A Perfectly Cromulent Blog

Sunday (sort of) Offspring Blogging

Have I mentioned lately what unintentional hilarity child rearing wreaks upon the level of previously intelligible marital discourse? No? Well then, allow me to present the following exchange, which took place yesterday during the umpteenth viewing of a certain taped episode of Sesame Street:

Pete: I just realized something.
The Wife: What?
Pete: That's not Erykah Badu singing the ABC song with Elmo, it's India Arie.
The Wife: What's the difference?
Pete: She's not batshit insane like Erykah Badu.
The Wife: Aha.
Pete: And she's really hot.
The Wife: You're watching too much of this.

It's always gratifying to find something that makes you want to share life experiences with your daughter. Now we just need to get Monica Bellucci on the show.

Git along, little Doggie

Proving(?) that I haven't lost my critical faculties following my 4-star Sky High review, here's a right panning of Must Love Dogs.

Using the whole Frist there, doc?

Sounds like somebody's been paying attention to Bush's falling approval ratings:

Senate Majority Leader Bill Frist on Friday threw his support behind House-passed legislation to expand federal financing for human embryonic stem cell research, breaking with President Bush and religious conservatives in a move that could impact his prospects for seeking the White House in 2008.

"It's not just a matter of faith, it's a matter of science," Frist, R-Tennessee, said on the floor of the Senate.

Frist:
a) finally remembered he was a doctor,
b) was driven over the edge by nightly visits from the vengeful ghost of Terri Schiavo, or
c) realized the depth of the growing schism between evangelicals and traditional conservative Republicans.

The answer's probably (c), but (b) appeals to my love of the undead.

Predictably, not everyone was keen on the news:

The Christian Defense Coalition lambasted Frist's change of position.

"Sen. Frist should not expect support and endorsement from the pro-life community if he votes for embryonic research funding," it said.

"Senator Frist cannot have it both ways. He cannot be pro-life and pro-embryonic stem cell funding," said Rev. Patrick J. Mahoney, director of the group. "Nor can he turn around and expect widespread endorsement from the pro-life community if he should decide to run for president in 2008."
[...]
"Senator Frist is a good man, he's simply advocating a bad policy," said House Majority Leader Tom DeLay of Texas.
[...]
"House conservatives are profoundly disappointed at Senator Frist's decision to abandon this cause," said Rep. Mike Pence, R-Indiana.

If you can judge a person's character by his enemies, then Frist's just improved a bit in my estimation. Of course, that just means he's moved up from "ignorant rat bastard" to "opportunistic scumbag." Still, baby steps and all that.

Guten tag

Melanie sees fit to tag me with a blog meme, and I'm powerless to resist, seeing as how her baby is, like, five days overdue and I don't want to stress her out any further:

List ten songs that you are currently digging ... it doesn't matter what genre they are from, whether they have words, or even if they're no good, but they must be songs you're really enjoying right now. Post these instructions, the artists, and the ten songs in your blog. Then tag five other people to see what they're listening to.

Whew. I'm glad that disclaimer about not having to be good was in there. Taking a cursory look at the "most played" list on iTunes and my "Memo" songs on Sirius, I came up with:

1. Kathleen Edwards - "In State" -- If I was single, and she was single, and there was any way I could approach her without looking like a complete and utter dork, I'm fairly confident she'd spit whiskey in my face anyway. It'd be worth it, for this is one of the best songs I've heard in recent memory.

2. Coldplay- "Talk" -- Oh, go soak your head. I've heard most of X&Y, and this is by far my favorite song on it.

3. Thomas Dolby - "One of Our Submarines" -- Beats me. It's been in my rotation quite a lot lately, for some reason.

4. Fountains of Wayne - "Sink to the Bottom" -- "Stacy's Mom" is great, but this and "Radiation Vibe" are still my favorite FoW songs.

5. Rammstein - "Du Hast" -- My German is just good enough to assure me this is some sort of weird love song and not, for example, a rallying cry to retake Alsace from the French.

6. Drive-By Truckers - "Carl Perkins' Cadillac" -- No list is complete without a little DBT. I wish these guys were coming back to Houston soon.

7. Bad Religion - "The Empire Strikes First" -- Bad Religion is kind of like Social Distortion, in that I don't know if it's necessary to own more than two or three of their albums. This song seems particularly appropriate these days, however.

8. Keane - "Somewhere Only We Know" -- This one's on its way out, but it's a great one to sing at top volume in the car, because the guy's voice is only slightly better than mine. Poor bastard.

9. Dresden Dolls - "Coin-Operated Boy" -- I know, I'm like a year behind everybody else.

10. Robbie Fulks - "Fuck This Town" -- Or eight years, as the case may be. Up there with Hank III's "Trashville" as one of the best songs about Music City, USA.

I hate passing these things along, but I don't want to break the chain and - I dunno - die of candirú infestation or something. So 'Mudge, Elisson, Vespa, Chuck, and Ginger, come on down.

"And I'm gonna be...high...as a kite by then."

Relax, this post isn't about Shatner doing "Rocket Man," it's merely to inform you that my review of Sky High is up at Film Threat. Check it out here.

"How about...Anal Antics?"
"Anal Antics. Yes, it will appeal to the intellectuals."

It's hip to be square?

Under a banner proclaiming, "We raise the bar. We push the limits. We make things happen, and Hollywood will never be the same," a group calling themselves the Abstinence Clearinghouse (Rolling Stone last month described them as "The Young and the Sexless") said Wednesday that it will bring together 1,000 supporters in Hollywood next week to urge filmmakers to produce sex-free movies. The Sioux Falls, SD-based group said that it plans to hold its ninth Abstinence Leadership Conference from August 4-6 with the theme "Lights, Camera, NO Action."

In a world (sorry, but that's really the best way to begin this) where a naked woman on screen earns a picture an "R" rating while showing that same woman getting gutshot and bleeding out would only get you a "PG-13," it sounds to me like these kids need to fiind a more productive way of sublimating their throbbing biological urges.

Let me put it another way: Hollywood is already yours, you little assholes. A realistic representation of intercourse is an almost guaranteed NC-17 (The Dreamers, Young Adam), while the only way to get an R for violence is by showing heads exploding or loops of intestines spilling from someone's abdominal cavity (thank George A. Romero for that, at least). Bare breasts used to only warrant a PG (mmmm...Clash of the Titans), and if we wanted to, we could blame self-righteous twerps like you for that no longer being the case.

Except I know the truth: the whole "abstinence" angle is a smokescreen, a front. Bullshit, in other words. Look, I knew plenty of people who weren't having sex in my younger days. It wasn't always voluntary, by any means, but there were certainly people who elected to keep their pants on. But after looking at your web site and the agenda for your Hollywood conference (with such luminaries as Rebecca Hagelin and featuring thrilling seminars like "Every Man's Battle" and "Laugh Your Way to a Better Marriage"), it's obvious that no right-thinking human being would want to have sex with a bunch of fatheaded, sanctimonious halfwits like you.

You guys have really hit upon a great scam: distract the public from your humiliating lack of sexual experience and the distaste with which you're viewed by most of the population (1000 supporters? In nine years?) by acting like it's your choice. Nice try. Now, everybody into the hot tub.

A Black day, indeed

Dirty rotten bastards:

Flash!! We have great news. The Creature from the Black Lagoon remake has just become a green lit project at Universal Studios. The script has already been written (by Gary Ross, a relative of the original screenwriter for the original film) and a director --Brett Rattner-- has been assigned to the project. We will keep you up to date on the details as they come in.

Back when Guillermo Del Toro was attached to this, it didn't sound like such a bad idea. He wanted to set the movie on the Amazon during Victorian times and make it much more "horrific." As opposed as I am to most remakes (especially those of my favorite movies, of which Creature is one), I decided this might not be all that bad. Such efforts don't have to be horrible, provided those in charge take things in new directions (Carpenter's The Thing, Cronenberg's The Fly)

Then Del Toro bowed out, and the skies began to darken.

Okay, first: Gary Ross is the son of original Creature screenwriter Arthur Ross. I'm not sure why the author of the above blurb seems to feel this somehow legitimizes the effort (anybody think Hank Williams, Jr. is as good as his dad?), especially when his past efforts include "edgy" fare like Big, Mr. Baseball, Dave, and Pleasantville. Scary stuff.

However, Ross' involvement pales on the suck-o-meter next to the inclusion of Brett "Aardvark" Ratner. Apparently it wasn't enough to hand him X-Men franchise to shit on (Mutant whores! Storm needs a bigger role!), but Universal seems to think its recent reimaginings of the Mummy and Dracula, the Wolf-Man, and Frankenstein (Van Helsing, anyone?) were worthy adaptation as well, and are continuing in that vein. If the above article is true (and there's been no confirmation from any of the principals involved, although Bill Paxton is rumored to be involved as well), I'm prepared to declare this a massive failure before the first word of a script is written.

Remakes are a fact of life, and I've more or less learned to coexist with them peacefully...until they go after my favorites, that is. If I hear about a Big Trouble in Little China remake, I may have to set off a nuke on Sunset Blvd. And given the enthusiastic way John Carpenter is selling off what remains of his reputation (I can't wait for The Fog, starring Superman!), it might be time to start talking to the Nigerians about acquiring some yellow cake uranium.

Pod people

I admit to not being hip like Adam Curry, so I'm still a bit ignorant on the subject of podcasting. If I understand correctly, it's basically syndicating audio files using RSS, allowing listeners to periodically check for new audio content from whatever sources they've subscribed to. Kinda like blogs, but more annoyingly intrusive.

This comes up because there are some preliminary talks to do podcasts on Film Threat when the new site launches (Real Soon Now). I'm up for it, mostly because I love the sound of my own voice, but one problem seems to be analogous to that of blogs: how the hell do you choose what you want to listen to? And how do you distinguish yourself from the metric assload of podcasts already out there?

Personally, I can't imagine sitting through someone else's playlist noodling, but I'm also the kind of person who changes radio stations about 20 times in 2 minutes. Editorializing and things like movie or music reviews might be fun, but - and I'm all too aware of this - not everyone knows how to take something that's humorous in written form and make it out loud funny.

And I sincerely hope I figure it out before the FT thing gets off the ground.

"Don't spit in that cop's burger"

Some men's interest site put up a list of the best burgers in the country, and I label it heresy because it fails to include the following (via MetaFilter):

The "World Famous" from Huey's in Memphis, TN
The "Arnold's Best" from Hut's in Austin, TX
The "Deathburger" from Chicken Oil Co. in College Station, TX
The White Castle Slyder

The burgers were also good at Whitey's in Arlington, VA, but they were half-price on Wednesdays, and pitchers were $4, which means my recollection may not be wholly trustworthy. I also used to be fond of Carl's Jr., but haven't been to one since they were bought by Hardee's.

Anyone else? I rarely get a burger jones, but am always on the lookout for recommendations.

Songs You Shouldn't Sing in Public, No Matter How Quietly, Pt. 1

I have the often unfortunate habit of singing when I don't think anybody's around. If I'm overheard, the worst that usually happens is pointing and laughing, followed by not-so-constructive criticism of my vocal skills. Occasionally, I'm caught singing something that - to me - seems fairly innocuous, but this is generally because I've listened to the song in question upwards of a hundred times and any initial shock value has long since worn off. Some songs, however, are never a good idea to try out in public. Such as:

"Bullet" by the Misfits
"Jet Boy Jet Girl" by the Damned
"The Ballad of Charles Whitman" by Kinky Friedman
"The Lemon Song" by Led Zeppelin
"GDMFSOB" by S.O.D.
"Piss Up a Rope" by Ween
"Total Eclipse of the Heart" - the Dan Band version
"Spice Up Your Life" by the Spice Girls
"Night of the Living Baseheads" by Public Enemy, and not just because of the "dorky white guy singing PE" factor
"I Hope You Die" by the Bloodhound Gang

Trust me on this.

Avant le deluge

Depressed by the summer's movie offerings so far? Take heart, what's coming is even worse:

The 40-Year Old-Virgin (August 19) - Steve Carell finally gets his lead role (NBC's remake of The Office doesn't count). Two things give me hope for this: the presence of Catherine Keener, and the fact that it was written and directed by Freaks and Geeks' Judd Apatow. Then again, chest waxing scenes are so 2002.

The Fog (October 14) - The WB-ization of American horror continues. Another PG-13 remake with another cast of interchangeable 20-something replicants. Huzzah.

V for Vendetta (November 4) - I still can't get the image of a crowd of people in "V" masks from an early promo still out of my head, as that's pretty much the kind of Americanized feel good nonsense I was hoping wouldn't happen. In any event, it's unlikely this will be any worse than the adaptations of From Hell or League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, especially if they keep the destruction of Parliament and the Old Bailey in it.

Rent (November 11) - Much as I lust after Rosario Dawson, I will only watch this through a haze of copious alcohol consumption unless they cast Homer Simpson as the landlord.

Walk the Line (November 18) - No. Sorry. Phoenix is too pretty for this (never thought I'd actually write that), and it sounds like he's doing bad Johnny Cash karaoke. Worse, it seems as if they're trying to distill Cash's life into a few iconic moments. I was disinclined to give this the benefit of the doubt before, and even less so after seeing that.

Ragnarok n' Roll

That was the subject line used by The Thing That Walks Like a Man for his e-mail notifying me about this guy's upcoming Houston show, and I didn't think I could come up with anything better. "Hammer of the Gods?" "Buffalo Mjolnir?" "A Norse With No Name?" Forget about it

Jon Mikl THOR is an enduring icon of glam rock/metal, and one of the true originators of rock theatre. THOR's enviable career got off the ground with his appearance on the Merv Griffin Show in 1973 and he has maintained a steady pace ever since, selling hundreds of thousands of records.

With a ringing endorsement like that, how can I lose? He'll be at Rudyard's August 20. Who's with me?

I mean, he can't be any worse than Odin, that other Aesir-inspired band with the ass-baring lead singer from The Decline of Western Civilization Pt. 2: The Metal Years.

And in the interest of completism, here's some guy's list of bands with Norse names.

Monday Offspring Blogging

David Brooks is a pansy (registration required):

It's summertime, which means many people these days are flying with children, an experience that can be enriching and exciting, and is followed by memories that linger even after the shell shock, nightmares and trauma-induced facial tics have faded away.

Any airplane trip with children begins before boarding in the airport gate area, where the parents, dreading the next four hours of high-altitude agony, will be laying down a bed of psychic tension that will be the karmic foundation for everything that is to come. They will be coaching their children on how to behave, spreading maniacally upbeat good cheer and exuding the waves of anxiety that are almost clinically certain to produce a toddler meltdown.

I can see something like this happening for parents flying with children for the first time. After that, they adopt the attitude recommended to me by a helpful flight attendant on SWSNBN's first airplane trip (to Philadelphia) when she was about two months old. She was letting me hole up in the galley for a bit after a diaper change, while the little poopsmith dropped back off to sleep. I thanked her, saying I was sure the other passengers appreciated not being near a crying baby. Her response? "Fuck 'em. You have just as much right to be here as they do. They can take the bus if they don't like it."

I made a quick mental note to avoid eye contact from that point on, even as I nodded my assent.

Since then, my daughter has flown four more times. I recently added a DVD player to my laptop so she could watch her baby crack Elmo DVDs, but half the time on this last flight she didn't need them, being content to play with the airphone, the window, or the assortment of books and magazines we brought. Not since her maiden trip, however, have I experienced anything approaching "waves of anxiety."

That is, no more than usual when boarding a giant metal coffin that will soon be hurtling through the air at unnatural speeds.

The airlines helpfully have families with small children board first, which gives parents an extra 45 minutes to play peekaboo even before the plane takes off. As the craft fills up, it becomes clear they and their kids have been seated in a special sadist section, among Idi Amin, the etiquette committee of the Daughters of the American Revolution and a perfect 4-year-old wonder child who will spend the whole flight quietly reading The Economist.

Parents in these early stages of a flight usually devote their fevered energies to entertaining their children. Many parents begin by reading board books in that super-attenuated nursery school tone of voice, and then, sadly, singing to their children every song they know, beginning with age-appropriate lullabies and ending up with a medley of hits from the Spice Girls.

Easy there.

Toddlers sense when their parents are running out of first-rate material and begin squirming and rebelling. This causes the parents to frantically redouble their efforts to distract and entertain, and soon they are behaving like Jerry Lewis on a sugar high - acting out any desperately silly routine they think will occupy their little ones' minds and keep them from letting out their inner Damiens.

Here's a hint for future parents out there: pre-boarding is for suckers, and for precisely the reasons Brooks describes. All getting on the plane early does is provide an extra 45 minutes for your kid to get bored with being on the plane early. We spend the initial boarding calls letting SWSNBN run around the gate and tire herself out, then get on with the rest of the stragglers.

We also don't have any more gear than anybody else, save for a diaper bag that's malleable enough after 19 months of use to squeeze, rat-like, through cracks 2 inches wide. It's no problem to crush it into the overhead bin. While everybody else's kid is freaking out after being read all their Dr. Seuss books twice, ours is still enjoying the fabulous bargains offered in the SkyMall catalog.

It is an iron rule of plane travel that the parents who are trying to hush their children are more annoying to their fellow passengers than the children who are being hushed. Accordingly, other fliers in the area begin to develop hostile feelings toward the desperately shushing parents.

Right. An "iron rule." Makes me wonder where "shushing parents" rank in inflight annoyance alongside drunks, those with poor personal hygiene, and guys who yell across the aisle at each other about what great golf games they had.

Anybody who thinks it takes a village to raise a child has never sat near a crying baby in first class. In these circumstances, if it were up to the village, somebody would be stapling the brat's mouth shut and somebody else would be locking mom in the overhead storage compartment.

Brooks has now effectively lost the 99.5% of his audience that doesn't fly first class. Shit, I've been flying for 30 years and have only been in business class once, and that was thanks to a British Airways flight attendant who took pity on us during the Great Passport Crisis of 1999 (a story for another time).

The children are now completely out of control and are behaving as if they were raised by feral wolves. They will be pummeling the seat in front of them with their feet or else playing other manic airplane games, such as Tray Table Trampoline. Amid the frenzy, parents will observe that one child has turned green, which means that every passenger along the aisle between them and the restroom will be an unwitting participant in a contest called Air Sickness Roulette.

This whole thing reads like a bad stand-up routine. I kept waiting for him to start talking about the food next.

The final hour of the flight is aptly captured by Picasso's painting "Guernica." Parents are strewn about in heaps, hardened air marshals are weeping under the strain, the kids look like flesh-eating Beanie Babies, and the pilots emerge to complain that because of the kids' crying they can't hear the air traffic controllers (this actually happened to my family).

Gee Dave, you must sit in...First Class.

I keep these "offspring entries" to a minimum because I know few of my childless readers want to constantly hear about what a blessed wonder my perfect genius of a baby is. Even when I do, I try to avoid the mistake Brooks is making, i.e. telling hyperbolic tales of his valiant adventures in parenting. You chose to have kids, Dave. So did I. Raise them without acting like a martyr and maybe they'll grow up less whiny than their dad.

So what'd I miss?

Back from vacation, if any week spent with not one, but two under-two-year-olds can honestly be termed such. Aside from several baseball games, I pretty much avoided TV and the internet all week (apparently a new Harry Potter book came out and messed up China's monetary system). I did have a great "fuck Continental Airlines" post all ready to seethe over after our flight up (the hard landing at Newark which blew out our hydraulics line was but one highlight), but the trip back today was almost note perfect. She Who Shall Not Be Named actually napped on the plane, meaning my laptop batteries were in no danger of running out when we finally cranked up the Elmo DVDs.

And I suspect nobody in Houston in bitching about inadequate rainfall anymore.

The only other thing I'll point out is that - while I imagine 90 degree temperatures are rare enough to be a novelty in Maine - they really blow when nobody has any damn air conditioning. Fortunately, there was enough Bar Harbor Real Ale to take the edge off. We saw three porposies and a harbor seal on our kayak excursion, and I almost made the newspaper's police beat for loudly (and correctly) describing a group of Icy Hot Stuntaz wannabes at the Thirsty Whale as "mooks."

And after making a lame attempt at it, let me just say that I won't be trying to get caught up on a week's worth of posts from those of you on my blogroll. You guys write too damn much.

A Perfectly Cromulent Biennium

Two years. Jesus, I never thought I'd have the patience to keep this up for that long, but so I have. I'm not big on this kind of crap, so let me just say thanks to everyone who's read and/or commented on my BS, helped me figure out what I'm doing, or pointed me to the fact that Hugh Hewitt actually linked to my Live 8 entry. Marvelous.

And what better way to mark such an auspicious occasion than by going on vacation? That's right, we're headed to the wilds of Maine for a week or so to hike, sea kayak, and drink beer on my dad's deck while wearing sweaters to stave off the chill. Neither The Wife nor I are native Texans, and we have to get the hell out of Dodge at least one week a summer to keep from spontaneously combusting.

See y'all on the other side. And again, thanks for reading.

"Hand down the shark repellent Batspray."

When each of last night's local newscasts led with the story of a girl getting bitten by a shark of the Bolivar Peninsula yesterday, I just knew it was a matter of time before the big boys picked it up. Sure enough:

A shark attacked a 14-year-old North Carolina girl in waters off the Texas coast near Galveston on Wednesday, ripping tendons in her left foot and leaving several teeth imbedded in her tissue.

The teen, Lydia Paulk, was taken to the University of Texas Medical Branch in Galveston, where she was in fair condition after surgery, said hospital spokeswoman Jeanette Pretorius. Paulk was attacked in waist-deep water while swimming with family and friends, said her aunt, Kit Marshall.

I like to think sharks hold contests among themselves to can get on the front pages of the national news outlets with the weakest attacks. Biting someone in half, that's news, leaving a few teeth in a foot? Not so much. Nothing against Ms. Paulk, but if she'd torn up her tendons with a lawnmower, the most she'd get would be a story with the "Dumbass" tag on Fark.

Hey Seadogs, did your sister make the AP wire when that shark bit her at Padre Island?

When bad writing happens to "good" music

I'm asking for it by posting this, since it's only a matter of time before someone does something similar with movie critics, but The Shins Will Change Your Life is pretty hilarious. It's nothing but excerpts from fawning music reviews, with no other commentary. Here are a couple of my favorites (both from Pitchfork, coincidentally):

Hearing "Hide and Seek" at the climax of The O.C.'s second season finale was one of those pull-over-to-the-side-of-the-road moments where space and time collapse and the world holds its breath.

I don't know if driving while watching TV is such a good idea. And if space and time are collapsing, I don't think holding your breath is going to do much good.

And then there's...

Young Liars is a phantom Frankenstein, a bulletproof yet sensitive creature reared through unmitigated nurture that seemed to reap havoc where it never stepped.

"What the hell does that mean, 'China is here?' I don't even know what the hell that means!" - Jack Burton

Via MetaFilter

Does duct-taping someone's buns together get you an "R" rating?

Because Larry Lester was pretty hairy, as I recall. At any rate, there's no word on whether he'll be making an appearance in this sequel:

Emilio Estevez has signed on to appear in a sequel to cult John Hughes Brat Pack movie "The Breakfast Club", despite missing out on joining his castmates for a MTV Movie Awards reunion last month due to a family emergency reports Contact Music.

Estevez urges fans of the film not to take his no-show as a sign he's not interested in a planned sequel. He adds, "John's got an idea for a sequel - mature aged students at college, all doing time again - for some reason or another.

"The twist would be that we're all the polar opposites of how we were in the original. Judd Nelson for instance, would now be the straight-laced one. I'm definitely in. If it happens, I'm there."

You idiots already did this. For Nelson and Ally Sheedy it was called St. Elmo's Fire, where we got to see Sheedy morph from Selsun Blue-deprived goth to yuppie bimbo, and Nelson effortlessly make the transition from John Bender's braying scumbag to...Alec Newbary's braying scumbag.

Kirby was really the same character as Andy from TBC, so maybe Estevez could play an adult version of Otto from Repo Man.

Molly Ringwald, meanwhile, didn't have to wait 20 years to play Claire's opposite; she did that in her very next John Hughes movie, Pretty in Pink. And who can forget gasping in awe when they first set eyes on Anthony Michael Hall's newly bulging pecs in Edward Scissorhands?

That this sequel is wholly unnecessary goes without saying, but it makes more sense when you get a whiff of the sickly-sweet funk of desperation in Estevez's last comments. He's "defintely in?" No shit? Did funding fall through for Mighty Ducks 4? Does Judd Nelson have time in his busy schedule to tear himself away from the likes of Santa, Jr. and Cybermutt?

Of the original cast, the only one who doesn't seem to need the work that badly is Hall, which is ironic considering he was the one left behind when the rest went on to college roles and playing cowboys. The Dead Zone is in, what, it's 4th season? Pretty steady work for The Geek.

But go ahead, make your sequel with its delightfully clever skewing of the original's character concepts. After all, it couldn't be any more insufferably maudlin than The Breakfast Club itself was, could it?

Player's haters

First Mad Dog and Beans closes down, now this (via Sarah):

The University of Texas at Austin is intending on purchasing Player's and replacing it with a parking garage. Across the street, UT is purchasing the stripmall that includes IT Copy and Radio Shack. Apparently, we really need a hotel there.

IT Copy or Radio Shack- we care not about. The hotel could be a great thing for the campus. However, once they try to take away a Player's Combo with cheese and no tomatoes with a strawberry shake, The University has gone too far.

We will be developing this project over the summer with an intended August rollout. Suggestions or comments- we'd love to hear them.

I wouldn't throw IT Copy to the wolves just like that, since they provided a nice alternative to the hegemony of Kinko's, but Player's...that's just inhuman. Many were the nights we'd walk back to campus from downtown (no, I didn't have a car, your point?) on Colorado and hit Player's for a burger (please disregard the above writer's condemnation of tomatoes) and a shake. That place saved my life.

Or, considering how crappy I feel the morning after a night of drinking and no food, they at least saved me from some nasty hangovers.

This is bad PR for the University, which probably wouldn't dare try the same thing with the Posse East. Next you'll be telling me they're going after the Hole in the Wall, in which case I'm gonna get a bat and pull a Capone on the Board of Regents.

I suppose there's no way they could condemn that Church of Scientology on the Drag?

I Still Know what the Hollow Man did at the Road House

Wasn't somebody asking why people aren't going to the movies anymore?

An outbreak of sequelitis has hit Sony Pictures.

"Hollow Man 2," "Road House 2 -- Last Call" and "I Know What You Did Last Summer 3" are in various stages of development at the studio. It has not been determined whether the projects will be released theatrically or become direct-to-DVD releases.

"Hollow Man 2" revolves around a Seattle detective and a biologist who are on the run from a dangerous invisible assassin gone rogue as well as the government forces that created him. A mid-August start date is scheduled, with Swiss director Claudio Feah at the helm. The 2000 original starred Kevin Bacon who turns invisible and goes mad.

DVD. The original didn't make its money back in the US (but was quite successful overseas), and Claudio Fäh doesn't exactly have a proven track record, so expect Sony to find some B-listers and include more scenes reminiscent of Bacon stalking a barely dressed Rhona Mitra.

"I Know What You Did Last Summer 3" focuses on new characters who didn't appear in the first two movies, which came out in 1997 and 1998. It revolves around four teens in a Colorado town who are menaced by an assailant a year after a Fourth of July prank turns deadly. A director is expected to be announced shortly, and a late-summer shoot in Utah is planned.

Theatrical release. They'll still find a way to attach Kevin Williamson's name to this, meaning horror fans starved for anything that's not overhyped zombie fare or a lukewarm rehash or a Japanese flick stands a chance. Hell, even I Still Know did respectably, and all that movie had going for it were Jennifer Love Hewitt's "talents" (as Joe Bob Briggs would say).

"Road House 2" centers on a graduate student who must run his uncle's bar and fight to maintain control as a local crime boss tries to take it over. Johnathon Schaech has an offer to star, and Scott Ziehl ("Cruel Intentions 3") is in negotiations to direct. An August shoot is being eyed.

DVD. Schaech and Ziehl are the crown princes of straight-to-video.

Which is a shame, because I have a real soft spot in my head heart for Road House, and not just because I am nice until, as bodhisattva bouncer Dalton advises, it's time not to be nice. But also because it contains one of the greatest lines of the Reagan/Bush era: "We're here to sell booze, not drugs." Ben Gazzara, Sam Elliott, and Kevin Tighe of Emergency!...man, what more could you want?

And a Rove-ing they'll go

Stop. You're breaking my heart:

Q Scott, I mean, just -- I mean, this is ridiculous. The notion that you're going to stand before us after having commented with that level of detail and tell people watching this that somehow you decided not to talk. You've got a public record out there. Do you stand by your remarks from that podium, or not?

MR. McCLELLAN: And again, David, I'm well aware, like you, of what was previously said, and I will be glad to talk about it at the appropriate time. The appropriate time is when the investigation --

Q Why are you choosing when it's appropriate and when it's inappropriate?

MR. McCLELLAN: If you'll let me finish --

Q No, you're not finishing -- you're not saying anything. You stood at that podium and said that Karl Rove was not involved. And now we find out that he spoke out about Joseph Wilson's wife. So don't you owe the American public a fuller explanation? Was he involved, or was he not? Because, contrary to what you told the American people, he did, indeed, talk about his wife, didn't he?

MR. McCLELLAN: David, there will be a time to talk about this, but now is not the time to talk about it.

Q Do you think people will accept that, what you're saying today?

MR. McCLELLAN: Again, I've responded to the question.

And it goes on like this.

I understand many people are rah rah-ing the Press Corps and their dogged pursuit of the truth about Karl Rove's involvement in Valerie Plame's outing as an undercover agent. We in Texas have known about Mr. Rove's capacity for scumbaggery and black bag politcal ops for some time (anyone heard from Mark White lately?), but don't let that take away from the fact that a number of people across our great nation would love to see that sneaky little bastard go down in flames (even if this all seems like waaaaaay too much of a hanging curveball for my liking).

But let's not be too hasty forgiving the White House Press Corps, that bastion of Administration apologia for the last five years, for playing yes-men to the White House's unending stream of BS about yellowcake uranium and Iraq's connection to 9-11. It might've been nice if they'd grown a spine some time before March, 2003.

"Listen to the bargan holler
Listen to the bantha fodder
Listen to the auctioneer"

But where is Princess Leia's anti-jiggle tape?

The legendary lightsabers brandished by Star Wars characters Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader are up for auction alongside a bevy of memorabilia from the sci-fi saga. The iconic weapons, which go under the hammer on July 29, have been valued at a staggering $140,000 by Los Angeles auction house Profiles in History. Other items soon to be at the center of a bidding frenzy include Skywalker's orange X-Wing pilot jumpsuit, which is valued at $80,000, Yoda's mask, and a Stormtrooper "blaster" weapon. The lightsaber used by Darth Vader in The Empire Strikes Back is likely to fetch $60,000, while the Jedi Knight's weapon is estimated to reach $80,000 in the auction.

No word on whether there will be a subsequent auction for the last remaining shreds of the average Star Wars fan's dignity or self respect, which are rumored to be so rare that they are beyond price.

Me aching head

APCB Beerfest I was a rousing success, at least to the point where my memory begins to fade out. Many local blog personalities stopped by, including Chuck, Lyn, PDiddie, owlish, HWRNMNBSOL, and Frothing-at-the-Mouth Lad. The gathering was, as The Wife described it, multi-tiered, as there were blog folks, friends from college and law school, and the appearance of several reprobates from my high school days. As if spending seven hours drinking didn't make me feel old enough.

Many thanks to Jackie and Paul for putting up with us. I definitely plan on doing it again, maybe one of these days when highs in Houston aren't topping off near 100.

"No one - but NO ONE - dies in the palace without a command from the Emperor."

Quoth MikeD, in the comments below:

And don't even get me started about 'Electro-Klytus' Dr. Doom....

I realize you're upset, so I'll forgive your ill-advised comparison of one of the great '80s screen villains with that effete parody of Victor Von Doom.

This is Klytus, head of Internal Security for Planet Mongo and Ming's right-hand man in 1980's super-awesome Flash Gordon (and my avatar on the FT message boards):

This is the newest theatrical version of Dr. Doom:

There are, obviously, similarities. But the Dr. Doom of the latest movie is an evil businessman who just happened to get organic body armor and force lightning to better facilitate his diabolical scheme to...get vengeance on his business partners. Klytus possesses no special abilities, but is second-in-command to the most powerful being in the universe: Ming the Merciless. Klytus offers the whole of planet Earth up for Ming's amusement, and is as deliciously evil as Doom is lame.

Now, the comic book Doom would compare much more favorably to Klytus, being the dictatorial ruler of an entire country (Latveria) and possessing an incredible arsenal of weaponry. The comic book Dr. Doom challenged the Beyonder himself. Granted, he got his ass handed to him (in Secret Wars), but it's the thought that counts.

Let us have no more Klytus bashing, or it's bore worms all around.

Let's just hope they don't call it Towering Inferno 2

I'm surprised it took them this long:

Paramount Pictures will finance and distribute an untitled feature about the rescue of two Port Authority police officers from the rubble of the World Trade Center after the 9/11 attacks. Oliver Stone will direct the film and Nicolas Cage will star. Andrea Berloff, who recently signed to pen Par's remake of "Don't Look Now," has written the script reports Variety.

The timetable of the feature isn't clear, but the Stone project is on a fast track with pre-production already started in New York. It ain't the only film on the subject moving forward though, Columbia Pictures has already received a first script draft by Billy Ray ("Shattered Glass") for an adaptation of Jim Dwyer-Kevin Flynn book "102 Minutes". 'Minutes' addresses the rescue attempts that took place between the moment the first plane hit the World Trade Center and the collapse of the first tower.

Yeah, Oliver "Too Many Movies" Stone is just the guy I trust to make a reasonable and accurate film about the WTC attacks. Maybe we'll get some insight into the Nicolas Cage character's mommy issues.

Having said that, I'm not sure where they can go with something like this. The entire country watched the towers collapse in real-time, with endless replays, meaning a big F/X extravaganza will be pretty much out of the question (not to mention tasteless), while the smaller story they seem to be pursuing will come across as exploitative. I'm not Stone's biggest fan, but the guy's got an uphill battle making a movie that people aren't going to hate, sight unseen.

On top of all this, ABC and producer Marc Platt are mobilizing a multipart film, written by Cyrus Nowrasteh. The movement on the project comes at strange timing, hitting the news services just hours after apparent terrorist attacks shut down the public transportation system of central London killing several dozen people.

I assume the stories were already in the pipeline when the London bombings occurred. If not, well, Hollywood's all about class.

"It's knockerin' time"

Because if I don't blog about Jessica Alba's cleavage, the terrorists have won.

Marvel and 20th Century Fox are apparently hoping America's love affair with boobs will overcome the poor advance word for Fantastic Four.

Take a look at this hastily assembled side-by-side comparison of the evolution of Susan Storm's decolletage. The original character poster is on the left, the main poster representation of the character is in the center, and the version that was released this week (and the one I saw hanging in the theater at the screening Tuesday night) is on the far right:

Given the reviews thus far (21% fresh rating on Rotten Tomatoes), expect the naked version to hit theaters next week.

Explosions in London

Everybody's heard by now, since I assume APCB isn't your source for international news, about the bombings in London:

Two people died and large numbers of casualties were reported after at least six blasts on the Underground network and a double-decker bus in London.

A police spokeswoman confirmed there had been two deaths at Aldgate and UK home secretary Charles Clarke said the explosions caused "terrible injuries".

The BBC's Frank Gardner said Arab sources said the blasts were probably the work of al-Qaeda.

Before news came out about the coordination of the Underground bombs, I considered the possibility this was related to the G8 Summit or even someone pissed off about the 2012 Olympics. Doesn't seem so likely now. Shit.

What's the likelihood the IRA are making noise again? Yeah, I didn't think so.

Sir Ian Blair said there had been at least six explosions, but said the picture was still "very confused".

Scotland Yard said explosions have been reported at Edgware Road, King's Cross, Liverpool Street, Russell Square, Aldgate East and Moorgate.
[...]
All London Underground services have been suspended indefinitely and bus services in central London (Zone One) have been halted.

If only two people end up dying as a result of six tube explosions, it'll be pretty remarkable. Regardless, I'm sure all of our thoughts are with the people of London today. Personally, I've been there on a number of occasions and - with the exception of the time we were almost mugged near Buckingham Palace - have always enjoyed the city.

Now let's see how long is takes Bush and Blair use this as an example of why we need to "stay the course" in Iraq. It's just too bad it took something like this to finally get American networks to stop talking about Natalee Holloway and frigging shark attacks.

Review preview

To anybody thinking of going to see Fantastic Four or Dark Water this weekend: have you considered the myriad of alternatives offered by both network and cable TV?

Wiener take all

This is getting as embarrassing as Australia's run of America's Cup victories in the 1980s:

For the fifth straight year, it was a victory Takeru Kobayashi could truly relish. Kobayashi, 27, captured the Nathan's Famous hot dog eating contest Monday, gobbling a nauseating 49 dogs in 12 minutes — but missing his own world record of 53 1/2, set at last year's July Fourth competition.

The win means the coveted Mustard Yellow Belt will return to Japan for the ninth year out of the past 10. New Jersey's Steve Keiner, who won in 1999, is the only American to capture the title in the past decade.

Kobayashi, of Nagano, stands 5 feet 7 inches and weighs just 144 pounds.

Shameful, my countrymen, utterly shameful. As if it wasn't bad enough that our technical and scientific prowess has succumbed to "brain drain" and the encroachment of fundametalist dogma masquerading as biology and paleontology, now a nation that once proudly held the title of "world's fattest" can't even seize the hot dog eating crown for some scrawny Japanese guy?

The runner-up was Sonya Thomas of Alexandria, Va. — known as The Black Widow on the competitive-eating circuit — who set an American record by downing 37 hot dogs in the same 12 minutes.
[...]
Thomas, who weighs a remarkable 105 pounds, is a rising speed-eating star. Last December in Atlantic City, N.J., she finished off 89 meatballs — about six pounds' worth — in 12 minutes. And in August, she captured a lobster-eating contest in Maine by consuming 38 of the creatures in 12 minutes.

I absolutely love the coverage this shit gets. Even better is getting to watch something like this on ESPN, which gave up being a "sports" channel when it started running poker tournaments 18 hours a day. For the record, anything you can do as well or better while drunk is not a sport, and binge eating certainly falls into that category[1].

If they insist on showing this crap on sports stations (and not, say, the Food Network), the least they could do is air a follow-up program on Discovery Health or TLC where the contestants can go to the next logical step and have a Puke-Off or something similar. In the interest of being thorough, they really owe it to us to provide full coverage.

It's nothing less than these role models deserve.

[1] As do bowling, darts, billiards, cards, dogsled racing, and golf.

I hear that Voice again

Weird.

Got an e-mail yesterday from the host of Voice of America's "Talk to America" radio program, who apparently wants to interview me for today's show about the "enduring fascination with" The War of the Worlds. Seems he saw my review on Film Threat, and I guess Michael Medved had to back out (one of the other guys listed as appearing on the program is the National Review's John Miller, meaning this has the potential to be interesting).

I have no idea how they found me, but I'm going on some time between 11 AM and 12 PM Central time. There's a link to a Real Audio stream on the web site, so if you want to listen to my valiant attempts to sound erudite later today, knock yourselves out.

UPDATE: And...I'm spent.

That went fast. Didn't really talk to anyone other than the hosts, and I think I was on the air for a grand total of five minutes. They snuck a question in about the aliens presence as a metaphor for terrorist sleeper cells, which I sidestepped.

Anyway, I imagine it'll be archived tomorrow. Listen for me around the 30 minute mark, if you're so inclined.

UPDATE: Archive's up (the actual file is here). I'm on at about the 26-minute mark, and I can't believe my voice sounds like that.

Tour de Lance 2005

When I started infrequently following Lance Armstrong's Tour de France career back in 2003, I didn't think I'd still have reason to use the same cutesy title for my posts two years later, but Armstrong stubbornly insists on shooting for his historic 7th Tour win in a row.

He's off to a good start, seizing the lead in today's time trial:

Lance Armstrong's Discovery Channel squad won the team time trial at the Tour de France today, handing the six-time champion the yellow jersey as overall race leader.

The 33-year-old Texan led his squad to victory for the third straight year in the time trial, clocking 1 hour, 10 minutes, 39 seconds for the 41.85-mile trek from Tours to Blois. Team CSC was second.

Heh. "Team Discovery Channel."

Reminder: APCB Beerfest I

I realize there's a big obnoxious link at the top of the page pointing out that the first APCB Beer and Bocce Festival will be this Saturday (July 9), 4 PM, at Hans' Village Bier and Vino Haus on Quenby, but then, we're all about mindless repetition here. Directions are available on the web site.

Jackie and Paul have graciiously consented to offer $1 Lone Stars and $2 Shiner Bocks for your consumption. As their menu indicates, however, they have a pretty wide selection for you beer highbrows.

Will it be hot? Oh, indeed. Texas bocce is not a sport for the weak, but the faint-hearted among you can repair to Hans' cool interior in order to engage in drunken self-loathing.

Hope to see you there. And if you're looking to kick my ass for some reason, I'm the 6'4" guy with glasses. Be gentle.

"Picture book, pictures of your mother"

These are freaking sweet, as Peter Griffin would say:

Welcome to the realm of "Haunted Memories Changing Portraits." Featured here are some of the most unique Halloween props ever offered! Simple, yet highly effective, these morphing images are designed to transform when you change your position. When your unsuspecting guests walk past them they will see these seemingly normal "relatives" change into hideously frightening creatures or macabre apparitions!

The picture change is a pretty simple trick and - to my mind - there are too many vampires. Still, you can click most of the pictures for a video clip showing the effect, which is nifty. And the clown is appropriately hideous, though, as befits all clowns:

I know without asking that I will never get official spousal sanction to put any of these in my house (unless I ever get around to redoing the garage), but that doesn't mean you can't. Especially if you're looking to get an early start on freaking out your kids.

Thanks to APCB research assistant The Thing That Walks Like A Man.

Figures

"Live 8: The World is Watching"

Me: "Yeah, but they're not seeing shit."

Wow, I get all of Will Smith's speech, but nothing approaching a complete song? The coverage yesterday was atrocious, with songs cut off halfway through and endless shots of MTV's "Sway" and wozhername blathering on and on about the "historicalness" of the event. Oh, and did we mention Kanye West had to fly in from another gig to perform?

Kanye West was the funniest part of the whole day, with his deadpan recitation of the "AIDS was manufactured to kill the black man" conspiracy theories and explanation of how lyrics about "wanting the ice" really have relevance to the situation of the African poor. They spent 30 minutes on this imbecile, while playing 1/2 of every song from other acts and talking over the Pink Floyd reuinion, which - and I don't care if you don't like PF - was easily the biggest musical headline of the day. Certainly a much bigger deal than Green Day butchering "We Are the Champions" or Roger Daltrey and Pete Townshend going through the motions with their session men and trying to ignore Keith Moon hocking lungers on them from heaven.

This might have been, as the media are calling it, the "greatest concert event in history," but you wouldn't know it from yesterday's reportage. If the G-8 leaders were actually watching on Saturday, I'd be more afraid they might cancel debt relief solely because they're worried Africa might turn into the same collection of self-obsessed consumer whores on display on MTV and VH1.

As an aside, it was comforting to see the longest running FCC violation in history continuing in full force on ABC, which aired the Who's "Who Are You" - just like countless classic rock stations beforehand - with the line "Who the fuck are you?" played in its entirety after the network repeatedly bleeped both Green Day and Jay-Z.

It's a-Live

Slightly related to my upcoming concert post below, I notice there hasn't been anything here about Live 8, the series of concerts designed to convince the G-8 countries to increase aid to Africa.

Then again, if there was anything here about it, it'd be kind of creepy, because I didn't write it[1].

Like I said, tenshows. The only U.S. one is in Philadelphia, just like last time, although I understand MTV and VH1 will be providing coverage tomorrow afternoon. It's just as well I'm nowhere near Pennsylvania, as the lineup isn't exactly something I can see myself sitting through:

* Alicia Keys
* Black Eyed Peas
* Bon Jovi
* Dave Matthews Band
* Def Leppard
* Destiny's Child
* Jay-Z
* Josh Groban
* Kaiser Chiefs
* Keith Urban
* Linkin Park
* Maroon 5
* P Diddy
* Rob Thomas
* Sarah McLachlan
* Stevie Wonder
* Toby Keith

Toby Keith? Keith Urban? Freaking P Diddy? Only the Johannesburg show sounds less appealing, and that because I haven't heard of any of the acts. The UK gig looks to be the winner, with the likes of U2, Paul McCartney, a reformed Pink Floyd, and R.E.M.

The 1985 Live Aid concert had a little more equilibrium. Sure, U.S. audiences had to suffer through Rick Springfield, Bryan Adams, Simple Minds, and the Power Station, but we also got Judas Priest, Neil Young, Run-DMC, and Black Sabbath. The Brits got Elvis Costello, U2 and McCartney (again), the Who, and Queen - still tops on my list of bands for which I wish I had a working Wayback Machine .

In a great example of suckage detente, both crowds had to endure Phil Collins.

The Live Aid DVD was released recently, and I have yet to check it out. I still have my homemade six-hour VHS copy, you see. Some friends came over to my place that fine summer's day 20 years ago, as ours was one of the few households with cable at the time, and vegged out while taping the show. I busted the tape out recently and was staggered by its worthlessness. Oh, the quality is fine, but for every three songs you'd get five minutes of VJ banter and 15 minutes of commercials.

We're going to TiVo the proceedings this afternoon, and while I don't have high hopes about the quality of MTV's hosts (not that I know who any of them are these days) or the network's restraint in re: advertising, at least the fast forward button has greater speed.

[1] The blog is coming from inside the house! Get out of the house!

You so rational

I've never seen a Martin Lawrence movie.

Oh, I've seen movies Martin Lawrence has been in, I've just never seen one where he was one of the leads. No Bad Boys (I or II), no Big Momma's House, no Blue Streak. An old roommate of mine used to subject us to reruns of "Martin," but we could usually lure him away with promises of NHL '93. I did see Do the Right Thing and House Party, but couldn't tell you who he was in those.

Taking that grand tradition in mind, there will be no review of Lawrence's latest, Rebound, from yours truly. I linked to my review of the Australian zombie flick Undead, which opens stateside today, earlier this week. It's as accurate a write-up as you can expect after a drunken midnight screening.

Ty-D-Boll

I guess after the apogee of filmmaking viruosity that was Street Fighter, there weren't that many choices left:

Based on the popular video game of the same name, Dungeon Siege follows the hard life of lowly Farmer on a mighty mission to save his wife and child. An unspeakably evil army is rampaging across the land, destroying everything in its path and focusing on conquering the mighty Castle Ehb, and vanquishing the King himself. This evil army threatens an otherwise ideal world of peace. Dungeon Siege is a passionate epic adventure, a solid heart at its core and story line that reveals more information and adventure with each passing minute.

Sounds like Krull. Or the Wheel of Time. Or The SwordBearer. Or Peasant's Quest.

I never played Dungeon Siege, but from the screenshots I've checked out, it doesn't seem very remarkable. Certainly not remarkable enough to warrant the big screen Hollywood treatment. What am I missing?

Jason Statham ("Cellular") is Farmer, our hero. Ron Perlman ("Hellboy") plays Norick, an old friend of Farmer's and his stalwart companion. Matthew Lillard ("Without a Paddle") plays Duke Fallow, the nephew of King Konreid, who is played by Burt Reynolds ("The Longest Yard").

John Rhys-Davies ("Raiders of the Lost Ark") is Merrick the Magus, the court sorcerer. Leelee Sobieski ("The Glass House") is Muriella, Merrick's daughter, and Kristanna Loken ("Terminator 3") is Elora, an enchanted tree-like creature whose support proves critical to Farmer.

Fallow? Farmer? Is Con-Agra producing this?

That is some cast...there. There's no arguing that everyone listed has, uh, been in movies before and, uh, been paid for it. All professional actors, no doubt about it.

There has to be more to this, what unholy force could possibly have assembled this nefarious collective of B and C-listers in order to bring a second tier video game to life?

Based on Gas Powered Games' wildly popular game, Dungeon Siege is directed by Uwe Boll from a screenplay by Doug Taylor, David S. Freeman and Glenn Benest.

BOOOOOLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!

Okay, deep breath. I mean, it isn't like they'd give the guy a real budget after the way his last couple of movies have performed:

- Shooting begins this weekend in Vancouver.
- Boll has a $60 million budget for this movie.
- Boll said "Dungeon Siege" will transcend the video game genre and appeal to mainstream audiences. He added that the film's blend of action and fantasy should appeal to fans of "The Lord of the Rings." A three-hour running time is envisioned.

$60 million. You do realize that all of Boll's movies combined haven't grossed $60 million? The guy must have pictures showing everyone involved in this movie having sex with dead children, because there's no other explanation for his continued Hollywood existence. Unless he's being propped up as a convenient distraction for critics and moviegoers while they continue to trot out Martin Lawrence movies and remakes.

Nah, the studios aren't that smart.

As for the alleged running time, I would rather spend three hours in a steel cage with the reanimated corpses of Martha Raye and Paul Lynde poking me with giant dildos and singing "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald."

Which actually sounds like a good plot for an Uwe Boll movie.