A Perfectly Cromulent Blog

No zygote left behind

Let the Richard Clarke-ing of Susan Wood begin:

A high-ranking Food and Drug Administration official resigned today in protest of the agency's refusal to allow over-the-counter sales of emergency contraception.

Susan Wood, director of FDA's Office of Women's Health, announced her resignation in an e-mail to colleagues at the agency. The e-mail was released by contraception advocates.

The FDA on Friday postponed indefinitely its decision on whether to allow the morning-after pill, called Plan B, to sell without a prescription. The agency said it was safe for adults to use without a doctor's guidance but said young teenagers still needed a prescription and that it couldn't determine how to enforce an age limit — a decision contrary to the advice of its own scientific advisers.

"I can no longer serve as staff when scientific and clinical evidence, fully evaluated and recommended for approval by the professional staff here, has been overruled," wrote Wood, who also was assistant commissioner for women's health. "The recent decision announced by the Commissioner about emergency contraception, which continues to limit women's access to a product that would reduce unintended pregnancies and reduce abortions, is contrary to my core commitment to improving and advancing women's health."

That's not very nice, Dr. Wood. Surely this just means that the Administration loves children so much they want more of them. Babies for everyone, I say, whether they're unloved, neglected, abused, or not.

Plan B opponents, who consider the drug tantamount to abortion and have intensely lobbied the Bush administration to reject over-the-counter sales, praised Crawford's move, saying easier access to emergency contraception may encourage teen sex.

It may very well encourage teen sex, but nearly as much as being a teen does, you knobs.

And tantamount to abortion? I guess, if the definition of "tantamount" has been recently amended by Websters to mean "absolutely unrelated."

The drug has no effect if a woman already is pregnant. It works by blocking ovulation or fertilization, or possibly by interfering with implantation of a fertilized egg into the uterus, the medical definition of pregnancy.

Funny, condoms "block fertilization" too. You won't be seeing a ban on Trojan sales anytime soon, though. Making laws restricting male sexuality is apparently un-American. Or maybe I'm missing something.

Not so final fantasy

I just realized that I'm spending a lot of money on this football thing. There's the Fanball league, and the pick 'em league, and a couple others I'd rather not discuss on a site The Wife reads. All told, it's starting to add up. I can sort of justify it because, since the coming of The Child, I really don't have a lot of time to spend money on those things what formerly brought me leisure time enjoyment, such as comic books, video games, and high-grade Peruvian blow.

Anyway, the big problem with fantasy football in the internet age is the sheer volume of advice, analysis, and uninformed bullshit out there. Back when I started doing this, you had some magazines and the occasional segment on ESPN. Now, there are sites calculating every possible variable, just so you can sound all erudite when you say things like, "Moss may dog it across the middle, but he's going to free up a lot of coverage for Whitted and Curry."

Since my time is so valuable, I have to limit my research to a few key sources, and while they he isn't exactly the source for daily updates, this guy is pretty hilarious:

Peyton [Manning] is a dumb rube and from the second the dusty seed of his father found purchase, it was decided that his male brood would be raised with the singular purpose of becoming football players and hopefully achieving the zenith of success that eluded their old man (See: Earl Woods). I can see it now-Peyton miraculously figures out how to defeat the Patriots and reaches the Superbowl, making quick work of some shitbomb NFC team that won their division with an 8-8 record [Vikings and Packers in unison: Hey, fuck you!]. As he finally hoists the Lombardi trophy over his head, the lights go out and a sinister cackle is heard-Archie Manning flies in on a hoverboard and swipes the prize from his son's hands and as he flies off he drops a pumpkin bomb, vaporizing his now useless son.

That's funny on a number of levels, and not just because I have Peyton Manning in my keeper league.

On a lighter note...

A Perfectly Cromulent Blog is currently #1 on AOL Search for "morris chestnut bare chest photo."

I guess I did kind of gush over the guy in my Anacondas review.

Perspective

I don't mind telling you, it's been a shit week - the kind where you wake up and don't look forward to anything that day but going to bed - but compared to those who are dealing with the aftermath of Katrina, I might as well be the Mayor of Funkytown.

On WWL they're talking about "years" to rebuild New Orleans. And Biloxi. And Gulfport. Martial law has been declared in Jefferson Parish, and it sounds like people won't be allowed back to their homes for weeks, if not months.

Donations can be made at the Red Cross site, or by calling 1-800-HELP-NOW.

"Gabriella's baby shower will be invaded by terrorists, with sexy results."

This just in, patrons of a certain British supermarket chain are out of their minds:

Desperate Housewives actress Eva Longoria has beaten off competition from Jennifer Aniston to be voted the sexiest TV beauty of all time. The 30-year-old Latina, who claims she was the "ugly duckling" of her family growing up, was honoured for her sexy performance as Gabrielle Solis in the hit US drama. Aniston, who played Friends's Rachel Green for ten years, came second in the survey by British supermarket Sainsbury's, followed by Sex And The City's Kim Cattrall as man-eating Samantha Jones in third place

The Top Five Sexiest Female TV Stars Of All-Time are:
1. Eva Longoria - Desperate Housewives
2. Jennifer Aniston - Friends
3. Kim Cattrall - Sex And The City
4. Pamela Anderson - Baywatch
5. Sarah Michelle Gellar - Buffy The Vampire Slayer

Seems a bit, uh, heavy on the last few years, which is the nature of such things. More likely, patrons were provided with a list of 20 or so and made their picks from those. But if you're going to make a list of the [something something] "of all time," you might want to put a little more thought into it.

It's also entirely possible some characters that ought to be no-brainers never made it across the Atlantic. And what were the parameters? Are shows that didn't last a full season allowed? How about cartoons? Recurring guest roles? These are important questions when compiling an arbitrary and meaningless ranking like this.

Having said that, none of those listed above even make my top 10, which I will now share with all of you (warning: skewed heavily entirely towards brunettes)[1].

10. Lauren Graham (Gilmore Girls) - Those eyes, those legs, that improbably witty dialogue. I'll sit through a hundred fights with your mother if you'll just slag Brennon's Foreigner t-shirt one more time.

9. Yvonne Craig (Batman) - Nothing less than the ultimate librarian fantasy girl: Barbara Gordon was a buttoned down, glasses-wearing, hair-in-a-bun type who spent her nights wearing spandex and a mask and beating the shit out of criminals. People pay top dollar for that kind of treatment nowadays. And I would be remiss if I didn't mention her turn as the green-skinned Marta on the "Whom Gods Destroy" episode of Star Trek.

8. Maren Jensen (Battlestar Galactica) - I always favored the no-nonsense warrior Athena over the blonde space trollop Cassiopeia. I wholeheartedly supported her actions when she steam purged Starbuck and that hussy in the launch tube, even as I realized later it probably would have been fatal. If anything, it only heightened my devotion.

7. Dawn Wells (Gilligan's Island) - Speaking of no-brainers. If there were any justice in this crazy mixed-up world, ultra-short denim shorts would be referred to as "Mary Anns" instead of "Daisy Dukes."

6. Pam Grier (The L Word) - I'm cheating with this one. I've never seen The L Word and really don't care to. I'm content with it allowing me to include Ms. Grier, who has given me jungle fever since my first exposure to Coffy in a college film class.

5. Diana Rigg (The Avengers) - Not only is Emma Peel a "sexier" character than any of those listed above, she could kick all of their asses as well. Yes, Buffy's too.

4. Julie Newmar (Batman) - They sure carbonated a lot of hormones on this show. Newmar is the one and only Catwoman (no offense to Eartha Kitt). Why she ever bothered toying with the concave-chested Batman, "Pure West" or not, was beyond me.

3. Carla Gugino (Karen Sisco) - She's been in a lot of crap, and also in this unfortunately short-lived TV show. I guess ABC pulled it because, unlike Alias' Sydney Bristo, Sisco managed to get her job done fully clothed.

2. Lynda Carter (Wonder Woman) - As documented here previously, Wonder Woman may have been the first female TV character I noticed in "that way." And I never understood why this was the one TV show my dad would watch with me (aside from The Three Stooges) until several years later.

1. Jaclyn Smith (Charlie's Angels) - Before "Tastes great, less filling," before the Cola Wars, before Dale Jr. vs. Tony Stewart...there was Farrah vs. Jaclyn (poor Kate Jackson never stood a chance). Long and arduous were the schoolyard debates, and how different our respective fates turned out to be. Farrah fans can usually be found slumped in their broken down recliners, watching American Gladiator reruns and struggling over their beer guts to clean their toenails with a used toothpick, while those who preferred Jaclyn Smith are universally renowned for their roguish good looks, chiseled physiques, and Herculean sexual prowess.

[1] But who the hell knows Julie Newmar's real hair color?

Vindication

Of a sort:

Coffee not only helps clear the mind and perk up the energy, it also provides more healthful antioxidants than any other food or beverage in the American diet, according to a study released Sunday.
[...]
The findings by Joe A. Vinson, a chemistry professor at the University of Scranton, in Pennsylvania, give a healthy boost to the warming beverage.
[...]
Vinson's team analyzed the antioxidant content of more than 100 different food items, including vegetables, fruits, nuts, spices, oils and common beverages. They then used Agriculture Department data on typical food consumption patterns to calculate how much antioxidant each food contributes to a person's diet.

They concluded that the average adult consumes 1,299 milligrams of antioxidants daily from coffee. The closest competitor was tea at 294 milligrams. Rounding out the top five sources were bananas, 76 milligrams; dry beans, 72 milligrams; and corn, 48 milligrams. According to the Agriculture Department, the typical adult American drinks 1.64 cups of coffee daily.

Oh, how I love being atypical. I probably drink 1.64 cups of coffee in my sleep.

And the news keeps getting better:

In February, a team of Japanese researchers reported in the Journal of the National Cancer Institute that people who drank coffee daily, or nearly every day, had half the liver cancer risk of those who never drank it. The protective effect occurred in people who drank one to two cups a day and increased at three to four cups.

Groovy. That just about mitigates the abuse my liver takes from my half a bottle of whiskey a day habit.

Last year, researchers at the Harvard School of Public Health found that drinking coffee cut the risk of developing the most common form of diabetes.

That settles it. Our next Surgeon General has to be Too Much Coffee Man.

No "Waves" puns, please

I'm late commenting on this, but as a fellow resident of the wild and wooly Gulf Coast, my thoughts go out to the remaining (read: poor) people holed up in the Superdome and waiting for the unwelcome arrival of Katrina. Friends of ours left New Orleans this morning at 9 AM, en route to Houston with a 2 month-old in tow. At 6 PM, they'd made it to Baton Rouge.

For those unfamiliar with Louisiana, Baton Rouge is normally a 90-minute drive from the Big Easy.

Katrina makes landfall in a few hours. I talk a lot of shit about New Orleans, but I sincerely hope there's something left for me to go back and throw up on when all this is over.

Content-free Friday continues

You know those snarky articles in the "real" media that essentially define weblogs as "dorks describing what they had for breakfast to losers?" Well, here's some more ammo for them. I give you, today's lunch:

It helps if you sing the chorus of JFA's "Cokes and Snickers" while you're looking at that.

Really busy today, in case you couldn't guess. Have a good weekend.

Grimm-ly fiendish

Shocked, shocked I am that nobody took me up on my offer of passes for The Cave.

Unfortunately, my choice of movies wasn't much better. My review of The Brothers Grimm can be found here.

Top of the Flops

My love/hate relationship with pointless listmaking gets the better of me again, as Chuck points me to this compilation, by the Onion's AV Clubbers, of 10 box office bombs that are worthy of a second look:

One From the Heart
Freddy Got Fingered
Joe Versus the Volcano
Heaven's Gate
1941
Gigli
New York, New York
Around the World in 80 Days
The Last Tycoon
Pinocchio

I knew it was only a matter of time before someone took the bold stance of defending Gigli.

I'll agree with Joe Versus the Volcano, which I still think is a great film (and the best thing Meg Ryan has ever done). I can understand why it didn't do better; it wasn't very accessible, it came in the middle of a string of bad movies for Tom Hanks (sandwiched between Turner and Hooch and Bonfire of the Vanities), and America has never fully accepted the genius of Abe Vigoda. Even so, it has a charm that still makes me go looking for my old VHS copy (purchased at a Mobil gas station) once a year or so.

And also The Last Tycoon, because any movie featuring fisticuffs between Robert De Niro and Jack Nicholson is a rare treat.

Other than that (and considering I haven't seen One From the Heart, Around the World in 80 Days, or Gigli), I'm not convinced: Tom Green's humor barely sustained a 30-minute TV show, much less a feature length movie; Heaven's Gate is still a shining example of Michael Cimino's tendency towards bloat (even The Deer Hunter could've shed 30 minutes); I've talked about 1941's problems elsewhere (short version: volume does not equal comedy - see also The Goonies); New York, New York proved conclusively that cocaine is not an aid to the directorial process; and Roberto Benigni is Satan.

As is my usual pattern, you can click the More link to see my new and possibly improved version.

10. Joe Versus the Volcano (Loss: $20 million) - Did I mention "Very exciting... as a luggage problem?" Classic.

9. Flash Gordon (Loss: $8 million) - Yeah, I know...it's not much of a "bomb," even when you consider how little faith 20th Century Fox had in what many people (ironically) viewed as yet another Star Wars ripoff. I may be biased, but where else can you get Topol, Max von Sydow, and Brian Blessed together on one screen? And rarely has such an ambitious picture looked so gloriously cheap.

8. Hudson Hawk (Loss: $48 million) - Depends on when you saw it, I guess. Expectations were so diminished for me, after 10 years of scathing publicity and its appearance on so many "worst of" lists, that I finally sat down to watch it - all the while fearing my entire digestive tract would spasm violently. All I found was the visualization of one man's (Bruce Willis) monstrous ego, as well as an occasionally entertaining exercise in absurdism. I'd say "don't go out of your way to look for it," except that's the only way you'll ever find it.

7. Cinderella Man (Loss: $30 million) - If you can look past Paul Giamatti's Burgess Meredith impersonation, Renee Zelleweger's Talia Shire impersonation, and Ron Howard's shameless...okay, maybe you can't look past all that. This is a great story, however, and another great performance by Russell Crowe, who shows once again why he's right up there with Seann William Scott as one the best actors of our generation. Expect this one to get rereleased some time around the end of the year to rekindle its Oscar chances.

6. The Chronicles of Riddick (Loss: $65 million) - Vin Diesel, on the other hand, will never be mistaken for a great actor. He pissed away any meager credibility he'd built up from Saving Private Ryan and Pitch Black with crap like xXx and A Man Apart. And while Chronicles may be goofy and strain the limits of credulity, if you look hard enough, you can see what director David Twohy is aiming for. Like (god help me) Paul W.S. Anderson's Resident Evil movies, the Riddick series is aiming at some larger mythology. We catch glimpses of this in Chronicles, and I'm actually curious where it all will end up.

Speaking of Anderson...

5. Event Horizon ($30 million) - I think it helps to go into this a little ignorant of the premise, as I did. I was under the mistaken impression we were dealing with more of a straight up sci-fi movie, and not horror. The concept is pretty worn (in some respects, this is a better remake of Solaris than the George Clooney one), and any references to science should probably iinclude those cutesy finger quotes, but this is a refreshingly creepy (and gory) film.

4. The Iron Giant (Loss: $25 million) - You heard me, The Iron Giant lost over 20 million simoleons at the box office, in spite of being one of the best movies of the 1990s. Granted, I don't know how much of that was recouped on DVD sales, but it still boggles my mind how poorly received it was during initial release.

3. The Adventures of Baron Munchausen (Loss: $35 million) - Any Terry Gilliam movie (okay, except maybe Jabberwocky) is worth a second look, especially this one, which never stood a chance, suffering from numerous production snafus and getting almost no studio support upon release. Also features Oliver Reed's best performance since Gor.

2. Showgirls (Loss: $25 million) - I may have missed something (I was drunk through most of the mid-90s), but was this ever supposed to be taken seriously? Maybe I just enjoy seeing the once mighty Paul Atreides brought so low.

1. Wild Wild West (Loss: $55 million) - Just kidding. This is still a piece of shit.

Rollin' down the street, smokin' White Owls
Sippin' on Dole prune juice

It seems the "de-gangstafication" (coined after watching this movie) of yet another hip-hop figure has taken place.

Snoop Dogg could be forgiven for Old School, which was - at least - an R-rated comedy. Even that show he did for MTV upheld his image somewhat (though not as much as his critically acclaimed series of Girls Gone Wild videos). But TV commericials with Lee freaking Iacocca are too much.

Yeah, yeah...Chrysler needed someone recognizable to the kids to offset the fact that nobody under the age of 20 has any idea who Iacocca is. But if Snoop hadn't stepped up, I'm sure Ashton Kutcher, either of the Olsen twins, or Beyonce would have been only too happy to oblige. Lovingly referring to the CEO of Chrysler as "Mocha Cocca" and "Icazizzle" while sporting pastel-colored golf togs means the de-gangstafication of Snoop Dogg is complete. A pair of APCB bowling shoes and a Dale Earnhardt sticker (the number "8" "3" with a halo) are in the mail.

They asked for it

The Sony publicist has seen fit to dispense a seemingly endless number of passes for this Thursday night's screening of The Cave. What is The Cave, you ask? Why:

Deep in the Romanian forest, a team of scientists stumbles upon the ruins of a 13th century Abbey. On further inspection, they make a startling discovery - the Abbey is built over the entrance to a giant underground cave system. Local biologists belive the cave could be home to an undiscovered eco-system, so they hire a group of American cave-explorers to help them investigate its depths.

Jack (Cole Hauser) and his brother Tyler (Eddie Cibrian) are thrill-seeking professional cave explorers who run a team of the top divers in the world. They arrive in Romania with all the latest equipment, including a new type of scuba tank allowing a diver to remain submerged for up to 24 hours. The crack unit, which also includes Charlie (Piper Perabo) and Buchanan (Morris Chestnut), immediately begin their exploration. But what they find deep inside the caves is not just a new eco-system, but an entirely new species altogether...

Aw yeah, the patented August Derleth ellipsis. Add to that the fact the only screening is the night before it opens and you've got some quality horror, though not too horrific:

MPAA Rating: PG-13 (for intense creature violence)

There's no violence like intense creature violence.

Each pass is good for two people. Hit me up in the comments or on e-mail and I'll send you one. It's this Thursday, August 25, 7:30 PM at a near-Loop theater (obviously this is for the Houston folk).

Oh, and I won't be there. Sony and Miramax have, in their infinite wisdom, decided to schedule both big movies opening this weekend on the same night, at the same time. As I am a bigger fan of Terry Gilliam than [checks press materials] Bruce Hunt, I'll be at The Brothers Grimm.

Up the Irons

Maybe it's just as well Iron Maiden won't be along for the show when Ozzfest hits Houston this weekend (excessive capitalization courtesy of the anonymous backstage reporter):

"Saturday night's Ozzfest at the Hyundai Pavillion near Los Angeles was a debacle on so many levels, I am still in shock as I write this. As a fan of many of the bands [Saturday] night, one can only hope this was an isolated incident, but sadly, it most likely wasn't. As many of you have heard already, co-headliners and metal legends IRON MAIDEN were pelted with eggs, bottle caps, beer cups, spit on, had people from the Ozzfest camp talking over the PA during their set, had 'Eddie' delayed from his onstage entrance, had members of the [BLACK LABEL SOCIETY] entourage rush the stage with American flags, and had the PA intentionally turned off over six times, all by the OSBOURNE CAMP."

Apparently, Maiden singer Bruce Dickinson made some impolitic comments to Kerrang! magazine about the fact that Ozzy Osbourne (*gasp*) uses a teleprompter in concert. He also made some remarks at an earlier stop about "reality shows," leading Sharon Osbourne to engineer this retaliation last Saturday.

"Later that evening, as IRON MAIDEN came on stage, their intro was interrupted by [BLACK LABEL SOCIETY] hanger-on and biker wannabe Big Dave, who was at the soundboard loudly chanting 'Ozzy, Ozzy' over the PA. MAIDEN opened their set and the entire band was pelted from the front row with eggs, beer, beer cups, spit, and various other objects by an Ozzfest-credentialed, bandana-wearing, Osbourne entourage. IRON MAIDEN, ever the professionals, continued through their set, and by the time they launched into their second song, 'The Trooper', Bruce changed into a civil war-era, red coat and began waving a Union Jack — British flag. Then, someone in, or associated with, BLACK LABEL SOCIETY tried to rush the stage waving and American Flag with the words 'Don't fuck with Ozzy' scrawled across his bare chest. He was tackled and beaten by MAIDEN crew and promptly thrown off stage."

An American flag is, of course, the perfect way to show your support for Ozzy, who grew up on the mean streets of Birmingham...England.

I like Black Sabbath, and while I was always fairly ambivalent about solo Ozzy, the guy has no business being on the road anymore. That his wife continues to trot his doddering carcass out there every year in order to squeeze a few more dollars from him is probably the saddest thing about all the whole affair, especially when you consider that Ozzy himself probably had no idea any of this was going on.

Good thing Sharon came out after Maiden's set to smooth things over, right?

"Then, not 10 seconds after MAIDEN left the stage, Sharon Osbourne walked on stage and predictably, tried to give MAIDEN some fake, half-hearted praise about how they'd like to 'thank IRON MAIDEN,' and what a wonderful band IRON MAIDEN are, and how their crew were 'fantastic,' then sneering, 'But Bruce Dickinson is a prick.' The entire crowd, now fed up with the entire affair, began loudly booing her, pelting her with beer cups, and yelling 'bitch.' She tried to carry on, adding that 'Bruce had disrespected Ozzfest,' only to be drowned out by an ocean of boos, and soaked with beer. She slammed the microphone down and stormed off stage. Many in the crowd, fed up with what they had just witnessed, especially considering that many had come solely for MAIDEN, and paid upwards of $150 to do so, left in droves. SABBATH played to maybe half the audience that was there prior."

This shit cracks me up. It's like the WCW, only with uglier dudes.

Then again, the only reason I was considering going (and back when I thought they were on the bill) was to see Iron Maiden, who has been the critical darling of the festival. And while I'm exceeedingly disappointed they won't be coming to Houston this time around, it's probably for the best. Now I have an excuse not to go at all, and I can always look forward to Maiden's 2006 tour.

Which will be one concert where I won't be vying for the Oldest Guy in Attendance award.

"Did you bring the pre-whacked snakes?"

Despite my repeated attempts to convince myself I had hallucinated previous reports about this movie, it's becoming more and more apparent that they were all too real:

Samuel Jackson: "The movie I’m doing right now is kind of like a no-brainer. I don’t want to say it that way, but it’s pretty much what it is, it’s a thriller. Snakes on a Plane, there’s no mystery to that. We’re going back, it’s not Flight 121. You either want to see this movie or you don’t – Snakes on a Plane, common. You don’t have to think about it, there’s snakes, you go 'Ah, Oh, Ah, Oh' and that’s what I’m doing every day and I don’t have to figure out the dramatic purpose of this."

So who does Sam Jackson play in Snakes on a Plane?

Samuel Jackson: "An FBI agent; I’m an FBI agent transporting a witness from Hawaii to Los Angeles. And the kid witnessed a murder by this gangster, the gangster, who personally killed somebody, stupid gangster. The kid saw it and I’m transporting him to LA and over the middle of the ocean, this timed crate opens and there’s 500 poisonous snakes in it and they get out all over the plane. And we can’t go back, we’ve got to go forward and it’s us battling snakes to LA."

With a tentative 2006 release date, anybody wishing to accompany me to this screening should probably let me know now.

And here's an exclusive look at the pandemonium that ensues when those snakes are relased:

This picture would've been a lot funnier if the guy was shown reading one of those seat cards:

In the unlikely event our plane experiences a drop in cabin pressure, pit vipers will fall from the overhead compartment.
"Pit vipers?"

"I'm a level 5 vegan -- I won't eat anything that casts a shadow."

Wonder if there's any way to revoke their polio vaccines:

A Staffordshire farm is to stop breeding guinea pigs for medical research after years of intimidation by animal rights activists.

The family-run Darley Oaks Farm in Newchurch has been at the centre of a campaign of abuse.

Owners and staff have received death threats during the six-year onslaught.

The family said they hoped the decision would prompt the return of the body of their relative Gladys Hammond, whose remains were stolen from a churchyard.

You know, I'm not unsympathetic to the animal rights crowd, but there's a difference between spraying Chanel No. 5 in a rabbit's eyes and using guinea pigs and mice to test medicines and cures for disease. And what bold activists we be, targeting a relatively undefended farm and robbing a freaking grave to get their point across, which is just the cherry on top of years of harassment:

It all started back in 1999, when John Hall and his brother Christopher's farm was raided by the Animal Liberation Front. They claimed that the guinea pigs bred there were kept in appalling conditions - a claim denied by the Halls.

Protestors also objected to the animals' use in laboratory experiments. A campaign was set up, called Save the Newchurch Guinea Pigs, to force the Halls to close down their business.
[...]
What ensued was a violent campaign of intimidation that has seen people besieged at night inside their own homes.

They have had bricks thrown through their windows, their cars paint-stripped and buildings have been arson attacked. Smear campaigns alleging paedophilia, death threats, even threats against young children have left people traumatised and living in fear.

Maybe I'm missing something, but I thought one of the useful components of activism was winning others over to your cause. I'm still unclear on how screaming at little kids about murder outside a KFC or terrorizing an elderly woman accomplishes that.

Mrs Hudson is no vivisector, animal farmer or laboratory technician. She is simply the Hall family's cleaning lady. But in the highly charged atmosphere that has pervaded the campaign to shut Darley Oaks Farm since the Animal Liberation Front filmed guinea pigs in overcrowded conditions there six years ago, she is seen by some as a collaborator.

Bricks have been thrown through her windows, incendiary devices left outside her house, and a lifesize rag doll, with a noose round its neck, a knife in its chest and a note on its body saying: "This is me next," has been deposited at her front door.

Of course, to hear those suspected of involvement in this case, campaigning for the rights of "overcrowded" guinea pigs is only the latest effort in a grand tradition of civil disobedience:

Janet Tomlinson, 62, is accused of "stalking" the Halls with the frequency of her protests. Born and bred in Burton, Ms Tomlinson has much in common with Mrs Hudson. In her 60s, she also lives alone and has been touched by cancer, having been diagnosed with a malignant breast tumour last year.

But Ms Tomlinson said she had no sympathy for the cleaning lady. Although she denied any involvement in direct action, she blamed the police and Tony Blair for forcing legitimate protesters to adopt more extreme tactics. "The police have prevented lawful protest and forced people to take other actions. It's like the suffragettes when they used to lobby MPs at the Commons and then follow them home and smash their windows. It's like any pressure group - first you are ignored, then you are ridiculed, then you are bullied and then you win."

I wonder if the ALF people were in the same "Introduction to Bogus Analogy and Idiotic Hyperbole" classes as the members of Operation Rescue.

Got to be a lover

At APCB, love not only means having to say you're sorry, but having to publicly embarrass yourself by posting futile attempts to grab the attention of someone who - let's face it - probably wasn't that interested in the first place.

More love lost from the Austin Chronicle:

1) 7-2-04 DIZZY ROOSTER. You: beautiful brunette in black with friends. Me: Red shirt with bachelor party. Couldn't take my eyes off of you all night.

Translation: You: unapproachable babe surrounded by snarling bitch-queens. Me: coward who, unable to make a move in spite of the false courage bestowed by alcohol and several of my hooting buddies, contented myself with undressing you with my eyes for three hours.

2) 7/22 RHONDA AT Chili Cold Blood show. You rocked my world until the break of dawn. Where did you go?

Probably to meet someone not prone to dropping Sir Mix-A-Lot lyrics into their conversations.

3) BLUE VOLVO STATION wagon with "Austin" sticker on bumper: Shopping at Wheatsville with a Central Market bag!? Tried to catch your eye with no luck. Me: Interested.

I thought shopping at Wheatsville with a Central Market bag was a stoning offense (not that kind) in Austin. It's a trap, Volvo. He's only "interested" in turning you over to the co-op's Ministry of Organic Reeducation.

4) HALCYON, AUGUST 9. You: In smooth, black fedora, cute tummy and a bottle opener (I think) in your pants. Me: Tall guy, dark, curly hair, blue shirt. Let's compare fedoras.

Fedoras? This must be some new variation on the "come up and see my etchings" line that I'm not familiar with. Oh, to be single again.

5) YOU: BLONDE TRANSSEXUAL in Whole Foods downtown, around midday a lot. I know what you are, please give this tall guy a chance to be yours. I like you!

"I like you" should probably have come before "I know what you are." Just saying.

6) MOJO'S LOST FEDORA Super-Nai-Man cracked the case. Hat at Mojos.

Again with the fedoras. Is dressing like Philip Marlowe the new trend in Austin?

Sunday Offspring Blogging

While on a trip to our local mall today, I enjoyed a few brief moments of amusement at someone else's expense. She Who Shall Not Be Named, you see, was running around the kiosks, pointing at the various sunglasses and necklaces and muttering strange and eldritch things.

Due to her diminutive stature, of course, all any of the proprietors saw was yours truly slowly making the circuit of their stands. As you can imagine, I enjoyed watching them moving in for the kill, only to stop short when confronted with a toddler intent on counting off each pane of glass in the display.

That is, until one guy (who apparently specialized in selling sterling silver representations of Jesus) figured out what was really going on:

Shopguy: Cute kid.
Pete: Yeah, she knows.
Shopguy: She has a good eye.
Pete: ...for what, exactly?
Shopguy: Jewelry. Girl knows her bling.
Pete: Did you just say "bling?" What the hell does a 20-month old know about "bling?"
Shopguy: Most don't know shit, but yours really had has a knack for the expensive stuff.
Pete: ...
Shopguy: Yeah, she should really know what she wants by the time she's a teenager.
Pete: Tell me, do these mind games make up for your lousy salary?
Shopguy: Sometimes.

So there you have it: my daughter "knows her bling." Between that, her newfound talent for pouring whatever she's drinking onto the floor, and her love of doing somersaults for no reason, I should start getting trophies made.

Burger Wars

The Punishment Due*:

The battle between SliPKnoT and Burger King is escalating.

SliPKnoT is upset over the Burger King ad campaign featuring a mock metal band called Coq Roq dressed in horror-chicken masks.

SliPKnoT said the masks are too similar to the ones they wear.

A letter from their lawyer posted on The Smoking Gun Web site points out Coq Roq members wear a gas mask, a kabuki-style mask and a mask with dreadlocks, which members of SliPKnoT wear. The letter said SliPKnoT fans have expressed confusion and criticism over what they think is SliPKnoT endorsing Burger King.

Okay, first of all, since when did they start spelling their name like that? Is SanDeE* from L.A. Story their biggest fan?

As for the complaint, this is Slipknot (caught rocking out in the lobby of their dentist's office, apparently):

This is "Coq Roq:"

Yeah. Between this and those horrifying ads with the guy waking up in bed with the Burger King, I don't see that BK IPO happening anytime soon.

Admittedly, I found the name Coq Roq pretty amusing, but unless their target market consists solely of emotionally retarded 30-somethings who giggle uncontrollably at dick jokes, they may be in a bit of trouble.

As for Slipknot and their "complaint," cower before the majesty of GWAR, you derivative assholes:

* Apologies to Megadeth

The Week in Reviews

So three movies screened on one night last week: The 40 Year-Old Virgin, Deuce Bigalow: European Gigolo, and The Constant Gardener. I opted for the last, which doesn't come out for a couple more weeks. As a result, you'll have to look elsewhere for a review of Steve Carell's latest.

I also missed Valiant, as it screened last Saturday morning as I was about to head to College Station to root around in storage lockers and drink beer with my uncle.

That left Red Eye and Supercross. And me all out of excuses. Happily, one of them turned out to be better than I was expecting. See if you can guess which one from these review excerpts:

Red Eye - "Craven eschews horror trappings and gore for a well-paced and engaging thriller that keeps the audience involved despite the fact that most of what takes place onscreen is a conversation between two people."

Supercross - "That legendary adolescent tolerance for garbage may be severely tested by Supercross, however, which is a spectacularly lousy effort even by the relatively forgiving genre rules of the sports movie."

"For Christ's sake, once during the war I visited a prostitute, and my life has been a living hell ever since."

Bad move, brother:

Jude Law and Sienna Miller have been seen in public together for the first time since the Cold Mountain actor confessing to having an affair with his children's nanny last month. The couple, who have been meeting in private in a bid to salvage their engagement, took a walk across London's Hampstead Heath yesterday in a public show of unity. A friend of Miller's tells British newspaper The Sun, "Sienna hasn't totally forgiven Jude but she is doing her best to work things out with him. She really loves him and is devastated by his betrayal. He has been doing everything in his power to convince her he made a stupid mistake and it won't happen again."

What's the point? Here's a hint, Jude: she's never going to forgive you. Oh, she may say she forgives you, after months and possibly years of groveling, sleeping on the couch, and enduring countless (perfectly justifiable) screeds about your no good, cheating ass. But she never will. Somewhere, in the recesses of her consciousness, the fact that you nailed the nanny on a pool table will always be lurking about. It'll be on the tip of her tongue every time you have an argument, and never far from her mind the next time you do a location shoot with Scarlett Johansson.

It would be bad enough if they weren't celebrities, but if Law and Miller do end up together, every article about them from now until the day they die - even if it happens while blasting across the alkali flats in a jet-powered, monkey-navigated rocketcar - will contain a footnote about Law boning the babysitter back in 'Aught-Five.

Even yours truly still gets grief from The Wife about shit I did ten years ago. I'm not saying it's undeserved (heh), but catching hell for drunken displays of verbal idiocy is one thing, I can't imagine the fallout from getting caught with another woman.

Assuming I survived the incident at all, that is.

Democracy in action

With self-publishing comes great responsibility. Some use their blogs for good, others for evil. I still haven't decided where this falls, but what the hell...

Commenter and blog confidant Peenman has a 3 year-old son. The studio that took his birthday pictures entered the lad in one of those photo contests designed to destroy a child's self-esteem and saddle their parents with feelings of guilt and failure.

Of, if you're Peenman's kid, you make it to the final round.

When informed of this, I volunteered to post the info here, the better to stuff the ballot box for the young man. Obviously whatever actions you take are purely voluntary, and spare me any editorializing about objectifying our youth. We're not talking Anne Geddes here.

Here's what you do:

1. Go to the Photgenics web site (WARNING: Mute your sound first, the embedded audio is supremely annoying)
2. Click "vote" in the left-hand toolbar.
3. Click the "Click" button at the bottom of the main frame.
4. View the gallery, taking note of the handsome young man in the Eagles jersey labeled "Finalist#C16."
5. Click the "Click Here to Vote" link at the bottom of the page.
6. Complete the fields. The City, State, Zip, and E-mail fields are described as mandatory, but it isn't like you have to supply accurate info. Then again, they're looking out for "supspicious looking votes," so use discretion.
7. Click the "Submit" button.

And you're done. I thank you, Peenman thanks you, and the terrorists are beaten back for yet another day.

"They drove a dumptruck full of money up to my house! I'm not made of stone!"

After Charlie's Angels, nothing Bill Murray agrees to appear in should surprise me:

Bill Murray is in negotiations to reprise his role as the voice of Garfield in "Garfield 2," which is slated for a summer 2006 release. Breckin Meyer and Jennifer Love Hewitt have signed on to return to the sequel to 20th Century Fox's 2004 hit. Hewitt's role, however, will be greatly reduced because she is filming the upcoming CBS series "Ghost Whisperer."

Lucy Davis, best known for her role on the U.K. version of "The Office," and Scottish comic Billy Connolly ("The Last Samurai") also are entering the fat cat's lair. Davis will play animal lover Abby Westminster, a fashionable professional who has been brought in to try and trap Lord Dargis (Connelly) into revealing his evil plans. Tim Hill will direct.

$75 million domestic box office (minus the $50 million budget) euquals sequel, no matter how scathing the reviews might have been.

I was all prepared to get up in arms at Murray pissing away his artistic integrity, again, for a paycheck, But why bother? The guy's been going back and forth between "serious" films and paycheck movies ever since Ed Wood, at least. Hell, if I was offered $10 million to sit in a sound booth in my pajamas and provide the voice for a stupid cat, I'd be down there so fast they'd barely have time to revoke my Sundance press credentials.

Besides that, I like Murray (even if I may be one of a half dozen human beings who didn't like Lost in Translation). So I don't begrudge him his ludicrously excessive paycheck the same way I do, say, Ben Stiller.

Go Astros...no, wait

With St. Louis enjoying a 17.5-game lead on the Cubs and up by 11 games over the Astros, I'm having a dickens of a time deciding who to root for in the Chicago-Houston series currently taking place (it's tied 1-1). So far, it's just been enjoyable watching them beat up on each other while the Cards let everybody get healed up for the playoffs.

And it's never too early to speculate on playoff matchups. If the Astros hold on to their slim wild card lead in the NL (and that's far from a guarantee), it looks like they'll end up against the Braves or the Nationals. The Cards should have an easier time of it against a barely .500 San Diego or Arizona squad.

Still, there's a lot of season left. Go Cards.

And go...Cubs, tonight, I guess. Let's make this interesting.

I can't believe I just rooted for the Cubs.

We're #1

Pay no attention to that doodyhead Norbizness, with his bagging on the Lone Star State. Sure, we may be dead last in the percent of 19-35 month-old children who are fully immunized, and second-to-last in average monthly benefit per participant in WIC, but we're tops in energy consumption (11,501 trillion BTU), and 2nd in teen birth rate (69.2 per 1000).

What's more, Houston is now famous for something else: illegal cough syrup consumption:

The abuse of a codeine-fortified cough syrup is so widespread among youths here that Houston has become nationally known in the rap culture as "the City of Syrup," a local researcher says.
[...]
The syrup has been used at least once by about 30 percent of teenagers in the Houston area, says Ron Peters, a professor at the University of Texas School of Public Health in Houston.

Newsflash: Teens use medicines and other household objects to get high.

Kids these days, they don't know how good they have it. We were stuck with whip-its and hitting up Albertson's patrons to buy us beer, and we liked it.

But the widespread use of codeine with promethazine is widely believed to have begun in Houston, along with the popularity of a type of rap music developed by local record producer D.J. Screw, who died in 2000 of an overdose of the drug he promoted in his songs.

The producer, whose real name was Robert Earl Davis Jr., developed a slowed-down form of rap called "screw" that extols the use of prescription cough syrup known on the street by such names as "syrup, lean, purple, syzurp, drank or purple jelly."

Now, Houston rappers such as nationally known Mike Jones lace their "screw" music with such lyrics as, "I keep that purple stuff in my cup," a reference to mixing cough syrup with soft drinks.

Well why didn't you say so? I think I heard one of those "screw" songs a few years back:

When the weight of the world has got you down
and you want to end your life.
Bills to pay, a dead-end job,
and problems with the wife.
But don't throw in the towel,
'cuz there's a place right down the block...
Where you can drink your misery away...
At Flaming Moe's....
When liquor in a mug
can warm you like a hug.
And happiness is just a Flaming Moe away...
Happiness is just a Flaming Moe away...

Love that "rap" music.

[sources say] the drug is most often made available by unscrupulous doctors.

Peters said users sometimes obtain a legitimate prescription by faking a serious cough.

There's your problem. Anybody who's lived in Houston long enough doesn't have to "fake" a serious cough.

"The flowing robes, the grace, bald... striking."

Although I most definitely should know better, I'm actually kind of looking forward to The Transporter 2. The new trailer, which I saw again last night (before a screening of Supercross), features some ridiculous violence, and I appreciate Jason Statham embracing his male pattern baldness.

Oh, and my capsule review of Supercross? It's maybe 75 minutes long, which is roughly 74:30 too much.

"Somewhere in Finland, there is a father that needs to take the flat side of a broadsword to his child’s behind."

Earlier this year, I posted a quick entry about Ruthless Reviews' 10 Most Ridiculous Black Metal Pics of All Time. Demand for a sequel was unrelenting, and happily, they've obliged with this follow-up (Warning: #1 is definitely NSFW, and #5 might be).

The commentary is still pretty juvenile, but when you're dealing with pictures like these, it's understandable. Besides, much of it is hilarious. My favorite lines:

"Wait a minute, since when was it cool to have a fucking gimp in your band!? A BLACK METAL GIMP!!"

[and]

Nobody LARPs quite like Rob, and I mean nobody. He’s probably got enough LARP gear in his closet to reenact the battle of Helms Deep

"All we want is life beyond
The Astrodome"

Unsurprisingly, I have little to add to Chuck's excellent coverage of yesterday's town hall meeting about the proposed I-45 expansion. I don't live near I-45, but I share Chuck's (and others') sentiments that if you didn't want to deal with long commutes and shitty traffic, you shouldn't have moved so goddamned far out to begin with. That's the tradeoff for getting a 4-3, 3,500 square ft. hourse for $165K.

But after seeing the headline to his article ("We don't want another Katy Freeway"), I couldn't read it without hearing Tina Turner in my head and visualizing Max taking on Blaster in the Thunderdome.

Just part of the burden of growing up in the '80s, I guess.

I want credit for this

Blogmarch (blôg*märch)
v blogmarched, blogmarching, blogmarches

1. the blog-specific act of collectively piling on an individual for actions that are contrary to the authors' political beliefs, especially to portray that person in a negative light while selectively avoiding any sacrifices/contributions they may already have made

Example: Boy, the chickenhawks sure are blogmarching Cindy Sheehan around a lot lately.

q.v. frogmarch
see also smear, besmirch, malign, Michelle Malkin

Reviews, we got reviews

As previously mentioned, I was lamentably unable to see Deuce Bigalow: European Gigolo this week. I also missed The Great Raid, possibly because the local Miramax publicist hates me.

Lucky for you, I did manage to check our Four Brothers and The Skeleton Key. Reviews are up at Film Threat.

Four Brothers
The Skeleton Key

The knives are out

Roger Ebert's been waiting all year for this.

You may recall the minor hurlyburly that resulted when "actor" Rob Schneider reacted to comments by Patrick Goldstein of the Los Angeles Times, who referred to Schneider as a "third-rate comic." Schneider responded with ads in Variety and the Hollywood Reporter which included the following brilliant comeback:

Maybe you didn't win a Pulitzer Prize because they haven't invented a category for Best Third-Rate, Unfunny Pompous Reporter Who's Never Been Acknowledged by His Peers.

Ebert likes a lot of movies that I don't, so there was some question as to whether or not he might find something redeemable about Schneider's Deuce Bigalow: European Gigolo, which opens today.

After reading his review, I realize I needn't have worried:

Reading [Schneider's ads], I was about to observe that Schneider can dish it out but he can't take it. Then I found he's not so good at dishing it out, either. I went online and found that Patrick Goldstein has won a National Headliner Award, a Los Angeles Press Club Award, a RockCritics.com award, and the Publicists' Guild award for lifetime achievement.

But Schneider is correct, and Patrick Goldstein has not yet won a Pulitzer Prize. Therefore, Goldstein is not qualified to complain that Columbia financed "Deuce Bigalow: European Gigolo" while passing on the opportunity to participate in "Million Dollar Baby," "Ray," "The Aviator," "Sideways" and "Finding Neverland." As chance would have it, I have won the Pulitzer Prize, and so I am qualified. Speaking in my official capacity as a Pulitzer Prize winner, Mr. Schneider, your movie sucks.

I sooooo wanted to see European Gigolo, really, but I elected to check out The Constant Gardener instead. Ebert won't be the last to give Schneider shit for his little tantrum, however. Count on that.

A Red River runs through it

Football season's almost here, me hearties. For yours truly, that means bowel-clenching Sundays watching my fantasy team get pounded and nailbiting Saturdays hoping the Longhorns don't cough one up to Kansas. Imagine, then, my surprise to find this little tidbit nestled at the end of an article about UT's new defensive coordinator:

It also was announced Wednesday that the annual Texas-Oklahoma game will be called the SBC Red River Rivalry. The name change was announced as part of a new three-year sponsorship agreement with the two schools and SBC Communications Inc. The game formerly was known as the Red River Shootout.

The name change was aimed at political correctness and to coincide with this year's 100th meeting between the two teams, a UT official said.

You rotten, spineless bastards. I don't care that SBC attached themselves, remora-like, to the biggest game of the Big 12 season (sorry Ags). Hell, we should all be happy it's not the Cialis Boner Bowl. But you changed it from "Shootout" for what reason exactly? Are we trying to somehow convince the rest of the U.S. that people in Texas and Oklahoma don't own guns? I thought that was the only thing keeping all those Californians from moving in to take advantage of our lack of a state income tax.

Ah, who am I kidding? After the last five years, I'll just be happy if we can stop the bleeding in what has actually become the Annual Mack Brown Nutstomp. Oh, and I'm not looking forward to Sept. 10 against Ohio State, either.

Time to stock up on the Zantac.

Blockbusted

Choke on it, boys:

Blockbuster appeared caught in an avalanche of fiscal problems Tuesday as it posted a quarterly loss of $57.2 million that amounted to twice what analysts had forecast. A year ago, it had posted a profit of $48.6 million. The company was also forced to admit that it would not be able to meet its 2005 financial forecast and that it had to negotiate an agreement with creditors to waive certain debt payments in order to avoid defaulting on the loans. Blockbuster also announced that it was raising the monthly subscription fee for its online service to $17.99 from $14.99. Analysts attributed Blockbuster's problems to its decision to eliminate late fees in an effort to compete more aggressively against Netflix, the leading online rental service, and to a slate of new releases that customers found unappealing.

Yeah, it's all Hollywood's fault for producing crap movies. And the article neglects to mention that it wasn't just the so-called "elimination of late fees," it was the replacement of same by a program that made you buy the freaking movie if you kept it for a week which tended to alienate customers. Then there's the fact that they raised their subscription fee (now the same as Netflix), even though Blockbuster's selection is far more limited and many movies are actually edited. How about a crappy video game selection? Lousy customer service? Making the widespread dissemination of lowest common denominator entertainment that much easier thanks to the specific placement of certain stores in order to drive out smaller outlets?

It's probably to early for this, but say 'hi' to Pan Am and K-Mart for me.

Reaching out to the youth

This doesn't quite qualify as a panhandler story, because the kids in question were actually collecting money for a school-related function. I just found their...attitude fairly amusing.

So I'm going into Cactus Records for something (probably to drool over the boxed sets), and a couple of young black teenagers (wasn't that a band?) selling M&Ms or some such come up to me:

Kid #1: Excuse me sir, but we're selling candy to help our basketball team go to a tournament in Dallas.
Pete: I'm sorry guys, I don't have any cash.

This was actually a true statement. I remember the days of selling crap for high school groups, and how much it sucked, so I generally try to help out. On this particular occasion, however, I didn't have a dime. So I headed into the store.

Kid #1: Okay, thanks anyway.
Kid #2 [angrily]: I bet if it was for hockey you'd have the money.

That stopped me short, and I checked to make sure I didn't have my Aeros t-shirt on. Nope. Hot damn, that kid just racially profiled me.

I turned around.

Pete: What the hell did you say?
Kid #2: Nothing.
Pete: Look, goddammit. I don't have any money. I don't care if you're out here for basketball, hockey, or Australian rules football. I'm tapped.
Kid #1: Sorry.

I turned to go back into the store. I wasn't sure if they felt guilty or not, but I was having uncharacteristic remorse for snapping at the kid, who probably had been standing out there all day while yuppie shmucks like me walked in and out without giving them a thin dime.

Still, I have a reputation to maintain, so over my shoulder, I said:

But if it was for hockey, I'd go to the ATM.

Okay, not really. I do wish I'd thought of it at the time, however.

Ready, set...Knit

Just saw this show listed on the Continental Club website:

THURSDAY
August 25
THE KNITTERS
with DAVE ALVIN, JOHN DOE, EXENE, D J BONEBREAK, JONNY RAY BARTELL
+ special guest PHRANC opening the show

Showtime 9pm

Phranc? Whatever.

I have to say that this sounds like a jim-dandy of a show. For those not up to speed, the Knitters were the country music side project comprising the members of X and ex-Blaster Dave Alvin. I can think of worse ways to spend a summer evening than throwing back a few Lone Stars and hearing "Call of the Wreckin' Ball" (and maybe a few X covers as well) in person.

"This time I'm drunk on love. And beer."

Thinking of going "down the pub" in England? You may never leave:

Plans to relax drinking laws in England and Wales will lead to a sharp increase in violent crime, judges have warned.
[...]
Licensed premises can apply to extend their opening hours beyond 11pm from 24 November, potentially in some cases to allow 24-hour drinking.

The judges' report stated: "Those who routinely see the consequences of drink-fuelled violence in offences of rape, grievous bodily harm and worse on a daily basis are in no doubt that an escalation of offences of this nature will inevitably be caused by the relaxation of liquor licensing which the government has now authorised."

While I don't know that those prone to domestic violence are going to be encouraged any more by later drinking hours, I do agree that 24-hour bars are generally a bad idea. Spend a week around Bourbon Street if you don't believe me.

When we were in Dublin, they had just started experimenting with the "late bar" thing, and while I have no data on increased Irish violence, I can tell you it greatly contributed to the severity of my hangovers the next day. I actually kind of enjoyed the fact that most pubs booted you out at a (semi)reasonable hour. My track record on knowing when to say when hasn't always been the best, after all.

It usually takes the combined efforts of security personnel and circus roustabouts to get me back to my room when I'm in Vegas.

Judge Charles Harris QC said a high proportion of British people become "pugnacious and bellicose" and "fight at the slightest provocation" after drinking.

He said: "A very large proportion of domestic violence is committed by people who have been drinking - and if they hadn't been drinking so much, they wouldn't be so violent."

I think a "high proportion" of most human beings in general become pugnacious and bellicose after drinking.

The problem with this line of reasoning is the short leap you have from 11 PM closings to closing bars entirely. Maybe if more attention was paid to complaints about domestic violence and punishment amounted to more than a slap on the wrist, people would be less inclined to do it. Or more likely to curb their drinking.

He also denied later opening times would lead to more "continental" drinking habits.

"Continental-style drinking requires continental-style people - people who sit quietly chatting away at cafe tables."

He said British drinking involved "standing up, shouting at each other in crowded bars, trying to consume gallons of beer at a time".

Man, I'd hate to hear what he has to say about Australians.

"Well, Bob, I can relate. I know my best friends used to charge me thirty-five bucks to watch them dick around on guitar."

Big day, history-wise. 60th anniversary of the Nagasaki bombing. 36th anniversary of the Tate-LaBianca murders. And the 10th anniversary of the death of Jerry Garcia.

Seeing as how I don't want to get into my feelings about whether or not the bomnbing of Nagasaki was justified (it was), or whether Axl Rose is an asshole for wearing that Manson shirt on MTV (he is), and seeing as how this is a blog dedicated to pop culture related smart-assery, let's talk Jerry.

First of all, I'm not a fan of the Dead. Their music just never grew on me like it did some of my friends, including my sophomore roommate "Iggy." Iggy still managed to convince me and our other roommate to go to Houston for a Dead show in 1988, which we attended in an acceptably...enhanced fashion.

I have few memories of the show itself, except for walking out of the concert area of the Summit at one point and barreling into a troupe of people swirling around me. I bravely offered up my wallet before I realized a mugging wasn't imminent. After the show, however, as we were making our way back to the parking garage, Iggy realized he'd lost his car keys. Attempts to get back into the Summit were fruitless, so we shlepped dejectedly to the parking garage, wondering how the hell we were going to get back to Austin. It wasn't until we'd gotten to Iggy's car that we realized he'd left the keys in the trunk. His comment? "Only at a Dead show could you leave your keys hanging from your car and not get it stolen."

My retort? "Only a Deadhead would be so stoned that they forgot the goddamned things in the first place." Still, he had a good point. I doubt our luck would've been as good had we just come out of a Slayer concert.

That bout of feel-goodism aside, the Dead always seems to turn some people into obsessives, and this same thing happened to Iggy - he became incapable of playing anything else on our stereo - and several of my friends at UT, who did the truly original thing and followed them around on tour. I hooked up with them when on a swing through Texas and it was one of the most pathetically hilarious experiences of my life. Pathetic because I was also dealing with post-graduation unemployment. Hilarious because I knew I had the drop on these patchouli-smelling goofballs who'd spent the last 6 months cultivating body hair and destroying brain stem function.

That's all I've got. Oh, I never much cared for his ice cream, either.

The Lost Weekend

Every year, give or take, several of us* who have known each other for a varying number of years (since 1980, in the case of myself and peenman) get together to drink beer and swap tales of ribaldry that become sadly less ribald as we get older. Most of us are married, some of us have kids, and all of us are incapable of letting go of the fact that we can no longer survive for an entire weekend on nothing more than three hours of sleep, a case of Schaefer, and a jar of Vlasic pickles a day.

These are usually camping excursions, alternating between both coasts and the Lone Star State depending on whose turn it is to host. Last year, someone (and I won't take credit unless it makes me look like a visionary instead of a wuss) suggested that we didn't necessarily have to, y'know, camp. As it was TheDave's turn to host, and he lives in San Diego, we ended up renting a beach house in Rosarito, Mexico.

"Roughing it" means different things to different people. In this case, we had to deal with only the basic DirecTV package. And no TiVo. Somehow, we soldiered on. Here's the view from our balcony (check out the sturdy south of the border craftmanship on that railing):

I only made that trip a few times, as visions of my drunk, broken body getting scooped up my seafaring organ harvesters kept playing in my head. The view from the beach was pretty nice, however:

Not visible in this shot are the porpoises lurking just offshore, or the vast armadas of kelp waiting to ensnare our brave heroes.

But you'd rather hear about shameful drunken hijinx, I imagine. True, much beer was consumed, and my own particular problems started when I switched to Bushmills some time around midnight our second night. Whether it was fear of federales, or an unwillingness to compete for space with a gaggle of SDSU freshmen discovering the wonders of Cuervo shooters for the first time, we didn't get into a lot of trouble in town. We went in on Friday afternoon for lunch and to have a look around, and as the below picture indicates, it seems fairly harmless in the daylight:

Our nighttime excursion on Saturday didn't go well for yours truly, as I was suffering from either a) food poisoning, b) pregnancy, or c) delayed reaction to the Bolton appointment. Combine my gastric distress with the locals' love of fireworks, and you had sort of cross between Roy Munson's bathroom scene in Kingpin and the Omaha Beach landing. I don't use the word "surreal" much, but I think that qualified.

As fun as the trip was, my attempts to get back home were less so. Continental booked me and another guy into the same seat for the flight home, than pulled me off that plane and stuck me on one leaving six hours later. Much as I enjoyed numbing my ass at the Terminal 2 bar, getting home at 4:30 AM on Monday kind of sucked. As did the $45 cab ride home. This is only the latest in a long line of screw jobs by Continentnal, and I composed the first draft of my letter to the airline over a few beers, and hope to edit out most some of the profanity before sending it off this week.

Anyway, I'm back now. And relatively sober. We'll see how long that lasts.

* peenman, seadogs, TheDave, and Sir Not Appearing In This Blog

"Why don't you get things started?"

I wanted to highlight a couple of TV series that have gotten released on DVD recently.

First, The Muppet Show. I mentioned this a while back, but today's the day for Hensonphiles to go pick up Season 1 at their local electronics emporium. Pretty cool, considering the best estimate we were hearing from the Muppet Holding Company were "end of the year" for a release.

..."Muppet Holding Company." It's anybody's guess as to when we'll hear Miss Piggy's version of "Piece of my Heart."

In nerdlier news, the first two seasons of Gatchaman were released about a month ago. American audiences might know the series by the name Battle of the Planets or G-Force, which is how it was labeled over here in the late '70s and '80s, respectively.

I have no idea how the show will hold up after 30 years, but Battle of the Planets was, literally, the first TV show I would actually hurry home from school to see. Whether it was for the funkalicious '70s theme song or Princess' (Jun's) criminally short skirt, I couldn't say.

Mexicali blues

At some point in the near future I will regale everyone with stories of my unceremonious yanking from my San Diego to Houston flight yesterday, my experiences vomiting under the rockets' red glare on a beach in Rosarito, Mexico, and my heroic rescue of a canoe full of beauty contestants from Baja pirates, but right now I'm too tired.

To sum up: Continental Airlines suck; churros are good; and I am an old, old man.

"It stinks."

And yet nobody's offering to compensate us for Richard Roeper's recommendations:

Hollywood film studio Sony-TriStar has reached a $1.5 million settlement over accusations