This sounds like a sequel to the Arthur Jarrett sketch in "Monty Python and the Meaning of Life:"
Girls pummel man who exposed himself
PHILADELPHIA, Pennsylvania (Reuters) -- A man described by authorities as a known sexual predator was chased through the streets of South Philadelphia by an angry crowd of Catholic high school girls, who kicked and punched him after he was tackled by neighbors, police said Friday.
Rudy Susanto, 25, who had exposed himself to teen-age girls on as many as seven occasions outside St. Maria Goretti School, struck again on Thursday just as students were being dismissed, police said.
But this time, a group of girls in school uniforms angrily confronted Susanto with help from some neighbors, police said.
When Susanto tried to run, more than 20 girls chased him down the block. Two men from the neighborhood caught him and the girls took their revenge.
There's no justice like angry Catholic schoolgirl mob justice.
"The girls came and started kicking him and punching him, so I wasn't going to stop them," neighbor Robert Lemons told The Philadelphia Inquirer.
Outstanding. From my own limited forays into Philadelphia, I have no problem believing this. I can almost picture a bunch of guys in Sixers caps standing in a circle and cheering. Frankly, it's one of the reasons I wouldn't mind living there.
Well, that and the Yuengling.
Susanto was later treated for injuries at a local hospital. Police said he would be charged with 14 criminal counts including harassment, disorderly conduct, open lewdness and corrupting the morals of a minor.
What are the odds he sues the school? That'd be worth it just to see him laughed out of every court in Pennsylvania.
The "C.S.I." episode about furries (more specifically, fursuiters) aired this evening and, owing karma for a past-life dog kicking, I ended up watching it. As expected, the show essentially portrayed the entire subculture as horny, deviant geeks (you know when they bring the UV evidence light out it isn't going to be good).
I have little knowledge of the furry phenomenon, beyond a few people I know who are involved in the scene and what I've seen online (which, granted, runs the gamut from "mostly harmless" to "you did what?"). I've heard arguments that the movement is a modern manifestation of Native American totemism, just as it's been opined that it's a manifestation of scary dorks who have suddenly decided to roam among mankind and forage.
When it comes down to it though, they're really just another group of geeks. Sure, they may creep people out more than the average role-playing gamer type, but there are all kinds of fetishes out there, and far be it from a guy with an affinity for talentless pop singers dressed as a certain Amazonian superhero to cast aspersions. At any rate, they've come a long way from the hallucinatory BJ scene in "The Shining" (Kubrick was ahead of his time in more ways than one) to being ridiculed on the most popular TV show in the country. Hold those freaky, oversized heads high, you magnificent anthropomorphic bastards!
I don't even consider furries to be that out there on the weirdness scale. The Thing That Walks Like a Man sent me this link, documenting the geekiest hobbies around. Furries ranked pretty high (though not as high as LARPers, who still scare the crap out of me). But for my money, they fall roughly like so in this incomplete and totally arbitrary spectrum of kink:
Civil War re-enacters
Nun fetishists
Crewcuts
WAM
Dudes who dress like any Sailor Moon character
Coulrophiles
Furries
"Pinnochia"
Vore - for those who were turned on by Quint's death in "Jaws"
Infantilism
"O'Reilly Factor" viewers
Medical fetishists (including enemas but not "naughty nurses")
Menstruation
And on down the line. "Episode I" fans, for example, would be somewhere in the bottom rank with the rest of the extreme masochists. Furries just aren't that odd, relatively speaking.
There's a kink for everything, and sooner or later it'll all be lampooned on a TV show. Better "C.S.I." than "Whoopi," I guess.
And you thought coronal mass ejections were a thing of the past, or at least the past few days:
Our planet endured the brunt of the first storm Wednesday and early Thursday, hurled Tuesday by the third most powerful solar flare ever observed, without major problems.
But late Wednesday, solar scientists observed another big solar explosion, one of the top 20 on record, accompanied by another huge stream of supercharged gas headed in our direction. It could arrive as early as Thursday afternoon.
From a scientific perspective, this is all terribly intriguing. From a science fiction perspective, it's enough to make me start watching the skies for Vogons.
"It's like the Earth is looking right down the barrel of a giant gun pointed at us by the sun...and it's taken two big shots at us," said John Kohl of the Harvard-Smithsonian Center for Astrophysics.
"I have not seen anything like it in my entire career as a solar physicist. The probability of this happening is so low that it is a statistical anomaly," he said in a statement Thursday.
A word of advice: no one associated with something as impressive sounding as the "Harvard-Smithsonian Center for Astrophysics" should be making references to the sun shooting at us. Also, remarks to the effect that you've never seen anything like this before should not be used outside the context of a remake of Orson Welles' "War of the Worlds" broadcast.
NASA has taken precautions as well with its most precious cargo, astronaut Mike Foale and Russian cosmonaut Alexander Kaleri on board the international space station.
Foale and Kaleri, the only humans currently outside the protection of Earth's atmosphere, are retreating during peak exposure times to the living quarters of the station, which provides the best radiation protection.
NASA had better take precautions when they get back as well. Namely, keeping them under heavy guard and close observation to make sure they don't exhibit any signs of "fantastic-ness," lycanthropy, or wearing of black tights. Or just to make sure they don't bring back any space vampires.
"This latest CME will sweep past our planet on October 30th or 31st and could trigger renewed geomagnetic storming. Sky watchers should be alert for auroras tonight," said NASA's Spaceweather.com on Thursday.
Observers as far south as Texas and Georgia observed auroras the night before.
*snort* Some parts of Texas, maybe. Here in Houston you'd have a hard time seeing a nuclear airburst with all the ground illumination.
You gotta hand it to that Spencer Tunick; where some guys have been scheming for centuries on how best to get women out of their clothes, Tunick's figured out some of them will willingly disrobe for art's sake:
NEW YORK - The women crossed their arms to keep warm in the main concourse of Grand Central Terminal early Sunday as they prepared to pose for Spencer Tunick's latest human art installation. All 450 of them were nude.
The women, all volunteers, arrived at about 3 a.m. Sunday, stripped off their clothes and composed their bodies into sculptural shapes and formations meant to imitate streets, buildings and cityscapes. The building had been closed to the public during the shoot.
To quote Montgomery Burns, "I may not know art, but I know what I hate." I'll stop there.
Tunick appears to be a capable photographer, but it seems like he'd be better suited to coordinating gala events or choreographing halftime shows. Surely the hard part of all this is actually getting hundreds of naked people together in one place. If you can convince them of that, how hard is it to take their picture while they're lying on the floor?
Get them to play dodge ball, at least, or throw little pickles at each other.
What's that? Hardcore fans are complaining about the DVD release of their favorite property? Shocked I am:
What's the rush, doc? That was Warner Bros. response to the backlash from some "Looney Tunes" fans who complain that a handful of their favorite cartoons are missing from the collection of 56 shorts released Tuesday.
Among the notable absentees: "What's Opera, Doc?" with Bugs tormenting co-star Elmer Fudd, who sings "Kill the wabbit! Kill the wabbit!"; and "One Froggy Evening," which showcased the "Hello, My Baby!"-singing amphibian Michigan J. Frog.
"We held back some of the jewels for future releases," acknowledged George Feltenstein, the marketing executive who helped pick the shorts for the inaugural DVD release. "We couldn't release all the best ones at once ... what would we do for an encore?"
That's not surprising, really. Besides, how many times have you seen "What's Opera, Doc?" on Saturday mornings or on the Cartoon Network? What's wrong with bringing some of the lesser known and lesser seen cartoons to the fore? "Rabbit of Seville" never airs anymore. Neither does "Scaredy Cat" or "Boobs in the Woods." Getting almost 60 digitally remastered and uncensored classic shorts on DVD strikes me as a good start.
Not everyone shares my opinion, however:
Some fans see that response as cynical, saying they feel like their loyalty is being abused. "I would have rather never had these shorts be released than to deal with this garbage," Aaron Strader of Houston wrote on Amazon.com. "I hope it sells well enough to justify a full release on DVD of everything."
"Garbage?" Overreact much? Maybe Strader's content with his 10-year old VHS tapes, but I'm more than happy enjoying some variety and seeing a few of the more obscure shorts as they're released. Besides, a "full release" isn't something anyone wants, trust me.
Nearly 1,100 "Looney Tunes" cartoons were created between 1930 and 1969, so there are a lot left to choose from for future DVDs, [Feltenstein] added, although not all of them are created equally.
"About 300 of them are excellent," Feltenstein said, "300 of them are very good, 300 are good, 100 of them are OK, and 100 of them are lousy."
Looking forward to those crappy late-period Road Runner cartoons, are we? (Chuck) Jonesing for some Speedy Gonzalez? [Don't get me wrong, I don't think SG cartoons should be excluded for reasons of racial sensitivity, but rather because they're total crap.] Do the people bitching about "completism" really want an entire disc's worth of that stupid baby kangaroo? Or Cool Cat? Or Rapid Rabbit?
I'll take it all back if "Robin Hood Daffy" never gets released, however.
Point-Counterpoint: Pete's An Asshole:
It's not worth complaining to Pete. The louder you complain, the more he seems to enjoy it. I can't stand that! It's like reasoning with a brick wall. Plus, he never apologizes. If he does apologize, it's in this smart-ass, sarcastic fucking way that makes you feel stupid for having been hurt. Sometimes, you want to just grab him by the neck and...
I maintain that I'm misunderstood.
Halloween is my favorite holiday: not only are people encouraged to act oddly and drink heavily, but there are no pesky familial obligations. Nobody drives 12 hours to Illinois to spend Samhain with the grandparents. Nobody in my family, anyway.
This year, after handing out chocolate frosted sugar bombs to the voracious legions of unwashed toddlers that descend like a swarm of locusts upon our neighborhood every year, I'm heading to the Alamo Drafthouse for the 10:00 showing of 100 Best Kills:
For as long as there have been movies, there have been people dying in movies. Thanks to the magic of film, we've been desensitized to all sorts of horrendously violent acts: dismemberment, decapitation, asphyxiation, shots through the heart, hangings, flayings, being drawn and quartered, drowning, having a still beating heart ripped out of the chest of some unlucky adventurer, and that's just to name a few. To celebrate all of this psychotic behavior, the Alamo Drafthouse decided to put our heads together to compile the definitive list of the best kills that have ever been put on screen and then put those clips up on the screen again, back to back to back to bloody back. If you haven't been desensitized yet, this program will take care of that; we're gonna do for violence what "Showgirls" did for breasts. We won't bog you down with plots or characters or set ups or anything like that; we're only delivering the pay offs.
This calls for a bucket of Schlitz and some nachos. I'm cheating because I know some of the deaths that are included, but these are just a few I wouldn't mind seeing on the big screen:
The exploding head in "Scanners"
Captain Rhodes getting pulled apart in "Day of the Dead"
The alley cat in "FutureKill"
Almost any death in "The Story of Ricky"
Erin Moran's extreme blood pressure cuff in "Galaxy of Terror"
Shark vs. zombie in "Zombie"
The double-impalement of the fornicating couple in "Friday the 13th, Part 2"
The "human shower" scene from "My Bloody Valentine"
And so on. Even if none of those make it, I know Slim Pickens riding the bomb will be included, and that'll be plenty for me.
This, THIS, is the bitter fruit of fanatacism:
PARIS, France (Reuters) -- A French police station has been stuck with a room of homeless garden gnomes, victims of a wave of gnome abductions, after a new bid to trace their owners failed.
Only a trickle of people showed up for Monday's "gnome return day" at the police station in Saint-Die-des-Vosges, near the eastern city of Strasbourg, and only one person was reunited with a stolen gnome, police said.
About 75 kidnapped gnomes were recovered in 2001 after a group called the Garden Gnome Liberation Front released them, leaving them on the steps of the Saint-Die-des-Vosges cathedral.
So what happens to these gnomes after they're "liberated" by the GGLF? Only starvation, rabies, and predation by larger lawn predators, like flamingos and jockeys.
Besides, what makes the GGLF so sure these gnomes don't like being domesticated? Our gnome "Chauncey" enjoys a pastoral existence in our lawn, while "Milton" keeps watch from the kitchen windowsill. Sure, there's some resentment, but this is only natural between gnomes who work outdoors and those who live a relatively comfortable life in the house. Believe me, Chauncey has a better life now than he ever would were he released into the wilds of east Texas.
If President Bush is serious about the War on Terror, he'll take action against these dangerous radicals. Otherwise...well, I'll let the police tell you:
"In wanting to set them free, the Liberation Front has virtually imprisoned them," policeman Sylvain Brucker told Reuters, adding the local prosecutor could decide to sell the kitsch garden ornaments in a police auction.
That's right: slavery. Even worse, enslaved by the French.
Zut alors.
According to Greg's Previews, Universal has discarded the idea of doing a CGI film rendition of Maurice Sendak's Where the Wild Things Are, and have decided to let Spike Jonze ("Adaptation," "Being John Malkovich," that cool Weezer video) direct a live action version of it instead.
This has the potential to be an interesting experiment. You can't deny Jonze's visual creativity, and if anyone can effectively bring about the transition from the reality of Max's room to the jungle realm of the Wild Things, he can. Will it still be a kids movie, or will he play upon the book's creep factor by making it even more surreal and grotesque?
I also have my doubts that such a comparatively short book can be made into a feature film. We saw what happened with Ron Howard's "Grinch" adaptation: the Grinch was given a sad childhood and the movie was padded with pop culture references that were outdated two months after it was released (anyone who isn't dreading the upcoming live action "Cat in the Hat" film - with "Will and Grace's" Sean Hayes as The Fish - is braver than I am). Jonze can probably avoid these pitfalls, but a lot of it will depend on who ends up writing the thing. Frankly, I hope it isn't Charlie Kaufman (who wrote Jonze's first two films). "Where the Wild Things Are" doesn't need the post-modern, neurotic adult angle, thanks.
The Wife gave me the Adventures of Indiana Jones DVD set as an early birthday present last week. Of course, I had little choice but to sit down and watch "Raiders of the Lost Ark" right away. The only thing I noticed that had been altered from my VHS copy was the removal of the cobra's reflection on the glass between it and Harrison Ford in the Well of Souls scene. Given the controversy surrounding Lucas' "no original trilogy" DVD stance and last year's re-release of "E.T.," that alone is pretty gratifying. The enhancement of the audio mix also meant I heard things I hadn't noticed before (the music in the cafe when Indy confronts Belloq, for example).
"Raiders" was all I had time to check out during the week, but I woke up a little early on Saturday and settled in to watch "Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom," the oft-maligned second installment of the trilogy. I had read some recent reviews (including this one, by Alexandra Dupont of The DVD Journal) which seemed to indicate that it had gotten short shrift during its initial release and deserved a second look.
With all due respect, those people are nuts.
First, I'll allow that the cinematography of the second film is very impressive. The colors and shadows in the Temple of Doom itself are luxurious and indicative of some great filmmaking. The grim tone, which caused so many problems back in 1984 (and helped lead to the creation of the PG-13 rating), is also interesting to observe.
My dislike for the film, however, emerged from last weekend's viewing largely intact. it can be summed up in two words: Kate Capshaw.
Willie Scott is the Indiana Jones trilogy's Jar Jar Binks. Apologists for "Temple of Doom" say that making the heroine too much like Marion from "Raiders" would have caused fans to grumble, so I assume they think making Willie totally unlike Marion is a better deal? We believed the romance between Indy and Marion because the two have a lot in common; Marion took on a would-be assassin with a frying pan, attempted to engineer her own escape from a Nazi encampment, and was genuinely excited about the prospect of finding the Ark. Willie faces adversity by wailing interminably, bitches about breaking nails, and only shows interest in the hunt for the Shankara stones after discovering they contain diamonds. Even worse than the unfavorable impression we have of her is the loss of respect for Ford's character. The Dr. Jones of "Temple of Doom" obviously doesn't care about brains and spunk, he's just looking for a piece of ass.
Ms. Dupont mentions that the last 40 minutes of "Temple of Doom" are quite exciting and action-packed, which is true. This just happens to be more noticeable given the paucity of action (the opening sequence notwithstanding) in the first hour. The arid stretch of film - highlighted by Willie's near constant screaming - between the plane crash and the discovery of the secret passage in Pankot Palace is almost unbearable, especially considering the breakneck pace of "Raiders."
I will acknowledge that Short Round (Ke Huy Quan) is much less annoying than he seemed to me when I saw the movie in 1984. My tolerance for obnoxious pre-teens has apparently increased in the last 19 years. He still yells a lot, though not as much as Willie, and he holds his own in the fight scenes.
"Temple of Doom" came out during Spielberg's "Goonies" period (Spielberg wrote "Goonies" - speaking of movies that don't hold up well - and it was released a year after "Temple"). "Goonies" also focused on the odd concept of hollering as comedy. Evidently we're expected to forgive Willie her constant screeching because it's supposed to be funny. It doesn't work here, and it didn't work during a recent viewing of "Goonies" (an experience I can only liken to sitting in a room with seven kids suffering from ADD).
I don't hate "Temple of Doom," believe it or not, but the only reason you'd even mention it in the same breath as "Raiders" is because they're all part of one series. Same goes for "Indiana Jones and the last Crusade," which has major problems in its own right that I'll talk about at a later date.
If a low-budget, genre TV series that ran for a few years and hardly anybody ever watched is getting a DVD release, then where the hell are my "Blake's 7" discs?
I watched "Forever Knight" back when I was living in an efficiency in Maryland with no cable and no friends, which may be tainting my recollection somewhat. But what I remember is a moderately well-written vampire cop show with a budget that made "Doctor Who" look like "Star Trek: The Next Generation." I also remember running across maybe five people since who have ever seen it. Not the most scientific of polls, perhaps, but surely there are other TV shows Sony could release first, such as:
"Bewitched"
"I Dream of Jeannie"
"Men in Black - The Series"
"Quark"
Yet with all these arguably more popular properties, Sony chooses to go with "Forever Knight." They must know something I don't.
And as long as "Who's the Boss?" remains locked away, the sun will shine a bit brighter.
America responds by scratching self, continuing to watch football.
Don't get into a drinking contest with 32-year old Willard Ashley III, who blew a whopping .69 after his arrest for public intoxication in LaPorte County, Indiana (where a blood alcohol measurement of .08 is legally intoxicated).
Using OnlineConversion.com's BAC calculator (and estimating Ashley's weight at 200 lbs), it appears one would need to consume 32 shots of 80-proof liquor or or 39 beers in one hour to hit .69.
This Bud's for you, Willard.
For comparison, here are some celebrity BAC measurements taken at the time of their respective arrests:
Tonya Harding (former celebrity boxer) - .116
Shannen Doherty (co-star of Judd Nelson's) - .130
Tim Allen (alleged comedian) - .150
Steve McNair (Oilers QB) - .180
Oksasa Baiul (what is it with these figure skaters?) - .168
Mike Lookinland (TV's "Bobby Brady") - .255
Bob Probert (legendary Red Wings and Blackhawks enforcer) - .310
Well, we always knew hockey players were tough, but how about Mike Lookinland? I'll bet even Sam the butcher would be impressed.
Yanni playing the National Anthem at the World Series?
The bartender wearing a shirt decked out with scenes from the movie "Love Story?"
Graffiti in the bathroom:
Votez Chirac
Go back toRussiaFrance
This calls for more beer.
UPDATE: Edited to correct my verb conjugation mistake, pointed out to me in the comments by noted Francophile "I'm doin' your mama," who asserts that "votez" is, in fact, a form of the verb "vote."
Whatever. Speaking French is so 19th century.
Slobberbone are playing at Fitzgerald's this Friday (10/24) evening. Previous engagement aside, I will endeavor to make it.
They're playing the downstairs stage, which is uncool. Might not be a bad place for first-timers to check 'em out, however.
According to this story, Dennis Miller is contemplating a run against Barbara Boxer for her U.S. Senate seat. While the reliability of the Moonie-owned Washington Times is open to debate, many are nonetheless speculating about the prospects for a Miller campaign. I have my doubts about his chances, thanks largely to the fact that lately I find the guy obnoxious. I couldn't care less whether the guy has any political or legal experience or not, or on what ticket he decides to run (Republican, apparently), he's just got an uphill climb ahead of him.
First, I didn't always dislike Miller, because he actually used to be funny. I have a VHS copy of the 1993 concert he did for HBO at GWU's Lisner Auditorium (which I'm holding hostage until Sven gives me back "Washarama" by the Judys), and it is, hands down, one of the best stand-up performances I've ever seen. His commentary was dead on, and no one was spared his attentions: the new (at the time) Clinton cabinet, pro-lifers, Saddam Hussein, President Bush I, the NRA...the only common theme was a healthy distrust for the government and for those who would impose their values upon us. Many considered him a liberal, though personally I was never sure about that. Plenty of his views were right of center (and Miller himself mentioned in an interview around that time he thought of himself as a "conservative libertarian").
Fast forward ten years. After the September 11 attacks, Miller changed dramatically. He dropped the sarcasm and some of his more cryptic jokes in favor of increased jingoism and overt support for the American war effort, not realizing that comedy and repeated howls of "Kill the bastards!" don't really mix. The loss of his announcing gig on "Monday Night Football" didn't help, and in his latest HBO special he was remarkably unfunny. The best gags were ones he'd used on "The Daily Show" days before, and mere rehashes of older "Tonight Show" material. The rest of the time he lapsed into jokes about smelly Frenchmen (le guffaw) and crowed how George W. Bush had made him "respect the Presidency again."
People will hold Miller up as an example of how Republicans can be funny. Unfortunately, he hasn't been funny in years. Honestly, this isn't a liberal-conservative issue; it's a humor issue. The old Miller would've been all over Bush - for his arrogant posturing as well as his jerking the American wheel to the Far Right - and not because he was a lefty but because he used to have a formidable bullshit detector. Old Miller also would've pounced on the California gubernatorial circus like a Siberian tiger on a German illusionist, while new Miller opines sagely about the merits of Schwarzenegger on "Hannity and Colmes" and "The O'Reilly Factor." Dennis must think Arnie's support in a Senate race will help his chances, because rarely has a candidate been such a hanging curveball for comedians as Schwarzenegger, and Miller struck out looking.
Second - and this actually may matter - Miller isn't popular. His narrow fan base of cranks widened slightly with his HBO show of several years ago, but he alienated many of them by taking the "Monday Night" gig, where he proceeded to confuse legions of football fans with his obscure pop culture references. Many of the fans who enjoyed his vaguely iconoclastic persona turned away in disgust when he started doing M&M commercials, while an ill-advised appearance in "Bordello of Blood" managed the unthinkable: it made him less popular than co-star Corey Feldman. Say all you want about celebrities running successfully for office, but many people actually liked Schwarzenegger. Miller's been a notorious asshole for fifteen years.
Which is why I think, should Miller decide to run, voters will see through it. Comedy worked well for him, so he tried acting. Acting didn't pan out like I'm sure he'd hoped, so he tried comedy again. As luck would have it, he found comedy less to his liking after Sepetember 11, so he dove into punditry. Unfortunately, he hasn't made an impact there either. And for all the predictable statements we'll hear about public service and "shaking up Washington," the potential Senate bid seems like just another poorly thought out career choice. I don't follow California politics that closely, but Barbara Boxer has been elected Senator twice, the last time by a healthy 10% margin. Even in post-Arnold California, can Miller take her on?
Hey hey, ho ho, a new "Footage Fetishes" column is up so off you go.
Head over to Film Threat - where my column may still briefly be on the front page - and check out the latest installment of "Footage Fetishes." I have a treat for you this time, as I examine three Robert Stigwood-produced musicals from the '70s: "Saturday Night Fever," "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band," and "Grease."
It's a magical mystery tour of fun. And thanks go to my friend April for suggesting the theme, although she wanted me to include "Xanadu," which unfortunately was not a Stigwood production. Ah, what could have been.
According to Empire Online, advance word on the "Starsky and Hutch" movie is so good that director Todd Phillips has been tabbed to helm a cinematic version of "The Six Million Dollar Man."
With Jim Carrey as Steve Austin.
Just as the Starsky and Hutch film will be a comic take on our old favourite, Carrey and Phillips are planning an 'exaggerated sendup' of the programme.
Why not just cut to the chase and call it "Inspector Gadget 3?"
Googly-eyed character actor Jack Elam passed away on Monday. He was either 86 or 84, depending on which bio you believe.
His onscreen roles ran the gamut from villains ("Rawhide," "Rio Lobo") to town drunks ("High Noon") to...miscellaneous ("Hawmps!"). It's to his credit that he could be found in such diverse offerings as "Cat Ballou," "The Villain" (Jack Elam to Arnold Schwarzenegger, if you're playing the Kevin Bacon game), and the first two "Cannonball Run" movies, where he played the character he's probably most famous for (and a personal favorite of mine): Dr. Nikolas Van Helsing.
"J.J.? Can I begin the examination?"
"I find I seldom need more than this." [waves middle finger]
Maybe not the most fitting epitaph, now that I think about it. Best to end with this quote from the man himself, who lamented the modern movie's need to give villains some psychological motive for their actions:
"In the old days, Rory Calhoun was the hero because he was the hero and I was the heavy because I was the heavy and nobody cared what my problem was. And I didn't either," he added. "I robbed the bank because I wanted the money ... I've played all kinds of weirdos but I've never done the quiet, sick type. I never had a problem other than the fact I was just bad."
Surprise, surprise...Dark Horizons has some news on the maybe-possibly-hypothetical next three movies in a certain space fantasy franchise (Hint: it's not "Galaxina"):
Star Wars: Episodes 7-9: "One of my pals at ILM told me a few days back that another trilogy 'might' happen. This is the sequel trilogy that Lucas said he'd never do. It's very very early days yet, but apparently there is some talk, even to the point of Mr Spielberg - who was interested in doing 'Clones' at one point - stepping in for Lucas, who may want to write, but probably won't want to direct. If Lucas doesn't they'll probably work out a deal for say Frank Darabont to pen (ala the current "Indiana Jones IV" arrangement). This one would be the three films following 'Return of the Jedi,' Han Solo, Skywalker, post-Darth etc. How hard of a time are they going to have on their hands getting some of those original players! ha ha! finally a fitting use for CGI hey? The deal is everyone wants the sequels, except Lucas, who is apparently exhausted [Personally I'd say studio pressure]. If Spielberg directs, it could be ok. Better than those terrible prequel movies". Thanks to 'Wookie Walker'.
I'm heavily inclined to cry "hoax" on this, even though one might think this idea would appeal to Lucas: if all he has to do is scipt the plot outline, what's he go to lose? Total control, that's what. Spielberg made some famously pointed comments about Lucas' meddling in "Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom," and I'm not convinced there isn't still some bad blood there. Besides, if Spielberg winning an Academy Award wasn't humiliating enough, consider how much Lucas would seethe over possible critical praise for a new trilogy directed by someone else. "Star Wars" made Lucas what he is. What are the odds he'll allow someone to leech credit away from the one thing for which he'll be remembered?
Well, that and "Howard the Duck."
The funny thing is; apart from Harrison Ford, I bet most of the OT cast would return. Hamill, Fisher, Mayhew, and Williams could all use the paycheck, and don't tell me Kenny Jones and Anthony Daniels have better things to do.
There's plenty of source material for these films (while we're making far-fetched predictions, let's assume Lucas wouldn't want any part in plotting them). Due to the passage of time, we can skip right past the Thrawn Trilogy or Dark Empire, and even the Black Fleet Crisis would be a stretch (and I haven't read any of the New Jedi Order stuff). The most likely candidates, to me, would be Kevin Anderson's Jedi Academy books, the better to appeal to that sweet, sweet "young adult" market. Think of the wild speculation around the casting of Han and Leia's kids, and Mara Jade.
But that won't happen, because these movies aren't going to happen. It's a nice exercise in navel-gazing, however.
So the Office of National Drug Control Policy has a web site listing the street names of various narcotics. It only takes a few seconds of casual reading to realize that police informants, if not the police themselves, are seriously jerking with the ONDCP.
2,300 street terms. That's probably 2,000 words more than the average person uses in a week, whether they're referring to drugs or not. With almost 1,000 terms devoted to marijuana ("righteous bush") and heroin ("hero of the underworld") alone, it can't be long before the expressions become meaningless. Even two of the original terms for pot - "grass" and "weed" - were everyday words. It seems completely nonsensical that various items found on someone's grocery list can be mistaken for "dope."
Imagine, if you will, this hypothetical wiretap transcript:
Whatcha watching?
"Predator."
That movie's the bomb.
Ah, I think it blows.
Whatever. Have you seen my Kate Bush CD? It was right here by my biography of LBJ.
I haven't seen it since the tea party.
Oh well, I'm gotta zoom to the store. Need anything?
Some tea, some macaroni, a box of crackers, dog food, mayo, and some nose drops for my ragweed.
That's whack.
Yeah. I'm gonna make a sandwich.
Harmless slackers? Or psychopathic drug fiends? You be the judge.
The human fascination with lists is pretty interesting. Every entertainment magazine has to put together an issue at least once a year or so that details the greatest 100 guitarists or the 100 biggest assh...uh, most powerful people in Hollywood. On the internet, you can find the Friday Five, an archive of David Letterman's Top Ten lists, and much, much more. We love to make lists, complain about other peoples' lists, and link to those lists we might find particularly humorous and/or offensive.
I'd like to tell things are different here at A Perfectly Cromulent Blog, but that ain't the case. Periodically, when nothing particularly interesting is happening in the world of Star Wars or David Blaine, we'll present a short list for your amusement/outrage. Enjoy.
APCB's Top 8 Neils of All Time
Neil Peart - Drummer for Rush. No longer sporting obnoxious ponytail.
Neil Young - Not a spokesman for Coke
Neil Armstrong - "I can see my house from here."
Neil Finn - Formerly of Split Enz and Crowded House. Good musician despite the precious band names.
Neil Gaiman - Sandman creator. Needs a haircut.
Neil Innes - "How sweet...to be an idiot."
Neil Tennant - Talented half of the Pet Shop BoysHonorable Mention
Edwin Neal - "My family's alway been in meat."
Among those who didn't make the cut: Neil Patrick Harris (APCB has a strict "No Doogies" policy), Neil Diamond (because my mother doesn't write this), and Neil Jordan - who was disqualified for "Interview with a Vampire."
Like any failed struggling writer, I've spent a good portion of my adult life in bars. They're great places to pick up dialogue and story ideas...and to drink, coincidentally. As with most things, for every decent conversational snippet you happen to overhear there are several dozen that make you doubt the future of mankind.
The following examples, from my favorite bar, are actual statements overheard during Game 6 of the ALCS between the Yankees and the Red Sox. All were uttered by the same guy, who was no more or less intoxicated than anyone else in the general vicinity:
[on the new $20 bill] "Jackson looks awful. They might as well have used a post-mortem picture of him after he got shot by Aaron Burr."
I hope I don't have to explain to anyone that Alexander Hamilton, not Andrew Jackson, was shot by Aaron Burr. At first I figured the guy must have thought he was looking at a $10 bill, which sports Hamilton's portrait. He clearly said "Jackson," however.
[regarding Hideki Matsui's troubles fielding a ball in some high winds] "They must not have winds like that in Japan."
No, they have typhoons. But thanks for playing, gaijin.
[recommending a movie to a friend] "Shakespeare in Love" is brilliant, I watch it at least twice a year."
Movie prefences are, as always, judgement calls. Whether or not you feel that "Shakespeare in Love" is "brilliant" or is actually "Shakespeare for Dummies," most sophisticated moviegoers understand that the only movies deserving of multiple screenings per year are: "Raiders of the Lost Ark," "The Empire Strikes Back," "The Breakfast Club" (but only the TV version that airs on TBS with the hilarious profanity edits), and "Santo vs. the Vampire Women."
David Blaine seems to be barely hanging on, as his "suspension of disbelief" stunt nears its end in London:
LONDON, England (CNN) -- With less than a day remaining in his starvation stunt, illusionist David Blaine is said to be suffering from palpitations and breathing difficulties.
For the last 43 days the American magician has been suspended in a glass box next to London's Tower Bridge, with water as his only sustenance.
He is due to emerge on Sunday evening, when he will be taken directly to hospital.
Which will all be filmed for the inevitable TV special, which will dramatize the heroic efforts made to save his life, while Blaine himself enjoys some fish and chips backstage. I'm taking bets on the size of the motorcade that will accompany him to the hospital.
His Web site says that by day 38, Blaine was "occasionally incoherent and has been exhibiting signs of delusion," smelled strongly of sulfur and was longing to take a bath.
He's been "exhibiting signs of delusion" for years. I can't decide which one is more amusing: his delusion of being the "modern Houdini," or his delusion that anyone actually believes he's been up in that box the whole time. Magician Jerry Sadowitz had some comments about the latter in a recent issue of The Guardian:
Imagine being David Blane right now...sneaking off on the back of a cherry-picker at night (under the guise of a man wiping/emptying the box); going to the effort of freeze-framing the "shot" of being asleep at night to fool the cameras (controlled by your own production company naturally); the effort of strategically positioning ground-lights at night so that passers-by can't see the back of the box when he makes the switch; and having to convince the whole world that you're starving and miserable when you have $50m, a gorgeous celebrity girlfriend and your delusions of grandeur satisfied by a media that can't get enough of you. It must be terrible.
Sadowitz goes on to express the opinion shared by most critics; that if he was doing this for charity, all would be forgiven. That he doesn't seem to understand the negativity leveled at him only confirms the fact that Blaine operates in that parallel reality occupied exclusively by celebrities who think they need $18,000 a month to survive and hack "illusionists" who believe that spending 44 days doing something half of the world suffers through every minute of their lives somehow makes them deserving of our respect.
Where's Montecore when you really need him?
Gregg Easterbrook might to take a week or two off. First came his well-thought out blog entry about rape, now he's awkwardly apologizing for anti-Semitic comments made earlier this week in his entry regarding "Kill Bill." The apology starts thusly:
Nothing's worse, as a writer, than so mangling your own use of words that you are heard to have said something radically different than what you wished to express. Of mangling words, I am guilty.
The passage to which he refers, from his October 13 blog entry (titled "Take Out the Gore and 'Kill Bill' is an Episode of Mighty Morphin Power Rangers'"), goes like this:
Does that make it right for Jewish executives to worship money above all else, by promoting for profit the adulation of violence? Recent European history alone ought to cause Jewish executives to experience second thoughts about glorifying the killing of the helpless as a fun lifestyle choice.
Slagging Easterbrook these days seems about as sporting as shooting those staked-down rabbits in Monty Python's "Upper Class Twit of the Year" contest, but he doesn't help his case with crap like that. Many were understandably pissed off at Mr. Easterbrook (Meryl Yourish had some choice words for him, despite agreeing with his take on Tarantino). The apology has satisfied a number of his critics, and if he says he's sorry for his ill-thought comments, or that they were part of a larger examination of how those with faith in God could rationalize profiting from movies glorifying violence, so be it. There are still plenty of dubious assertions in his October 13 entry to discuss:
All of Tarantino's work is pure junk.
This is how the piece begins. No hyperbole here. Nevertheless, we'll soldier on.
Set aside what ["Kill Bill"] says about contemporary Hollywood culture that the supposed liberal progressives of this city now ceaselessly mass-market presentations of butchering the helpless as a form of entertainment, even, as rewarding self-expression.
I'm trying to think of all the people killed in that movie and damned if I can come up with anyone who was "helpless" or (as he goes on to describe them later) "innocent." Uma Thurman's character is an ex-assassin, who goes after a bunch of other assassins, all of whom fight back pretty impressively. It's a minor nitpick, but he brought it up.
UPDATE: As kodi pointed out in the comments, there are a few of the honored dead who could certainly qualify as "innocent." I hadn't remembered them, so I'm clarifying here. I still don't agree that their deaths were at all "mass-marketed," however.
Next, Easterbrook attacks the supposed originality of Tarantino's screenplays:
Of course, the novelistic device may be used well or poorly, just as time-shifted cinema may be good or bad. Tarantino's out-of-sequence film moments are, uniformly, trite drivel.
Gregg's being redundant. I thought "all of Tarantino's work is pure junk?" All of them are, to an extent, non-linear as well. Maybe he's trying to make an exception of sorts for "Jackie Brown," because that film also kind of goes against his earlier statement that "all Tarantino has ever put on film" is preposterous violence.
I wonder if he's seen "Jackie Brown."
Tarantino must draw his prominence in Hollywood, and among film-buff culture, from the very fact of his phoniness. First, his career says that you can do nothing but wallow in preposterous violence--Hollywood's cheapest and least original aspect--and still be revered. Second, his career validates the idea that you can accomplish nothing at all in any meaningful sense and yet acquire fame. (emphasis Easterbrook's)
Because violence was never used in any other form of popular entertainment, ever, before Tarantino came along. Self-appointed custodians of cultural integrity really crack my ass up, especially those like Easterbrook - a guy who laments someone's use of violence to pander to Hollywood's vile instincts while writing an intermittently humorous football column liberally sprinkled with pictures of cheerleaders in lingerie and bikinis. Or those who assert that a director with an Oscar, a BAFTA, a Palme d'Or, a Golden Globe, an Independent Spirit Award, and the London, New York, and Los Angeles Critics Circle awards to his credit has accomplished nothing at all.
I'm not even that big a Tarantino fan, but Easterbrook comes across like the guy stole his girlfriend. That, or the guy is seriously jealous that a "hack" like Tarantino could enjoy such popularity while better, more serious "journalists" (like, say, Gregg Easterbrook) aren't afforded the recognition and adulation they deserve.
Disney's Miramax has been behind a significant share of Hollywood's recent violence-glorifying junk, including "Scream," whose thesis was that murdering your friends and teachers is a fun way for high-school kids to get back at anyone who teases them. "Scream" was the favorite movie of the Columbine killers.
And football was Henry Lee Lucas' favorite sport. Was there a point somewhere, aside from Gregg's inability to discern fact from fiction, I mean?
This is getting repetetive, but did Easterbrook watch "Scream?" The central theme was not that murder was an effective form of revenge against bullies, nice a fit as that might be into his Columbine theory.
Easterbrook gets to his anti-Semitic comments next, but by this point he's already proven himself to be completely bereft of credibility. He demonstrates his utter lack of understanding about the movies he's criticizing, and I'm not convinced he even watched "Kill Bill." His comments read like those of someone who checked out some reviews, watched the trailer, and - based on his prior experience with Tarantino's work - decided he was going to hate it.
Easterbrook should stick with "Star Trek" and swimsuit models, which are two subjects he seems to comprehend. And while I don't know where he stands these days with The New Republic, I'd just like to let them know I'm available. And I work cheap.
And I know movies better than Gregg f*cking Easterbrook.
NOTE: Lest anyone think I have some unnatural fixation on the guy, I should point out that his blog doesn't have a Comments feature, which is where annoying blather like this would normally go. That makes "Easterblogg" less a blog and more a column with no editorial control.
Seeing the posters for "Radio" - Cuba Gooding Jr.'s next blockbuster - in the theater last night gave me an idea for a new movie. I won't go into too many details, suffice it to say it will be a "very special" picture...with lots of lovely ultraviolence.
Saw "Kill Bill, Vol. 1" last night. My friend Greg has already made some excellent points about the film that I agree with, mainly concerning the cartoony violence and simplistic plot structure.
I remember watching "RoboCop" in the theater and flinching as Boddicker and crew annihilated Officer Murphy with shotguns. The scene was brutal and visceral and, at the time, advanced onscreen carnage to a level not perviously seen in Hollywood. "Kill Bill" has a couple moments like that - Bill shooting the Bride in the head before the opening credits and the finale of the Bride's battle with Vernita - but overall I felt like I was watching the Quentin Tarantino directed "Itchy and Scratchy" episode from "The Simpsons." Blood spumes from every wound like the 'Johnny Depp getting sucked into the bed' scene in "Nightmare on Elm Street." "Kill Bill" shares "Pulp Fiction's" impressive production values and inspired direction, but lacks the matter-of-fact nastiness of the latter.
And all I can say to the reprise of the non-linear plot structure is "what Greg said." Even without knowing the basics (Bill orders Deadly Viper Assassination Squad to kill the Bride - they fail - Bride exacts bloody vengeance), you could discern the order or events pretty neatly from the "death list" we see at the beginning of the film and who's crossed off first. If we were able to figure "Pulp Fiction" out, why did Tarantino feel the need to dumb down "Kill Bill?"
My only other gripe concerns Miramax's decision to cut the movie in two. If Weinstein had perhaps exerted a little friendly pressure on the notoriously profligate director, perhaps "Kill Bill" could've clocked in around 3 1/2 hours, and guess what? Audiences still would've gone. As it is, there's little suspense (one assumes that the Bride will ultimately survive "Vol. 1" to fight - if not kill - Bill). Instead of riding an escalating wave of tension and violence to a thrilling climax, the film craps out abruptly, leaving us to twiddle our thumbs for the next four months until "Volume 2" comes out.
In spite of all that, I actually enjoyed "Kill Bill, Volume 1" quite a bit. Tarantino shoots the film in such a way that you don't really care that the plot is rather thin. Say what you will, the man knows style. O-Ren's entry into the House of Blue Leaves is beautifully shot, as is the ending of the Bride's battle with the Crazy 88 (or, at that point, Crazy 8). And any kaiju fan will appreciate his use of the mini-Tokyo set from "Godzilla, Mothra, and King Ghidora: All-Out Monster Attack."
Tarantino's all about the homage: his shout-outs to the Shaw Brothers are plentiful, and the use of their opening title sequence is a blast. Kudos also go to the guy for putting Sonny Chiba, who still looks like he could kick six kinds of ass, in the movie. Chiba plays Hattori Hanzo, the apparently legendary blademaster (reprising his character from "The Shadow Warriors"), who fashions a sword for the Bride ("If you should encounter God, God will be cut"). Chiba doesn't get a lot of credit for his acting, but he conveys more gravity and genuine warmth in five minutes than Ben Affleck could muster in a two week "Masterpiece Theatre" miniseries. There are also references to "Godzilla" (mentioned earlier) and "Princess Snowblade," and the creepy girl from "Battle Royale."
Hot damn, I'm going to watch "The Street Fighter" again this weekend.
Then there's the soundtrack, which is outstanding. Thank Christ there's someone making movies who doesn't feel the need to put the latest flavor of the month hip-hop "stars" and nü-metal dingbats into his movies. Tarantino's choice of music is, as ever, perfect: from the opening Nancy Sinatra song to O-Ren's theme to the 5,6,7,8's (the best three-piece, all-female, barefoot, Japanese band with bouffant hairdos I've ever seen), the tunes fit just right.
I think that's all I've got. Oh, and Uma Thurman has funny looking toes.
Yankees beat Red Sox in 11 innings, will face Florida in World Series. Le sigh.
The network television cabal will apparently continue to air repeats on evenings the Series is playing. All this in spite of the fact that few outside of NYC or Miami give a rat's ass (and I'll bet a hefty chunk of the population in Miami doesn't care either). The suits at Fox, no doubt irate that their anticipated ratings bonanza of a Cubs-Sox Series isn't coming to pass, are going to make every other TV viewer in the country suffer for it.
Which serves them right. Read a book, people.
In other news, it's football season.
Enough with all the "Predator" politics talk. I know, I know...Arnold Schwarzenegger and Jesse "The Body" Ventura were both in "Predator" and both went on to become governors. Since then, the "Predator connection" talk has barely let up: Carl Weathers should run for President; Bill Duke should run for Senate; Kevin Peter Hall should star in a sequel to "Harry and the Hendersons" where the Sasquatch hunts and kills the Dallas Cowboys one by one.
Okay, I made that last one up. Good idea though, huh?
Lost in all these columns and blog entries is the fact that Schwarzenegger and Ventura were in two other movies together. Most cinemaphiles will remember their team-up in 1987's "The Running Man," which took Stephen King's story about the role of media in a bleak and brutal future and turned it into a pro wrestling movie. Still, I'd wager Jim Brown or Yaphet Kotto would have a better shot at public office than Carl "Apollo Creed" Weathers (would you elect a man who couldn't stand up to the Russians?).
Even less well known (admittedly because Ventura had such a small role) is that both governors also appeared in "Batman and Robin." Arnie was the gleefully homoerotic Mr. Freeze, and Ventura briefly played a guard at Arkham Asylum. Forget all that "Predator" crap, think of the possibilities: President George Clooney, Elle Macpheron, Vendela, and Vivica A. Fox as Supreme Court Justices, Nicky Katt as Secretary of Entertainment, and Schwarzenegger as Ambassador to the United Nations.
Of course, I'll have moved to Canada by then. Arnie would sure get the French whipped into shape, though.
BREAKING NEWS: Former KISS guitarist Bruce Kulick shot near the Rainbow Bar and Grill in Los Angeles.
The shooting was reportedly accidental, and not retaliation for the five sub-par KISS albums released during Kulick's tenure with the band. Gary Cherone and Gilby Clark were said to be "relieved beyond words."
There has been no comment from the official Bruce Kulick web page at this time.
The Year: 1975
The Place: A forgotten mall in Salt Lake City, Utah
The Person: Batman's Adam West
Adam West: What's your name, son?
Pete: Peter, sir.
Adam West <signing autograph>: "To Peter, Batman."
Pete: Thanks.
To the Batcave...for more "Conversations with Famous People."
There's an interview with Paul Westerberg in the this week's Onion. The ex-'Mats frontman opines on everything from success...
We went from cult figures to unpopular cult figures.
...to Tom Petty stealing his lines...
I'd steal something back from him, if I could find something I liked.
...to an acoustic tour:
It's the first one I've ever made money on. It shows how stupid I am. I've toured about a hundred times and lost money every time, just because it all goes to the drum tech and all that shit.
Go read it. The Head Beagle commands y...oh, sorry. That was something else.
The doofus who interfered with Moises Alou's foul ball catch in last night's Cubs-Marlins game, helping spur Florida's comeback, has been outed by The Smoking Gun.
I'd like to see the Cubs make it to the World Series, but when it comes right down to it, it's not that big a deal to me. Maybe that's why I have a hard time piling on this guy like everyone else is.
True, most savvy baseball fans would get the hell out of the way of a possible out for their team, especially at home. Maybe he forgot himself. Maybe he didn't think Alou had a shot at the ball. Maybe he didn't care, and is actually an insensitive prick worthy of all the hate being thrown his way. Couldn't tell you.
But what I do know is that if the Cubs lose tonight, he's not just going down in history as part of the long history of Chicago's playoff disappointment, he's going to have to leave town. No security escort (like the one that took him out of Wrigley last night) is going to be able to protect him if he stays in Cook County. He's already disconnected his phone, but with his name out there it's just a matter of time before somebody stakes out his place with the intention of kicking his ass. Hell, they're probably lining up right now.
Bad luck, brother. I hope, for your sake, the Cubs pull it off. If not, maybe you and Jeffrey Maier can find a duplex together in Miami.
Frederick Douglass would be proud:
Sapp blasts NFL 'slave system'
Tampa Bay Buccaneers defensive tackle Warren Sapp, unhappy that the NFL office had warned him against a repeat of his Monday night skip through the Indianapolis Colts' pregame stretching line, blasted the league and Washington Redskins linebacker LaVar Arrington in an interview that aired Sunday on CBS' "The NFL Today."
"He got what he wanted," Sapp said of Arrington, who had threatened retaliation if the Bucs' outspoken nine-year veteran tried to do the same before Sunday's game against the Redskins. "He snitched and slave master come down. That's all that is. ... Stop a man from doing something that he's been doing for nine years?
"And so now there's a rule against me. Thanks. I knew (the league) was gonna do what they did because they've been notoriously against Sapp. Like I said before, it's a slave system. Make no mistake about it, slave master say you can't do it, don't do it. They'll make an example out of you."
I guess creating a rule that hot dogs like Sapp can't skip through the opposing team's drills anymore counts as an example...sort of. Or maybe I missed the part where Warren Sapp was thrown in the stocks and pelted with offal. If so, I'm definitely sorry about that.
If making over $5 million a year (as Sapp does) counts as slave wages, sign me up for some leg irons. Truthfully, this "controversy" comes at a good time for him, as it deflects attention from his increased weight and diminished defensive production (2 sacks in 13 games). Expect more baffling conspiracy theories from the man as his abilities decline in the coming years.
And even with all that, he's still not the most annoying player on the Bucs.
Finally, I can get rid of all those battered paperbacks:
50 years of art. 25 books. Two books per year for 12 1/2 years. Fantagraphics Books is proud to announce the most eagerly-awaited and ambitious publishing project in the history of the American comic strip: the complete reprinting of CHARLES M. SCHULZ’s classic, PEANUTS. Considered to be one of the most popular comic strips in the history of the world, PEANUTS will be, for the first time, collected in its entirety and published, beginning in April, 2004. Fantagraphics will launch THE COMPLETE PEANUTS in a series designed by the cartoonist SETH (Palookaville, It’s A Good Life If You Don’t Weaken) and produced in full cooperation with United Media, Charles M. Schulz Creative Associates, and Mr. Schulz’s widow, Jean Schulz.
25 books? Good grief.
Peanuts is my favorite comic strip of all time, but I'm not sure how I'll be able to afford these. Maybe I can spin the purchase as an "investment in my child." Kids like cartoons, right? Of course, I'll probably have to scan the damn things into my computer because the children of the future won't have the time to bother with something as archaic as print.
Each volume in the series will run approximately 320 pages in a 8” x 6 1/2” hardcover format, presenting two years of strips along with supplementary material. The series will present the entire run in chronological order, dailies and Sundays. Since the strip began in late 1950, the first volume will include all the strips from 1950, 1951, and 1952, but subsequent volumes will each comprise exactly two years. Dailies will run three to a page, while Sunday strips will each take up a full page and be printed in black-and-white, an aesthetic choice agreed upon by the editors, the designer, and Mrs. Schulz.
Sounds like Fantagraphics is really giving Charlie Brown the "special edition DVD" treatment here. As Mark Evanier says, "Clear a bookshelf now."
Next up, they need to update the Super Book of Questions and Answers.
Thanks to Greg for the heads-up.
Stopped at a traffic light this AM, and a car with a pit bull in it pulled up next to mine. The dog immediately started barking at me, even though I had the windows rolled up and wasn't doing anything more aggressive than frantically pushing radio buttons to get off the station playing Neil Diamond that I'd, uh, accidentally tuned in. More likely, I'd violated the dog's zone of aggression, which probably has something like a 120' radius.
I have the same opinion of pit bull owners as I do of people who own .50 caliber Desert Eagle handguns: y'all are seriously overcompensating. I know, I know: there are responsible pit bull owners out there. Something tells me this guy - yakking on a cell phone while his dog lunged precariously out the passenger side window at passers by - wasn't one of them. As the wannabe badass' dog of choice, you're not going to see many pit bull owners who aren't either a) poser thugs or b) trailer park meth dealers. You guys aren't tough. A tough man can walk a poodle, a chihuahua, and a Pomeranian down the street at the same time without anyone laughing at him.
Back to the guy with the pit bull in the car next to me this morning: nothing tops off that smooth criminal motif like the mustard yellow Volvo you were driving. Damn it feels good to be a gangsta.
Game 3 of the ALCS, played Saturday between the Yankees and the Red Sox, was quite a spectacle. I burned out on sports that day around the same time Oklahoma was doing the Red Riverdance on Texas's corpse, but I did catch the various dust-ups on ESPN later that afternoon.
I didn't see enough of the fracas in the bullpen to know who was really at fault, and I was surprised Clements didn't put on his usual American League class act of plunking batters with no fear of retaliation. The highlight of the day, however, was seeing 72-year old Yankee bench coach Don Zimmer charge Boston's Pedro Martinez in the 4th inning, only to have Pedro grab Zimmer by that huge melon of his and casually toss him to the ground.
Zimmer must've been hoping for an outcome like that between Nolan Ryan and Robin Ventura in 1993, when Ryan beat the crap out of the 20-years younger Ventura (still the best baseball fight of all time). I'm not sure what else Pedro could've done in that situation. If you whale on a guy 40 years older than you, you're a rotten bastard. If you let him cold cock you, you're a punk. Not exactly win-win.
Zimmer spoke briefly, through tears, expressing regret. "I'm embarrassed of what happened (Saturday)," Zimmer said. "I'm embarrassed for the Yankees, the Red Sox, the fans, the umpires and my family. That's all I have to say. I'm sorry."
And with that, the 72-year-old Zimmer stepped off the podium, weeping.
I'd be weeping too, if I had my ass handed to me like that. Take a seat and shut up, Don. ESPN's Jim Caple said it first; somewhere Bill Lee is smiling, if not actually laughing his space helmet off.
Boston police are looking for witnesses to the bullpen fight as they decide whether or not to press charges against two Yankees players, while NYC mayor Michael Bloomberg asserts Martinez should be arrested for hammer-throwing Zimmer. The only thing that would make Game 4 better is if Ben and J-Lo squared off against each other in the stands at Fenway.
Ginger clued me in to this article by The New Republic's Gregg Easterbrook, whose assertion that "'no' doesn't always mean no" proves he doesn't have a very good grasp of the English language:
Here's a good rule of thumb for any guy who is afraid, as Mr. Easterbrook frets, that they will be falsely accused of rape: STOP. If there is any ambiguity about the consent issue, if the woman you're with seems like she may be uncertain about the encounter, if there is any fucking question that what you're doing might be construed as non-consensual sex...get up and leave. That's right: zip up and walk out the door. The ignominy of jerking off in your bathroom is a thousand times less repulsive than taking things too far when you don't have explicit permission to do so.
Easterbrook asserts that, because it's such an ordeal for women to accuse a man of rape, prosecuting attorneys (and jurors) automatically assume such accusations to be true. He then goes on to bemoan the hordes of victimized men who suffer false accusations at the hands of vindictive women, which is the same manner of chauvinistic paranoid bullshit that Joe Eszterhas put forth in "Basic Instinct."
Easterbrook doesn't argue that a woman shouldn't be allowed to instigate a "social ritual that often leads to sex," which is very enlightened of him. No, he asserts something far more sinister:
...because in the real world "no" does not always mean no--speaking the word "no" is not the ideal way to communicate to a man that what is happening has changed from persuasion, or pressure, to compulsion. Men not only want sex, the male mindset holds that overcoming the woman's "no" is part of manliness. Few men will rape if that's what they think they are doing. Many try to push past "no" and tell themselves that what they are doing is manly persuasion of the naturally hesitant female.
Gregg Easterbrook must watch a lot of Cinemax. "Overcoming the woman's 'no' is part of manliness?" "Naturally hesitant female" or not, if you hear "no," you sit the hell up and start grabbing for the car keys. Better safe than incarcerated, as my grandfather used to say.
But wait, Gregg has an idea for how we can sort through all this confusion:
Here's my proposal: If the line is crossed, women should say, "This is rape!"
The statement is clear, unambiguous, and can't possibly mean "not now, but maybe after more wine," which is what men often think the first "no" means. Saying, "This is rape!" won't stop the hardened criminal rapist, who already has decided to commit a crime. This phrase should work on the majority of men who are not criminals. Just hearing the word "rape" in this context would give chills to the majority of men who are not criminals.
By Jove, I think he's got it. But don't stop there, think about how this could be applied to other crimes:
"This is a carjacking!"
"This is molestation!"
"This is homicide!"
We can all sleep soundly knowing that such behavior will prevent the majority of those "who are not criminals" from going forward with their heinous deeds. Hardened criminal rapists, after all, make up the vast majority of sexual assault perpetrators.
Of course, that's not the case. The "vast majority" of rapists are men who know - personally - the women they're victimizing. Articles like Easterbrook's, which encourage the delusion that most women somehow "want it," are more damaging than anything represented in the Harlequin Romance dimesnion that Gregg Easterbrook seems to occupy. Does he really share the company of men who think the first "no" is just an invitation to pour a little more Cabernet? If so, I suggest he start reading something besides Maxim and try to peel himself away from daytime soaps.
Stay tuned for Easterbrook's next article, where he defends the use of Rohypnol because it cuts through all that annoying "age-old male-female play."
Bastard.
Lessons learned from yesterday's game: Chance Mock is not The Answer, Roy Williams is a big crybaby, and Oklahoma really is that good. OU quarterback Jason White also deserves a little Heismann consideration. Vincent Young certainly scrambles with the greatest of ease, yet needs to figure out how to elevate the ball...and tucking it in while you run isn't a bad idea either. In other news, Cedric Benson can no longer be considered a legitimate rushing threat.
Yesterday's "game" was embarrassing to watch, whether you were a Texas fan or not. Mack Brown has had the opportunity for three years now to prove his worth as a coach, and he hasn't delivered. Even worse, his days of having the best recruiting class in the nation are over. Stoops will have Texas high school players scrambling to sign up with him, while Arkansas can make a legitimate play for our state's talent as well. A&M's Franchione - win or lose this year - can also make a decent case for the decline of Brown's reputation. The 'Horns have crapped out in the big game once too often, and it's going to cost them.
As a Longhorn fan, it gives me no pleasure to say this. It isn't as if I'm looking forward to three more years of mediocrity. Texas may very well win out the rest of the year, but nothing's going to matter until Mack (or someone else) can figure out a way to beat OU, and all the lopsided victories over Rice and Tulane won't change that.
Man, do I hate people who talk about the referrals on their blogs. It isn't enough that they drone on and on about their stupid hobbies or ill-formed opinions, but to go on after all that and pontificate about why people are coming to their site when they should be grateful for any traffic at all...pathetic.
So I was checking my referral logs, as I do once or twice a week (one needs more site traffic than, say, the average local Bangles cover band to warrant it), but half of what came my way today was courtesy of some pretty sad Google searches:
+quicktime+video+horn+mauling+tiger
+shocking+videos+roy+horn+tiger+attack
roy+horn+tiger+warning+very+graphic+video
And so on. Does such a thing really exist? If so, is it destined to become one of those Holy Grail bootleg videos, like "Apocalypse Pooh" or "Song of the South?" Can I look forward to a continuing stream of such searches?
Hey, it's not like I'm complaining. If it wasn't for those searches, someone looking for a little "wam" action in Houston, and whoever comes here twice a week looking for David Blaine news, I'd have maybe a dozen visitors a day.
