A Perfectly Cromulent Blog

So much for "...and then she unzipped her jumper"

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.

What, me furry?

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.

Here comes the sun

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.

Nudes of the world

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.

Shill the wabbit

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.

The truth is out

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.

Die! Die! My Darling!

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.

From my stone, dead hands

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.

Being Maurice Sendak

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.

"Temple of Doom" still sucks

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.

Geek TV question

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.

Marlins win World Series

America responds by scratching self, continuing to watch football.

Wine me, dine me, .69 me

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.

Random thoughts from a bar

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 to Russia France

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.

Mandatory Slobberbone nag

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.

Less filling

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?

Footage at 11

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.

We can make him stronger, faster, and..."wackier?"

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?"

"Don't you ever tell me where you found him."

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."

You probably saw this coming

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.

"Want some mary jane?" "Thanks, hep cat."

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.

Shnook of Lists, Pt. 1

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 Boys

Honorable 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."

Potable quotes

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."

Please go away

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?

Foot in mouth disease

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.

That reminds me...

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.

Killing Bill softly

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.

Take me out to the anti-climax

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.

6 degrees of Schwarzenegger/Ventura

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.

"And that's for Crazy Nights!"

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.

Conversations with Famous People, Pt. 6

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."

"You apparently had a lung removed"

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.

Poor dumb bastard

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.

Master and Servant

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.

The Head Beagle commands you

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.

Thoughts on a morning commute

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.

The Old Man on his Knees

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.

Sexual Assault for Dummies

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.

The Debacle

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.

Nothing to see here

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.

What a Rush

Well la-de-da:

Rush Limbaugh admits addiction to painkillers

NEW YORK -- Conservative commentator Rush Limbaugh announced during his radio program today that he is addicted to painkillers and is checking into a rehab center to "break the hold this highly addictive medication has on me."

"You know I have always tried to be honest with you and open about my life," Limbaugh said. "So I need to tell you today that part of what you have heard and read is correct. I am addicted to prescription pain medication."

"Immediately following this broadcast, I am checking myself into a treatment center for the next 30 days to once and for all break the hold this highly addictive medication has on me," he added.

Because addicition's a disease, right? And people addicted to drugs deserve compassion and assistance, right? And you've been saying that all along, right?

Uh huh.

Law enforcement sources who spoke on condition of anonymity confirmed to The Associated Press that Limbaugh was being investigated by the Palm Beach County, Fla., state attorney's office.

"At the present time, the authorities are conducting an investigation, and I have been asked to limit my public comments until this investigation is complete," Limbaugh said today.

First the denials, then the "courageous admission" when you discover you're being investigated. A noble stand. Maybe you and Bill Bennett can start a support group for self-righteous assholes. You could call it "Do As I Say, Not As I Do Anonymous."

Don't worry, Rush: rich gasbags like you don't go to prison. Though it would be poetic justice indeed if you were forced to share a cell with a Donovan McNabb fan.

"Here's the story..."

"Of a man named Wesley,
Who was arguing with a bunch of Democrats.
Some of them were anti-war,
Some once were for it,
And one continues to attack the entertainment industry for perpetuating violence in society thereby ensuring Hollywood's major players will never back his campaign and besides who wants to vote for a guy who sounds like the dad from 'Alf' anyway?"

Sorry about that Henry Phillips-esque riff at the end there.

Now that the CA recall is over, for better or worse, everyone can concentrate on the real fun: the 2004 Presidential Election. I guess the serious candidates at this point would have to be Lieberman, Dean, Kerry, Edwards, Clark, and Gephardt. Narrow that down after the first round pf primaries to Dean, Clark, Kerry, and Lieberman.

Scoring well off last night's debate were Dean, Edwards, Kerry, and Clark, who took the brunt of the offensive from the other candidates and handled it pretty well. If Bush's numbers don't improve significantly and/or our perceived fortunes don't change significantly in Iraq, next year could be very interesting indeed.

More must haves

Time again for a brief rundown of the new material items I need to complete my existence.

Need. Want. Whatever.

The Adventures of Robin Hood (DVD)

I've never taken the time to sit down and make a list of my Top N favorite movies, but if I did, Errol Flynn's "Robin Hood" would be in the first tier. The action is unbeatable for that time period, and the final swordfight between Robin and Sir Guy (Basil Rathbone) remains one of the finest ever filmed (the authentic bow shot that splits the arrow is also pretty cool). The first film to use the three-strip Technicolor process...classic performances by Flynn, Rathbone, Olivia de Havilland, and Claude Rains...the first appearance of Roy Rogers' Trigger (as Maid Marian's horse)...and one of the greatest dialogue exchanges in movie history: "You speak treason!" "Fluently." Movies don't get much better than this.

As an added bonus, the DVD comes with the "Robin Hood Daffy" cartoon. "Yoiks and away" indeed.

The Judys documentary (???)

Thanks to Michael for bringing this to my attention. According to the Austin Chronicle, one of the entries in this year's Cinematexas International Short Film Festival was a 7-minute documentary on 1980's Houston new wave band The Judys.

The webmaster at unofficial web site TheJudys.com seems to think he might be able to host the film if he can get his hands on a VHS copy. Given that we don't seem to be any closer to a CD release of Washarama or Moo, this might be the best we can do for Judys-related fandom.

Grand Theft Auto: Vice City (Xbox)

My brother-in-law was kind enough to let me noodle around with GTA: Vice City on his PS2 after a few too many beers. I gave up on any serious quest action pretty early on and contented myself with stealing cars and changing radio stations as I drove over pedestrians. This might be my big chance to see what all the fuss is about, especially considering my current Knights of the Old Republic withdrawal pains.

The Adventures of Indiana Jones (DVD)

If "The Adventures of Robin Hood" is in my top 15 movies of all time, "Raiders of the Lost Ark" is in my top 2. As annoyed as I am that I have to buy "Last Crusade" packaged with it, I'm so jonesed (ha ha) to see "Raiders" in widescreen and Dolby Digital 5.1 that I don't care. My weathered VHS copy (and its unopened emergency back-up) can finally retire with full honors.

All three movies are being released in their original format, with extras included on a fourth disc. Original format? What a concept.

"Sith? Sith?" Yeth?"

TheForce.Net is reporting that the title of the eagerly awaited (though not quite so eagerly awaited as "Return of the King") final Star Wars prequel will be "Revenge of the Sith." Seems Lucasfilm has registered the domain "revengeofthesith.net."

Of course, they also registered "riseforth.com" ("The Sith/Clones Rise Forth" was, at one time, rumored to be the title for "Episode II") and "darkjedi.com" before the last film, so who knows? George isn't exactly batting a thousand when it comes to titles, so maybe he should just run that baby.

If you ask me (and you knew this was coming), he could do a lot worse:

Episode III: The Clone Collector
Episode III: Watto's Love Got To Do With It?
Episode III: Peter Mayhew's Off the Dole
Episode III: "Lord of the Rings" Doesn't Have Lightsabers
Episode III: Now With Vampires!
Episode III: Desperate, But Not Sidious
Episode III: Return of Your Parents' Basement
Episode III: Midichlorians? Who Said Anything About Midichlorians?
Episode III: The Emperor Is Recalled

...and President Bush's favorite:

"Episode III: Bring It On"

California über alles

The citizens of Florida (2000 Presidential election), Pennsylvania (Sen. Rick Santorum), and Texas (Gov. Rick Perry) are in your debt, California.

Two quotes from the coverage of the recall stood out. The first from Rob Lowe:

"There are two great victories tonight. There's Arnold Schwarzenegger's victory ... and there's the victory against 'puke' politics. This is hopefully the last time that kind of campaigning will be brought up, because it keeps good people with something to lose [from getting] involved...

Lowe sounds like he's contemplating a run for office someday (*gasp*). If so, someone might want to point out that allegations of past groping are a lot easier to fend off than CNN replaying footage of your drunk ass getting freaky with an underage girl every hour on the eights.

Finally, from Mary Carey, America's newest sweetheart:

"All the positive media attention I've been getting, that the Bush administration would realize one important fact...that America loves its porn stars."

Sage words indeed.

No love for Gary Coleman, though. I would've thought he'd have the "former child stars" demographic sewn up. And that's a big voting bloc in California.

What's next for Arnold? Time will tell, but I have to believe the countdown is on to see when someone in Congress proposes another amendment that allows foreign-born persons to be President.

UPDATE: Corrected to indicate, as Ginger pointed out, that other amendments to that effect have already been introduced.

SchadenfRoyde

Some new revelations have come to light regarding the mauling of famous illusionist Roy Horn at Las Vegas' Mirage Hotel. From today's IMDb:

Manager Blames Distraction for Horn's Tiger Attack

Siegfried & Roy's longtime manager believes Roy Horn was attacked by Montecore the tiger because the creature was distracted by something in the audience. Bernie Yuman thinks that moments after the distraction, the four-legged big cat attacked the performer because Horn was trying to coax it back into their routine.

What could have so agitated the tiger that it felt compelled to attack Horn? APCB has gotten hold of this exclusive photo taken minutes before the incident that could shed some light on the mystery:

Montecore hates meeses to pieces, apparently.

Image courtesy of I Am Not a Goddamn Graphic Artist, Inc.

Arena weenies

Our local rag had a hard-hitting story about how impressed the local yokels were by our new multi-purpose, multimillion dollar arena:

Crowds wowed by Toyota Center

Oh, what a feeling. Toyota Center threw open its doors Monday evening for its inaugural event, a Fleetwood Mac concert. Fans complimented the facility but balked at the parking prices.

Inserting a corporation's motto into your "news" story is most excellent journalism.

Before Fleetwood Mac was to perform, competing beer vendors, stationed steps from the entrance, provided an opening act. Their voices bellowed as the first drove of fans rushed in past police officers and officials in suits. They began arriving an hour early at 6:30 p.m. -- some excited about the performance, others unsure of the parking situation.

What are they unsure about? By all accounts, the parking situation sucks. The Toyota Center garage costs $15. Parking at a lot across the street costs $20. That's at least...two beers.

There were some first-day kinks to be worked out. Ticket holders wandered directionless, and one concession stand ran out of tortillas and taco shells.

Not wanting to take the food to their $125 seats, stay-at-home moms Rebecca McDowell, 36, and her sister, Patti Wendlandt, 38, searched for seats near the vendors. Not finding any, they plopped down on the floor.

Was it really imperative to let us know that they're "stay-at-home moms?" Is this supposed to arouse suspicion as to where they got $250 for tickets? Or are we supposed to question their intelligence, seeing as how they just forked over two and a half bills to see a bunch of drug casualty has-beens?

The Summit/Compaq Center was built in 1975, yet deemed last decade to be "too old" for an NBA team, so Rockets owner Les Alexander stamped his feet and held his breath and threatened to take his players and leave (and as far as I was concerned, Louisville was welcome to him). Ticket price hikes in recent years have all but guaranteed that the average basketball fan in Houston has to be content to watch most games on TV, so I would've been happy to let them leave. In a few years, no one would've cared.

We've got a football team again, after all.

Event parking was also free. Maybe high priced lots at the Toyota Center figure somehow into the grand scheme to increase downtown property values.

Now Houston has three brand spanking new arenas, one for each major league franchise in town (venues hosting more than one sport are so 1965). Guess that means we're a "world class city." Remember that when your relatives want to come visit and have to sleep on your couch because of the hotel taxes.

F*cking groovy

Fark has a link to this FCC ruling on U2 singer Bono's utterance of the 'F' word during this year's Golden Globes. In a nutshell, saying "fuck" on TV is okay, so long as it's not, you know, obscene:

As a threshold matter, the material aired during the "Golden Globe Awards" program does not describe or depict sexual and excretory activities and organs. The word "fucking" may be crude and offensive, but, in the context presented here, did not describe sexual or excretory organs or activities. Rather, the performer used the word "fucking" as an adjective or expletive to emphasize and exclamation. Indeed, in similar cirumstances, we have found that offensive language used as an insult rather than as a description of sexual or excretory activity or organs is not with the scope of the Commission's prohibition of indecent program content."

Left out of the Commission's ruling is the assumption that Bono, being Irish, was probably too drunk to know what he was saying anyway.

The FCC has already ruled that "fleeting" remarks within the context of "live and spontaneous programming" are not actionable. Maybe Bono should cease his AIDS activism and start touring American morning radio shows in an effort to help dirty up our airwaves.

Going by the Commission's logic, I've come up with a handy list of proper and improper usages of various supposedly naughty words for future reference:

PROPER: "I couldn't believe that old fart Strom Thurmond lived as long as he did."
IMPROPER: "I was farting Reddi Whip for hours after that party at Egon's."

PROPER: "Oh, shit! That python Joan Embry brought on the show just swallowed Lara Flynn Boyle!"
IMPROPER: "I'd crawl through a mile of python shit just to tube feed Lara Flynn Boyle."

PROPER: "Tonight on Animal Planet, we'll be discussing the latest in doggie style."
IMPROPER: "And then Arnold hit her doggie-style after Franco and Lou were done with her."

It's a delicate balancing act. Hopefully I've been of some assistance.

Knights of the Old Republic - Finis

"I did it all for the Wookiees."
"The Wookiees?"
"The Wookiees."

That exchange, between your character and former Jedi Jolee Bindo regarding his exile on Kashyyk, was the cherry on top of this deluxe banana split of a game. If you don't recognize it, it's because you are unfortunate enough not to have heard that particular Limp Bizkit masterpiece. I never thought having neighbors blast that song over and over would lead to video game fulfillment later in my life, but there you go.

I completed the last two planets and the Star Forge since my last update, but rather than prolong the magical excitement of the experience, I thought I'd just to a (not so) quick and dirty recap of the final thrilling adventures of El Diablo Azul, Jedi Knight. Would he stay true to the Jedi Code, would the appearance of new girlfriend Bastila in her hot Dark Jedi robes sway him? Is it really possible to kill members of your own party?

Ha ha ha. Of course it is.

Our next stop after Manaan was the Sith-controlled world of Korriban which, for being Sith-controlled was pretty easy to get through. To get the last Star Map, you have to join the Sith Academy (like the Dream Academy, but without the ethereal balladeering) and explore the tombs of ancient Sith lords. Meanwhile, you also get involved in a Sith plot with your Twi'ilek trainer, Yuthana, to betray the leader of the Academy. I'm sure the Light Side way (taking on both at once) gets you better karma, but I opted to help Yuthana, then send her back to the Academy with her tail between her legs after she tried to turn on me. Call me a softie, but if these recaps have taught us anything, it's that I'm a sucker for the Twi'ilek ladies.

Then it's on to the Star Forge, but first we see a cut scene of Malak torturing my woman. Bastila's strong, but we all know she's going to get turned. I mean, she played tonsil hockey with a former Sith Lord, didn't she?

No time to worry about that, though, as our intrepid band comes up on the Star Forge...only to be damaged by some disruptor field emanating from an unknown planet. Conveniently, we end up crashing on same said planet. Time to find the source of the field, get airborne, and kick a little Sith ass. I'll skip over the mumbo jumbo involving the "rakatans," and the annoying number of rancors you have to fight, and cut to the chase. Once you get to the mysterious temple housing the disruptor generator, you have your first encounter with Bastila. I used the Save function to go down two paths here: in the first, I try to convert Bastila. In the second, I join her. The second's a lot more fun, as you get to kill Jolee, Juhani, Mission, and Zaalbar (you can Force Persuade Z. to attack Mission, otherwise he turns on you...damn Wookiese). Carth will bail, which is no big loss. I equate it with Diane leaving "Cheers."

Otherwise, it means trying to convince Bastila to "return to the Light." She'll resist you, but given her track record against your wily charms I wouldn't worry too much about it.

Once you get to the Star Forge, you're going to be fighting a shitload of: Dark Jedi, Sith troopers, Sith apprentices, and whatever else Malak feels like throwing at you. It's amazingly grueling, especially given the ease of the previous stages. Light or Dark doesn't matter here, so kill away.

And who knew getting past the Star Forge droids (the last enemy before Malak himself) was as easy as just opening the damn door? Not exactly the honorable solution, but screw it: they're droids.

So either Bastila is turned back to Goodness and confesses her love for you, or she joins you in your evil quest to retake the crown of Sith Lord. Beating Malak wasn't really that hard. He tries to recharge from these captured Jedi students, who you can easily eliminate (they're already dead, so again Dark Side or Light Side doesn't matter) and then kill Malak. The final scene, for Light Side, is the standard "parade rest" shot where everyone is seen smiling in the sunshine. I have to admit I haven't bothered with beating Malak from the Dark Side angle yet, but I'm curious as to what the final scene looks like if you reinstall yourself as Sith Lord Jesus, or whatever.

Knights of the Old Republic is the best game I've played in many years. I highly recommend it. I'll probably go back through playing Dark Side the whole time, but rest assured I won't do any more updates. No one deserves that.

Screw the Cubs

That's right: screw 'em - the NL Championship Series hasn't even started yet and I've already had enough. Enough of clapping the boys from Chi-Town on the back for their Game 5 victory over the Atlanta Braves. Enough with endlessly pointing out that this is the first time since 1908 that the Cubs have won a post-season series. Enough of the wave of warm baseball fuzzies that the sports pundits and, indeed, quite a few bloggers seem to be riding. Enough with this new Era of Good Feelings in the City of the Big Shoulders. Bah.

Just so my prejudices are out in the open, I'm a St. Louis Cardinals fan. And while the rivalry between the Cards and Cubs has been spirited for quite some time, I don't think there's a great deal of real animosity between the two (unlike, say, Cardinals-Mets or Cubs-White Sox). Even so, it should surprise no one that I was not one of the multitude out there root-root-rooting for the "loveable losers" to win the NL Central and improbably move on to the NLCS. I held out hope that the Cardinals would stage an 11th hour comeback in September and take their rightful place in the postseason firmament, but alas. Blame Chicago's excellent pitching and savvy trades (Aramis Ramirez has been nails), and that strange vacuum where St. Louis' bullpen used to be.

And I'm not even going to get into Dusty Baker vs. Tony "Genius" LaRussa. In the words of The Gambler, I know when to fold 'em.

I don't hate the Cubs, by any stretch (in NL postseason contests not involving the Cards, my consistent pick is "who's playing the Braves?" ). Truth be told, any amount of success on Chicago's part is preferable to their tired "wait 'til next year" shtick fans of every other baseball team have had to listen to for the last 95 years. Certainly no one (okay, almost no one, sorry Chuck) wants to see the Yankees win it all again. And if the Red Sox beat the A's tonight, all the murmuring about a possible Cubs-Sox championship will turn into full-on 'harumphing.'

No, my anti-Cubs attitude has more to do with the franchise's embrace of failure lo these many seasons. Confront a Chicago fans about their decades of suckitude and the most you'll usually get is a sheepish grin and a shake of the head. BoSox fans at least have the decency to be pissed off about their crappy teams, and their bitterness and hatred of the Yankees is pretty entertaining to be around.

And really, who in good conscience could be a fan of the same team as George Will?

Upon further consideration, I should actually be happy at the possibility of the Red Sox playing the Cubs in the World Series: no matter who wins, one set of fans is finally going to have to quit moaning about their team's misfortunes.

And as for the Cardinals...I guess we'll just have to wait 'til next year.

KOTOR update, Pt. 5

"Manaan manaan. Doo doooo de doo doo..."

Before I get into a thrilling recap of thje aquatic hellhole known as Manaan, let me just call BS on the whole climax to the Leviathan incident. I'm not talking about the specific revelations, but about the feeble way in which the whole thing ended. When my friend Michael remarked how much of a creampuff Darth Malak was, I thought he was just goading me because he'd finished the game five times since I'd started, but he's absolutely correct. I was all over that bald bastard like the Kurgan on Castagere, and every time his health would drop to 25% or so, he'd bail. The last time obviously being the worst, as Bastila bravely leapt to my defense, only to be trapped with Malak on the Leviathan as Carth and I made our escapes.

Tthhhppht.

As for my character once being Darth Revan, that mind-wipe must've been pretty effective if I forgot all my ass-kicking abilities. I feel short-changed in that my I should have been slicing through everything up to this point like butter.

Back to Manaan, which is an aquatic world dotted with large floating cities. It also provides the galaxy with "kolto," which apparently both the Republic and the Sith need for their healing vats. As a result, an uneasy truce exists enforced by fishy humanoids known as the Selkath. You'll get tired of listening to them speak after about two minutes.

This Light Side path thing gets harder all the time, especially on a world where all the hot Sith babes try to provoke you into fighting. And you can't even pick up the drunk one in the cantina. No, your romantic energies must be spent on Bastila.

Bastila has some issues, if she knew I was Revan all along and still made out with him. Judging by her capture, I assume she gets turned to using her Battle Meditation for the Sith and it's up to my guy to bring her back. Fair enough.

And I know they have to make this game worth the $50, but Manaan was just plain tedious. I can be happy I didn't waste time with pazaak games and only dropped in on the swoop racers once to check out the Twi'ileks in their bondage gear (which leads me to wonder how much of this game George saw before signing off on it).

Side quests include investigating a murder allegedly committed by a former Republic big shot, and infiltrating a Sith base to retrieve a datapad or some crap. There's plenty of worthwhile slaughter to be had, but a lot of annoying running through city section to get to other city sections - kind of like what you had to deal with on Taris. Eventually you discover that strange things are afoot on the ocean floor and you'll head down to investigate.

The good news is that the Deep Ones...er, Selkath are secretly siding with the Republic to process more kolto. The bad news is that their machinations have awakened a huge shark you'll have to figure a way to get around. I know, even a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, they have sharks. As usual, easy way to solve problem = Dark Side. Bummer.

So apparently if you play a female character, your love interest is Carth, which just strikes me as lame. Carth is a whiny little bitch. At least Bastila has some moral ambiguity about her. I wondered how spicy things were going to get, but fortunately there weren't any awkward morning after scenes. I admit, I played up the whole "we were meant to be together" angle just for grins, even though I knew I was wasting time.

As for your character being Darth Revan...again, maybe choosing more Dark Side options actually makes this harder, but the only person you have to convince of your change of heart is Carth, and he's fairly worthless as an ally, anyway. I was much more worried about HK-47. Wonder of wonders, it turns out you were his original owner, and he ramps back up his old assassination protocols once he learns your new identity.

I can hardly wait to try them out.

Self-Help for Slackers

SoYouWanna.com has advice on just about everything you might want to know but were never actually taught, from how to quit smoking to speaking with an Irish accent. My favorite so far, and one referred to on MetaFilter, is how to fake being an indie rock expert:

Whatever you do, don't read Rolling Stone. Rolling Stone is for housewives and teenage girls. In Rolling Stone you can read about Puff Daddy and Lillith Fair. That's the kind of fodder that feeds indie rock disdain. Spin - it's for poseurs. You might be best off flipping through a copy of Alternative Press. But don't buy it off the newsstand. Paying retail is not at all indie rock.

I used to pick up RS for the William Greider articles. Guess I have to stop now. What about Maximum RocknRoll?

Know about Minneapolis in the heyday of the '80s, when the Replacements, Hüsker Dü, and Soul Asylum (they used to be cool) were the underground holy trinity of rock. Drop mentions of the Replacements whenever possible. Oh, and also mention Peter Jesperson, even if you have no idea who he is. It doesn't matter. Just say something like, "Yeah, I hear Jesperson's got something new going on," then just bluff your way from there.

Have I mentioned recently what a big Replacements fan I am?

Care to chat?

I don't really know anything about bash.org, except that they maintain a hilarious archive of quotes from internet chat rooms. Here are a couple that spoke to me:

[tag] Ouroboros: lets play Pong
[Ouroboros] Ok.
[tag] |   .
[Ouroboros] .    |
[tag] |  .
[Ouroboros] . |
[tag] | .
[Ouroboros] |  .
[Ouroboros] Whoops

and

[BombScare] i beat the internet
[BombScare] the end guy is hard

The last time I visited a chat room was 1996, and then only because a 1200 baud modem and a Lynx browser don't offer many alternatives for internet entertainment. I'm glad these guys have found a way to weed through the warez, MP3s, and child molesters to find some actual humor.

Finally, there's the guy who substituted the word "wang" for "wand" in the first Harry Potter book:

[JonJonB] "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harry Potter." It wasn't a question. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wang. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wang for charm work."
[JonJonB] "Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wang. Eleven inches."

...oh, shut up. You didn't come here to be educated.

Too much Frodo is never enough

It's something we've all done (and if you haven't, you should - just to subsequently regret wasting 8 or 9 hours of your life): sitting down and watching all three Star Wars movies in a row, or all three "Godfather" films in a row (generously using the fast forward button during the third), or all three "Evil Dead" movies in a row. Today we learn that New Line Cinema has gotten the jump on everyone by offering a marathon viewing of all three "Lord of the Rings" movies (the Extended editions), culminating with the midnight premiere of "Return of the King."

The "three-fer" starts December 16, and the theaters particpating are listed here. Tickets go on sale October 9.

Fetch me my stadium seat, a three-liter of Mountain Dew, and and extra large bag of Cheetohs.

And some Preparation H would probably be a good idea.

"Grabbing hands grab all they can"

Depeche Mode has always been my source for searing political analysis.

Today was a bit trying for everyone's favorite California gubernatorial candidate, as allegations surfaced about in a Los Angeles Times story (registration required) about his past treatment of the fairer sex. Arnie denounced such claims as "trash politics," insisting he now understands that actions he once regarded as "playful" may have been a wee bit out of bounds. He also offered an apology, saying, "...to those people that I have offended, I want to say to them I am deeply sorry about that and I apologize because this is not what I'm trying to do."

No shit, genius. What you were trying to do was clumsily get a little action, at best. At worst, you were trying to humiliate and intimidate these women. If you'd been accused of calling one of them a "cooze" or telling one of them she dressed like a hooker, then you could apologize for "offending" them.

Amidst all the stories about Arnold's allegedly lecherous past, one can't help but wonder how his wife feels about the whole thing. Maria Shriver has gone with Arnold on Oprah and spoken to women's groups about what a devoted family man her husband is and how she accepts him "with all his strengths and weaknesses." A noble sentiment to be held by one's spouse, to be sure, but one that raises a whole new series of questions:

1. Is she an idiot?
2. Is she in denial?
3. Is she putting on a bold front for the kids?
4. Has the marriage been a sham from the start?

I'd have to go with a combo of #2 and #4. Shriver's apparent lack of self-esteem would seem surprising, except when you consider the Kennedy family's track record with women. Besides, some of the behavior alleged in the Times story took place as recently as three years ago. What's that expression about "old dogs?"

Vote Coleman.

They're lovin' it

This story, about a judge throwing out the fat lawsuit against McDonald's, kind of flew under my radar a few weeks ago. Must've been all that hurricane coverage.

U.S. District Judge Robert Sweet said the plaintiffs failed to show that the fast-food chain misled consumers into believing its food was nutritious and part of a healthy diet.

Sweet tossed out an earlier version of the lawsuit in January that claimed McDonald's food causes health problems in children.

Well, their food probably does cause health problems in children that consume nothing but McNuggets and orange drink. However, I find it hard to believe that the print ads the suit brought up were any more misleading than back in the '70s when McDonald's was telling us hash browns and sausage were an "important part of any nutritious breakfast."

This Reuters story also tells of the collective sigh of relief breathed by the restaurant industry at the ruling:

The suit had raised fears in the food industry of a new wave of tobacco-like litigation against restaurants and manufacturers. Anti-tobacco lawyers attended a seminar during the spring in Boston focusing on the possibility of bringing more suits over fattening foods.

I wouldn't hold my breath, if I was an anti-tobacco lawyer (no pun intended). Until some whistleblower from Burger King surfaces with evidence that the sour dough Whopper has addictive properties (aside from its innate deliciousness), fat litigation will have a tough time getting rolling, and fast food companies will undoubtedly raise the point that parents are the ones with the ultimate responsibility for what their children eat.

Meanwhile, mouthpieces for Ronald McDonald were understandably smug:

"It is a total victory for common sense. The court has closed the books once and for all on this meritless case," [McDonald's spokesperson Lisa Howard] said. "As we've said all along, our menu can absolutely be part of a healthy balanced lifestyle."

Not so fast, Cochise. This kind of flies in the face of statements made by McD's lawyer Bradley Lerman during the trial to the effect that "reasonable people know what products are in hamburgers and fries and what excessive eating of those products does to one's waistline over a prolonged period." On the face of it, I agree that McDonald's shouldn't be held responsible for parents who can't be bothered to at least order a chicken sandwich (hold the mayo) for their kids once or twice, but don't lie to us like we're Montel Williams and assert you've been "heart healthy" all along. Certain items on the McDonald's menu introduced in the last decade or so can be part of a balanced lifestyle, I suppose. A Big Mac meal, "supersized" with a Coke, isn't one of them, and that's the kind of thing most people who patronize your fine store end up ordering.

And nice going on faking out the Hindus with your supposedly "vegetarian" fries, by the way.

Meanwhile, the Motley Fool gets the last laugh on us Houstonians:

In an unrelated but totally ironic story, McDonald's is teaming up with the city of Houston to help "slim down" the town, which was named the fattest in the nation for the third straight year by Men's Fitness magazine. The restaurant will help the "Get Lean Houston!" campaign by offering several menu items with less than 10 grams of fat.

Uh, thanks guys, but the problem in Houston is not a lack of dining choices. If, however, you can:

- redesign the entire city so one isn't forced to drive every place...
- magically create a comprehensive network of safe sidewalks and bike paths, and, while you're at it...
- change the axis of the planet so we aren't cloaked in a miasma of sub-tropical heat and humidity six months out of the year...

Well then, you might be on to something.

I hate even being a little on Corporate Deathburger's side in all this. At best, McDonald's is a callous purveyor of lowest-common denominator grub that dots franchises across the world with little thought for the negative environmental and socio-economic consequences. At worst, it (along with its fellow fast food brethren) is a force for globalization and worldwide homogenization that depletes natural resources and wantonly feeds us potentially dangerous foodstuffs.

Even so, nobody makes you eat it. I don't generally go for fast food (though I confess to the occasional Taco Bell bean burrito - hey, I'm not made of stone), but I can empathize with parents trying to combat the barrage of advertising that convinces their children they deserve a break today. I don't envy them, especially considering I'm going to be in that position myself Real Soon Now. To everyone else, read Fast Food Nation by Eric Schlosser and, when you're done, give your eating out money to a local restaurant that actually puts some time into making your food.

Love to love you baby

At APCB, the love between two complete strangers with nothing more in common than their mutual desperate pawing through the local "alternative" weekly can be a beautiful thing.

More goodies from the Austin Chronicle:

1) THE WINSLOW BOY, 9-11. I was The Jerk; maudlin girl Under Siege by Simple Men outside Emo's. Needed Deliverance; you didn't Say Anything. Could you give this Charmicarmicat the Antitoxidote? #2376

Dude, I appreciate your cinema references, but your genres are all over the place.

2) WE TALKED ON the bus to ACL fest on Sun. You(a kinesiology major)in maroon shorts and white shirt. I should have asked for your name. #2397

You had me at "kinesiology major."

3) SOUTHSIDE BINGO - You: orange dobber drinking red wine from a bag. Me, blue boy making eyes between games. Maybe we can play together sometime. Montreal? Vegas? #2292

She's a fishing float? Smooth.

"Fetish"-y Goodness

It's that time again: a new "Footage Fetishes" column is up at Film Threat for your reading pleasure and/or withering scorn. Check it out here.

The topic this time around? 1983's "WarGames."

My Big Fat NFL Idiot

Wow. What a surprise.

Before [Donovan] McNabb led the Philadelphia Eagles to a 23-13 victory against the Buffalo Bills on Sunday, commentator Rush Limbaugh said on ESPN's Sunday NFL Countdown that the fifth-year quarterback is overrated. Limbaugh's comments sparked controversy for their racial overtones.

"I don't think he's been that good from the get-go," Limbaugh said. "I think what we've had here is a little social concern in the NFL. The media has been very desirous that a black quarterback do well. There is a little hope invested in McNabb and he got a lot of credit for the performance of this team that he didn't deserve. The defense carried this team."

Two words, moron: Steve McNair (Titans QB in Super Bowl XXXIV). Two more words: Warren Moon (49,325 career passing yards - 3rd overall, and 291 TDs - 5th overall). Oh what the hell, three more words: Doug fucking Williams (Super Bowl XXII MVP). Falcons' QB Michael Vick, before he got injured, was arguably the best player in the league. McNabb might have gotten to a slow start this season, but Philadelphia's defense didn't score the points that beat Tampa Bay and the Giants last year.

Oh, and it's "media have been very desirous." Shmuck.

Philadelphia Inquirer columnist Phil Sheridan gets to the heart of the matter better than I ever could:

Conservative sleight-of-hand artists like Limbaugh love to use the label "the media" (alternately "the liberal media") as a kind of blanket insult. Well, guess what, Rush? You've got a nationally syndicated radio show. You have your own Web site. You had a national TV show. Now you're on ESPN every Sunday morning.

You.

Are.

The.

Media.

Was that slow enough for you to grasp? You are the media. You're a part of them, anyway. Just like this paper and the others that have covered McNabb since he came to the Eagles in 1999. Just like the radio stations that thrive on Eagles coverage and just like ESPN, which has set the bar for overpromoting athletes so high that no other outlet will ever come close to hitting it.

Right on. But what does Rush himself have to say about all this?

An ESPN spokesman said Tuesday that Limbaugh doesn't do interviews. The spokesman didn't think the comments were racially biased.

Aha.

Of course Limbaugh doesn't do interviews, he's only capable of holding conversations with people who agree with him (and proudly refer to themselves as "Dittoheads," as if being unable to form an opinion for yourself is something to crow about). Anytime he's been confronted with his distortions and lies, he's responded with obfuscation and arguments about how he was "misunderstood."

"ESPN hired Limbaugh for his passion and his ability to express opinion and spark debate as a football fan," [spokesman Dave] Nagle said. "In just one month, he has certainly delivered."

Yeah, because that philosophy worked so well with Dennis Miller. Does ESPN/ABC have a team of monkeys that masterminds the hiring of these blowhards? Actually, that's being a tad disingenuous. ESPN knew exactly what they were doing by hiring Limbaugh. It'll be interesting to see them spin this while also reporting on the lack of black NFL coaches and managers.

McNabb, for his part, isn't responding in kind:

"He said what he said. ... I'm sure he's not the only one that feels that way but it's somewhat shocking to actually hear that on national TV," the Philadelphia Eagles' quarterback said of Limbaugh at a news conference Wednesday. "An apology would do no good because he obviously thought about it before he said it."

He said Wednesday that Limbaugh's comments about his race were out of bounds and added that someone on the show should have taken him on. Among the other panelists are former players Michael Irvin and Tom Jackson, both of whom are black.

"I'm not pointing at anyone but someone should have said it," McNabb said of the panelists, who also include Chris Berman and Steve Young. "I wouldn't have cared if it was the cameraman."

I'm not sure if it's a standing policy at ESPN that Limbaugh should never be challenged or if everyone else on the show had some sort of excuse. Irvin was probably admiring his own clothes, Berman was busy coming up with new, hilarious nicknames, and Young was apparently contemplating changing his holy undergarments.

Limbaugh has slimed his way around our airwaves long enough, especially considering similar comments got Jimmy "The Greek" fired from an analyst position over 15 years ago. If ESPN doesn't want to risk repercussions from other black athletes over Limbaugh's comments, they'll release him from his contract and let him return to talk radio, where African-American callers can safely be told to "go take the bone out of [their] nose" and one's ignorant bloviations are never challenged by the facts.

UPDATE: As Michael has already pointed out in the Comments, Limbaugh has resigned. Good. If ESPN wants the perspective of an "everyday fan" for Sunday NFL Countdown, they can pull someone out of the stands at Soldier Field. Rush is now free to go back to his show and commiserate with his sycophants about what a raw deal he got.

Goin' back to Cali...I don't think so

I see where Arianna Huffington has withdrawn from the California governor's recall race and is urging her supporters (a whopping 3% of those polled, according to Kos) to oppose the recall. There is a possibility, however slim, that the recall might not go through. We'll see.

Let's make one thing clear: if the good people of California elect Arnold Schwarzenegger - a man who has managed to run a campaign without voicing a substantive opinion about anything (impressive even for a politician) and whose various utterances make Dan Quayle sound like Harold Bloom ("I don't understand how they can call me anti-Latino, when I've made four movies in Mexico") - then they will have given up their right to make fun of any other state in the Union until 2006. Anytime my friends in California give me a hard time about Texans' love of guns, our crappy pro football teams, or Jerry Hall, I will fix them with my steely Lone Star gaze and calmly reply, "Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger."

Assuming, of course, the Texas legislature takes care of that frigging redistricting debacle. Otherwise it's a wash.

Gangsta, gangsta

For its 20-year anniversary, Brian De Palma's "Scarface" is coming out in a shiny new special edition DVD and is also getting a limited theatrical re-release. I think that's nice, as most comedies don't usually receive that kind of treatment, and "Scarface" is one of the funniest movies I've ever seen.

There is an intense (and inexplicable) cult of personality around this movie. Gangsters (real and wannabe) clasp it to their bosoms like horror movie fans and "Alien." Watch any episode of "MTV Cribs" that features a hip hop artist and somewhere in his house you'll find a "Scarface" poster or two (Pacino in the white suit and "The World Is Yours" motif being the most popular). Conversely, family groups took easy aim at it back in 1983 for its violence and drug content. Much was made, at the time, of the fact that the f-word is used 206 times, which was a record in 1983. [Numerous movies have since lapped it, including "Dead Presidents" and "Made" (the record - 422 times - is held by either "Casino" or "Tuck Everlasting," I'll have to look it up)] The arbiters of decency would have you believe everything pertaining to "Scarface" was deadly serious.

But the opposite is actually true. Al Pacino, as mush-mouthed Cuban scumbag Tony Montana, has some of the best lines since "Some Like It Hot:" "I bury those cock-a-roaches!" "Get outta the way of the television!" "Look at dem pelicangs!" Are you kidding me? And who could forget Tony's immortal "Say hello to my little friend," right before he takes approximately 800 rounds from a rival drug gang's Uzis, causing him to jerk spasmodically from their impact for thirty seconds? If Pacino hadn't signed on, Jerry Lewis should've taken the part.

Sure, Tony doesn't take shit from anyone and rises to the top of the Miami drug dealer heap through sheer force of will, but how is it possible to see him as anything less than a caricature? What self-respecting criminal would model his felony career around a guy who allows a bunch of thugs to walk into his mansion and blow him away? I understand the whole dark side appeal of an unrepentant bastard like Montana, but pick a guy with some brains (and one who doesn't want to have sex with his own sister). It's romantic to watch Tony take his bullet shower at the end, but most "wannabe criminal men" don't want to acknowledge the fact that most gangsters go out like Jimmy Conway in "Goodfellas," not Tony Montana.

Screenwriter Oliver Stone penned the script while he was trying to kick a cocaine habit of his own, so the guy was obviously not in his right mind. A leopard skin upholstered car? Even for the 80's that's a bit much. And De Palma inserts some nice cinematic elements, but those can't disguise the ultimately shallow characters and the weak story. If it wasn't for the cartoony and slapstick violence, there'd be nothing to recommend this. You can play some decent drinking games with "Scarface," but get some perspective people.

Or at least rent "Mean Streets."