A Perfectly Cromulent Blog

Bounced Trek

Rick Berman is reportedly out as Big Man on the Federation campus. Good.

And as I reported earlier, the set is still awash with concern that within a month or two, there may be a new 'captain' in the Executive Producer's chair. There is concern that Rick Berman's future with the beloved TREK franchise may be coming to an end, making less certain than before the future of ENTERPRISE and a possible fourth season.

My disenchantment with the Trek franchise came some time during The Next Generation's run. I'd always been a fan of the original Star Trek, in much the same way I enjoyed old Tom Baker episodes of Dr. Who: both were cheesy, familiar fun.

And yet, somewhere around the 28th time a "If Data Only Had a Heart" episode aired, or the 900th time another bullshit technological solution was found to a seemingly insurmountable problem (firing a particle beam into the sun?), I just got tired of it all.

DS9 was, to me, the most engaging of the recent Trek offerings (and, not so coincidentally, involved the least meddling from Berman). It was nice and dark, with little of the touchy feely crap so prevalent in TNG or (later) Voyager, two series which veered dangerously away from Roddenberry's "Wagon Train in space" concept. Neither featured the sense of conflict or danger present in the original Trek, instead settling for a strange tendency towards conflict avoidance, screwing with continuity (a huge fanboy no-no), and yawn-inducing story arcs.

The franchise also suffered seriously from overexposure. After TNG became one of the highest rated syndicated shows of all time, the market was soon flooded with Trek properties. They may have belatedly realized the profit potential of Star Trek, but Paramount lost no time in milking the cash cow until it contracted mastitis.

Berman - as the number one guy - is clearly to blame for the bulk of these problems, and his ouster would be well-deserved. Next up, get rid of that hack Brannon Braga and let the franchise lie dormant for at least five, preferably ten years. Then bring writer Ron Moore in to take the helm, and start over. I don't know if you need to go even further into the future (Next, Next Generation?) or do something entirely different. Many fans feel that Joss Whedon should be brought in, which is an intriguing idea. Firefly displayed a number of elements I think would be welcome in a Trek series: it had a wry sense of humor, plenty of action, and featured (or was starting to, before it was canceled) a compelling long-term plot - something lacking from any of the recent Trek series ("trying to get home," a la Voyager, doesn't cut it).

Anyway, those are my thoughts. Like I said, I'm not much of a Trek guy (I think the best thing that's come out related to the franchise in the last fifteen years was Shatner's turn in Free Enterprise), but given the quality of programming on the Sci Fi Channel, fans need all the help they can get.

Let (X) entertain you

Anyone care to hazard a guess as to the identity of this year's mystery Super Bowl entertainer?

HOUSTON (AP) -- Janet Jackson, Sean "P. Diddy" Combs, Kid Rock and Nelly apparently weren't enough for CBS' 12 1/2-minute Super Bowl halftime show.

Another act is poised join the MTV-produced extravaganza. Who that is will remain a mystery until the program, producers said Thursday.

My extremities are positively sweating in anticipation. Who could it possibly be? Britney? Doubtful, since she was there a few years ago. Same for Aerosmith, who everyone already knows were in town the other day doing a NASA promo ("Dream On," perhaps?). Chuck already spilled the beans about his collaboration with Chingy, so that's probably not it (and he's not exactly on the same superstar plateau as the aforementioned performers...Chingy, that is, not Chuck).

Could it be someone from the other side of the musical genre aisle, like a country artist? An animal act? Whats a fan of lip-synched, overproduced, bathroom break extravaganas to do?

Not to worry. APCB oddsmakers have been hard at work on the problem and have come up with the following possible scenarios. Most past performers (Tony Bennett, Diana Ross, James Brown, Christina Aguilera, *NSYNC, Shania Twain, etc.) have been excluded from consideration, so keep that in mind. Odds are provided for entertainment purposes only:

Billy Ray Cyrus - Has-been mulletheads used to be a staple of halftime entertainment (SB XXVIII's halftime theme was "Rockin' Country Sunday," after all), not this year. ODDS: 250 to 1
Kill the 1972 Miami Dolphins - I think even the NFL is getting tired of these smarmy fucks, so let this Sunday's halftime show feature the whole bunch getting mowed down by a water-cooled .30 cal. This is one of the few halftime events for which I might be tempted to stay out of the bathroom. For that reason, it'll never happen. ODDS: 500 to 1
Michael Jackson - They wouldn't be that crazy, would they? And wouldn't this violate his bond agreement? He performed in SB XXVII, anyway. ODDS: 750 to 1
New Kids on the Block - Can you say blockbuster comeback? And before anyone scoffs, remember it was a mere 10 years ago that Kris Kross played the pregame festivities. ODDS: 250 to 1
The Dixie Chicks - Ha ha. No. ODDS 1,000,000 to 1
Blue Man Group - Weird painted men playing homemade instruments to a crowd of 70,000 drunken goons. I can hear the crickets now. ODDS 150 to 1
The Doors - Meaning the new lineup, with Ian Astbury. Some may feel that these guys aren't exactly a football band. To those people, I would like to say, "Blues Brothers 2000" (Super Bowl XXXI). ODDS: 100 to 1
Rob Lowe and Snow White - Next to the '72 Dolphins Massacre, this is the one I most want to see. Lowe's probably a little antsy since The Lyon's Den got cancelled, anyway. ODDS 200 to 1
Eminem - Do Kid Rock and Marshall Mathers hate each other? How about P. Diddy and Marshall? I know this is supposed to be family entertainment, but most of the f-bombs can probably be cut from the playback. ODDS: 75 to 1
Toby Keith - This is more like it. Good old fashioned jingoism goes great with beer and football. Still, it might be a little jarring to switch cameras from Keith's flop-sweating ass to Ms. Jackson's six-pack. ODDS: 25 to 1
A Super Bowl Tribute to Gordon Lightfoot - Beyonce singing "Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" would bring down the house. ODDS 350 to 1
John Mayer - Might be able to accomplish what SB XXVI's "Winter Magic" (featuring Brian Boitano and Dorothy Hamill) couldn't: put an entire Super Bowl audience to sleep. ODDS 50 to 1
Avril Lavigne - Say it ain't so, but she's been suspiciously out of the public eye in recent months. As Hans Christian Andersen once said, "I've got a bad feeling about this." ODDS 25 to 1
Outkast - These guys are a stone groove, man. Bring in that girl with the pigtails from the "Hey Ya" video and I might have to delay my halftime bathroom trek once again. ODDS 5 to 1
J-Lo - I think we have a winner. Check the facts: she recently broke up with B-Affle, and was spotted earlier this month with P-Diddy in Miami. Her strain of bland, inoffensive dance pop, liberally sprinkled with ass shaking, is just the thing a Super Bowl audience stoked by endless promos featuring the Coors Light twins will be craving. ODDS: 3 to 2

As always, any correct predictions will be trumpeted here on Monday. Incorrect ones will be ignored with extreme prejudice.

Carnival of sorts

A Perfectly Cromulent Blog will be hosting the 72nd edition of Carnival of the Vanities next week. February 4, to be exact.

What is the Carnival? Info can be found here. Consider it the natural evolution of vanity publishing, in which a different weblog hosts an assortment of "best of" entries from a wide and varied number of participants each week (the most recent version can be found at The American Mind). I joined in a few times, volunteered to host one, then promptly forgot about it until earlier this month.

Here's how it works: if you have a blog entry you'd like everyone reading the Carnival to check out, send me the permalink and, if possible, a one line description (e.g. "Pete proposes alternate targets of opportunity for the American war machine").

Simple, no? E-mail any entries to general_buck_vh@yahoo.com by, oh, let's say 11:00 PM CST, February 3. I'll post the Carnival entry the next morning.

Away we go. For those of you keeping score on Simpsons Quote Month, the Carnival entry is the one posting in February that will not have a quote for the title.

Or will it?

Wouldn't it be lottery?

Well, hell...all the other kids are talking about it:

Texas to install self-service lottery ticket machines

AUSTIN - Texas lottery officials plan to install about 1,000 self-serve units at retail outlets across the state to dispense tickets for games like Lotto Texas, Mega Millions and Cash Five.

The ATM-like machines will also be able to scan tickets from previous drawings and tell players whether they have won money.

"We think the players will like them," lottery spokesman Bobby Heith told the Fort Worth Star-Telegram. "You can purchase your tickets and check to see if you have a winner without taking up the retailer's time."

Taking up the retailer's time. Right.

Heith is being too kind to the thousands of closet ticket purchasers who complained because they either a) don't want to be seen publicly dropping money into the yawning pit toilet of Lotto purchases or, b) would rather not have to deal with the vast unwashed masses at their local Gas 'n Sip.

Many of whom, I'm told, smell just awful.

Self-serv lottery kiosks are the latest development in removing actual human beings from the customer service loop. We've had automated phone menus and pay-at-the-pump gas stations for years. I'm just waiting for my neighborhood grocery store to put in a "U Dispense It" methadone booth.

Hopefully it'll come in some flavors besides "methadone."

Which arm?

The latest to trot out the old saw about that danged liberal media? ABC's John Stossel:

John Stossel, who co-anchors 20/20 with Barbara Walters, has accused mainstream journalists, including those at ABC, his own network, of being leftists who view conservatives with hostility. Appearing at the libertarian Cato Institute to promote his new book, Give Me a Break, Stossel commented, "Where I live in Manhattan and where I work at ABC, people say conservative the way people say child molester." As reported by CNSNews.com, a unit of the conservative Media Research Center, Stossel told the group: "Leftist thinking is just the culture that I live in and the culture the reporters who populate the mainstream media live in."

Curiously, ABC's George Will wasn't available to comment on this story.

I can't for the life of me understand why liberals would view some conservatives with hostility, especially since they've been labeled everything from child murderers to Commies to Francophiles for the last twenty years.

But that's beside the point. Stossel - the moustachioed arch-prevaricator of ABC's "news" magazine, 20/20 - dredges up the tired myth while working in a television environment increasingly crowded with fellow fact check-challenged blowhards like Bill O'Reilly, Sean Hannity, Robert Novak, Dennis Miller, Brit Hume...well, Eric Alterman said it best. Stossel has obviously taken to heart the adage that if one repeats a lie long enough it starts to sound true. Now he's ruined the fun for everyone, however, because anything that comes out of Stossel's mouth is suspect, and has been for some time.

He accused the press of being "filled with hatred for capitalism" and said that in his own case, "Everything I do has to be read by two liberal ABC lawyers and at least two liberal ABC producers." Nevertheless, he added: "ABC, God bless them, they don't always agree with me ... but they let me do most of the things I want to do."

One of the reasons ABC's lawyers have to read Stossel's material is because the network doesn't want another deluge of angry e-mails and calls from subscribers to the Fairness and Accuracy In Reporting newsletter decrying his latest batch of spurious staitistical data and questionable "expert" testimony. He may be getting "liberal bias" confused with "liability," which kind of sounds the same.

Reporters at ABC, and at every other major network, are exactly as liberal or conservative as their corporate masters and adveritisers allow them to be. Stossel, who views himself as some sort of crusader journalist, is dumber than even I thought if he hasn't figured that much out.

And how much credibility can you expect when you look like Michael Medved?

"Father, what is regret?"

People - athletes especially - just don't seem to be getting the message about taping themselves in the act. Last week it was Dr. J, now Indians prospect Kazuhito Tadano:

CLEVELAND (AP) -- Indians minor leaguer Kazuhito Tadano is asking for forgiveness for what he called a one-time mistake -- his appearance in a gay porn video in which he engaged in a homosexual act.

Tadano took part in the video three years ago when he was a college student. Sitting in the Cleveland clubhouse Tuesday, the pitcher said he hoped to put his actions in the past.

Tadano was 6-2 with 3 saves and an ERA of 1.55 in the minors last year. He also struck on 112 in 98 2/3 innings. Formidable stats, yet in a climate where one's athletic achievements are rewarded no matter how often they beat their wife. drive drunk, or skip child support payments, this poor kid has to apologize for making a gay porn tape. And in a sport with more ass-handling than a Turkish bath, no less. If Tadano had filmed himself giving it to Paris Hilton high and inside, he'd be a hero.

Through an interpreter, Tadano added: "I'm not gay. I'd like to clear that fact up right now."

It's not just a river in Hokkaido, is it? That reminds me of a quote: "I tried being gay once, I just quit when it was my turn."

Should've hit the showers an inning early, I guess.

Targets of opportunity

Now that our government is apparently abandoning any pretense that Iraq was in possession of WMDs before the U.S.-led war to remove this dangerous WMD-possessing regime from power, the mealy-mouthed qualifying remarks have begun:

"There is no doubt in my mind that Saddam Hussein was a grave and gathering threat to America and the world," [President] Bush said. "And I say that based upon intelligence that I saw prior to the decision to go into Iraq and I say that based upon what I know today. And the world is better off without him."

The obvious risk of this brand of foreign policy, and one that has been pointed out before, is the ressurection of the "world policeman" bugaboo (see also Clinton Administration). It's tough to be discriminating when deciding on the many regimes we'd be "better off" without.

You can probably figure out the easy ones:

Kim Jong Il (North Korea)
Bashar Al-Asad (Syria)
Hu Jintao (China)

There's your Big Three right there. Oppressive regimes responsible for thousands, if not millions, of deaths. Drawbacks? Unlike Iraq, these countries possess something approaching modern military capabilities. Also unlike Iraq, these countries probably are in possession of WMDs.

That's no good then. Who's next?

Omar Al-Bashir (Sudan)
Robert Mugabe (Zimbabwe)
Than Shwe (Burma)

That's a little more like it. The Sudanese army can't number more than 85,000 - maybe fattened up to 100,000 with conscripts - not exactly a formidable opponent. Plus, they're Islamic fundamentalists, which is always a bonus. We wouldn't have any problem getting the British on board if we wanted to go after Mugabe (or Bashir, for that matter), and all three countries offer Bush choice opportunities to look good on human rights: the Sudanese civil war has claimed over 2 million lives to date; Mugabe and his Zanu-PF supporters have only become more brutal in recent months; and as for Burma, imprisoned dissident Aung San Suu Kyi is pretty hot for an older chick.

Of course, we're still talking about war and putting American lives in danger. Surely there are other, less formidable, individuals and/or organizations whose eradication would make us all "better off."

Humbly submitted for President Bush's consideration:

Starbuck's
Pros: Coffee is overpriced and, honestly, not as good as everybody tells you it is; has no military...that we know of.
Cons: Have infiltrated virtually every urban area in the country - if you thought the WTO protests were bad, wait until the Yuppie Riots of '05.

The KISS Army
Pros: Numbers have dwindled in the past decade; those remaining in service are fast approaching mandatory military retirement age.
Cons: Ability to "rock and roll all nite and party every day" puts them at a distinct advantage over American troops, who still occasionally need sleep.

Martha Stewart
Pros: Popular subject for mass hatred and negative press coverage, despite the fact that her ImClone stock shenanigans pale in comparison to those of CEO Sam Waksal, Adelphia's John Rigas, WorldCom's Bernie Ebbers, or the Enron Gang.
Cons: Come on, she drank a 40 on Late Night with Conan O'Brien, how can you hate someone like that?

The Church of Scientology
Pros: Any movement composed almost entirely of obnoxious celebrities should probably be destroyed on general principle. Besides, wasn't Clinton popular with celebrities?
Cons: Possibility exists that financial strength is sufficient to simply buy the loyalty of every United States citizen. Where's your $400 tax break now?

The Fab 5
Pros: Unlikely to put up much of a fight; eradication will free up network time for valuable Friends series finale promos.
Cons: Might actually incite vast legions of closeted homosexuals in our armed forces to revolt. At the very least, military personnel will go on strike until allowed to sport something more fetching than olive drab.

Obviously, none of the above listed present a significant danger to the lives and limbs of Americans (except maybe Martha Stewart), but since our sole rationale for military intervention has become "making the world a better place," that shouldn't matter too much. What's more significant is that the scenarios I've proposed allow, for the first time, our forces to engage in three combat theaters simultaneously (Seattle, NYC, and Detroit - Rock City).

Les Aspin should've given me a call.

February is Simpsons Quote Month

February is many things, actually. Most of us know it as Black History Month, but did you know February was also:

American Heart Health Month? (take that, Swaziland)
Adopt a Rabbit Month? (I hear they're heart healthy)
Pet Dental Month? (makes sense, seeing as how rabbits have such big teeth)
National Cancer Prevention Month?
Make A Blanket Month? (keep those tumors warm)
Bird Feeding Month?
Termite Awareness Month?

Perhaps we could become more aware of our termites by feeding them to the birds.

Not to take away from any of these worthy causes, but at A Perfectly Cromulent Blog, February is Simpsons Quote Month. This means that the title of each entry next month (with one exception) will be a quote from Matt Groening's long-running TV show. You may or may not recognize it, that's not my problem. However, I assure you each quote used will be appropriately hilarious and incisive (or will at least include the word "troglodyte").

There's no real point to this, chalk it up to general late winter malaise. And just be happy I'm not doing a Gomer Pyle, U.S.M.C. Quote Month.

I'd like to shank the Academy...

I know, I know...you hate awards shows. The annual parades of self-congratulation and in-jokes makes you want to puke blood, yet like sailors of old you're drawn, powerless, to the siren's glow of the TV every winter.

We're all aware that the Golden Globes are a sham (only a third of the Hollywood Foreign Press Association are actual press, and many aren't even foreign), but everyone wants to see how stoned Jack Nicholson will get, or who's in danger of falling out of her dress (and as a viewer, I'd like to add my thanks to Mary Louise Parker's newborn child for her natural, uh, augmentation). The Independent Spirit Awards are a little better, with the smugness of those in attendance only barely offset by how obnoxiously drunk many of them get. As for the Oscars...well, I have my own love-hate relationship with that bloated strokefest. It's on in my house every year, but each year I find more ways to avoid actually watching it.

Still, this is a great time for awards show junkies: you've got the Globes, the Razzie nominations, and the Oscar nominations. It's rather sad that most years I've found myself seeing more of the Razzie films than the Academy Award nominated ones, but that just means my soul probably isn't as black as yours.

Of course, this would be the year that rule didn't apply. I can proudly say I have yet to see Gigli (9 nominations), Cat in the Hat (8), From Justin to Kelly (8), or Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle (8). Perhaps this is a turning point, or maybe the grim specter of Death is convincing me not to waste my life watching shitty Dr. Seuss remakes.

Then there are the Oscars. To no one's surprise, Return of the King pulled in a ton of nominations. I stand by my prediction, made after Fellowship was released, that RotK will land Best Picture as a reward to Jackson for the entire trilogy. The only other film I can see making a run for it is Mystic River.

I expect that whichever film - RotK or Mystic River - wins Best Picture, the other one will win Best Director. If not, RotK wins both. And if that isn't confusing enough, the rest of my early predictions follow.

Best Original Score, Original Song, Visual Effects, Make-Up, Editing, and Art Direction go to RotK. American Splendor nabs Best Adapted Screenplay, and Last Samurai picks up its only win with Best Costume Design.

How the hell did Master and Commander come away with 10 nominations? It was good, but not that good...not Driving Miss Daisy good. It'll win Best Sound Editing, but only because Pirates of the Caribbean shouldn't win anything, and because Finding Nemo's foley guys didn't have to clean up the disturbing noise caused by a horde of chafing Australians.

Best Actor - Bill Murray. Penn's the serious auteur, but I'm a Murray fan. As far as Ben Kingsley goes...nobody saw House of Sand and Fog (and how do you top playing Gandhi anyway?), and Jude Law will have years to win his award.

Anyone impressed with Depp's performance should check out my Dad after a couple bottles of wine.

Best Actress - While I applaud the Academy for throwing their annual obscurity sop to Keisha Castle-Hughes (Whale Rider), there's no way Charlize Theron doesn't win this

Best Supporting Actor - Since I think Murray's going to win Best Actor (and he deserves it for his Golden Globes speech alone), I'll give this one to Tim Robbins

Best Supporting Actress - The Academy's traditional weird ass temperament when it comes to this category means I have to go with Shohreh Aghdashloo (lets see Jack Palance pronounce that), though conventional wisdom is for Renee Zellweger

Best Foreign Language Film - The Barbarian Invasions

Best Animated Film - Oh please: Finding Nemo

Best Original Screenplay - Lost in Translation

Those are my early guesses. I can't see much changing in the next month, but I'm sure we'll revisit this topic as the awards ceremony gets closer.

And I'm desperately hoping they've already scheduled Ben and J-Lo as co-presenters.

Can we still cite "divine will?"

America's top law enforcement official/holy avenger has informed us that the war against Iraq was justified, even if no weapons of mass destruction are ever found:

Saddam's willingness to use such weapons was sufficient cause to overthrow his regime, Ashcroft told reporters, alluding to the use of chemical and biological arms against Iraqi Kurds in 1988 and during the 1980s Iran-Iraq war.

"Weapons of mass destruction including evil chemistry and evil biology are all matters of great concern, not only to the United States but also to the world community. They were the subject of U.N. resolutions," Ashcroft said.

Reporters let it go that noted ailurophobe and breast fetishist Ashcroft quite possibly believes that all chemistry and biology is evil. Except for whoever designed that stuff they force feed to hunger striking Muslim Americans, that is.

Spared us a lot of bad PR, that did.

Stupor Bowl

Apparently there's some football game or another being played here in Houston this Sunday.

I like football, though I tend to enjoy college games more than the NFL. I harbor no illusions about the frequency of spoiled brat 'roid-freaks in the NCAA versus the majors, I just happen to like watching the games better. Oh, and there's a marked lack of commercials for Coors Light - whose motto I officially suggest be changed to "The beer for guys who like boobs."

And yet...I didn't realize that being away for a week would shield me so effectively from the shitstorm of NFL Experience ads and insightful local news coverage of "what the stars will be wearing to Super Bowl XXXVIII." I'm tempted to pick up one of those new Bauer Vapor XX sticks just so I can practice wrist shots against my TV.

The NFL, the City of Houston, and CBS are nonetheless probably freaking out about the Panthers being in the big game. I might've looked beyond the hype for an Eagles-Pats game, or Eagles-Colts even, but the Panthers? Why not just resurrect some of the old USFL teams and put them in the playoffs? How about giving the Grey Cup a little love down here?

Turning off the TV helps, but only so much. Freeway DOT signs helpfully advertise the nearest NFL Experience exit, and every grocery store and gas station from here to Centerville is selling commemorative footballs and He Hate Me autographed jerseys. And all so we can watch through shuttered fingers as New England systematically annihilates Carolina. Here's a news bulletin for Panther fans: the Pats picked Peyton Manning off 4 times, and Jake Delhomme is no Peyton Manning.

On the plus side, once the IOC reads a week's worth of bitching about our traffic from the assorted out-of-town writers, we can probably kiss any shot at the Olympics goodbye.

Finis

Got back into Houston yesterday around 1 pm. Didn't get home from Friday night's Slamdance party until almost 3 AM Saturday morning, then had to catch my shuttle to SLC airport at 6. Needless to say, yesterday morning was one in which I was keenly aware of every minute of my 52 years.

That's what it felt like, anyway.

So Sundance 2004 has come and gone. I can best describe it as a whirlwind of (mostly) good movies, cold feet, and 3.2 beer. I saw a shitload of documentaries, the best of which were: Riding Giants, the big wave surfing film from Stacy Peralta; Super Size Me, Morgan Spurlock's month-long ordeal of eating nothing but McDonald's food; and The Corporation, an amusing look at the corporation as psychopath. I can also recommend Stander, the true story of a South African police detective who became a cult hero in the 1970's after a committing a series of bank robberies, then returning as the investigating officer to the extreme confusion of the bank's employees.

No, I didn't see Napoleon Dynamite. Quit asking.

I found, for the most part, that people were pretty friendly in Park City. Obviously the locals have weighed their annoyance with the innundation of industry assholes every year against the mountains of cash they bring, and sided with the forces of commerce. Still, exchanges like the following didn't hurt:

The setting: The Timbers lounge in the Park City Marriott (HQ of the Sundance Film Festival)

Bartender: What can I get for you?
Pete: Uh, a Bud Light, I guess.
Bartender: You staying at the hotel?
Pete: No.
Bartender: Gee, really? Did you know you need a membership to drink in most places in Park City?
Pete: No kidding.
Bartender: Yeah. The hotel gives people memberships to the Timbers for free just for staying here. So...are you staying at the hotel?
Pete: I sure am.
Bartender: Bud Light it is.

He got a good tip.

Pic fat fun

Pictures from last night's FT party, and other places.

Jeff "The Dude" Dowd in front of the Holiday Cinema.

Our party was so exclusive we got Fred Durst to tend bar:

Spike and Mike of "Spike and Mike's Twisted Festival of Animation" fame:

Andy Richter's Paget Brewster (in hat) with assorted others of the My Big Fat Independent Movie cast:

Actress Shawnee Smith, et. al:

The FT crew decompressing at a Park City bar:

The party went well, as any party with free beer and wine generally will. I took quite a few more pictures, but don't want to clog up anyone's browser more than absolutely necessary.

I've acquired a sort of paranoia regarding celebrity sightings since the first couple days. At first, I was just sort of walking around with my head down, trying to find a shuttle before my ass froze off. Now, I find myself slowing down when I come up on a cluster of people, or see a TV crew interviewing someone, or see a trucker cap.

Seriously people, trucker hats? I saw the guy-who-headbutted-a-goat from the Mountain Dew commerical in one, along with countless other young wannabe starlets. Surely they've heard how so 2003 those things are.

As a non-industry type, I think the hardest thing to get used to is the schmooze factor. I loathe networking in general, even when it means getting myself a job, and the sheer enormity of the flesh-pressing is a mite dizzying. Fortunately, I can drink. A lot.

Riding Giants, Stacy Peralta's surfing documentary, is the best movie I've seen so far.

Tonight's an off night for me, as I try to catch up on the mountain of reviews I need to write. There's a screening of My Big Fat Independent Movie tomorrow night, and the Slamdance party Friday.

Work, work, work.

Film Threat party tonight

If I had more time, I'd do a version of the whole Black Flag song, but as most of you have probably noticed, time ain't something I have a lot of lately.

About to head out to the party. Saw some decent films yesterday, but got frozen out of the Super Size Me press screening, this morning. They're probably scheduling another one for later in the week, so that's cool.

Witnessing a fair amount of asshole behavior, which isn't that surprising. Except a lot of it's coming from the press, which makes no sense until you realize that all of us covering the festival are failed industry wannabes who have nothing better to do that snipe at the work of others.

Yesterday's celebrity sightings: Maggie Gyllenhal (stodd behind her in line for the Down to the Bone screening...no dirty jokes please), Xander Berekely at the Yarrow Hotel, and Danny Glover. I even got a pic with Glover, which I will post as soon as I figure out how to edit the movie that the parking lot guy actually shot when he accidentally switched my digital camera from 'photo' to 'movie.'

It's a pretty hilarious little clip, though.

Fest pics

As promised, here are some rather weak pictures from the first day at Sundance:

View of Main Street, Park City. Sunday morning...

My boffo sleeping arrangements...

Eric and Jim, rockin' out...(photo courtesy of Brad Slager)

Stay tuned. The Film Threat party is Tuesday night, and I hope to nab some highly incriminating shots.

Feelin' sick on Sunday morning

Not really. Tired, though. Being the last guy to show up means I get the couch, meaning I get to wake up at 2:30 AM when the guys come back from the Slamdance party to tell me about the NYC punk band composed entirely of half naked ladies.

Or something like that. Like I said, I was tired.

My 9:00 AM screening of The Motorcycle Diaries crapped out. Press credentials only carry you so far, apparently. So I'm wasting time here before trying to check out a screener...which would seem to eliminate the need to go to the theater at all. But then I'd be missing that theater experience. Or something.

Saw a great documentary on the history and future of corporations called, wittily enough, The Corporation, and a German comedy called Good Bye Lenin!. With a name like that, and being German, how can it not be funny? Reviews will be posted on the Film Threat web site presently.

Park City on a Saturday night is a madhouse. I would've tried to duck into a bar for a quick drink before heading back, except all of them had such lines I half expected Steve Rubell to come out and tell me to go back to Jersey.

Oh (and this one's for you, HWRNMNBSOL), and I got held back from walking on the sidewalk by big, beefy security guys so Minnie Driver and her entourage/groupies could go into the Ghostbar. Only 15 feet away! No time to snap a picture, but I did manage to tell her she was the bomb in Goldeneye, yo.

Speaking of pics, as soon as I can log some time on the phone line at the condo, I'll try to get some posted.

Live from the Press Lounge

Park City has a Wal-Mart.

Just picked up my credentials, with a full slate of films for the rest of the afternoon (and the rest of the week). My first brush with celebrity? The bus driver told me one of the Baldwins was on the shuttle ahead of me. Queries of "Was it one of the fat ones?" went unappreciated.

More later.

The Sundance Kid

I fly out tomorrow morning for scenic Park City, UT, where I will be spending the next week helping cover the 2004 Sundance Film Festival for Film Threat. Blog activity will likely be sparse for the next day or so as I get settled in, but I hope to semi-regularly post pics and pithy commentary on my experiences there as time allows.

Feel free to let me know if there are any celebrities you'd like pelted with snowballs.

New blog on the block

An old high school chum of mine, Tim Blair (no, not the right wing chucklehead), has a weblog. Head on over to Blair's Blog and check it out. I'd ask you to say, 'howdy,' but he doesn't appear to have comments enabled.

Tim left high school to go to college at Marquette, and we lost touch until he stumbled upon APCB after searching for the coveted Roy Horn-Paris Hilton sex tape.

I still have that infamous prom photo, Tim. Shoot me an e-mail and we can discuss my demands for not scanning it and posting it here.

Berke Breathed: Prognosticator

Modern fast food is only now catching up to his prophetical scribbling:

Burger King Unveils Bunless Burgers

CHICAGO - It has come to this in America: Burgers are losing their buns. Some of them, at least. Burger King's rollout of breadless Whoppers this week is a nod to the low-carb craze that's sweeping the nation — and the latest evidence that the burger wars are taking a turn for the healthy.

How wonderfully droll that people are less concerned about the quality of meat in a fast food hamburger, or the fat content of the mayonnaise and/or secret sauce, than the bread part, which is probably the safest ingredient.

Ricardo Real, a tourist from Mexico who lunched at a Burger King in downtown Chicago on Wednesday, was unimpressed when informed about the bunless burger and chose a regular hamburger instead. "A burger without bread? That's crazy," he said. "That's not a burger."

No shit, Ricardo. It's a ground beef salad.

The above cartoon is copyright Berke Breathed, 1979. Harmlessly scanned by yours truly - at no financial gain - from my Academia Waltz collection.

An almost identical cartoon appeared as a Bloom County strip, only with Opus as the indignant patron.

Movie meme madness

This is apparently where I demonstrate how much of a l33t movie fan I am. Courtesy of Jack's blog comes this little exercise: take the IMDb's listing of Top 100 movies and bold the ones you've seen.

[As it turns out, the Top 100 has changed somewhat since this list started making the rounds. Not enough to make a difference, though.]

1. The Godfather (1972)
2. The Shawshank Redemption (1994)
3. The Godfather: Part II (1974)
4. The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King (2003)
5. The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers (2002)
6. Casablanca (1942)
7. Schindler's List (1993)
8. Shichinin no samurai (1954) (The Seven Samurai)
9. The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring (2001)
10. Citizen Kane (1941)
11. Star Wars (1977)
12. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (1975)
13. Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (1964)
14. Rear Window (1954)
15. Star Wars: Episode V - The Empire Strikes Back (1980)
16. Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981)
17. Memento (2000)
18. The Usual Suspects (1995)
19. Pulp Fiction (1994)
20. North by Northwest (1959)
21. Le Fabuleux destin d'Amelie Poulain (2001) (Amelie)
22. Psycho (1960)
23. 12 Angry Men (1957)
24. Lawrence of Arabia (1962)
25. The Silence of the Lambs (1991)
26. Il Buono, il brutto, il cattivo (1966) (The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly)
27. It's a Wonderful Life (1946)
28. Goodfellas (1990)
29. American Beauty (1999)
30. Vertigo (1958)
31. Sunset Blvd. (1950)
32. The Pianist (2002)
33. The Matrix (1999)
34. Apocalypse Now (1979)
35. To Kill a Mockingbird (1962)
36. Some Like It Hot (1959)
37. Taxi Driver (1976)
38. Paths of Glory (1957)
39. The Third Man (1949)
40. C'era una volta il West (1968) (Once Upon a Time in the West)
41. Fight Club (1999)
42. Das Boot (1981)
43. Sen to Chihiro no kamikakushi (2001) (Spirited Away)
44. Double Indemnity (1944)
45. L.A. Confidential (1997)
46. Chinatown (1974)
47. Singin' in the Rain (1952)
48. Requiem for a Dream (2000)
49. The Maltese Falcon (1941)
50. M (1931)
51. All About Eve (1950)
52. The Bridge on the River Kwai (1957)
53. Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975)
54. Se7en (1995)
55. Saving Private Ryan (1998)
56. Cidade de Deus (2002) (City of God)
57. Raging Bull (1980)
58. The Wizard of Oz (1939)
59. Rashômon (1950)
60. The Sting (1973)
61. American History X (1998)
62. Alien (1979)
63. Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939)
64. Leon (The Professional) (1994)
65. 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)
66. La Vita bella (1997) (Life Is Beautiful)
67. Touch of Evil (1958)
68. The Manchurian Candidate (1962)
69. Wo hu cang long (2000) (Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon)
70. The Treasure of the Sierra Madre (1948)
71. The Great Escape (1963)
72. A Clockwork Orange (1971)
73. Reservoir Dogs (1992)
74. Annie Hall (1977)
75. Amadeus (1984)
76. Jaws (1975)
77. Ran (1985)
78. On the Waterfront (1954)
79. Modern Times (1936)
80. High Noon (1952)
81. Braveheart (1995)
82. The Apartment (1960)
83. The Sixth Sense (1999)
84. Fargo (1996)
85. Aliens (1986)
86. The Shining (1980)
87. Blade Runner (1982)
88. Strangers on a Train (1951)
89. Duck Soup (1933)
90. Metropolis (1927)
91. Finding Nemo (2003)
92. Donnie Darko (2001)
93. Toy Story 2 (1999)
94. The Princess Bride (1987)
95. The General (1927)
96. City Lights (1931)
97. Lola rennt (1998) (Run Lola Run)
98. Full Metal Jacket (1987)
99. Notorious (1946)
100. Det Sjunde inseglet (1957) (The Seventh Seal)

96 out of 100, eh? Explains why I was a virgin until the age of 32.

And I'd give them all back if someone would burn the memory of Life is Beautiful from my brain.

I avoided The Pianist for two reasons: my unwillingness to put money in a rapist's pocket, and the fact that I haven't been in the mood to see another Holocaust movie in quite some time. Can't say why I haven't gotten around to All About Eve, except I suspect my local video store replaced it with 75 rental copies of 2 Fast 2 Furious. City of God is a little recent, though I've heard it's very good, and all the Chaplin films I saw were a result of film courses in college. For whatever reason, The General didn't make the cut.

The IMDb's list hits quite a few of the expected names, but others are just ridiculous. This is to be expected, since their rankings have always skewed to recent releases (Finding Nemo won't be in the top 100 in six months, and look for the LotR movies to drop off some as well), geek films (The Matrix is not the 34th best movie of all time, people), and apparent bouts of dengue fever (Toy Story 2 at #93?). And don't look for any but the biggest of the big foreign films.

And not one damn zombie movie.

The rumor strikes back

Considering that Episode III isn't coming out for another year, I'm surprised more wild speculation about the future of the Star Wars franchise hasn't been taking place. Leave it to TheForce.net to stoke my craving for innuendo:

Rob tells us that the December 2003 issue of the British movie mag HOTDOG has just hit the stands here in the U.S. and found several cool Star Wars related things. In particular, on page 12, here's this possibly amazing passage:

"No wonder Peter "Chewbacca" Mayhew is smiling. Not only has he been rescued from obscurity and given the chance to reprise his role as our Wookiee comrade for Episode III, but his contract also stipulates that he'd be required to appear in Episodes 7, 8, and 9.

Yes folks, seems there are actual whispers at Lucasfilm that the 'sequel' trilogy might be in the works..."

I'm curious to see the rest of the wording on that contract. It'd be just like Lucas to include a clause stating Mayhew has to appear in the next trilogy even if Lucas has no intention of making it. Hell, it probably requires him to appear in Episodes 10 through 217, or whatever arbitrary number you feel like using.

We've been over this territory before, and I remain unconvinced. Besides, Lucas already has a series of films coming out that differ completely from any of the others, it's called the Original Trilogy DVD Edition. Thanks to technological advances, Lucas assures us they won't look anything like they did in 1977.

Right on.

Living the dream

Someone in London has acted out one of my fantasies (via IMDb):

Pop star Justin Timberlake was punched in the face by a fan as he walked into his end-of-tour party in London on Sunday. The hunky American singer was reportedly hit as he entered the Rex Club in Soho following the last date in his British tour, so he refused to come out and meet his many female fans waiting outside the venue for fear he would again be assaulted.

I guess Timberlake's off the list. Fortunately, my personal file of celebrities that need to make an appointment with Mr. Fist is about as thick as the Book of Kells.

Inside the venue Justin told reporters, "It is just crazy over here in Britain, I f***ing hate coming over here."

I find this an odd remark, since Timberlake's brand of candy-ass hip-hop easy listening is virtually indistinguishable from much of the forgettable Britpop garbage they seem to like over there.

Big sour apples?

Jeez, people...get over it already:

Roger Clemens ended last season as a living legend in New York. On Tuesday, he became a rat.
And a turncoat.
And a traitor.
He did not simply become a former Yankee by signing to play for his hometown Astros.
He became an enemy of the state.

Part of me wants to shrug this all off as typical New York sports hyperbole, while the (admittedly) more dominant part wants to point and do the Nelson Muntz laugh.

"We figured him for a phony, fingered him as a fraud," wrote New York Post columnist Mike Vaccaro. "He wasn't going to be able to put his act over on us. Not on New York. We're too savvy, too smart. We saw him for what he was: a disingenuous double-talker who spoke poetically about wearing pinstripes but sure seemed a lot sweeter on George Steinbrenner's checkbook. You were slow to accept him, slower to embrace him.

"And you know what? We fell for it. Fans. Sportswriters. Yankee brass. We were the guy who's convinced that just because his beautiful date two-timed her last boyfriend, she'll never do it to him."

So any player who isn't DiMaggio, Mantle, or Jackson - who retires in a NY uniform and sings the organization's praises until his dying breath - is "disingenuous?" Forget being too savvy to see through Clemens' supposed duplicity, is Vaccaro really so naïve to think that no player in the Yankees' organization wears the pinstripes strictly for the money? How do you guys feel about Jason Giambi?

Then there's Mike Lupica:

"Clemens is who he is, loyal only to himself, and his family."

What a concept. Ask Lupica where the New York Daily News ranks in priority compared to his wife and kids.

This has less to do with Clemens wanting to pitch at home than it does those Yankees fans who are aghast that there are baseball players out there who simply don't want to play for the Yankees, no matter how much Steinbrenner dangles in front of them. And again, where's the hate for Pettitte, who by his own admission was the one who goaded Clemens into considering a return?

The way I see it, Yankee fans hated Clemens for 15 years while he was pitching for Boston and Toronto. The current vitriol just means that things are finally back to normal. All part of what makes sports fandom fun, I guess.

I know there are at least three of the Yankee faithful who read APCB. Thoughts?

The butterfly defect

I've always hated Mothra. In a daikaiju pantheon that includes the likes of Godzilla, King Ghidorah, and Rodan, Mothra is a poser: a giant, highly flammable insect in a world of fire-breathing reptiles who's accompanied by two of the most annoying fairies since Lost in Space's Dr. Smith and relies on her silk-slinging larvae do all her dirty work.

Mothra is the second most popular of Japan's big monsters, and I'm at a loss to explain why. Godzilla is a 300-foot tall "godzillasaurus" capable of unleashing radioactive destruction throughout the Japanese archipelago. King Ghidorah? A "three-headed monster" that - depending on the film - either hails from deep space or is the embodiment of Japanese souls lost in World War II. Rodan's a supersonic pterodactyl. Hell, even floppy-eared kaiju whipping boy Baragon has some redeeming qualities, but Mothra...go figure. If forced to say something nice, I'll admit that she died well in Godzilla, Mothra and King Ghidorah: Giant Monsters All-Out Attack. Then again, at least she died.

So it was with no small amount of fear and loathing that my homebound ass found itself watching The Rebirth of Mothra 3 on the Sci Fi Channel last weekend. That Toho has seen fit to bring her back three times demonstrates the apparent wrong-headedness of my opinion. Nevertheless, I watched as the gaudily colored gaslamp junkie traveled back in time(!) to battle King Ghidorah - resurrected once again in the strange, Slaughterhouse Five timeline many of these movies seem to inhabit.

Realizing that children are, in fact, the future, King Ghidorah sets out to destroy them all...by imprisoning them in a huge hamster ball. Mothra's fairy friends (three now instead of two) learn, through consulting Starfleet, that the only way to defeat Ghidorah is to go back in time. Mothra does this, and is promptly pounded into the Cretaceous dirt by King Ghidorah, despite the fact she's developed the ability (like most moths) to fire energy beams from her forehead and abdomen.

This being a Mothra movie, you can probably guess the odds that the fairies will join forces to sing Mothra out of trouble. They do so, allowing Mothra to paralyze Ghidorah with twinkly moth dust and drop him into a volcano. The ensuing blast appears to annihilate King Ghidorah, and rather than incinerating the nearby giant, furry bug, merely blows her miles away where, the last light fading from her compound eyes, her trusty larvae show up and cocoon her lovingly in quick-drying silk.

Why would they do this? Because, like Nostradamus and the Reverend Jim Jones, Mothra knows that prehistoric King Ghidorah will inexplicably reappear in the present, after the modern-day King Ghidorah has been erased from history, thanks to the prehistoric King Ghidorah's death. It's all a rich tapestry of bad screenwriting, but it provides a convenient excuse for Mothra to evolve into Dreadnaught Mothra: armor-plated and impervious to King Ghidorah's fiery breath. She cruelly toys with her prey for a few minutes, slicing his wings off before executing the insectoid equivalent of the eagle claw. Huzzah, the children are free, and Mothra can reassume her smooth, kissable form.

Toho was obviously trying to horn in on Gamera's title as "protector of all children," but I imagine most kids find a flying turtle more intriguing than a big moth. Rebirth 3 may not be as ridiculous as Rebirth 2 (Submersible Mothra, anyone?), but it's still pretty bad. The only redeeming factors were the repeated shots of Mothra getting pile-driven into the ground and King Ghidorah eating a Tyrannosaurus rex. Take that, Spielberg!

Bah. Mothra sucks.

Stop the presses!

There's men wearing less and that rhymes with "S" and that stands for "Sundance:" (via IMDb)

Bertolucci Film To Be Censored for Sundance Screening

Fox Searchlight is expected to screen a highly censored version of Bernardo Bertolucci's controversial The Dreamers at the Sundance Film Festival this week, the London Sunday Times reported. In advance of its scheduled domestic release in March, the studio has reportedly made cuts of as much as 60 seconds to scenes involving frontal nudity and male masturbation, the newspaper said. In an interview with the Sunday Times, the cuts were condemned by one of the film's stars, Eva Green. "It is quite paradoxical, because in America there is so much violence, both on the streets and on the screen. They think nothing of it. Yet I think they are frightened by sex."

Green went on to reveal that kittens are fuzzy and ketchup is good on french fries.

These are the only rules one need know regarding full frontal male nudity in American cinema:

1. Harvey Keitel can show whatever he likes because, come on: are you going to stop him?
2. Everone else (Huey Lewis, Marky Mark, Gregory Hines) must use a prosthesis, so as not to threaten the egos or barely closeted homosexuality of the average male American moviegoer.

Male masturbation cannot advance a plot except when found in a healthy teen romp like Fast Times at Ridgemont High, and then only if humiliation is associated with it.

UPDATE: Fox Searchlight, kowtowing to the huge male masturbation lobby, appears to be set to release The Dreamers as an NC-17 film. America is once again safe for graphic nudity.

Crane in vain

This, certainly, is the saddest news since Shannen Doherty left Beverly Hills 90210:

After failing to negotiate a lower price tag for a 12th season of Frasier, NBC is expected to announce today (Monday) that the show will air its final episode in May, the New York Times reported today.

Expect the swelling orchestra-accompanied farewell teasers to start up in February. Frasier gave up the ghost years ago, around the time the Niles and Daphne storyline offered us more pungent "very special moments" than that episode where Blossom lost her virginity.

No, the other one.

This is shaping up to be a sad year indeed for NBC, who will also be saying a long overdue goodbye to Friends. I can't say I'm sorry to see either series go, especially since the advertising blitz for both in the next few months will make the promos for the last couple John Ritter episodes of 8 Simple Rules seem absolutely dignified by comparison.

How badly do you think Bob Wright and Jeffrey Zucker are hoping that Kelsey Grammer or Jennifer Aniston dies in a car crash before May?

Astros granted Clemens-y

As a Houston blogger, it's probably codified somewhere that I should address the signing of Roger Clemens by the Houston Astros:

The six-time Cy Young Award winner had said for more than a year that he planned to quit after pitching last season for the New York Yankees.

But he was persuaded to join the Astros, his hometown team, after close friend and former Yankees teammate Andy Pettitte signed with Houston last month.

Nolan Ryan's strikeout record (5,714) is still safe, but it looks like Clemens - third with 4,099 - will take the #2 spot from Steve Carlton (4,136) this season.

Now then, as a St. Louis Cardinals fan, I can't help but feel a lingering sense of black dread over our chances in the NL Central this season. Houston's signed Pettitte and Clemens, the Cubs still have Wood, Zambrano, and Prior (and are reportedly chasing Greg Maddux), while the Cards signed...Mike Lincoln and Julian Tavarez? And Marlon Anderson? So much for Bo Hart at 2B.

One last bit, from the Chronicle's story on the deal:

Clemens will also be a major box office hit, which is why McLane doesn't mind raising the payroll despite losing $15 million last year.

Because I can't put it any better, I'll quote Chuck's translation of this excerpt:

Clemens will also be a major box office hit, which is why McLane doesn't mind raising the payroll despite claiming to lose $15 million last year, a claim he has made repeatedly and we've printed uncritically despite the fact that he's never opened his books or explained why he's such a bad businessman for not being able to turn a profit in that nice shiny new ballpark the taxpayers gave him for free. But hey, what do you expect?

Outstanding.

UPDATE: Maybe I was preoccupied at the time, but were all the New York fans I hear screaming for Clemens' head equally up in arms when the Astros signed Pettitte? I mean, Clemens essentially quit and came back, so fine, call him a liar. But Pettitte was the Yankees' best playoff pitcher, and Houston lowballed him away from New York.

Were I a Yankee fan, I'd be more irate about the Pettitte signing, is all I'm saying.

And I'll be watching when he pitches, if only to see how much, if at all, he backs off his headhunting. And to see what kind of retaliation he suffers when he steps into the box.

Sunday reading

The Sunday New York Times had a couple things that amused/annoyed me yesterday, to wit:

1) Ranked slighty lower on the front page than the electrifying bulletin that - hey, it sure gets cold in New England in January - was a story about the increasing length of credits at the end of films. This scandalous news item centered on the fact that credits for Return of the King clocked in at a mammoth 9 minutes and 33 seconds. This beat the previous 7 minute marks set by Titanic and Waterworld (Kevin Costner's hair weave stylists reportedly took 90 seconds by themselves).

I don't think it really matters a gaffer's damn if the producers of a film see fit to include the infant co-star's booger wrangler or the lead's Scientology adviser. It's their film, and no one is strapped down in their chair and forced to watch. There's a price to pay if you want to hear that Annie Lennox song, after all.

2) Much as I wanted to mock Emily Nussbaum's article, "My So-Called Blog," which appeared in the NYT Magazine, I would've felt too much like I was stomping on baby seals, or nuns, of baby nun seals. The piece focuses exclusively on high school weblogs - written by sensitive, angsty boys and callow, cruel girls - and also makes the groundbreaking comparison of blogs to diaries. I'd argue that a diary is something never meant to see the light of day, while a weblog seeks...nay, craves validation from the author's peers. I can, however, understand teens not concentrating on the fact that anything written online is open to mockery from the entire world.

Here's a handy guide to all the high schoolers in the audience: adolescent life sucks; people are going to make fun of you (especially if they catch you baring your soul on LiveJournal); the hot guy/girl in your class is, most likely, never going to notice you; the supremacy of the rich, white, jock-ocracy exists well into adulthood. Many of you may find this hard to believe (and don't trust me; I've over 30, after all), but living with your parents and having little else to worry about other than whether or not to ask out that girl in Biology is about the easiest you're ever going to have it. I'll leave you with a quote from Middle Age Crazy, where Bruce Dern is fantasizing about speaking at his son's high school graduation: "Give 'em back their damn diplomas, give 'em back their silly fucking hats, and stay 18 for the rest of your life."

I'll make a hell of a guidance counselor.

Fire in the hole

Just saw that Cecil's, everyone's favorite Montrose-area bar for slackers and moody college students, went up in flames early this morning:

Firefighters say Cecil's on West Grey was in flames when they arrived just after 1am. The bar was open at the time of the blaze. Witnesses say the fire started in or around the closet where the heater was.

That hits a little close to home. Cecil's was a favored hangout until the demographic started skewing towards the early 20-something crowd (they play that infernal "rock and roll" music so damnably loud, you know) and we discovered the charms of Rudyard's. I'm just glad they appeared to avoid a Great White-type tragedy.

Although I suspect the 24-hour Greek place across the street is going to lose a lot of business.

Here's yer top 10 list

After much internal dialogue, I finally caved on the subject of a top 10 list for this last year. So without further ado, here's A Perfectly Cromulent Hairshirt, featuring the "top" 10 APCB comments of 2003:

10. "KOBE was set up so that the girl could get millions and millons of $$$$$$$$!!!!" - Roust, Hero or the Goat
9. "Voters with intellect take note. Tis a shame you folks have no sound argument to advance, just name call and degrade what you don't like. I pity you, but I will put you on my prayer list." - Philip Nunn, More Monument Mania
8. "Who the heck cares?????????????? You people are just a bunch of lonly retarted men" - Hunter, What about erotic cakes?
7. "Who in the hell came up with list. Do you assholes realize the following The Doors have. You probably never heard any of their music. I bet you like that manufactured bullshit like Brittney Spears, N'SYNC, and the Backdoorboys. Get some education in music numb nuts." - eric, Posse clownitatus
6. " Actually blains' a pretty talented magician. But I like hearing the ideas of sub moronic dingle berries like your self as well. Keep up the good work!" - chris yankee, The illusion of talent
5. "The blog is awsome dude." - bob, The Old Man on His Knees
4. "Roy is right. The 10 commandments should have stayed in the lobby of that court, where they belong. The people who fired Roy were idiots" - Someone, Fundamentally fired
3. "Orlando Bloom is NOT gay and he is NOT a girly-boy now leave him alone" - April Rohn, Can you hear the drums, Orlando?
2. "BEVERLY HILLS PIMPS AND HOS HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS PARIS HILTON AND RICK SOLOMONS VIDEO TAPE SCANDAL.BEVERLY HILLS PIMPS AND HOS IS A CLOTHING LINE AND THE VIDEOS THEY MAKE ARE PARTY VIDEOS NOT PORN." - Marci Moore, Need a gift suggestion for the holidays?
1. "Hey dumbass...(etc.)" - Wayne Dolcefino, Must be sweeps

Technically, that last one isn't really 2003, but the entry is and I didn't want to reprint any of the 1,000 word screeds a few people left me.

Be sure to tune in again next year for another exciting edition of A Perfectly Cromulent Hairshirt.

Fountains of Wayne

Sounds like someone was doing a little ego surfing and came across my November 12 entry about hard-hitting investigative journalist Wayne Dolcefino's exposé on fire inspectors in Houston strip clubs.

It also appears that certain someone wasn't too happy with what they read:

Hey dumbass....the reason I am not listed in HCAD is because I dont live in Harris County...but of course a crack know it all like you probably already figured that out. As far as my alleged bungling of the Kid Care story...the last time I checked the founders of the charity were being sued by the state for alleged mismanagment and fraud. Im sorry you dont see the relevance in having fire inspectors making schools a bigger priority than topless bars. I dont go to the places ..so I havent seen you there. - Wayne Dolcefino

Wait...what? You don't go to schools? What does that have to do with anything?

"Wayne," if indeed it is he, is referring to intrepid commenter Denny's remark that Dolcefino isn't listed on the Harris County Appraisal District's web site, and my fellow "crack know it all" already noted that this meant he probably didn't live in Houston.

I'll give him Kid Care, though I never said they weren't at fault, merely that he could've handled the story differently.

That entry was never really about whether fire inspectors should be spending more time at strip joints than schools (maybe all that pole dancing loosens the wiring), but rather the lengths to which our local TV news shows will go to lure viewers. In the final equation, I doubt ABC 13 gives a fig about this supposed outrage, they just wanted the opportunity to show some asses shaking.

Hell, I even expressed a sort of admiration for a man who seems hell bent on turning into J.R. from "Dallas," with everyone who crosses his path muttering, "I'll get Wayne Dolcefino if it's the last thing I do." Still, the dig he threw at my habit of frequenting topless establishments was something only a seasoned journalist could possibly have pulled off. Well played, Wayne.

Except for the Disney IP address, I really have no reason to believe this guy is actually who he says he is. If it is him, no hard feelings. As long as he dedicates his next Jacques Cousteau impersonation during a tropical storm to me, or thinks of APCB the next time he's escorted out of an office and hysterically bellows "Dont push me!" at the elderly man behind him, we'll call it even.

I wonder if this counts as a Conversation with Famous People?

Fearless vampire viewers

As a horror movie fan, I've always been something of a masochist. I mean, I'll watch just about anything of the genre I can get my hands on - be it giant bugs, zombies, haunted house/ship/comet, or slasher - but the films that used to give me the biggest jolt were those that addressed two of my big childhood fears: sharks and vampires.

As far as sharks go, the first two Jaws movies are really all you've got to work with. "Shark Week" is good for a laugh, and Deep Blue Sea had its moments, but watching it I often found myself rooting for the sharks (especially to kill Saffron Burrows' dumbass character, who started the whole mess). I think most filmmakers realize that the first Jaws is pretty much impossible to top, which is why most shark attack movies made since 1975 tend to use stock shark footage (Shark Attack 3: Megalodon), or are such blatant rip-offs they're pulled from U.S. release (L'Ultimo Squalo).

Vampires, on the other hand, never go out of style.

My disdain for Anne Rice's vampire stylings is well-noted. As has been commented right here on this very blog, the emasculation of the classic bloodsucker goes back to (at least) Dark Shadows, continues through The Vampire Chronicles on up to the recently ended Buffy series. At least we were still treated to stuff like Blade and - love it or hate it - John Carpenter's Vampires to remind us that all bloodsuckers, without exception, must be destroyed.

Oh, and there's a remake of Stephen King's Salem's Lot coming out. Spoilers follow, usual disclaimer applies.

I saw the original Salem's Lot TV miniseries (directed by Tobe Hooper) before I actually read the book. I'm sure it initially caught my attention because Hutch was in it, but it did a good job scaring the bejeesus out of this particular pre-teen (and not just because I had nightmares about Danny Glick scratching on my bedroom window). I sought the book out soon after, and 20-odd years later it still ranks as one of the scariest I've ever read.

However, I did end up developing some annoyance with the TV-adaptation: why was Barlow made up to look like Nosferatu and not given any dialogue? What happened to Father Callahan's part? Why the hell couldn't it have been a theater release so Bonnie Bedelia could take off her clothes?

Anyway, the new version (shot in Australia) is set to air on TNT in June. Rob Lowe plays Ben Mears, Andre Braugher is teacher Matt Burke (a bit of a stretch), and James "Babe" Cromwell plays Father Callahan. Donald Sutherland and Rutger Hauer make up the Straker-Barlow tag team, which will amuse any fans of the original Buffy the Vampire Slayer movie. Fangoria has the first review up, and it's a favorable one, although the bit about lightning quick, spider-walking vampires has me a mite leery.

And I'm not sure how keen I am on Ben Mears reinvented as something out of Vampire: The Masquerade.

This shot, which I assume is the scene where Callahan, Mark Petrie, and Jimmy Cody look on while Ben stakes Sue, looks a little better. Cody was practically a nonentity in the first miniseries, which was too bad since he's one of the best characters in the book.

We'll see. At this point, as long as nobody gets impaled with an American flag, as in the atrocious 1987 sequel, I'll be happy.

Daily dose of Dawn

Empire Movies has what appears to be the one-sheet poster for the Dawn of the Dead remake up at their site:

I like that they're using the original tagline, but if you ask me, it looks more like something you'd use for a sequel to The Legend of Boggy Creek:

Bass in your face

I ended up winning one of Norbizness' caption contests, which I was - at first - convinced were set up strictly so he could unload his backload of Martika CDs. I was therefore pleasantly surprised to receive my copy of The Cactus Cee/D by 3rd Bass in the mail last week. 3rd Bass were, at the time, one of two white rap groups (the other being the ubiquitous Beastie Boys) who acted like they respected the origins of their chosen genre.

And as far as I know, there still may be only two. My encyclopedic knowledge of hip-hop ends with PE's Fear of a Black Planet, a CD I still play on those occasions when I want to remind myself I wasn't always a soulless corporate automaton.

Anyway, I can now stop planning on retaliating by sending Nor a DVD copy of Spice World. Thanks for the tunes.

And I thought he was still in prison...

One of the managers at my local burrito joint looks distressingly like hyperviolent rap mogul Marion "Suge" Knight.

I've become uneasy asking for extra limes.

Tales from the Multiplex, Pt. 3

As a rule, I try not to fall asleep in movies.

Home viewing is one thing. There's a certain satisfaction one derives from bravely refusing to remain conscious through an entire screening of The Sweetest Thing. Some would regard it as a feat of endurance to stay awake for the entire film, I call it faulty prioritizing.

But falling asleep in a theater? That's something else entirely. I suppose one could argue that your moviegoing companions are supposed to watch your back, though those people have obviously never met the fine examples of Homo erectus I like to call "my friends." I'd be better off passing out in a Bourbon Street gutter during Mardi Gras.

Sometimes, just sometimes, I didn't have a choice. Unfortunately, I couldn't even zonk out in the company of my fellow juvenile reprobates. No, I had to choose to fall asleep - all three times it happened - on high school dates.

Regular readers of this weblog know that I probably wasn't the biggest prize in high school. Even after my extended play goofy-looking period, my tendency to drag unsuspecting females to every possible major movie release - from Beastmaster to Krull - made me a risky social prospect at best. Rarely did I commit the unspeakable double whammy of dozing off as well, however. Sadly, it happened not once, but three times. Names are omitted to preserve my ass.

1. Legend (1985) - I blame the film, and the utter lack of anything in common with my date. She was a nice enough girl, whose only mistake was confessing to yours truly that she had a crush on me. I tried to make it work, but let's face it: Legend was designed to put you to sleep. Its dreamlike forest landscapes and nonexistent plot practically dare you to bring a pillow with you to the theater.

2. Children of A Lesser God (1986) - I've heard this is a good movie, and it probably is, but I saw it on a date one night after working all day in a concession stand during a Texas A&M football game (my high school band worked the games to make money for our spring trips...don't act so surprised that I was in band) and probably drinking afterwards, so I suspect I was ill-prepared for a thoughtful drama about deaf people discovering themselves. This relationship was doomed from the start, but at least I got some rest out of it.

3. Top Gun (1986) - I don't really know how to explain this one; maybe the screeching of pubescent teenage girls has a sopofiric effect on me, or maybe I'm so comfortable with my masculinity that thinly veiled paeans to homoeroticism relax me to an extreme degree. Whatever the case, I never actually watched this all the way through until college, and then only to prove to my sophomore girlfriend I didn't know the origins of the expression, "Goose, you big stud...take me to bed or lose me forever."

Maybe my cinematic slumbering was a kind of early warning system away from these women. In retrospect, they were all disastrous partner choices. Perhaps I have some internal alarm that steered me away from romantic catastrophe.

Or maybe I don't like Tom Cruise or William Hurt. None of those movies had zombies in 'em anyway, so I suppose it's no big loss.