A Perfectly Cromulent Blog

"Maybe it's the beer talking, Marge...but you've got a butt that won't quit."

Ginger points us to this Houston Chronicle story about a proposed referendum in Conroe, TX to allow alcohol sales in the previously dry southern half of town:

The Conroe election will involve citywide voting on whether to allow unrestricted alcohol sales in the city's now-dry south half, as have been permitted in north Conroe for decades.

An affirmative vote would authorize the sale of beer, wine, liquor and mixed drinks in neighborhoods generally south of Texas 105.

City officials and backers of the proposal say liquor sales downtown are needed to foster development of new hotels, restaurants and entertainment spots.

Parts of Houston are dry, as are sections of Dallas. That one need only travel a few hundred feet in either city to find a liquor store or bar doesn't seem to bother those who believe "the children" will be safe as long as the local Kroger doesn't have Sam Smith's Taddy Porter on the beer aisle.

This is Conroe, however, the town where the über-reactionary Republican Leadership Council successfully lobbied to have a replica of Michelangelo's David covered with a fig leaf, and Italian Renaissance prints deemed "obscene" removed from an area restaurant:

Although Michelangelo's anatomically correct classical sculpture of "David" has been on display for almost 500 years in Florence, Italy, it took only a short time for public pressure to force Portofino's management to clothe a replica of the masterpiece -- using a plaster grape leaf.

Similarly, complaints that some classic illustrations on the interior of Buca di Beppo restaurant were pornographic has prompted management there to remove the offending art.

One wonders how many concerned Conroe residents who agree with the shrouding of David's trouser snake will be shepherding their kids to see Mel Gibson's latest exercise in ultra-violence.

The crusade by the Whitts and others has resulted in two pictures being removed from inside the restaurant. One was a picture of a classic Italian statue of naked wrestlers, and another was a well-known picture of a young boy urinating on a wall, which was shown in the men's restroom.

Apparently the Whitts don't have a problem with the Hooters restaurant on I-45 in Conroe, or the kind of, uh, "artwork" present in their men's room.

I'm not sure how the "dry" thing works outside of Texas, though I understand other states below the Mason-Dixon Line have similar ordinances. It amuses me greatly to know that, while I may have a difficult time purchasing a six-pack in Lufkin, a brief jaunt to Louisiana allows me to buy Jack Daniels in a 7-11. Priorities.

Dry neighborhoods are an annoyance: drive a few extra blocks to an alcohol-supplied store or BYOB to a restaurant. Dry counties are a different matter. Restaurants still allow drinking, provided you purchase a "membership" for that particular establishment, or - in north Texas, for example - you can buy a card that allows you to drink in participating establishments for a year.

The ability to buy beer at a grocery store and consume it in your home would seem to be safer for your kids than having to drag ass to the Bennigan's three exits down, load up, and drive home. Of course, I'm one of those fringe characters who thinks a replica of David situated on top of a for-crying-out-loud strip center Oshman's should swing free like nature (and Michelangelo) intended, so what do I know?

Next round's on me.

"Eh, this quiz show crap is just a fad."

I took the Which Peanuts Character Are You? quiz just to confirm my hypothesis that everyone who takes it ends up as Schroeder. My result: Franklin. Franklin??? Why not Shermy? Or 5? Nothing against Franklin, but I'm having a hard time remembering any significant contributions he made to the canon.

But never mind that now , for I was once like many of you, eagerly pouncing on the latest opportunity to discover which republic of the former Yugoslavia or which World War I aeroplane I was (the Nieuport 17, of course). In my darker days, I even contributed to the "Vote for your favorite beer" thread on alt.drunken.bastards. But with the explosion of the internet and the rise of sites like Quizilla, the entire phenomenon has gotten out of hand.

The latest quiz making the rounds is the one that finally pushed me over the edge. It's the Which Calvin and Hobbes Character Are You Most Like? test. There are five answers. Two of which are more or less identical (Spaceman Spiff and Calvin), two are obvious (Hobbes and Susie...I guess Mr. Bun was busy), and one is thrown in to pad the results out (a space mutant).

It isn't that the quizzes themselves aren't - occasionally - mildly entertaining. I just can't help wondering, as I peruse some of the options on Quizilla, if maybe Socrates was wrong about that whole "unexamined life" deal.

I wouldn't dwell on it, except I ended up with "I Drank What?" on the Which Socrates Quote Are You? quiz.

"Academy Award Playhouse now returns you to Hercules vs. the Martians."

The great grandaddy of self-important cinematic bloviation takes place this weekend. No, not the opening of The Passion of The Christ, I'm talking about the Oscars.

Because I have money on the outcome, and because some of those I'm competing against read this blog, I'm not going to give my predictions for who's going to take home the main prizes. Instead, I'm going to offer my picks for some of those who aren't going to win an award.

Which really only means they'll fade from memory somewhat more rapidly than the actual winners. It also means I now have a 60% chance of looking like a savvy movie analyst instead of the customary 20%.

Best Picture - Seabiscuit (15 to 1) absolutely doesn't belong in this category, especially given that films like American Splendor, The Cooler, and City of God were overlooked. Don't put any money on Master and Commander (40 to 1) either.

Best Director - Sofia Coppola (8 to 1) is emerging as a dark horse for Lost in Translation, which I'm sorry to say was one of the more overrated entries this year (and I say this as a huge fan of Bill Murray's). Voters will figure she's got plenty of time to win later on. Conversely, Peter Weir (20 to 1) is getting his 3rd directing nod for M&C, but it still won't be him.

Best Actor - Don't let the SAGs fool you, Johnny Depp's (9 to 5) turn in Pirates of the Caribbean was far too lightweight for this category. And House of Sand and Fog came and went too quickly for large numbers of people to get a look at Ben Kingsely (50 to 1).

Best Actress - The Supporting Actress category is traditionally the one reserved for unknowns and left field winners, which is why Whale Rider's Keisha Castle-Hughes (12 to 1) doesn't have a chance. Any other year, I would've said Naomi Watts (8 to 1) uglied herself up sufficiently to get the win for 21 Grams. Close, but no banana.

Best Supporting Actor - Too soon for Benicio Del Toro (21 Grams, 25 to 1), too cliché for Djimon Honsou (In America, 40 to 1).

Best Supporting Actress - Holly Hunter's (50 to 1) 1993 win for The Piano is probably still sticking in the collective craw of many voters, so no dice for Thirteen. And unless Mystic River sweeps the awards, Marcia Gay Harden (40 to 1) is a long shot, at best.

Best Adapted Screenplay - It helps if a significant number of voters have actually read the source material, so City of God (35 to 1) and Seabiscuit (9 to 5) are right out (I'd say the same about American Splendor (15 to 1), but its comics format might have suckered some people in).

Best Original Screenplay - Dirty Pretty Things (50 to 1)? Too foreign (London). Barbarian Invasions (20 to 1)? Way too foreign (French Canadian).

There you go. Hopefully it's been no help at all. We'll have a recap on Monday.

UPDATE: Odds for my non-picks (from a website that shall remain nameless) added.

"That guy disgraces our entire profession. What do you think, Internet Comic?"

Ten years ago today, stand-up comedian/social critic/all-around pain in the ass Bill Hicks died of pancreatic cancer.

Hicks perfected the "rant" before Dennis Miller made it into a marketing tool. His routines were like surgery: unerringly precise, occasionally repulsive, and sometimes completely botched. He was an equal-opportunity offender, although he saved his best bits for the ultra-conservative forces he (rightly) asserted were slowly taking over America. A deeply spiritual man, he nonetheless skewered the false holiness of many of our nation's leaders. All the hooplah surrounding Mel Gibson's The Passion of the Christ this week makes me recall his comment about Christians' love for wearing crosses ("Do you think when Jesus comes back he ever wants to see another fucking cross?"). I'm sure he'd have some choice words about the latest Rumble in the Gulf, as well.

As pop culture experiences go, I regret two things: that I wasn't in the Olympic Hockey Arena on February 22, 1980, and that I never got the chance to see Bill Hicks live (though I've seen Leary's No Cure for Cancer video, which is essentially the throwaway bits from Hicks' Relentless tour, so that sort of counts, right?).

Stand-up comedy has died a slow, ugly death since its brief heyday in the late '80s/early '90s. There are still popular comics, but those that devote their routines to weightier material than booze and midget transvestites lack Hicks' unnerving ability to completely mesmerize or utterly alienate his audiences, often in the same performance. I didn't agree with all his points, and sometimes grew impatient with the lengthy discourses on drugs and universal brotherhood, but it didn't matter. Hicks did what he did because he actually believed, unlike the Jake Johanssens and Margaret Chos of the world, that what he said mattered.

Some good articles on Hicks:

The black-humored articulator of doubt - Jack Boulware for Salon

Prophet of rage - by Stave Hobbs for GQ

His biography, American Scream, by Cynthia True

His collected CDs, available from BillHicks.com. Of these, I've heard Dangerous, Relentless, Arizona Bay, and Rant in E Minor. The last, recorded after Hicks was told his cancer was terminal and really, truly took the gloves off, is highly recommended.

"Whether you're Christian or just non-Jewish, everyone loves Santa Claus."

Last night, Greg challenged me to write an entry about the best Christmas television special ever made. He asserted that the all-time champion of Yuletide TV is Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. I scoffed, and a brief scuffle ensued. After incapacitating him with the sleeper hold, I got to thinking...which one is the best? They come and go, like Angels after Farrah left, but there's a decent handful that have endured for decades, becoming embedded in our already pop culture-glutted consciousness.

And so, today we are going to settle the question once and for all: what is the greatest Christmas TV special of all time?

UPDATE: I covered mandatory Christmas movies a few months ago. This poll is solely for holiday TV shows.

I'm not going to get into the issue of whether you believe in Jesus, or Santa Claus for that matter. If you were alive, American, and able to hold your head up unassisted in the 1970s, there's a good chance you're familiar with most of these films. For those of you who may be a little hazy, here's a brief chronological recap of our contestants. I've excluded obvious marketing opportunities like the Jetsons or Flintstones Xmas specials (with one exception...you'll know it when you see it), and anything made post-1978.

1. Mr. Magoo's Christmas Carol (1962) - Less a children's special than a particularly odd Dickens adaptation featuring legally blind protagonist Mr. Magoo stumbling through the proceedings. Minimalist in the best early 1960s tradition, it nonetheless deserves mention solely for the song, "We're Despicable."

2. Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer (1964) - The stop-motion freakshow that started this whole mess. How Arthur Rankin and Jules Bass stretched a 2 minute song into a 47 minute epic chock full of prospectors, an elf that wants to be a dentist (and the hostile workplace he has to endure), and an abominable snowman some three thousand miles from his native Himalayas remains a mystery to modern science.

3. A Charlie Brown Christmas (1965) - Foreboding anti-commercial message served with a heaping helping of New Testament quotes and long stretches of children dancing like freaky beatniks. The Peanuts characters are still universally loved, which has kept this otherwise spare and poorly animated offering alive for almost 40 years. Me, I prefer It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown.

4. How the Grinch Stole Christmas! (1966) - Ignore any later live-action versions with extreme prejudice and concentrate on the dulcet tones of Boris Karloff, the Herculean labors of Max the dog, and the altogether creepy Whos. I was always disappointed that Santa never showed up during the Grinch's felonious caper and beat the shit out of him. As a bonus bit of trivia, Thurl Ravenscroft (singer of "You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch") later became the voice of Tony the Tiger.

5. The Little Drummer Boy (1968) - Rankin and Bass are back. And this time: it's Biblical. Aaron the titular misanthropic percussionist whiles away his days bitching about mankind with his Orwellian-looking animal friends until the coming of the baby Jesus teaches him to love again. TLDB would become one of the last straight-up Bible stories shown on network TV, and doesn't air on the Big 3 anymore.

6. Frosty the Snowman (1969) - As I grow older and less tolerant, I really find myself sympathizing with Prof. Hinkle in this one. I mean, the fat, frozen fuck took off across state lines with his magic hat. What's the man supposed to do, laugh it off and subsequently teach our children to be willing victims of crime? Melting's too good for him, and book Santa as an accessory while you're at it.

7. Santa Claus is Comin' to Town (1970) - For all the teeming throngs of fans clamoring for the mysterious origin of Santa Claus, this one's for you. A young Kris Kringle saves the children of Sombertown (sister city to Bartertown) from their mean old mayor and, in the process, meets his eventual wife. And let me tell you, the future Mrs. Claus is disturbingly hot for a Claymation figure.

8. The Year Without a Santa Claus (1974) - What would happen if Santa decided he didn't want to work on Christmas Eve, the one freaking day of the year he's expected to put the bong down and atually get some work done? I'm not sure, but it has something to do with Heat and Cold Misers and really frightening looking doll-like children. Not as fun as you remember. Trust me.

9. 'Twas the Night Before Christmas (1974) - Not only is Santa lazy, he apparently has the capacity for petty revenge. After Albert the smart-ass mouse(!) writes a letter to the editor calling the not-so-jolly old elf's existence into question, Santa strikes a whole town off his list. Do the townspeople kill Albert? Well...maybe, but if so it happens offscreen. Before that, they have to prove their worthiness. In the space of ten short years, Santa Claus has transformed from the benevolent patriarch of Rudolph into a vengeful demi-god. Sweet.

10. The Star Wars Holiday Special (1978) - George Lucas commented once that if he had the time he would track down every bootlegged copy of this and destroy it. Good luck. Han Solo takes Chewie back to his home planet for "Life Day" and hugs everyone. Princess Leia sings. Bea Arthur, Harvey Korman, and Jefferson Starship put in appearances. There's a great collection of pics here, and a nice review here.

Now vote, damn you.

"How in the world can you afford to live in a house like this, Simpson?"
"I dunno. Don't ask me how the economy works."

Massive deficits might have long-term consequences for our economy? What'choo talkin' 'bout, Greenspan?

NEW YORK (CNN/Money) - Fed Chairman Alan Greenspan warned Congress Wednesday to take quick action to fix the nation's swollen budget deficit -- including cutting some future Social Security payments -- in order to avoid even bigger problems for the nation's economy down the road.

The central bank chairman also repeated his assertion that recent tax cuts should be made permanent and said cutting Social Security benefits and other spending was a better way to fix the deficit than tax increases.

While somewhat alarming, talk of cutting Social Security really shouldn't come as a shock to anyone who's been paying attention to that huge demographic bulge about to retire. My own retirement planning (once I was finally convinced to get off my ass and start saving) has always assumed that SSA wouldn't be around when I finally got around to retiring. In my mid-80s, apparently.

The fact that our current deficit is not a product of so-called "tax-and-spend" Democrat policies but is thanks to our allegedly conservative President is strangely satisfying. Or would be, if I wasn't worried about my job going to Bangalore. But that's apparently "a good thing" as well, so what can you do.

He proposed some solutions that would reduce future Social Security benefits to retirees, including raising the ages at which retirement benefits are paid and changing the inflation measure used to index the payments.

On a purely unrelated note:

CLINTON, Maryland (AP) -- William Coates, believed to be the oldest man in the United States, died Monday at age 114.

That would make Coates four years older than Greenspan's projected (in 2050) retirement age of 110.

"To stay afloat, Moe's Bar is going to have to go queer."

As a straight man, I find it more than a little suspect amusing that I keep writing about gay marriage. And I'd stop, if it wasn't so damn fun:

WASHINGTON (CNN) -- President Bush said Tuesday that he supports a constitutional amendment banning same-sex marriage to "prevent the meaning of marriage from being changed forever."

Apparently the current meaning: "an institution, solemnly entered into (unless you're drunk, or in Reno) by two individuals (unless you're a member of the Unification Church) who love each other to the exclusion of all others (unless it's just for the money, or a green card) until death they do part (unless one of them obtains an annulment, or a no-fault divorce)," needed a little reinforcement.

"After more than two centuries of American jurisprudence and millennia of human experience, a few judges and local authorities are presuming to change the most fundamental institution of civilization."

The Socratic school? Wait, I know this one...the city-state?

Shhh, he's still talking:

"On a matter of such importance, the voice of the people must be heard. Activist courts have left the people with one recourse. If we're to prevent the meaning of marriage from being changed forever, our nation must enact a constitutional amendment to protect marriage in America. Decisive and democratic action is needed because attempts to redefine marriage in a single state or city could have serious consequences throughout the country."

I can feel my own wedding band loosening already.

Save us, Mr. President, I beseech you. Only by legislating against those uppity homos will you ensure that I won't have to breathe their foul "gay" air while covering my child's eyes and ears as we sprint through an ever-growing gauntlet of queer couples, all aggressively seeking to foist their anti-family, ass-poking agenda upon me and mine.

But Bush also said state legislatures should be left to define "legal arrangements other than marriage," suggesting that such an amendment would do nothing to stop states from allowing civil unions for same-sex couples.

"Our government should respect every person and protect the institution of marriage," he said. "There is not a contradiction between these responsibilities."

I'm really looking forward to how the hell they're going to write this thing. If they follow Bush's lead, it's going to be even more vaguely worded than the Second Amendment.

Bush called for a civil debate on the controversial issue.

"We should also conduct this difficult debate in a matter worthy of our country, without bitterness or anger. In all that lies ahead, let us match strong convictions with kindness and good will and decency."

It's not the debate that needs "good will and decency," Mr. President, but your proposed Consitutional tampering. This little amendment you're trumpeting will reverse the expanding civil rights tradition of "two centuries of American jurisprudence." Is there decency somewhere in that?

Now that's a debate.

In his State of the Union speech last month, Bush has addressed same-sex marriage, saying, "our nation must defend the sanctity of marriage."

Translation: "Until my administration captures Osama bin Laden, gets our military out of Iraq, and creates actual job growth, I'll be forced to freak out our indolent, Cheetoh-scarfing public by tossing around non-threats like 'steroid use in sports' and 'gay marriage.' Y'all have a good night."

"I thought my life would be a Mardi Gras, a never ending party...ha!"

Another Fat Tuesday is upon us, and in the American tradition of gluttonous excess, what was once a holiday marked by pre-Lenten feasts and the odd parade or two has swelled into the phantasmagoric orgy of booze, breasts, and beads we've all come to know and love from those numerous C.O.P.S. specials.

I've been to New Orleans a number of times, but never for Mardi Gras. Even in my callow youth I was wary enough of the hassle to steer clear, and now I'm too old. I'm comfortable with that, for Mardi Gras is a holiday for drunken youth and drunken still-wish-they-were-youth. How else do you explain the savagery with which crowds descend upon The City that Sobriety Forgot every March? Yeah, yeah, yeah, New Orleans is steeped in French-Americal colonial history, which would be a pertinent argument if more than 1% of visitors ever made it past the Daquiri Factory. I also hate crowds, so Mardi Gras would drive me nuts. I'd end up paying less attention to the boobs being flashed around me than I would the next throat I had to elbow in order to get the hell off Bourbon Street.

Even before I was old enough to sample the city's earthier pleasures, New Orleans freaked me out. I remarked once - to my friend Sven as we were driving through on a return trip from Atlanta - that there was an almost palpable miasma of evil that clung to the city. It tweaked at a visitor's nerves, making one skittish and edgy. Perhaps, I mused, this was the reason people felt compelled to drink so much. Sven just grunted something unintelligible, then rolled back over to continue sleeping off his hangover. The same hangover that necessitated my driving solo from Atlanta to Beaumont.

What was my point? Oh, right...miasma. I couldn't decide, when I visited the Big Sleazy later in life, if there really was some cloud of malevolence hovering over the Mississippi River delta or if it was merely four decades' worth of accumulated vomit and urine. New Orleans is the only city I've ever visited that made me feel like washing my shoes afterwards. And I've been to Paris. And Amsterdam.

In the interest of fairness, I should point out that the Wife loves New Orleans. She's been to three Mardi Gras celebrations and, by all accounts, had a blast each time.

I prefer Vegas. Keep your phony forced jubilation and give me hard drinking gamblers who'd just as soon blow White Owl smoke in your face as learn your name. Mardi Gras is "the greatest night of the year?" With those tinted windows, it's always night in Treasure Island. Spare me swimming against a tide of Coors Light-addled frat boys for a 48 oz. pina colada and just keep the whiskey straights coming while I play Texas Hold 'Em. Here's a $5 chip for all your hard work.

And Vegas celebrates the institution of marriage, which is apparently very important to our President.

"I used to rock and roll all nite and party every day."

Here at APCB, we don't just entertain, we want to perform a public service. Blogs aren't merely arenas in which misanthropic cranks spew their bilge about politics and pop culture, they can also educate and - dare I say? - save some lives.

Last Friday marked the 1st anniversary of the Rhode Island nightclub fire that killed 100 patrons attending a concert by former '80s hair metal stalwarts Great White. The band's tour manager and club managers at the Station were indicted for involuntary manslaughter late last year. That's well and good, but in order to help prevent future rock-related tragedies (and due to little free time at the moment) I've resurrected an e-mail from a list I'm on to help music fans avoid future calamities. For those of you on that e-mail list who've already seen this, my apologies. Original entertainment will return shortly.

When I first heard of the fire in Rhode Island, I think I was less surprised it had taken place than I was that there were actually 300 people there to see Great White. a group of Ian Hunter-wannabes I'd consigned to the bargain bin of my musical consciousness long ago.

The lesson coming from the Station fire, therefore, is to balk at attending a show where the hair metal musical combo in question might have to resort to fireworks to cover up a lack of talent/stage presence/recognizable hits from this decade. To that end, I urge each of you to be especially wary of upcoming concerts featuring the following "vintage" rock acts:

Warrant - The Backstreet Boys of metal. Not just dumb music - Jethro Bodine dumb music.
Cinderella - Not to take away from the musicianship of Tom Kiefer, but they'd give Aerosmith a run for the "Ugliest Metal Band of All Time" title.
Dangerous Toys - The tagline of their 1988 tour was, I believe, "Sport'N a Woody." There isn't much I can add to that.
Enuff Z'Nuff - Metal/psychedelia fusion, with just a dash of suck.
Vixen - Third lamest band depicted in The Decline of Western Civilization Part II: The Metal Years (behind obvious winners Odin and London).
Whitesnake - At the show I saw in 1987, both Heather Locklear and Tawny Kitaen were in attendance. This was a great source of joy of us dateless wonders. At one time, the group was a virtual hair band Hall of Fame, featuring Vivian Campbell (Dio, Def Leppard), Adrian Vandenberg (Vandenberg), Rudy Sarzo (Quiet Riot), and Steve Vai. Today I wait for the inevitable 80's Rock Reunion with Motley Crue and Poison. Sponsored by Cialis.
Tesla - Not really a hair band, but an ex-girlfriend of mine was in one of their videos. I wasn't aware of this before we started dating.
White Lion - 1987's "When the Children Cry" set the 'heavy ballad' bar so high it would be years before Creed would happen along to take a shot at it.
BulletBoys - I could never decide if "Smooth Up In Ya" was a more penetrating analytical dissection of gender dynamics than Whitesnake's "Slide It In" or not.
Krokus - The videos for "Eat the Rich" and "Headhunter" finally gave America's youth the heavy metal-Dungeons & Dragons connection they so sorely needed.
Lizzy Borden - Never achieved the notoriety of the similarly named Marilyn Manson, for some reason.
Slaughter - You poor bastard, they roped you into buying their album by giving themselves a name evocative of rapacious barbarians, then used their inoffensive wimp rock and dreamy lead vocalist to convince your girlfriend to keep you from throwing the album away. Dirty pool.
Skid Row - I actually saw these yabbos twice: opening for Aerosmith in 1990 and for Guns N' Roses in 1991. Given the moderate success of Sebastian Bach's recent acting and entertainment ventures, I think we can thankfully rule out a reunion tour.
Trixter - Approximately as "metal" as the Spice Girls. Better hair, though.
Faster Pussycat - Fourth lamest band depicted in The Decline of Western Civilization Part II: The Metal Years, in spite of their exploitation cinema name.
Dokken - I had a homemade "Dokken Sucks" shirt that cemented my adolescent status as an aloof outsider. Of course, I only made it because a girl in high school broke up with me to the strains of "Alone Again."
Europe - Neck and neck with White Lion as NATO's worst musical export. "The Final Countdown" was 1986's "Who Let the Dogs Out?"
Saigon Kick - The lesser known half (along with Hanoi Rocks) of the fabled Vietnam metal dyad.
Britny Fox - Sissiest name in rock and roll, although their song "Girlschool" predated America's obsession with Catholic schoolgirls by 10 years.
Fastway - It's generally ill-advised to combine two names to come up with a moniker for your group (D.N.A., The Captain and Tennille), but would "Fast" Eddie Clarke and Pete Way listen? Nooooo. I think "Autobahn" is much cooler, but association with Kraftwerk is doubtless something these guys were trying to avoid.
Leatherwolf - That this band released three albums (the first two both named Leatherwolf) before the forces of good taste consigned them to oblivion is testament to the fact that any band with big hair and a lead vocalist with his scrotum in a vice could get signed in the 1980s.
Kingdom Come - Latecomers to the party, but the song "Get It On" gave us all a welcome respite from the Milli Vanilli scandal for a while.
Ratt - Uh, I actually used to like Ratt.

I'm leaving out some obvious ones like Def Leppard (still a big draw, at the Rodeo anyway), Bon Jovi (never technically metal), and Poison (not sure any of them still have henough hair to qualify as a "hair band"). Aerosmith continues to offend on a regular basis, but most arenas capable of holding their legions of aging, faux hesher fans have pretty adequate fire protection.

Certainly some of you are wondering what qualifies me to speak so eloquently about '80s hair bands. Unsurprisingly, my research started in an attempt to pick up girls. While at a party in or around 1988, a Whitesnake song came on the stereo. I turned to my friend and said something along the lines of, "Whitesnake is the biggest derivative, Led Zeppelin cock rock, bullshit rip-off band I've ever heard. Feh, Whitesnake."

A fetching young lady in teased blonde hair, ripped jeans, and a leather jacket - who had apparently only heard one word of my previous diatribe - tapped my shoulder and said, "Wow, do you like Whitesnake?" Sizing her up, I replied in the only way I could: "I love Whitesnake."

My friend had to excuse himself.

Meanwhile, she and I embarked on a heady summer-long affair. I ground my teeth to the nerve endings listening to her Slaughter albums and she let me touch her breasts. It worked out pretty well.

I guess you could say I sold my soul to rock and roll.

"What's so unappealing about hearing your elderly father talk about sex?"

The end times are upon us:

Has sexual anthropologist Carrie Bradshaw run out of questions?

Or is it that when women grow up, they stop trying to understand what makes relationships work?

Probably neither.

But after six lubricious seasons and 91 episodes, the 45-minute final installment of HBO's Sex and the City will air at 8 tonight, with an hourlong countdown special beginning at 7.

Only 91 episodes? Funny, it felt like so many more.

But it isn't just my local rag talking about the end of the show. Seems like all the major news outlets are getting into the act:

SAN FRANCISCO (Reuters) - Carrie, Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte say adieu on Sunday night to a nation captivated for six years by their frank sex talk, dating hijinks and outrageous outfits on HBO's "Sex and the City."

The show, which has been the subject of books and university courses and may become a feature movie, touched a chord with women who saw something of themselves in the characters struggling to find love, happiness and great shoes.

There's plenty more to be had: CNN's Wolf Blitzer has an interview with creator Darren Star, whom you may remember as the creator of such weighty TV fare as Melrose Place. And everyone from USA Today to the New York Times are falling all over each other to sum up the Sex and the City experience for the rest of us hopeless plebes.

I admit, I underestimated this show's appeal to women in flyover country: women who'd just as soon spend $300 on a pair of Manolo Blahniks as flush a payheck down the toilet. And yet (and ignoring the whole "university courses" angle), it seems like the amount of attention given to the show's imminent demise is a bit much.

What's the attraction? I ask this as a man who - while not naming names - knows many women near and dear to his heart who have been following the last season with the same unhealthy fascination usually reserved for fans of Babylon 5 and Buffy. It can't be the longevity of the series...hell, six seasons doesn't even outdo Perfect Strangers, and I can remember a nationwide sigh of relief when that dog finally called it quits. Same for Full House, which cast a pall over our great nation for eight years. Was it Sarah Jessica Parker's Doogie Howser-esque musings that drew audiences in? What about the vicarious boning of every man you ran into at the health club, a la Kim Cattrall?

Maybe it's something more prurient. Is dishing about the size of your boyfriend's penis groundbreaking television? Can all of you sympathize with Carrie when she has to choose between the hot, successful financier(?) Mr. Big and the hot, successful artist Aleksandr Petrovsky? How hard is it for everday women to relate to Samantha when she contracts breast cancer, even though you know her health insurance will cover everything but the wig?

Everyone wants to fall in love. I understand. But I'm afraid Sex and the City's legacy is going to be this manufactured parallel universe where every man who's not a goddamn cheating scumbag is either physically or emotionally unattainable. That's entertainment.

Whatever. One more show and I can start looking forward to the next season of The Wire.

"And for the record, there were a few Jewish cowboys, ladies and gentlemen. Big guys, who were great shots, and spent money freely."

Area whack-job and father of that Braveheart guy Hutton Gibson is at it again:

Gibson's dad calls Holocaust mostly fiction

As interest heats up in Mel Gibson's new film about the death of Jesus, the filmmaker's father, who lives in Tomball, ranted to a New York City-based radio show host about the Holocaust.

On Speak Your Piece, Hutton Gibson, 86, told host Steve Feuerstein: "It's all, maybe not all fiction, but most of it is," according to a New York Daily News story.

He also lashed out at prominent Jews, including Federal Reserve Chairman Alan Greenspan.

"They're after one world religion and one world government," Hutton Gibson said. "That's why they've attacked the Catholic Church so strongly, to ultimately take control over it by their doctrine."

Anytime I hear the expression "one world government" I have to make sure I haven't suddenly slipped the bonds of my mortal body and somehow been transported to an Aryan Nations meeting in Michigan. Then I'm reminded of Jon Stewart's derision of those who believe Jews run the world out of some "luxury cave in Barbados."

He added: "They claimed that there were 6.2 million (Jews) in Poland before the war and after the war there were 200,000, therefore he (Hitler) must have killed 6 million of them. They simply got up and left. They were all over the Bronx and Brooklyn and Sydney and Los Angeles."

These would be all those Jews the FDR Administration wouldn't let into the country before the war, I guess. I'm relieved Hutton Gibson is around to correct my impression that "getting up and leaving" Nazi-occupied Europe was actually sort of, y'know, difficult.

This shouldn't really surprise anyone, however. Gibson made similar comments last year in a Houston Press article:

The pope isn't Catholic. John Paul II, the man most people believe to be pope, is really an imposter. He's deliberately plotting to destroy the Catholic Church from within. Catholics have been lied to, and they have been robbed. These are the messages Hutton Gibson preaches in his crusade to save the souls of his fellow Catholics.

From his home in northwest Houston, he mails out his eight-page newsletter titled "The War Is Now!" He has 600 subscribers worldwide. He's also authored the self-published books Is the Pope Catholic? and The Enemy Is Here, which features a cover with a map of Italy and an arrow pointing to Rome.

Shit. If the Pope isn't Catholic I'm only going to be left with that one-liner about the bear when someone asks me an obvious question.

The elder Gibson doesn't believe the holocaust happened and thinks the idea of evolution is ridiculous.

Perhaps he'd be more comfortable living in Georgia.

More telling is this bit, from when his kids came home from Catholic school in Australia with a new catechism:

Gibson's kids came home from Catholic school with a catechism titled "Shalom." "Shalom," Gibson says, clearly horrified.

"Shalom," Gibson repeats again, as if it were a four-letter word. He declared the catechism heresy. It's what spurred him to look at the documents from the Vatican II Council and examine the changes in the church.

Gibson's clearly in the minority with Catholics regarding Vatican II, but what does son Mel have to say about all this? First, here's what the Press reports:

Mel reportedly was outraged when The New York Times Magazine recently interviewed his father; the New York Post reported that Mel Gibson declared the Times story a "hit piece" on him and that the newspaper had harassed his father.

No word on whether his "outrage" was equal to his assertion that he'd like to kill New York Times columnist Frank Rich and see his "intestines on a stick." And that was just for a critical piece on The Passion of the Christ.

Then there's the Chronicle article again:

In an ABC PrimeTime Live interview with Diane Sawyer that aired Monday, Mel Gibson called the death of Jews under the Nazi regime "an atrocity of monumental proportion." He also said questions about his father were meant to drive a wedge between family members.

"That's my father, OK, I love him," he said. "And if they're going to try and drive a wedge in there, it ain't going to happen."

Gibson's loyalty to Dad is admirable, but maybe he should take a page from Brett Hull's playbook and make more of an effort to distance himself from his father's statements (Bobby Hull was widely vilified for comments made to a Moscow newspaper that "Hitler had some good ideas"). Mel has put himself way out on a limb, Hollywood reputation-wise, and there are plenty who will be waiting for him to fall on his face.

He could always direct the rest of the Left Behind movies, I suppose.

Of course, it may not make a bit of difference. The Passion of the Christ is opening on a respectable 4,000 screens in some 2,800 theaters. Not bad for a film shot entirely in Aramaic and Latin. Curiosity will be as much of a factor motivating people to buy tickets as the advertising push being made in Christian churches across America.

Remind me not to sneak my flask in when I go.

"I dinna cry when me own father was hung for stealing a pig, but I'll cry now."

Twin losses, in rugby and soccer, to the Welsh have caused a crisis of confidence in Scotland (via Fark):

ANY Scot who had the misfortune to obtain tickets for the Millennium Stadium to watch the national rugby and football teams endure a double humping at the hands of the Welsh over the past few days was fated to leave Cardiff floundering in a Niagara of self-doubt. No disrespect to our neighbours, who battered Berti Vogts’ side by a record four-goal margin on Wednesday after their rugby XV won more handsomely than Saturday’s scoreline of 23-10 suggested, but getting a pasting from Wales is not quite in the same comfort league as losing 7 and 6 to Tiger Woods.

I especially like the use of the expression "double humping."

Some doings are just more acceptable than others - it was almost a privilege for a boxer to be thumped by Muhammad Ali, a club football team to be taken apart by Real Madrid or a rugby side to be pummelled by the All Blacks. Back-to-back batterings from Wales are more like losing 7 and 6 to Maurice Flitcroft.

I'll bet that would be doubly hilarious if I had any idea who Maurice Flitcroft was.

The article goes on to examine how changes in national mindset and the advancement of other nations' athletes have left Scotland in a precarious sporting position. The situation doesn't look to improve much when they play rugby world champions England on Saturday.

Even if Williams contents himself with a one-man, one-position philosophy against the world champions at Murrayfield tomorrow it will be hard for some of us to watch the game against England on TV without cowering behind the sofa.

To put it in an American perspective, think about what Red Sox fans go through every time they face New York in the playoffs.

"Yes, yes...it's all a rich tapestry."

Ever wonder what happened to Cobra Kai's Johnny Lawrence after Danny LaRusso crane-kicked his ass right out of the All-Valley Championship? Do you have the faintest freaking clue what I'm talking about? Not to worry, Patton Oswalt has the lowdown:

Sweep the Leg and Wake the Gimp: The Johnny Lawrence Story

Excelsior.

"Oh, don't thank me. Thank an unprecedented eight-year military build-up."

The Thing That Walks Like a Man knows my affinity for all things zombie, which is why he felt it of critical importance to notify me of this article in Wired:

Soldiers' moms will no doubt be horrified. But the Pentagon is looking into ways for GIs to fight for up to five days -- without eating a single meal.

During a mission, soldiers in the field typically don't have the time, or the inclination, to chow down. That lack of food can affect their battlefield performance. So Darpa, the U.S. military's far-out research arm, wants scientists to figure out if soldiers can operate at top levels -- without lunch breaks.

"The question is: 'Are there temporary biochemical approaches we can use to squeeze the last ounce of performance out of soldiers when they're already worked to exhaustion?'" said a Darpa life sciences consultant, who asked not to be named.

I'll bet he did. He probably remembers what happened to the guy who started SkyNet in T2. You bet your ass if I survive the coming zombie soldier apocalypse, I'll be sending someone back in time to drop a couple pounds of C4 down Darpa's air vents.

The agency has a couple of ideas on how this might be done: A cocktail of nutrients or so-called "nutraceuticals" could help build endurance. Lowering soldiers' core body temperature might keep them from overheating. Or, perhaps, the change could be made at the microscopic level, by turbo-charging mitochondria -- the cell's energy suppliers.

Or why not just animate dead grunts, a la Universal Soldier? How about recruiting the downed pilots from the "B-17" segment of Heavy Metal? They'd be especially motivated to fight, as their very survival would depend on how many enemies they could defeat and devour.

Maybe the Pentagon could research what spell Mickey Mouse cast in "The Sorcerer's Apprentice" that reanimated pieces of broom. Then they'd really only need one soldier to start with.

The Darpa project, called "Metabolic Dominance" or "peak soldier performance," is part of a wider, future-facing Pentagon research push to develop grunts who are pretty much immune to normal human demands. The agency has sunk millions into programs to reduce the need for sleep and is investigating ways to keep injured GIs pulling the trigger for days on end -- without help from a medic.

Why do I keep thinking of that Bloom County strip with the "giant space laser Frisbees?"

But enough of these Pentagon maniacs, their minds are obviously addled by their bloated wallets. Surely some respected scientists can impart some sanity onto these proceedings?

"What this seems to be asking for is fantastic in every sense of the word," said Marion Nestle, the former chair of NYU's department of nutrition, food studies and public health in an e-mail message. "Calories are calories, laws of thermodynamics still operate, and humans are still human. I think they should use robots."

No, you fool! That's just what the robots want!

Finally, Darpa simply wants to find ways to control hunger. And the agency is looking at nutraceuticals, natural products and traditional nutritional supplements to give the body what it requires when there's no food around.

These components of Metabolic Dominance, at least, are more in line with ongoing Pentagon research to supply soldiers' nutritional needs more efficiently.

I was half expecting someone to recommend brains.

Delicious brains.

"They made the Navy a floating joke!"

The interior decorators are once again at the gate, it would seem, And if the sentinels of decency weren't already yammering in panicked tongues about the Massachusetts Supreme Court striking down a ban on gay marriages, they're certainly waiting in beatific anticipation for the city of San Francisco to be consumed in holy fire in retaliation for allowing thousands of same-sex couples to marry in the past days.

I wrote about the Massachusetts ruling already. Unfortunately, this was before Britney Spears' sanctified heterosexual Vegas wedding, which would've given me even more ammo. Curiously, there was nary a peep from groups like Campaign for Calfornia Families or any of the other wholesome organizations lining up to protect the institution of marriage when Ms. Spears and wozname got their annulment a day later. I'll stand by my earlier assertion that if they really wanted to put their money where their mouths are they'd move to criminalize divorce. I suspect that might hit a little close to home for some of the faithful, however.

Because I'm a lover, not a fighter, I felt it was high time to try and put the minds of our bigoted assholes misguided brethren at ease by pointing out a few simple facts:

1. The legalization of gay marriage will not invalidate your Biblically-sanctioned union. Only you and the babysitter can do that.
2. You will not be required to let your partner put anything in your anus, unless such penetration occurs "accidentally" during the course of normal, procreative sex, of course.
3. Your children, upon seeing two men (or women) holding hands, will not be struck by an overhwleming desire to listen to Bronski Beat (boys) or the Indigo Girls (girls).
4. Mary Cheney and Candace Gingrich will not turn into pillars of salt. Quit asking.
5. That tingly feeling you experienced upon seeing those two well-muscled young men strolling arm in arm through the Gap will only increase in frequency as more couples emerge. Relax, it's just Jesus testing you.
6. Once gay marriage is legalized, you may want to read the fine print on future "swingers parties" invitations, so as to avoid any unexpected surprises in the "group grope" room.

Hope this helps.

"You're listening to KZMB - All Zombie Radio."

Today's exercise is arbitrary movie list rebuttal is brought to you via jedikaos.net.

The fine folks in the LiveJournal Horror Movies group have produced their list of the Bestest Horror Movies of All Time. Here's their top 20:

1. The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (USA, 1974)
2. A Nightmare on Elm Street (USA, 1984)
3. Halloween (USA, 1978)
4. Night of the Living Dead (USA, 1968)
5. Dawn of the Dead (USA, 1978)
6. The Evil Dead (USA, 1981)
7. Hellraiser (UK, 1987)
8. The Exorcist (USA, 1973)
9. Braindead (AKA Dead Alive) (New Zealand, 1990)
10. Evil Dead 2: Dead By Dawn (USA, 1987)
11. Suspiria (Italy/West Germany, 1977)
12. The Thing (USA, 1982)
13. Return of the Living Dead (USA, 1985)
14. The Ring (USA/Japan, 2002)
15. The Shining (UK, 1980)
16. 28 Days Later (UK/USA/France, 2002)
17. Friday the 13th (USA, 1980)
18. Army of Darkness (USA, 1993)
19. Poltergeist (USA, 1982)
20. Alien (UK, 1979)

We all know it's fairly pointless to take apart a ranking based on someone's personal tastes (in this case, several someones - the list is the result of a poll), but since that's one of the things that makes blogging so darn fun, that's exactly what I'm going to do.

The LiveJournal list seems to suffer from the same complex as the various Top N lists on the Internet Movie Database. Namely, that people have short memories. Recent films fare much better than those released pre-1980 because most of us recall the high profile horror releases of the last few years over those that have been around for decades.

Case in point: 28 Days Later. An enjoyable enough movie, but no one will ever convince me it's a better horror flick than Alien. Also included on the LiveJournal list, 2003's Cabin Fever (#22) and House of 1000 Corpses (#26) - both of which ranked higher than Psycho - and 2002's Ghost Ship (#47), which doesn't even deserve inclusion as one of the best horror movies of that year, much less of all time.

And the only possible way the American version of The Ring ranks ahead of Ringu is if you haven't seen the latter.

So here's my list. My only real criterion for the ranking was that the film had to scare the bejeezus out of me (post-grade school, that is...Land of the Lost scared the hell out me when I was 7). The higher the ranking, the longer I spent watching it through shuttered fingers. As with my other movie lists, these results are prone to change within the next few hours. I also have a weakness for zombie films. Don't like it? Make your own.

1. Alien - "Dallas, it's right in front of you!" This movie is one of the reasons I opposed the Voyager mission.
2. The Thing (1982) - And this is the other.
3. The Exorcist - Most so-called "horror" movies become less frightening the older you get. I've found the opposite to be true of The Exorcist.
4. Psycho - Still the best of the umpteen movies inspired by the life of Ed Gein.
5. The Haunting (1963) - "Back in my day, we didn't need all that CGI statuary and Catherine Zeta-Joes. We had black and white movies, and Russ Tamblyn, and creaky doors and we LIKED it."
6. Jaws - Not only would I not swim in the ocean after this movie came out, I wouldn't take a bath - because everyone knows the deadliest shark is the water pipe shark.
7. Night of the Living Dead - Made you think twice about making fun of that retarded guy in the cemetary, didn't it?
8. Nosferatu - Bela Lugosi was cool and all, but Max Schreck is der hizzle für rizzle.
9. The Omen - I always wondered what would happen is Damien Thorn duked it out with Regan MacNeil. I imagine there'd be a lot of work for the maid.
10. Suspiria - No horror list is complete without a little Argento.
11. The Shining - I don't care how much Stephen King whines about it, Kubrick's version is great horror. Hell, Shelley Duvall scared the crap out of me in Popeye.
12. Re-Animator - Get the unrated version and try to imagine what H.P. Lovecraft would've thought. I believe he actually might've enjoyed it.
13. Day of the Dead - I may be in the minority, but Day worked better for me as a horror movie than Dawn of the Dead. Better intestine footage, I guess.
14. Godzilla - People tend to forget the first Godzilla was a horror movie. There's none of the camp found in later releases here, as the big G turns Tokyo into a charnel house.
15. Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956) - Best. Ending. Ever.
16. The Texas Chainsaw Massacre - The second best Ed Gein homage.
17. An American Werewolf in London - "Queen Elizabeth is a man!" Token werewolf entry (The Howling is a close second, but Dog Soldiers is coming up on the outside).
18. Bride of Frankenstein - Teaching women everywhere the dangers of rejecting potential suitors.
19. Evil Dead 2 - In a perfect world, this would've been the Sam Raimi movie that grossed $400 million.
20. Zombie - The original title, Zombi 2: Eviscerating Boogaloo bombed with test audiences.

Probably in my Top 30: The Fly, Horror of Dracula, Hideo Nakata's Ringu and Dark Water, Cannibal Apocalypse, Halloween, Return of the Living Dead

Anyone else?

"They love, and share, and love and love and share..."

At A Perfectly Cromulent Blog, the greatest love of all is happening to us.

Because I'm lazy this evening, here are some more personals from the Austin Chronicle:

1) ACTION FOR Animals Benefit Bash. You: sexy, drunk, goth girl wearing rabbit fur jacket. I was like...Good Gracious! Coffee sometime? Cheesecake? #3093

If she was wearing a rabbit fur jacket at the Action for Animals benefit, and you were attending in earnest, there might be some problems. Or was this an "Action for Delicious Animals" shindig?

AMERICAN FLIGHT #1863 from Dallas. You: curly-haired boy, yellow t-shirt. Me: fidgety girl next to you. Wanted to offer you cookies but was preoccupied with thoughts of crashing. #3023

Heh. An offer of "cookies" might've kept both of your minds off crashing.

JANUARY 29TH, YOU: Sexy brunette buying Love Potion at Thrift on Fifth ME: Getting inked next door at Telepathic Tattoo. Wanna mingle potions? Call 3115

If there's anything more romantic than someone offering to swap fluids while sitting in a tattoo parlor, I don't know what it is.

OLD NAVY GATEWAY . You: Girl, singing, Eagles T-shirt. Me: asked if you were a fan. You just liked the shirt. You left before I could embarrass myself. "I'm a Believer". #3113

Dude, you already embarrassed yourself by trying to use the Eagles to strike up a conversation (and in an Old Navy, no less), then you follow up with a Monkees song reference. This is self-immolation approaching the scale of the scene in Swingers when Jon Favreau calls the girl he just met and leaves 20 messages on her machine. Move along.

"Where are the dice?"
"Daddy says dice are wicked."

Holy crap, this is the coolest (thank to Rick for the link): it's a Flash version of the old Dark Tower boardgame.

My friends and I played this game way too many times in 7th and 8th grade. I still remember the thrill of sending the dragon packing with the Dragon Sword, as well as the horrible feeling of loss when the plague wiped out half my army. Half the fun was talking shit to the three other guys while you scooped up the keys, but a little one player action is pretty amusing, too.

It's testament to my addiction to this game (or perhaps my fear of my parents) that, after I broke my collarbone playing football at a friend's house, we played three rounds of Dark Tower before I finally relented and went home to inform mom and dad that my arm was "messed up."

"Honesty is the foundation of the movie business."

The third installment in the Blade movies, Blade: Trinity, comes out later this year. I've enjoyed the first two movies, for different reasons. The original Blade showcased some groovy fighting, and Stephen Dorff dies, which is always a plus. Blade II was perversely gory (a good thing), and sported a welcome nastier feel than the glossy original.

The new movie is written and directed by David S. Goyer (his second directorial feature), the writer of the original Blade. How well he'll do helming a big budget action/horror film remains to be seen, but comments like this are quickly endearing him to me (via Dark Horizons):

The big question of course is will there be a fourth film? "Wesley told me when we did the second one that he thought he only had one more in him but you never know. We'll see. I always conceived of three films and there is a definite ending to this. I don't want to cheat (by opening it up again). On the other hand if it does $150 million, then . . . we're all whores".

Yes you are. Dirty, dirty whores.

"Hi, liar!"

It's not just the most TiVo-ed event of all time or the most searched for item in internet history anymore. Now it appears Janet Jackson's "releasing of the hound" is making some serious waves:

SINGAPORE - Viewer outrage over singer Janet Jackson's breast-baring Super Bowl stunt is forcing the U.S. television industry to change its programming style, the president of music channel MTV said today.

"The artist sometimes can be unpredictable, which is difficult in a live format. We were absolutely mortified by it," said Bill Roedy, president of London-based MTV Networks International, part of the U.S. MTV cable network that produced Jackson's half-time show.

This must be that obscure definition of the word "mortified" which means "cackling and gleefully rubbing hands together while rolling naked in a mountain of press releases."

It's in the OED. Look it up.

CBS, MTV's sister company, used an "enhanced delay" on its recent broadcast of the Grammy Awards and Walt Disney Co's ABC Network plans to implement a similar five-second delay on its Academy Awards broadcast later this month.

In addition to its own time delays, MTV has quietly consigned raunchy material, such as Britney Spears' video for her new single "Toxic," to evening from daytime slots.

MTV couldn't be more overjoyed at this. The Jackson incident has finally given them the excuse to begin the inevitable phase-out of music in favor of total reality programming like Sorority Life, The Osbournes, and Real World: Calcutta. If I didn't know better, I'd suspect Viacom had engineered the whole thing in order to divest themselves of videos entirely.

This, however, is my favorite part of the article:

Upset viewers filed more than 200,000 complaints about the incident, which Timberlake blamed on a "wardrobe malfunction," and quickly prompted the Federal Communications Commission to launch an investigation.

Riddle me this: if 89 million people were watching the Super Bowl at any given time, and 200,000 complained about the halftime show, that means 444 out of 445 viewers obiously didn't care enough to bitch to the FCC. Where are the telegrams and dictaphone calls of support for naked breasts on television? When will this silent majority be counted?

Oh, and this just in:

The House Commerce Committee's telecommunications subcommittee on Thursday voted to increase the fines that the FCC could level against broadcasters for broadcasting indecent material. The new fines would represent a tenfold increase from the current $27,000 to $270,000. The bill, by Republican Congressman Fred Upton of Michigan who chairs the subcommittee, received bipartisan backing and is expected to receive swift passage by the Congress and an equally swift signature from President Bush.

Open-ended wars on "terror"...record national debt and trade deficits...negative job growth for three years and thousands of American jobs exported overseas...good thing this administraton has its priorities straight.

Meanwhile, Georgia Senator Zell Miller declared Thursday that he particularly objected to the halftime performance by Kid Rock in which he wore an American flag poncho. The Associated Press quoted Miller as saying, "This is the same flag we pledge allegiance to, the same flag that is draped over the coffins of dead, young, uniformed warriors killed while protecting Kid Rock's bony butt."

You fucking clown. How is one talent-challenged jagoff sporting a star-spangled poncho more obscene than the fact that we have to continue making flags to drape "over the coffins of dead, young, uniformed warriors?" Would it help if I told you Kid Rock's flag, like most of those sold in this country, was probably made in China? Would that take the pain away?

"At least tell me the details of your plot for world domination."
"Ho ho ho, I'm not falling for that one again."

Fine, so the Commenter Whose Moniker Must Perforce Remain Unspoken demands to know APCB's stance on the new Bond rumors. For those who don't hang on showbiz news like a slobbering dog, several media outlets are reporting that contract negotiations between Pierce Brosnan and Eon Productions (the prodcuers of Bond 21) have broken down, and Eon is now aggressively pursuing a successor.

Brosnan's Bond movies were among the most profitable of the franchise, each making more domestic box office than the last, yet the star was injured filming all four movies, which might have something to do with his decision to walk. Also playing into Eon's positon were growing complaints about the franchise's growing reliance on gadgetry. Several sources are reporting Eon wants a younger Bond who will, to quote the Daily Mail, "re-energise the franchise and take it to even greater heights." I say just hire Aston Kutcher and be done with it.

Ha ha. No really, who are the contestants?

Hugh Jackman - Appears to be the odds-on favorite (and he'd be the second Australian to play the role, after George Lazenby). I can certainly see him doing it, though I'm not sure what he'd bring to the table that Brosnan couldn't, except bigger pecs. Meaning more shirtless scenes. Give the people what they want.

Orlando Bloom - Too young,. I mean, really too young. If they didn't take Brosnan in his Remington Steele days for that reason, I can't see them going with Bloom. Maybe he could play Bond's punk kid brother.

Colin Farrell - Interesting choice, as his off-screen antics certainly put him closer to Fleming's original conception of Bond as a womanizing alcoholic. I maintain he's a little too rough around the edges for Bond. He'd be hell to insure, too.

Christian Bale - I think I'd rather see Bale get this than Jackman, if only because he's a better actor and has a darker streak to him. And that's exactly why he won't be offered it. If you'd asked me about this a year ago, I would've said Bale has shown no inclination to get involved in an action franchise. Now, of course, he's doing the new Batman movie. Good thing nobody asked.

Jude Law - Has said he'd consider it, which means nothing. Law's got the chops, for sure, but he seems a little...what's the word...light, to play Bond. Good actor, and a debonair rascal to be sure. Something about him leaves me cold, however.

Ewan McGregor - Yeah right. You think he wants to dive into another franchise when he's so close to being done with Star Wars? Personally, I think he'd be great, but I'm not holding my breath. I predict a slew of indies for Mr. McGregor when Episode III wraps.

Clive Owen - Has reportedly said he won't do it.

Russell Crowe - He'd definitely be the burliest guy to play 007. My gut tells me he's not interested in doing something as fluffy as the Bond movies when he's doing so well with more "serious" roles.

Form what it's worth, here are the odds for who might next pick up the Walther (via ITV):

2/1 Hugh Jackman
7/2 Colin Farrell
5/1 Orlando Bloom
7/1 Jude Law
8/1 Christian Bale
8/1 Ewan McGregor
12/1 Greg Wise
12/1 Jeremy Northam
14/1 Russell Crowe
100/1 Robbie Williams

Cast Robbie Williams as 007 and I god damn guarantee you I will never fork my hard-earned money over for a Bond movie again. Worse, I will use the awesome power of APCB to mobilize others to my cause.

That oughta scare 'em.

"Bart! Wanna see my new chainsaw and hockey mask?"

Tomorrow is Valentines Day. Doubtless some of you are fretting about how best to commemorate this occasion dedicated to the forced celebration of your romantic attachments. Try not to let the fact that Hallmark, FTD, Zales, and Hershey are laughing their asses off all the way to the bank ruin your fun.

If you're still stuck for a unique way to prove your love, and seeing how it's that rarest of calendar events - a Friday the 13th before Valentine's Day - might I offer the suggestion of a Friday the 13th movie marathon?

"Gee, Pete...I don't know," you're probably saying, "They're classic American entertainment and all, but that's a lot of movies. How do I know which ones to check out?"

The true cinematic completist would scoff at your question, and then flick a few Junior Mints at your face. But, since time is a valuable commodity, and because I want to spare most of you from the sheer drudgery of the task, I've taken the liberty of putting together a brief rundown of all ten Friday the 13th films.

The ten I've seen, anyway. So much for completism.

Friday the 13th - Dismissed as schlock when first released (in 1980 - I still remember the commercials), the original...is still schlock, though it has gained recognition in some circles as the film that spawned a new genre. Grisly cinematic murders were nothing new in 1980, but Ft13 introduced the horny teenager element that would be imitated/pardodied for the next twenty years. The twist? Of course, it isn't Jason offing all the pot-smoking degenerates, it's his mom, herself killed by spunky counselor Alice.
Rating: B
Best Death: Is there even a question? Kevin Bacon. In the throat. With an arrow.

Friday the 13th, Part 2 - Alice, the plucky heroine from the first film, inexplicably returns to Camp Crystal Lake and is promptly icepicked (bet you didn't see that coming). By Jason, this time, who obivously holds a grudge against the chick who did his mother in. No hockey mask yet, and the pillowcase over the head is an obvious homage to the killer in The Town that Dreaded Sundown. Tom Savini didn't return for Part 2, and the film sacrifices gore for increased suspense, with mixed results.
Rating: B-
Best Death: The double-impalement of Jeff and Sandra is the ultimate example of coitus interruptus.

Friday the 13th, Part 3: 3-D - I confess, I saw Jaws 3-D, Amityville 3-D, and the 3rd Ft13 movie in the theater, goofy ineffective glasses and all. I wasn't around in the 1950's, so I can't speak for it's appeal at inception, but why the resurgence in popularity 30 years later? No matter, this second sequel is unremarkable not because of week F/X or the sheer goofiness of 3-D (how many times can Jason point a knife at us?), but thanks to uninspired death scenes and rehashing an already formulaic plot. Could the series possibly recover?
That would be telling.
Rating: C-
Best Death: Tie - Rick getting his head squeezed like an overripe melon (with similar results) or Andy sliced in half with a machete, while walking on his hands.

Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter - The good news: Tom Savini returns (reportedly only because he wanted to kill Jason), and the deaths in his chapter are much more brutal than the two previous films; plus Kimberly Beck goes against convention and puts up a hell of a fight at the end. The bad news: Corey Feldman, though he's not that bad as Tommy Jarvis. Ft13:TFC is also where Jason's immortal revenant qualities really kick into high gear, to the point where you begin to suspect he can't be killed by anything less than a thermonuclear device. And even then...
There's also an arid 30 minute stretch right after the warm-up murders where no one dies. Faux pas for a slasher film.
Rating: C+
Best Death: Paul - harpoon to the groin wins every time.

Friday the 13th: A New Beginning - So much for "The Final Chapter," you dirty Hollywood bastards. ANB is widely regarded as the nadir of the Ft13 series. Worse, it isn't even Jason killing the teens, but some dude named Roy who's using Jason's MO to get revenge on the punk kids who caused the death of his son. Little Tommy Jarvis, confined to an asylum thanks to the traumatic events of TFC, is forced to kill Roy, which can't be good for his convalescence.
Rating: D
Best Death: Tina's post-coital garden shears cataract surgery.

Friday the 13th Part VI: Jason Lives - Wisely ignoring the reference to Jason's cremation in ANB, Jason Lives sees Tommy seek revenge on Jason the only way he can: by digging up his corpse and setting it on fire. Unfortunately, he inadvertantly reanimates Jason (never exhume a body during a thunderstorm), spurring him on to yet another quest to rid the world of sexed-up adolescents. Jason returns to Camp Forest Green (renamed for PR reasons) and sets about tallying up the highest body count of the Ft13 series to date (18). Jason Lives is also one of the funniest entries in the franchise, which offers a welcome change for audiences desensitized by five movies' worth of disembowements.
Rating: A-
Best Death: I'll have to go with the triple decapitation of Stan, Katie, and Larry, though ripping the sheriff in half is a close second.

Friday the 13th Part VII: The New Blood - Uneven entry pitting Jason against a teenage psychic who accidentally raised Jason from Crystal Lake (no, I don't know when they changed the name back), where he'd been drowned by Tommy Jarvis in Jason Lives. She was trying to resurrect another corpse (that of her father), if that helps explain things...though why the body was left at the bottom of the lake for four years is anyone's guess. Deaths ensue (though most are almost blood-free, thanks MPAA), and Tina eventually sends Jason back into the depths, which I'm willing to bet he's getting pretty tired of.
ANB marks Kane Hodder's first appearance as Jason. Hodder is a fan favorite, and the only Jason to don the hockey mask in more than one film, but I'm not sure why everyone reveres him so much. He's a big bastard, but that's about it, and Ted White TFC did just as well, and actually took a beating. Hodder plays a great hulking monster, but how hard is that for a guy who's 6' 3" and probably pushing 3 bills?
Rating: C+
Best Death: In what might be the best death of the entire series, Jason picks up camper Judy, sleeping bag and all, and bashes her brains out against a tree. Now that's acting.

Friday the 13th Part VIII: Jason Takes Manhattan - Blah blah blah - kills chick with electric guitar - blah blah blah - gets on a boat, kills crew - blah blah blah - finally get to Vancouver Manhattan for final ten minutes of the movie. I know when I first saw previews for JTM I had high hopes that the movie would be a dizzying cavalcade of carnage in the streets of New York. Little did I know they could've just as easily called this Jason Takes a Cruise. Weak even by the slasher standards of the late '80s, JTM has bad F/X, bad acting, and almost no redeeming qualities.
Rating: D-
Best Death: Aspiring boxer Julius gets his block knocked off with one punch. Damn.

Jason Goes to Hell: The Final Friday - Promises, promises.
JGTH pissed off a number of hardcore fans because, for almost the entire movie, we don't see Jason killinng his victims. Oh, it's still Jason, only now he can take over other peoples' bodies and use them to do his licentious bidding.
The beginning is interesting enough: SWAT troops have staked out Camp Crystal Lake after Jason's disappearance from Manhattan, and they lure Jason into a murderous crossfire. At this point, you'd be better just popping the DVD out of its player, otherwise you'll be forced to hear how Jason is some sort of parasite who hops from body to body (a la The Hidden) in an attempt to kill the last of the Voorhees women, Voorhees women being the only people who can kill Jason.
Kudos to New Line for trying something different, but combining an almost complete lack of Jason with the utter obliteration of existing continuity alientated more people than it intrigued.
Rating: D
Best Death: The rude interruption of Deborah's tryst with Luke via tent spike in the back, and the subsequent (and familiar) tearing in half.

Jason X - Sue me, I liked it. Freeing Jason from the present day and the its continuous reliance on farm implements helps amp up the body count in new and occasionally interesting ways. Yeah, it's an Alien rip-off. True, the effects could use some work, but come on..."Uber-Jason" is pretty fricking cool.
And don't fool yourself, Ft13 stopped being horror around the 7th installment. Jason was no longer a villain by then, but had become the familiar anti-hero we root for to kill the stupefyingly idiotic teens (there's even a VR flashback to the original movie here). I won't lie and say the comedy is great, or that the myriad of cinema references (Blade Runner, Solaris) can forgive the obvious flaws (horny counselors, horny astronauts...who cares, right?), you'll either like this one or absolutely loathe it. Watch at your own risk.
Rating: B
Best Death: Jason dipping Adrienne's hot blonde face in liquid nitrogen, then shattering it on a countertop.

Freddy vs. Jason: not seen at press time

If you'd like to learn more about Jason Voorhees or the Friday the 13 films, please go to your local library and check out these sites:

Friday the 13th: The Website
Camp Blood
Camp Crystal Lake Online

Remember, knowledge is power.

"And I owe it all to Yes-I-Cannabis!"

"Feelin' groovy," indeed:

HURLEY, New York (AP) -- Art Garfunkel pleaded guilty to marijuana possession in upstate New York and paid $200 in fines.

Garfunkel, 62, of Manhattan, was charged with unlawful possession of marijuana after state police stopped his limousine for speeding January 17 in Hurley, 55 miles southwest of Albany.

The trooper who stopped the limo, in which Garfunkel was the lone passenger, smelled marijuana and found a bag containing 6 grams of the drug in Garfunkel's jacket pocket, police said.

6 grams? Art must've gotten screwed on the take from his recent reunion tour with Simon. 6 grams isn't even a quarter bag. If he'd had more on him, maybe Mr. Garfunkel wouldn't have been in such a hurry to score some more.

Of course, it's a good thing New York's drug laws were amended in the late '70s, otherwise he might've seen some harsher penalties.

Oh, I forgot, he's white. Never mind.

"Oh Princess Fair, wilst thou grant me thine dainty hoof in marriage?"

A little something for the ladies...

I hear a lot about how men tend to get off easy when it comes to wedding planning, and in many cases I suppose it's true. I've had more than one male friend describe his entire matrimonial preparaton regimen as, "I just have to show up." This was often punctuated by a belch as he tried to reach for a beer while simultaneously steering Jeremy Roenick to the blue line on Sega's NHL '94.

Whether or not this is still overwhelmingly the case, I don't know. Speaking from personal experience, I can tell you The Wife (at the time, The Fiancee) and I did almost all the planning and legwork together. We were living hundreds of miles from most family members, so it was necessity more than anything else, but I think I enjoyed the wedding that much more knowing I'd pitched in. Disadvantages? Dealing with the printer was a bitch. Advantages? Getting to tell the DJ that if he played "Celebration" by Kool and the Gang I would personally come across the console and tear out his throat.

Memories...

One area where women really do get shortchanged, nuptial-wise, is that of clothing. I'm told the pressures involved in picking out the proper wedding dress, as well as outfitting your bridesmaids, are pretty nasty. Personally, I adopted the tried and true male tactic of picking up my tuxedo the day before the ceremony and trying not to tear out any seams while jumping around like an idiot to "Head Like A Hole" at the reception. Not very complicated, certainly by the bridal party's standards.

But it could've been worse.

Submitted for your amusement, a link to Ugly Dress.com, home to pictures of some of the world's worst bridesmaid dresses, some pretty hideous wedding gowns, prom dresses, and shoes as well. It probably doesn't speak too well of me to say that I didn't see the problem with a number of the frocks presented here, so I'll just shut up.

I get the point about the pregnant prom dress and the maxi-pad slippers, however. Ye gods.

Thanks to my friend Karen for the link.

"I predict that within 100 years, computers will be twice as powerful, 10,000 times larger, and so expensive that only the five richest kings of Europe will own them."

The Frink quote is in in honor of my latest "Footage Fetishes" column subject: Weird Science, up now at Film Threat. Check it out here.

What's that? You need a humorous excerpt to convince you? Very well:

This is why “Weird Science” belongs on a stratum somewhere above “The Breakfast Club” and all the others. Sure, the rest of John Hughes’ movies dabble in the far-fetched: Ferris Bueller’s inexplicable coolness (lest we forget the Beastie Boys’ Adam Horowitz was arrested for the same behavior Ferris exhibits: jumping on a float); any girl falling in love with Andrew McCarthy; the fact that The Geek (from “Sixteen Candles”), Brian Johnson (“Breakfast Club”), and Garry Wallace - all played by Anthony Michael Hall - all live in the same small town of Shermer and never cross paths with each other. Fine and dandy, but come on…“Weird Science” gives us Wez from “The Road Warrior” and Pluto from “The Hills Have Eyes!” A grand piano gets sucked up a chimney! Garry and Wyatt hook up with Deb and Hilly…and Deb is a man!

Please read it. I beseech you.

And while you're there, feel free to read a few of my Sundance reviews:

D.E.B.S.
The Corporation
Dirty Work
Disbelief
Down to the Bone
Good Bye, Lenin!
Imelda
Persons of Interest
Riding Giants
September Tapes
Stander
Super Size Me
WAR

My faves: Stander, Riding Giants, and The Corporation.

"Wait a minute, this sounds like rock and/or roll."

Jesus...I mean, "Golly." Today's Houston Chronicle tells us we'll all soon be safe from godless behavior in county venues:

Singer Janet Jackson set off a nationwide clamor when she briefly flashed a glimpse of one breast during an already racy Super Bowl halftime show at Reliant Stadium.

Now, Harris County Commissioner Steve Radack wants to make sure there's no more such misbehavior in a county-owned building.

Radack said Tuesday that he wants a "morality clause" added to the contracts of all entertainers who perform in such venues, including Reliant Stadium, Reliant Center and the Astrodome.

Radack is acting in the fine spirit of knee-jerkery following the Super Bowl - even thought Reliant Park's management already prohibits performers from using the place for "unlawful or immoral purposes." Naked breasts must make the Baby Jesus cry.

"Basically, I want to make it clear that in county venues, we expect wholesome entertainment, and basically set some parameters," [Radack] said.

He suggested developing clear regulations, including restrictions on nudity, dress, sexually suggestive dance movements and even lyrics.

What qualify as suggestive dance moves, again? Does playing a song by a convicted child pornographer at a football game fall within these "clear regulations?"

Radack and company appear to have a little breathing room, however, since the next gig lined up at Reliant doesn't look like it'll cause too many problems.

Or will it?

The Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo has its own safeguards in place for performers, who were signed in October, well before Jackson took the field at the Super Bowl.

Performers' contracts include an acknowledgment that the event, which begins March 2, is family-oriented and that they must perform "in a manner that is not offensive to any social or ethnic groups and that is suitable for a family audience."

Let's take a look at some the Rodeo's upcoming "family friendly" acts:

March 4 - Wynonna -- Does singing drunk violate the clause?
March 5 - Bow Wow and the You Got Served Tour -- All dancers will reportedly be required to have their pasties applied with KraZy Glue.
March 10 - Vince Gill and Amy Grant -- Uh, pass.
March 16 - Kelly Clarkson, and Nick Lachey and Jessica Simpson -- Is there anything about Jessica Simpson that isn't offensive?
March 17 - Kenny Chesney - The biggest danger to the family audience in Chesney's case is how many people will get splattered with his brains when a fan of decent music finally snaps and sneaks a Barrett .50 cal into the arena.
March 18 - Beyoncé - I can't see anyone going too far out on a limb to ask Ms. Knowles to tone down the bootyliciousness, though the gravity well generated by her ample posterior might cause a separate hazard - undermining the structural integrity of the venue itself. That's probably more of a zoning issue, though.
March 21 - Willie Nelson - Possibility of profanity or leftist political diatribes, but there should be enough secondhand bong smoke that most in the audience won't notice.

My hilarious jokes aside, a morality clause is a dumb idea for three reasons.

1. The arenas listed don't land the really offensive performers. Acts like 50 Cent and Marilyn Manson play the Verizon Ampitheater or Toyota Center anyway. The truth is, not many acts capable of selling out a stadium are going to be very edgy.
2. Believe it or not, some people want their entertainment, like pro wrestling (held at the Astrodome), to be adult-oriented. Think the guys lined up for WCW Nitro want the wrestlers to tone down the language and the ladies to cover up? Guess again.
3. All bets are off when you televise something. Hardly anybody in Reliant Stadium caught a glimpse of the Jiffy Boob, and had the thing not aired on TV for the next 743 straight hours, I wouldn't be wasting everyone's time writing about this.

Even the incident that instigated Radack's proposal was a fluke; a grandstanding publicity stunt by one singer struggling for notice in a world occupied by women 15 years her junior, and another desperate to shake his vanilla boy-band baggage. I've been to dozens of stadium rock shows, most right here in Houston, and the most suggestive thing I've ever seen on stage was Tommy Lee mooning the audience. The only bared breasts I've ever run across were courtesy of audience members, and I doubt even Steve Radack can write up regulations for that.

"There's a crazy man with a scalpel in the ER demanding to see a quack!"

This chick is toast.

A duckling looks around before being killed by Chinese health workers at a farm in Tianjin after the northern port city reported a suspected bird flu case February 10, 2004. Local authorities have killed about 200,000 poultry in Tianjin.

No word on whether the duck's family was sent a bill.

For the bullet, that is.

I'll stop now.

"It started out like Romeo and Juliet, but it ended in tragedy."

This being the season for Manufactured Greeting Card Day, I thought it might be nice to show you the softer side of A Perfectly Cromulent Blog.

Namely, I'm Pete, and I'm a Gilmore Girls watcher.

I started, like most guys, just checking in to get a load of Lauren Graham's derriere in a pair of cutoffs. I must admit, after running on "ogle" for a few episodes, I've come to appreciate the show. Sure, Stars Hollow, CT is one of those beatific places that can only exist on television (or perhaps post-reconstruction Iraq), and a number of the characters are annoyingly precious (Kirk, to name one), but how can you hate a show with Skid Row's Sebastian Bach as the old fart guitar player in Lane's garage band? And it boasts some of the best TV writing this side of Blind Date.

If they'd just get rid of annoying wannabe bad boy Jess, all would be right again.

Now that I've completely torpedoed my credibility, does anybody else think Courtney Love's post-Kurt suicide music is really lousy? Wonder why that is.

"Who needs the infinite compassion of Ganesha when I have Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman staring at me with their dead eyes?!"

Gee, it's been a while since I did an in-depth analysis comparing Hollywood starlets. In this corner, Catherine Zeta-Jones:

Actress Catherine Zeta-Jones dumped her longtime talent agent because she's jealous of the success of Nicole Kidman, according to movie insiders. The Welsh stunner fired William Morris agent George Freeman, who has represented her for 10 years, after husband Michael Douglas advised her to do so. And Hollywood sources say Zeta-Jones made her move to rival agency Creative Artists Agency last week because she's frustrated that Kidman gets first refusal, writes website Page Six. An insider says, "Nicole gets first look at every script. Catherine doesn't. Nicole and Catherine had very similar careers until Nicole's divorce from Tom Cruise. Then audiences found her sympathetic. No one finds Catherine a very sympathetic character or as likeable.

No one finds an overly litigious diva sympathetic? Zounds.

I've always had a sneaking suspicion that, in real life, CZJ is exactly like Charlie, the character she played in High Fidelity: pretty, shallow, and with an undercurrent of immature viciousness. Naturally, I have no rational basis for this opinion.

On the other hand, there may be something to her complaints about the "sympathy" angle. Let's take a look:

1995
Kidman - To Die For
Zeta-Jones - Blue Juice
Advantage: Kidman

1996
Kidman - The Portrait of a Lady
Zeta-Jones - The Phantom
Advantage: Kidman (Choosing between a Billy Zane cheesefest and another Jane Campion-helmed film about good women making bad choices may seem like a no-win, but Kidman's actually quite impressive in Portrait)

1997
Kidman - The Peacemaker
Zeta-Jones - n/a
Advantage: Zeta-Jones (The Peacemaker is up there with Days of Thunder as a movie Kidman should omit from her resume with extreme prejudice)

1998
Kidman - Practical Magic
Zeta-Jones - The Mask of Zorro
Advantage: Zeta-Jones (Family-friendly swashbuckling beats a poor book adaptation any day)

1999
Kidman - Eyes Wide Shut
Zeta-Jones - The Haunting, Entrapment
Advantage: Push (Kidman makes an ill-advised film with her soon-to-be ex, while CZJ obviously took every role thrown her way after Zorro)

2000
Kidman - n/a
Zeta-Jones - High Fidelity, Traffic
Advantage: Zeta-Jones (Kidman drops out of sight and CZJ makes the two best movies of her career)

2001
Kidman - Moulin Rouge!, The Others
Zeta-Jones - America's Sweethearts
Advantage: Kidman (Surely there were better offers than a role second-billed to Julia Roberts?)

2002
Kidman - The Hours
Zeta-Jones - Chicago
Advantage: Push (I hated both movies, but I can't fault either woman's acting)

2003
Kidman - Cold Mountain, The Human Stain, Dogville
Zeta-Jones - Sinbad, Intolerable Cruelty
Advantage: Kidman (even counting Dogville)

Weird. Zeta-Jones holds her own until le divorce, and then Kidman starts running away with marquee roles. Of course, Kidman has demonstrated time and again that she is an accomplished actress, not unwilling to play against type. CZJ, since 2000, has played: a spoiled brat urban hipster (HF), a pampered drug lord's wife (Traffic), a spoiled brat Hollywood star (AS), a conniving Depression-era socialite (Chicago), and an icy gold-digger (IC). If Mrs. Douglas wants meatier roles, perhaps she should stop playing variations on the same character in every film.

Certainly the public felt for Kidman after the split with Cruise. Rumors abounded about their marriage, from her hesitancy about Tom's Scientology to those of a less savory nature, that put Kidman in a very sympathetic light. Zeta-Jones, meanwhile, marries a co-star 25 years her senior, gets photographed smoking while pregnant (it does keep the birth weight down, I hear), sues a magazine for $900,000 in "emotional damages" after it published unauthorized wedding photos, and fires the manager who engineered her successful movie career.

Hmm. Sounds like only a Playboy spread will salvage her career at this point.

"I bent my Wookiee."

And now at last, the end is near:

After years of waiting, hype and hope, the rumors can at last be laid to rest: the holy grail of DVD will finally be released this September. Yes, it is the original Star Wars trilogy: Episode IV: A New Hope, Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back (which many regard as the best in the series) and Episode VI: Return of the Jedi.

While a full press release has yet to be issued, both Lucasfilm and Fox Home Entertainment confirmed today that the trilogy will touch down on September 21st as a four-disc set, available in both anamorphic widescreen and full screen versions, containing the three films plus a bonus fourth disc with extras, a la the top-selling Adventures of Indiana Jones set released late last year. The films will not be sold separately, at least initially, according to Fox representatives.

That works. I like the setup for the Indiana Jones DVDs, and the extras disc has some great stuff.

Wait, there's more:

While the full details on what extras will be included in the set are still pending, Ward promises that Lucasfilm "are creating added-value material that gets inside the creation of the 'Star Wars' films in a fresh and fun way. We want watching this DVD collection to be as memorable as seeing the movies for the first time." He also confirmed that rumors that Lucas would not contribute new audio commentaries to the set are false, although there are as of yet no exact details on which films will receive commentary tracks, and who will be among the participants.

Lucas commentaries? That should be a hoot. Now I need to come up with a drinking game ("Down it every time he references the 'power of myth'").

And I can think of one way to make watching the DVDs as memorable as watching the movies the first time...what has Lucasfilm go to say about that?

Of course, the big question mark amongst fans has always been whether Lucas would allow the original, unaltered original editions of the trilogy to also be released on DVD. Not possible, said Ward, who confirmed that the upcoming set will feature only the 1997 Special Edition versions of each film. "What George did in 1997," Ward explains, "was [to] make the movie he originally wanted to make."

"Not possible?" What, did the dianoga eat the negatives? Lucas couldn't have Han act "in self defense" in 1977? Are we really supposed to believe he wanted every possible inch of screen filled with crap when he first made the movie? Why leave in the "BattleZone" graphics on the Millennium Falcon? Why not fix the landspeeder's shadow?

Oh look, now you've gone and made me repeat myself. Again.

So what are the faithful to do if they don't want to watch the altered 1997 editions of the trilogy? Either give in, or don't buy. "We realize there's a lot of debate out there," says Ward. "But this is not a democracy. We love our fans, but this is about art and filmmaking. [George] has decided that the sole version he wants available is this one."

If you loved your fans, you'd make the trivial effort to transfer the originals to disc. The "sole version" Lucas is graciously offering his fans is one that, overhwelmingly, they don't want. Perhaps if he also released special editions of Episodes I and II that actually made them watchable.

This isn't art, it's commerce, and bad commerce at that. Think how much money he'd make if he released the originals with the special editions in a 7-disc set. Charge double for it. We'd buy it, believe me.

Bah, I need to back up my VHS copies.

"If word gets out about this, Krazy Klown Airlines will be a laughingstock."

An American Airlines pilot appears to be in some hot water for promoting Christianity on a Los Angeles to New York flight:

Passenger Jen Dorsey told CNN's American Morning, "We were just at the beginning of our flight. The pilot came on to greet everyone and give his comments for the morning, and he said he'd recently been on a mission trip, and he'd like all the Christians to please raise their hands."

Fellow passenger Karla Austin said, "He said, 'If you are a Christian, raise your hand.' He said, 'If you are not, you're crazy.'"

The pilot asked passengers to look around at each other and use their 4 1/2-hour flight wisely or "just sit back and watch the movie," Dorsey recalled.

Maybe it's too obvious, but as a pilot, it seems the easiest way to get those "crazy" passengers to reconsider their heathen ways would be to put the plane into a nosedive and scream, "HOLY FUCKING SHIT! WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!"

As St. Christopher once said: there are no atheists in a 737 caught in a flat spin.

"All these new superheroes suck! None of them can hold a candle to Radioactive Man!"

And now for some of the latest casting rumors floating around:

Superman - Beyonce Knowles is up for the part of Lois Lane. I know of at least one sub-literate web cretin who's made his displeasure at this possibility known. The rumor started last week, was quickly debunked, and has now been given new weight by Beyonce's own comments to Extra yesterday to the effect that she's still in the running for the part.

I'm not sure what the problem with this is. Was there that much outrage when Billy Dee Williams played Harvey Dent in Batman? I do remember the mass fanboy apoplexy that took place when Michael Keaton was cast as the Dark Knight, and he seemed to handle the role just fine. In other news, Sam Raimi's Spider-Man had organic web shooters, Hugh Jackman is way too tall for Wolverine, and Gene Hackman's Lex Luthor had hair. Defying all apparent logic, these movies didn't suck.

Besides, anyone getting agitated over the casting for the gives-new-meaning-to "development hell" Superman movie obviously doesn't pay much attention to who's directing: namely Charlie's Angels visionary "McG." Think Beyonce is a bad choice for Lois? How about the director of Fastlane as the guy in charge of the whole project? Then there's Jon ("Who Is Kal-El?") Peters, still listed as a producer, who wanted a gay sidekick for Brainiac and to have Superman fight a giant spider (that idea went to Wild Wild West), and who helped write the script "re-imagining" Superman's origin and making Luthor an alien as well.

Casting doesn't mean much when you have morons like that at the helm. Continuity and story are what matter, and decent acting talent can overcome apparent casting disparities. Now, whether or not Ms. Knowles possesses that (or any) talent remains to be seen. I just don't agree she should be discounted because she doesn't look like "classic formula" Lois. The new Superman won't take place in frigging 1941, after all.

And...

Wonder Woman - Both Sarah Michelle Gellar and Charisma Carpenter from TV's Buffy the Vampire Slayer are supposedly up for the lead in the future Wonder Woman movie.

Meh. I stopped watching Buffy, ultimately, because I couldn't stand Gellar's acting. Carpenter is certainly more physically reminiscent of the character, but nothing on Angel has convinced me she'd be any better.

And neither of them does it for me like Lynda Carter.

Warner Brothers looks like it'll bat about .250 with the comic movies they've got in development. Christopher Nolan directing Batman: Intimidation could work, and Christian Bale might make a good Bruce Wayne. I can't say the same for Halle Berry in Catwoman, Keanu Reeves in Constantine, or just about anyone in Superman. Warners is obviously giving some love to Gellar and Carpenter because they appeared on WB shows, but it might behoove them to find a Wonder Woman who can actually, uh, act.

Oh, and I think Mos Def as Ford Prefect (in the upcoming Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy) will work just fine. I liked him in both The Italian Job and in his small role as Big Blak Afrika in Bamboozled. Of course, given the torturous history of the whole Hitchhiker project, I'm just glad it's finally off the ground.

(courtesy of Dark Horizons and SkyNews)

"Oh, why won't anyone give me an award?"
"You won a Grammy."
"I mean an award that's worth winning."

Damn, here I was all prepared to tear the Grammys a new one after they awarded the Male Pop Vocal Performance to that sucking chest wound of creativity, Justin Timberlake, over Warren Zevon. I had this lengthy screed all mapped out in my head that would touch upon my previous coments about Zevon's slew of posthumous Grammy nominations - nominations that had never materialized during his actual real live career (and were given for arguably his weakest work). I even had a great bit on Zevon's win for Best Contemporary Folk Album, a high profile category whose losers were probably deemed least likely to start any shit.

So I'll be the first to admit I was pleasantly surprised. Not only at Zevon's win for Best Rock Vocal Perfromance (Duo or Group), but for the memorial montage set to "Keep Me in Your Heart," complete with backing chorus consisting of Zevon's son Jordan, Jorge Calderon, Timothy B. Schmidt, Emmylou Harris, Dwight Yoakum, Jackson Browne, and that actor guy. I'm not sure it erases the stain on the Academy's reputation left by the likes of Christopher Cross and Milli Vanilli, but nicely done nonetheless.

Now if they just could've done something similar for Johnny Cash.

"Smithers, have the Rolling Stones killed."

Someone (not Greg Morrow), commented on my Beatles-Stones entry of a couple days ago:

How dare you not express an opinion about which of the two bands was better and more important? Simply pursuing a value-neutral study of their respective morbidity/mortality is simply not bloggerly.

In the words of everyone's favorite cartoon rabbit, I throw myself on your tender mercies.

As far as my opinion on the Beatles vs. the Stones goes, I'd have to say I listen to each band in equal amounts these days. In other words, hardly at all. In historical terms, I was a huge Beatles fan growing up and into high school. During my drunken asshole years (late high school/college), I definitely preferred the Stones (with occasional spins of The White Album). Now that I'm a rapidly aging fart with a baby, I can see myself opting for the Beatles again. Make of that what you will.

Anyone else?

"Ralph Wiggum lost his shin guard! Hack the bone! Hack the bone!"

As you may recall, most hockey fans were less than thrilled with Fox's decision a few years ago to use computer enhancement to animate the puck during certain NHL games. Even worse, the network gave the puck a tail, like a comet, whenever it was shot or passed. Those of us who follow hockey felt it was a pointless exercise, because if you have even a rudimentary knowledge of the game, you know where to look for the puck. Those who don't follow hockey were unavailable for comment, and they weren't watching the games anyway, so who cares?

However, I've finally come up with a suitable instance in which a TV network can use the infamous "glowing puck" for their hocket telecasts: old All-Star games.

First, let me say I appreciate ESPN Classic's decision to air past All-Star games this All-Star weekend (the 1988 offering was like an advertsement for the Mullet Channel). But I'd request, in the future, that any games originally aired in black and white either undergo some sort of enhancement or be abandoned altogether. I watched a chunk of the 1970 game today, and aside from not being able to tell Bobby Orr from Phil Esposito, I had no freaking idea where the puck was.

Oh, I know where it was supposed to be. And at times, I suspect I was even right, but the brightness of the ice on the broadcast made it impossible to follow. I'm not saying they need to give the puck the fuchsia penumbra Fox seemed so fond of, but maybe a little additional darkening would've helped.

Mostly I'm bitching because I haven't gotten to see Miracle yet.

"Well, to cheer you up, I rented a couple of videos: Boxing's Greatest Weigh-Ins, and Yentl."

I loathe Blockbuster, and often go out of my way to rent fine video products from Audio/Video Plus, which is slightly less convenient, but good for your soul. People have their own reasons for avoiding the place, but my enmity towards Blockbuster can be encapsulated by two things: lack of selection - space is made for new arrivals by gutting the already underwhelming classics section - and self-imposed censorship - who else will protect us from the director's cut of Requiem for a Dream?

So when The Wife and I decided we'd like to check out Lost in Translation, I figured I'd suck up my ill feelings and go to our local B-Buster franchise (it's right by our local grocery store, where I was headed anyway).

I knew I was in trouble when I entered the store and, after the sincere greeting thrown my way by the nearest register jockey, didn't see a big poster for the movie. LIT only came out on DVD this week, so any promotions (like Blockbuster's "Guaranteed In Stock" deal) should've been obvious. Indeed they were, for several other movies I don't care to mention, but when I got to the Lost in Translation shelf, it was as I'd feared. No copies were to be found, and none were being held up at the front, meaning I pretended to make friends with that register guy for nothing.

Fine, it's a popular movie, but what spurred this whole diatribe in the first place was that, compared to Translation's meager 6 cover display ("translating" to roughly 40 rental copies), Cuba Gooding Jr.'s latest masterpiece, Radio was featured on three shelves, with some 20 cases on display, equating to some 120 rental copies.

Let me put this another way. Lost in Translation is up for a slew of Academy Awards, and is one of the most critically lauded movies of last year. Radio, on the other hand, is widely viewed as a new nadir, even for Cuba Gooding Jr. movies. And yet for some reason, Blockbuster management decided to devote as much shelf space to LIT as they did the Married Couples, Single Sex series.

I didn't realize Mr. Gooding was so popular.

"Back then I was known as the 5th Be-atle."

Something I read in passing on Scott's blog caught my eye:

1) Yeah, some of the early Rolling Stones material sounds a lot like the Corvids. Let's not forget that the limie bastards (who I love very much, and who I think should have the stooopid Beatles shining their boots and bringing them their Geritol cocktails, but that's another rant for another day) were inspired by America -- not the other way around.

I don't know from the Corvids, but the Stones-Beatles thing got me thinking: who would've guessed back in the late '60s/early '70s that the Rolling Stones would still be alive and touring in the year 2003 and half the Beatles would be dead (and therefore unable to fulfill their boot-shining/Geritol fetching duties)?

Ex-Beatle Stu Sutcliffe got things started when he died of a brain hemorrhage in 1962. neither band had much cause to fear the Reaper until 1969, when ex-Stone Brian Jones shuffled off his mortal coil in quintessential rock star fashion: drowning in his mansion's swimming pool after too many chemicals.

As far as the Stones' starting lineup goes (though like Sutcliffe, Jones also had the decency to quit the band before croaking), that's really it. Ian Stewart died of a heart attack in 1985, but he was the road manager and piano player - the "sixth Stone." Credit him with a half point, I guess.

What shakes my faith in the inherent order of the cosmos more than anything, of course, is the fact that Keith Richards still walks the earth. It seems odd that vegetarian/ex-smoker George Harrison dies of cancer while Richards, still a multi-pack a day kinda guy, continues his demi-lich existence.

The Beatles, after Sutcliffe's departure and the ouster of Pete Best, were always a four-man group. Now down to two (and not counting manager Brian Epstein's death in 1967). The Stones, on the other hand, have counted eight members through their various incarnations (including Daryl Jones), and only one of them has punched his ticket. This from a band with a fine history of bad boy excess.

There's really no point to all this. Just thought it was curious.

I saw the Stones in 1989 on their "Steel Wheels" show in Dallas. This was back when the common concern expressed was, "Man, we better check out the Stones. This might be their last tour." Guess they showed us.

"Hey, Flanders! You're the worst coach this team has ever had!"

The other night, while watching various area college football coaches discussing how their teams did on National Signing Day, something occurred to me:

Art Briles (University of Houston) and Ken Hatfield (Rice) were the only ones who looked like actual honest-to-gawd football coaches.

Mack Brown (Texas) is starting to look like someone's grandmother.

Dennis Franchione (Texas A&M) looks like a used car salesman. Or a pimp.

Bob Stoops (Oklahoma) is morphing into Nathan Lane.

Given the high ranking of each of thse three Big 12 schools' recruiting classes, this either says something about the conference itself, or about what resonates with high school football players these days. I'm not sure which.

"Hey McBain, I'm a big fan, but your last movie really sucked."

Pop quiz time: pick which phrase in the following excerpt doesn't belong (via Dark Horizons):

Just when things seemed to be going forward, they've come to a halt. Variety reports that the fourth "Indiana Jones" pic is on hold as a new script draft has been commissioned.

Frank Darabont had been brought in to script a concept the trio (Spielberg, Ford and Lucas) liked and earlier this week it was reported the work was complete, but sources close to the production said producer George Lucas was unhappy with the draft. So now another screenwriter has been brought in to hone Darabont's script.

If you selected "producer George Lucas was unhappy with the draft," you win a slightly frayed pair of Jar Jar Binks boxer shorts.

I don't have a hard time believing Frank Darabont turned in an inferior script. His most successful writing efforts have always been based on someone else's work (The Shawshank Redemption, Frankenstein, The Green Mile), so maybe the guy struggles a bit in the storytelling category.

And yet.

I'm almost afraid to ask, but what kind of appalling dreck do you have to submit in order to disappoint George "Midichlorians" Lucas? Does Indy say, at some point, "I have a bad feeling about this?" Will Sean Connery appear as a glowing blue apparation? Does the movie take place on freaking Endor ("You could warn them, perhaps. If only you spoke Ewok.")?

Further reading sheds some more light:

"Darabont has been ordered to rewrite it, one of the elements he apparently didn't go for was a sub-plot involving Indy's brother. The brother is still going to be in it, but not as much a focus as in the current script. There needs to be more dimension to the character as well. Apparently Kevin Costner has talked to Spielberg too - but I don't know if he's in it."

Costner, eh? Given that no mention of a Jones sibling was ever made in the previous three movies - even the family-bonding heavy Last Crusade - I can only hope his brother ends up being named "Poochie."

"At this rate, I probably won't even get into Vassar."
"I've had just about enough of your Vassar-bashing, young lady."

I am not a conspiracy theorist.

Having said that, something struck me as I listened to NPR's story yesterday about the inadequacies of current federal college funding levels. The Pell Grant, for example, once covered around 40% of the average college cost for working class and lower income students. It now covers about 15%. Bush has proposed additional funding to give students who complete a "rigorous high school curriculum" an extra $1,000 a year. A nice sop, to be sure, but hardly significant in an era of 25% tuition increases at state universities.

[I say "state" universities when I mean "Texas" universities. Texas deregulated tuition last year, allowing institutions to raise costs as they saw fit. Texas A&M raised theirs 21%, and the University of Texas, ever conscious of the rivarly, responded with a 26% increase. Smaller schools like the University of Houston bumped theirs as well, though at lower rates. I'm not up on the situation in other states.]

Then I started thinking about the problems facing our military. Reserve forces are dwindling, though this may or may not be alleviated once our nebulous exit strategy in Iraq is achieved. Even so, we're constantly reminded by the current administration that the "war on terror" is an ongoing struggle which will require U.S. military commitments for many years to come. Recruitment is in decline, while military departures are blocked and our forces stretched dangerously thin. What's a superpower to do?

The current climate of skyrocketing tuition costs and dwindling financial aid support from the government leads me to conclude that more high schoolers will feel compelled to join the armed forces in order to pay for higher education. This may or may not help satisfy the government's need for more warm bodies to put on the ground in their ongoing campaign against...whomever they feel like blowing up this year. For their part, lower income kids get their college paid for, provided they survive.

It's really a return to the status quo, when you think about it. During Vietnam, sons of privilege were able to avoid active service while the less well-to-do kids got drafted. This current development is even better, because the soldiers who feel compelled to enlist due to poor economic circumstances aren't technically conscripts. There's one political pitfall avoided. The rich kids can continue to go to college because, let's face it - they'll soon be the only ones able to afford it without sinking into serious/crippling debt - and poor and (for a new twist) middle class kids will make up the bulk of our "volunteer" army.

I said earlier that I'm not a conspiracy theorist, and that's true. To believe there was some sort of active strategy at play means I'd have to accept that Bush, Rove, and company are actually nuanced enough thinkers to come up with something like this. As it is, it's merely a happy coincidence, and a continuation of the slow, uncomfortable screwing of the working class under the current administration.

"You want to pick on immigrants? Then pick on Willie!"

Call me soft on the issue, if you must, but I think we should let these guys in already:

MIAMI (Reuters) - A group of Cubans who tried to sail to the United States in a 1959 Buick car fashioned into a boat were intercepted at sea by the U.S. Coast Guard, relatives in Cuba and Cuban exiles said on Wednesday.

[Four of the eleven people on board] had already tried last July to reach Florida in a vessel made from a 1951 Chevy truck, only to be picked up by the Coast Guard and sent home.

"They sealed the doors and added a double bottom, steel plates for a bow and a propeller," said Eduardo Perez, cousin of Luis Grass, at his home in the Havana suburb of Diezmero.

We could get them a guest spot on Monster Garage, for starters, and cameo roles in some Miller Lite commercials. Then there's the talk show circuit, a spot guest-hosting Jimmy Kimmel Live, and the inevitable slide into alcohol and pill-fueled depression.

Who are we to deny these people their shot at the American Dream?

"Man, if this is happening here, I'd hate to think of what's happening in Euro Itchy and Scratchy Land."

A member of the 101st Airborne stationed in the town of Hatra in Iraq realized last month he was in the area where William Friedkin's The Exorcist was shot. Interesting enough, but then comes this bit:

"And then the Army hatched this idea," [Exorcist director William] Friedkin continued, "to turn the whole area into a tourist attraction and call it 'The Exorcist Experience.'"

I don't know what's more disturbing: the idea of watching Friedkin's horror classic in order to unwind after a long day's patrolling, or this growing trend of horror-based attractions. Late last year, for example, it was reported that plans for a Dracula-based theme park outside Bucharest were back on track:

The park will include among other things a giant Dracula roller-coaster, catacombs and a house of horrors.

And to keep Romanians happy there will even be a PR makeover to make it clear that the legendary Vlad the Impaler was actually a brave defender of Christianity, and nothing like Bram Stoker’s Dracula.

Vlad Tepes bravely defended Christianity by sticking merchants and boyars from his native Wallachia on giant spikes, and cutting off the genitals and breasts of "unchaste" women, among other things. There are no reports of him turning into a bat or drinking blood, however, so...whatever makes the Romanians happy.

Now, any mook can slap together a ride based on a movie or TV series (or vice versa, in Disney's case), but it takes stupendous gall and a certain brand of visionary genius to try and come up with an entire theme park based on the life of a brutal and/or insane despot.

Which is what I've decided to do. Several times.

If we accept the roughly 550 years since the end of Vlad the Imapler's reign as sufficient time to forgive a ruler his capricious nature or sadistic cruelty, then hold onto your hats for the coming torrent of tyrannical family destinations:

Roman Holiday World (Rome, Italy) - featuring
Caligula-La-Land: Where you can roll around in a Scrooge McDuck-sized pile of denari in the Gold Coin Room, just like the Roman bad boy himself. Bring your own horse for free admission and drink tickets.
and
Nero My God to Thee: Head over to Great Balls of Fire Island, an interactive exhibit where you'll start a conflagration and see how quickly you can blame it on a handy minority community (NOTE: a similar theme is also planned for the "Reichstag Round-Up" in the as-yet undeveloped Adolf Hitler park).

Juana de Loco Beach (Castile, Spain) - Each visitor will get their very own coffin to drag around with them as they traverse the park.

Anna of Saxony City (Breda, Germany)- Try your luck in the lightless Brick Room, where you can exchange hallucinations and ravings with your fellow park patrons. Nightly contests are held to see which drunken female guest can best ridicule their husband's sexual abilities.

Crazy Ivan's Terrible Thrill Zone (Moscow, Russia) - Test your strength with our variation on the Polar Bear Club, where you try to throw your "enemy" into freezing water. In historic Novgorod, visitors are given a spear and a torch and timed to see how fast they can sack the local visitor's center.

And coming soon...

Ludwig II's Bavarian Boogaloo (Fuessen, Germany) - Guests are given a box of Legos and a set amount of time in which to construct three castles. Failing that, they're declared insane.

Stalin: The Experience (Volgograd, Russia) - Ride the twin roller coasters Collectivization Cyclone and Purge 600K to victory over the imperalist running dogs (NOTE: actual dogs not allowed in S:TE).

Maodievel Times (Beijing, China) - Take the Great Leap tram to Cultural Revolution Waterpark. Your Little Red Book of coupons is good at all area gift shops.

Pol Pot Gardens (Angkor Wat, Cambodia) - Where every year is Year Zero! Celebrate the rejection of Western social institutions with an S-21 badge, a complimentary bowl of rice, and your very own prop AK-47. Wear contact lenses.

I think I need a shower...

Carnival of the Vanities #72

Smiles, everyone smiles...My dear guests, I am Mr. Pete, your host. Welcome to Carnival of the Vanities #72.

Putting together this edition of the Carnival has been an interesting experience. I've been exposed to a number of blogs I don't normally get around to reading, and I think we'd all agree that exposing ourself to others is a good thing.

(Your host for the next Carnival will be On the Third Hand)

And now, back to our show...

Sol at Solomonia reminds us of an important date with Burnt Offerings.

The Audhumlan Conspiracy wonders what would happen if the votes of states in the electoral college were weighted not by populations but by the number of people in each state who actually voted in the election.

Jeff Doolittle examines the issue of More Tax Dollars at Work:

Jeff also shares the results from his tracking logs.

What's in it for the man? Freedom! In this controversial piece on Taken In Hand, Random describes the freeing, liberated feeling he has as a result of being the head of his household. Apparently his girlfriend, J likes this arrangement.

The Gleeful Extremist really wishes he had heckled Al Franken at a book signing now that he's heard about Franken tackling a LaRouche supporter (Jan. 27 entry).

Ross regales us with tales of freakish water consumption.

Tom hallucinates sinister motives behind Microsoft's show of support for Apple.

Richard wants PBS to reorganize, and he wants your help.

Carey Gage posts about the speech police. They live inside of your head.

Mac Swift declares the Apostle Peter to be the Original Rocky.

Harvey at Bad Money addresses the sad paradox of witless people trying to engage in witty banter.

Craving a Don McLean fix? No? Go check out Teedz's snappy "American Pie" remake anyway, which was inspired by a friend's tragically corrupted browser bookmark file.

More humorous misadventure in RANDOM BITS 12 as Pete tells of his gambling addict friend, barbershop shock, and debates White Castle hamburgers with the 'unwashed'.

Jack takes issue with some boy-bashing t-shirt manufacturers.

Da Goddess has a double whammy. First are bar tales of Ken and Barbie, then some child-altered sayings that conjure up some interesting imagery.

The BoiFromTroy channels his inner Elvis (Costello, that is) by asking, "What’s so special about interests?"

Australian blogger John Ray attacks the common claim by non-Americans to the effect that Americans are "stupid".

PC Watch notes that Muslim minorities now seem to be feared by officialdom and suggests an alternative to fearing them.

Wicked Thoughts has another collection of funnies up.

Simon explains the case against public broadcasters after the BBC's recent debacle.

Patterico argues for a higher standard of proof in death penalty cases. Don't miss the ensuing debate between Patterico and Xrlq (links at the end of the post).

Josh pleads for some sanity in all the uproar over Janet Jackson’s breast imbroglio.

Fringe contemplates what a convenience store condom dispenser label means for our current political climate.

Norbizness compares the Iraq War rationale to a "Law and Order" defendant.

Xavier has his list of 2003’s Best in Film, for your kvetching pleasure.

Porphyrogenitus thinks that if war critics can make connections, pro-war folks should too, but he also wants an investigation into intelligence agencies.

Dick Cheney, apparently desperate for good press, speaks to Mad Kane.

Alan K. Henderson doesn't like the trend in NFL logos.

Susie at Practical Penumbra points out the dichotomoy between children's and adult's perception of snow.

Thief's Den looks deep into the heart of the machine to predict the 2004 election. Place your bets now.

Professor Bainbridge opines on whether fiscal conservatives will cost Bush the election.

For the inside scoop on the Jackson family's reaction to the Super Bowl halftime incident, check out Darmon C. Thornton's entry.

A pre-coffee state leads to oddity in the shower when the silence of the house becomes deafening. Verily, Jim speaks the truth.

And from ZeroIntelligence.net, more on the Georgia Superintendent of School's decision to remove the word "evolution" from the school curriculum.

Drake advises Andrew Sullivan to read the small print of the latest poll he
has been touting (Scroll down to "Read the small-print" if Blogger is doing its links thing).

Hear ye, hear ye, there's a new decree from the King of Fools on Winning the Spam War (Part II).

Bill at Walloworld explains why slavery reparations aren't an appropriate remedy.

Another Bill presents his thoughts on Auschwitz redefined.

The Interested Participant ruminates on California's proposed feng shui building code (Feb. 1 entry).

Here comes Aunty Goob with a suggestion for reforming Social Security.

Red Ted was watching the Flash animation for Cows With Guns with his son and noticed the lead cow is a male...with an udder...

Brian voted for LaRouche in the Missouri Democratic Primary because, as he puts it, he is a wastrel.

Doug Payton of Considerettes mixes a bake sale, the stifling of dissent, and just pinch of John Ashcroft to create a commentary on racial preferences.

Kevin Baker discusses El Cajon California's recent implementation of a law that allows the city to confiscate and take title to automobiles driven by men who are arrested for solicitation of prostitution - sort of a $20,000 fine for a misdemeanor - in "More Asset Forfeiture."

From Quibbles-n-bits comes this analysis on Santa versus Islam.

Bryan McAnally partied with the governor!

David Hasselhoff brought down the Berlin Wall, and Bill Adams helped.

Seroa At Cyber::Ecology waxes damn near poetic in this season of sound-bitten polemics with Drawing Parallels

Phil, the Speculist, shrugs off nasty comments made about nanotechnology enthusiasts by pointing out that they're all pretty much true. And so what?

Blogo Slovo looks at the ethical upbringing of kids these days.

John discusses racial preferences as a form of regulation.

Last, but certainly not least, Goldie discovers what men have known for some time: seeing two members of the same (opposite) sex going at it is pretty hot.

"He's a street-smart fish-out-of-water in a world he never made!"

Presented with much comment, here's a partial list of several TV pilots being considered for the 2004-2005 season (courtesy of Die Puny Humans and Dangerous Universe).

"Enjoy:"

UNTITLED HENRY CHO PROJECT (ABC): Revolves around standup comic Henry Cho's experiences as a Korean-American born and raised in Tennessee. Matt Goldman ("Ellen," "Luis") is on board to write and executive the pilot to the project, which will David Janollari will also executive produce.

Henry Cho's stand-up is only mostly horrible, and I tend to think his whole, "Hey, look! I'm an Asian with a Southern accent!" routine wore thin around the time of the first Clinton preisdency. Besides, is mainstream America ready for a sitcom about a wacky Asian-American family so soon after the televised Hindenburg that was Margaret Cho's (no relation) All American Girl?

"THE FIVE PEOPLE YOU MEET IN HEAVEN" (ABC): Small screen version of Mitch Albom's bestselling novel "The Five People You Meet in Heaven."

For everyone whose bowels didn't spontaneously rupture after viewing Tuesdays With Morrie, ABC is giving Albom a chance to kill again.

"CHARLIE'S ANGELS" (ABC): Carlton Cuse ("Black Sash," "Nash Bridges") and John Wirth ("The District") have been tapped to bring the 1970s series back to the small screen. ABC has given a script commitment to Sony Pictures Television for the project along with a hefty penalty attached should it not go to pilot. It's not clear how or if the producers plan to fit into the movie franchise's continuity.

I must have missed something, because with the utter lack of anything resembling plot in either movie, I wasn't aware there was such a thing as franchise continuity. Put some Cylons in there, and some Daleks...hell, bring back KAOS. Go crazy.

"UNTITLED" (NBC): - Alyson Hannigan ("Buffy the Vampire Slayer") is officially on board the comedy pilot, which comes from NBC Studios. She'll play the eldest of two siblings who ends up reuniting with her brother after not speaking for 18 months.

18 months? Typical Hollywood fantasy. There are members of my family I haven't spoken to for 18 years.

UNTITLED PAUL REISER PROJECT (NBC): Comedy about a shallow fortysomething Los Angeles businessman and his no-nonsense therapist. Paul Reiser's NBC Studios-based Nuance Productions has received a cast-contingent pilot pickup.

Hot damn, more Paul Reiser. And in a vehicle that all of us can relate to: a sitcom about a businessman and his therapist.

Reiser's last role worth a crap was as Burke in Aliens, thanks solely to his horrible offscreen death. Mad About You drove me crazy the handful of times I was staked to an anthill and made to watch it because Reiser's character was such a complete dishrag. The title was also highly misleading, since I could never discern anything resembling affection emanating from Helen Hunt's dragon lady demeanor.

On an unrelated note, it seems Hunt is expecting her first child, finally answering the decades old question: "Can replicants breed?"

"THE OFFICE" (NBC): NBC's makeover of the Britcom hit "The Office." Millions pray that it is nothing like NBC's makeover of the Britcom hit "Coupling."

Millions need to find something to pray for that may actually come true, like Gregg Easterbrook being asked to speak at my local women's center.

"PEARL CITY"(A.K.A. HAWAII BLUE) (NBC): The ensemble drama tracks a group of detectives in Oahu, Hawaii. Jon Avnet ("Boomtown") is on board to direct the pilot, which received a production greenlight this week. Jeff Eastin ("Rush Hour 3") is writing and executive producing.

"From the writer of Rush Hour 3" has a nice ring to it, don't you think? Unfortunately, if Tom Selleck's not involved, I won't be watching. No Magnum, no peace.

"REVELATIONS" (NBC): Six-hour limited series which focuses on the final showdown between God and Satan as foretold in the Bible's book of Revelations. David Seltzer ("The Omen") and Gavin Polone ("Curb Your Enthusiasm") are the executive produces of the project.

Getting the jump on the rest of those Left Behind movies, I see. Too bad this was already done in that episode of Fantasy Island where Roddy McDowell played the Devil. How they plan on topping Montalban is anyone's guess.

"C.S.I.: NEW YORK" (CBS)

CBS hopes to keep bleeding its star franchise dry by continuing to show crime scene investigators acting like actual detectives (i.e. interrogating suspects who have some pathological aversion to calling a lawyer and arresting bad guys). Only they're in New York, so perhaps the CSIs this time around will also be armed with broom handles.

"DARK SHADOWS" (WB): By "ER" and "The West Wing" producer John Wells, based on the old vampire soap opera "Dark Shadows."

My impression of the WB pitch meeting for this: "It's The OC, only with vampires."

And I saved my favorite for last...

"FRANKENSTEIN" (USA): the series is expected to take place in present-day Seattle with both Dr. Frankenstein and his monster surviving the past two centuries thanks to genetic engineering on both subjects. The two are then discovered by a female cop and her partner through a routine homicide investigation. Over the course of the pilot, Frankenstein's monster joins forces with the cops and will combat Dr. Frankenstein and his other creations in successive weeks. From Martin Scorsese and author Dean Koontz.

"He's a patchwork collection of disinterred corpse parts powered by a stolen brain, she's a cop on the edge...they fight crime!"

I'm almost looking forward to being forced to watch The Wiggles.

"Interesting theory"

Timing, eh? I suppose that's one possibility:

LOS ANGELES, California (Reuters) -- Miramax Films co-chairman Harvey Weinstein was quoted Sunday as blaming the timing of the release of "Cold Mountain" for the film's failure to win an Oscar nomination in the best picture category.

In interviews with Time and Newsweek, Weinstein said he opened the highly acclaimed Civil War epic starring Nicole Kidman and Jude Law at Christmas time so that Oscar nominations would fuel box office sales.

"With the early (Oscar voting) this year, we fell short. There's a lot to do for Academy members and I don't know how many members we got to. We just plain ran out of people who had seen this movie," Weinstein told Time magazine, which hits newsstands on February 2.

Weinstein has his take, I have mine, which is that everybody had ample opportunity to see this movie and...you may want to sit down...didn't think it was worthy of Oscar consideration.

What's that? How could a film starring one Oscar winner (Nicole Kidman) , two former Oscar nominees (Jude Law and Renee Zellweger), and directed by another Oscar winner (Anthony Minghella) not automatically qualify for Best Picture consideration? Maybe because it isn't that great.

Reviews for Cold Mountain have been uniformly good, though few have sent the writers hunting through their thesauruses for new superlatives. Most have commended the film for being a well-made reworking of Homer's Odyssey and little else. That being the case, Miramax could've released it on July 4th and it wouldn't have made much difference.

Then there's the very real possibility that voters are engaging in a little retaliation for The English Patient. Whatever subliminal programming was contained on their screeners for that particular film has probably worn off by now, leaving behind a Academy that is likely more than a little pissed off at being duped into voting such a colossal snoozefest Best Picture of 1996.

Having taken great personal risks by subjecting myself to Patient without the benefit of anti-psychotic drugs, I think Minghella's penance should be to direct a series of Don Lapre infomercials. Starring Pauly Shore, Grace Jones, and Chilly - the elf who cannot love.

"Whoa, get a load of those magumbos!"

Fine, fine, I got a few things wrong about the game yesterday:

+ It was JT, not J-Lo who was the secret halftime guest. And easy mistake to make, given my beginner level skill at reading pig entrails.
+ If you took my advice and bet on the Patriots with the points, I apologize. If it makes you feel any better, I tanked on that one too. Of course, I only bet a pizza.
+ It was LaToya Jackson performing at halftime with Justin Timberlake, not Janet. Which explains the quote-unquote nudity.

Seriously, is a tribe of monkeys handling the Jackson family's PR these days? And does MTV realize they'll never do another Super Bowl halftime again?

At the very least, it was more skin than we saw during the Lingerie Bowl.

"Can I watch football with you again next Sunday?"
"Sure. You'll find it gets rid of the unpleasant aftertaste of church."

I swear to Jebus this is my last Super Bowl-related post...the first draft of which was written in Rudyard's about 4:30 yesterday afternoon.

So there are reportedly a large number of celebrities here in Houston for the Big Game (take the Patriots + the points). I've heard of at least three P. Diddy sightings, Pamela Anderson was spotted near the Galleria, and pornstars Mary Carey and Brittany Andrews will be appearing at (heh) the Fu-Kim Ballroom. In addition, Cedric the Entertainer's in town, Jaime Pressly is hosting the Playboy party, Snoop Dogg will be attending the Hip Hop Summit, and you apparently can't swing a throat-slashed ex-wife without hitting an NFL player. A formidable contingent of Houstonians, it is being reported, are mobilizing to encounter as many celebs as possible.

My stated goal, by contrast, for this weekend has been to avoid the freeways, the malls, and (especially) Downtown until they all pull up stakes and head back to whatever Hummer dealership they live next to.

I could chalk my apathy up to any number of things: unwillingness to deal with crowds, being old and cheap, and just plain not caring. None of the A-listers floating around this weekend are anybody I've ever had any desire to meet (though if we were to amend the traditional definition of "meet," I could probably make an exception for Brittany Andrews). Even if anyone of interest to me were in town, I doubt I'd go to much trouble to stalk them. In spite of the impression given by my hilarious Conversations with Famous People, my celebrity encounters have by and large stemmed from chance meetings.

Having said that, there are a few of the so-called "beautiful people" I wouldn't mind meeting/having a beer with. The ones that immediately leap to mind are as follows (NOTE: I don't include political figures or people of actual import in the designation "celebrity," so don't get all cheesed that I didn't put Vaclav Havel or Nelson Mandela on the list):

Mr. T. - Right, like you wouldn't want a pic with T.
Paul Westerberg - He's really one of the last of my musical idols who's still alive. Warren Zevon, Stevie Ray Vaughan, Freddie Mercury, and Joe Strummer have all gone to the great gig in the sky, and I've corresponded briefly with the one other guy who probably qualifies.
Grub Smith (from Comedy Central's Travel Sick) - If only to buy the guy a beer or three and ask how he ate that elephant seal penis.
Bob Odenkirk - I dearly loved Mr. Show, and thought Melvin Goes to Dinner was a nice bit of work.
Tanya Donnelly - I listened to Belly's Star more times during my bleak post-college days than I should probably admit.
Kurt Russell - Ironically, I heard tonight that he's in town. Whatever, he doesn't need another dickhead fan telling him how much they loved The Thing, Escape From New York, and Big Trouble in Little China. And I don't want to get stuck talking to Goldie.
Lewis Black - Put on one of the best stand-up sets I've ever seen, and less than two months after 9-11. Just wanted to thank him.

That's about it. I'd point out that those listed are there mostly because I respect their work. The list of celebrities I'd like to meet simply for gravy train potential is much different.

I wonder if any of them could hook me up with Dana Delany?