show her. You'll have to click the 'More Candidates' link, then scroll almost to the bottom.

As for the Other Arnold, even I can't come up with a compelling reason to support Gary Coleman. It's just as well, as he's as much as said he wouldn't be campaigning.

I wish I could say the same for Gallagher's candidacy. I hope he chooses Carrot Top and that "Last Comic Standing" ass clown for his staff and the Big One hits while they're stumping along the San Andreas Fault.

I have no such ill feeling for candidate Mary Carey [not a work safe link], however. Some would claim this is because of my affinity for busty porn actresses. I prefer to think of it as my admiration for the underdog, especially one who's not even listed in the Bee's candidate section, much less featured in CNN's candidate gallery (linked to this story) - certainly she's an easy choice over "smoker's party" candidate and Libertarian crank Ned Roscoe. There have been worse initiatives than her suggested swap of adult films for guns, especially considering Schwarzenegger has yet to even declare a position on...well, anything. And if quality of films counts, I'd have a tough time deciding which movie had a higher suck quotient: Carey's "New Wave Hookers 7" or "Batman and Robin."

Already the more persnickety columnists have begun bemoaning the theater of the absurd unfolding in California. Other stories insist the voters there are "outraged" at the "laughingstock" their state has become. As a resident of the oft-lampooned state of Texas, all I can say is shut your crybaby pieholes and pull up a chair with me on October 7. I'll bring the Shiner.

It's just a shame former Governor William J. LePetomaine isn't available.

Open Letter to a Former Favorite Band

Dear Old 97's,

At the risk of sounding like a whiny little bitch, I didn't much care for your most recent studio release, "Satellite Rides."

Judging by the reviews on your web site, I may be the only human in known space who holds this opinion. To be fair, it's a better CD than "Fight Songs," it's predecessor. That particular disc spent about two weeks in rotation before I decided I was never, no matter how many times I played it, going to like a song like "Murder or a Hear Attack." Better to dub "Jagged" and "What We Talk About" onto a compilation disc and move on. No, "Rides" has more going for it. It's less self-conscious - the band plays with much more confidence than was evident on "Songs" - and if all but the slightest hint of your former alt-country ways have been abandoned, like a Stars and Bars gimme cap you find in the trash at a Dartmouth mixer, so be it.

There's nothing wrong with so-called "pop" music. For example (and for those not already sick of "y'allternative" references in popular media), I believe that between Wilco's "AM" and Son Volt's "Trace," the two initial releases by the bands formed following the demise of Uncle Tupelo, "AM" is a fundamentally better album. Not because you can dance to it, but because there's almost a joyous sound of shackles bursting when you put the former into your stereo and the the first chords of "I Must Be High" ring out. Volt's Jay Farrar may be one of the Best He is At What He Does, but what he does is not terribly compelling or original. Jeff Tweedy, Farrar's partner-in-crime with Tupelo, always had more of a pop sensibility anyway. These days, Wilco has built a strong following thanks to the critical praise for "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot," while Son Volt has split up, leaving Farrar ro go it solo. Make of that what you will.

Clearly, there are worse things a band can do than assume a more popular pose. All the cries of "sell-out" and "corporate rock" mask the reality that some artists can go on to be much more successful and still maintain at least a modicum of integrity. Still, there's a distinct contrast to the songs on "Wreck Your Life" and "Too Far to Care" versus those on "Satellite Rides" and "Fight Songs." There may still be some gems to be found amidst the new mod sound of "Rides:" "Buick City Complex" and "Up the Devil's Pay" for instance. And no one can say that Rhett Miller isn't one of the more canny lyricists around, Murry Hammond doesn't have a keen sense of country history or a fine ear for harmonies, or that Ken Bethea and Philip Peeples play with anything less than full on to-the-wall balls.

So why does it feel so calculated?

I suppose what doesn't make sense is the idea that power pop has always been the way you guys have wanted to go. If that were the case, why waste time on your first few albums doing covers of Waylon and Bob Wills? Why ask Exene Cervenka to sing "Four Leaf Clover" with you? If songs like the bouncy "King of All the World" are really where your musical heart has been, why bother to write songs like "Timebomb?"

Do you see where I'm going with this? Only an asshole would want his favorite band to toil in obscurity, remaining known only to him and a select few, rather than achieve success. I gather one of the motivating factors for *staying* in a band is money, and if what you're playing isn't in some way popular you may as well hang it up and go back to your cubicle. That being the case, why toy around with country at all? According to your old web page (which is no longer online), Murry was the only real fan of Western music. IIRC, Rhett started as a folkie, Ken was more into classic rock, and Philip was a punk (though I'm not being so blasé as to suggest y'all had no other interests, I'm lumbering towards a point here). Indeed, songs like "Over the Cliff" and "Melt Show" from the earlier albums proved you guys could have just as easily gone down the twangcore road, and it's to your credit that you were able to so deftly weave 'Mats-like elements into your earlier songs.

Plenty of bands change their sound, but you definitely don't hear many people describing U2 as one of the most important bands around anymore. Just the opposite, they're the Stephen King of the music world: people buy their music more out of inertia than anything else, and figure they may get around to listening to it during the weekend while cutting the grass. The difference with them is that I think their change in styles came more out of boredom with their five albums worth of anthemic message music, "Unforgettable Fire" notwithstanding (to say nothing of the critical daisy cutter that was "Rattle and Hum"). Bono et. al., tired of posturing as rock's "serious band," decided to have a little fun, and they did. So what if the music reeked? How many Bentleys does one person need, anyway?

Which is what makes me a little suspicious. Your first album (not the 1993 EP) came out in 1994 - not alternative country's watershed year, but there was still a lot of noise of that ilk being made. As time has stumbled on, more and more of the bands associated with that movement have either broken up or else significantly morphed to the extent that they no longer fit the category. To be fair, a lot of the groups lumped into the "insurgent country" melting pot didn't really belong there to begin with. While the crowds for your first few tours were enthusiastic, if not huge, you guys still had a pretty loyal core following by the time "Too Far Too Care" hit. The recent style change makes sense from a mass-marketing perspective, I suppose. It just seems a shame to turn away so utterly from the sound that made many people take notice of you guys in the first place.

I'd like to call it a coincidence, but I can't help recalling Ryan Adams' snide comments about your "fake Texas accents" on "Hitchhike to Rhome." I even listened to it again the other day and was struck by how hick-ish "Drowning in the Days" sounds compared to anything off the latest album.

I try not to be cynical about shit like this, but circumstantial evidence is sometimes hard to overlook.

And just last year Rob Thomas, Rob freaking Thomas, he of the odious matchbox twenty, was giving you props...and you were publicizing the fact. It's one thing to move past your roots, but you guys seem to be attempting to erase any evidence of their existence, if somewhat reluctantly. You play your new stuff, dutifully, on Leno and Conan, but I've seen the band live recently and there's simply no denying that more energy comes out of an encore performance of "Doreen" than all the songs from the last two albums combined.

So I wish you all the best, and hope everything works out the way you guys want. I'll just be spending my money elsewhere.

Sincerely,

Pete

P.S. One other thing, the mod look doesn't really do it for you guys. I mean, what would Hoss have said?

Whinge of the Road

I had the misfortune of hearing the Metallica cover of Bob Seger's "Turn the Page" on internet radio earlier today. It's a shame about Metallica, who morphed from speed metal to more straightforward rock around the time their "black" album came out. This signaled the end of songs like "Disposable Heroes" and "Creeping Death" in favor of power ballads and songs about touring, like the aforementioned Seger tune.

Bands never learn: audiences don't want to hear millionaire musicians lamenting how tough it is "on the road." To the average listener, a concert tour is an unending cornucopia of Jack Daniels, coke, and blow jobs. Someone working in a cubicle 40 hours a week and desperately hoping their IT position doesn't get farmed out to Singapore doesn't need to hear how a bunch of grown men suffering from Peter Pan syndrome don't like going to bed alone. Going to bed alone? The guys in Aerosmith can get groupies, for Christ's sake, what form of leprosy does a rock star have to have that he couldn't get some community college dropout with low self-esteem to plaster cast him?

These songs also drone on and on about the monotony of touring. Seger's "Turn the Page" is a particularly egregious example:

When you're riding 16 hours and there's nothing much to do.

Read a book, Bob. Hell, write a book. Work on new songs. Do your taxes. Offer to drive the bus, even. Better yet, reflect on the lucky turn of events that allow you to doze on a chartered Trailways while everyone else from your high school class is working in a lumber mill.

I don't want to spend too much time on "The Load-Out" by Jackson Browne, who at least hit his peak during the 1970's, when that kind of earnest self-pity was still somewhat in vogue. He even gives a detailed list of the things they have to occupy their time:

Now we got country and western on the bus
R and B, we got disco in eight tracks and cassettes in stereo
We've got rural scenes & magazines
We've got truckers on the CB
We've got Richard Pryor on the video

Considering this song was written in 1977, I'd think having "Richard Pryor on the video" would be pretty swanky. Hell, I bet they even had Pong.

The worst offender in this category, however, remains Bon Jovi. "Wanted Dead or Alive" stands above all other bitchy road songs (CCR's "Lodi" and "Stay with Me" by the Faces, for example) for three reasons:

1) If anything is worse than whining about what a drag it is to be a rock star on tour, it's comparing yourself to a cowboy (especially when you moonlight in Versace commercials). Jon Bon Jovi does both in "Wanted."

2) Unlike Seger or Browne, Bon Jovi had MTV to help spread his bilge. Contemporary audiences had