A Perfectly Cromulent Blog

"This house has quite a long and colorful history."

Jack Nicholson gets a lot of grief for phoning it in many of his recent roles, and while I'm not a big fan of "family dramas," this movie looks intriguing to me. For some reason.

Check out the trailer here.

Thanks to Don.

The Juice is loose

If there was any way for me to get to Northridge, CA this weekend for NecroComicon, I would (which would require sending my stunt double to tomorrow's "Blame it on Rita" gathering, not that any of you would be able to tell the difference). Check out this very partial guest list:

P.J. Soles - Rock n' Roll High School, The Devil's Rejects
Rudy Ray fucking Moore - Dolemite
Kevin McCarthy - Twilight Zone, Invasion of the Body Snatchers
David Mess - Last House on the Left
Marilyn Chambers - Behind the Green Door, Insatiable
Christa Campbell - 2001 Maniacs
Bob May - Lost in Space (the TV show)
Dick Miller - too much shit to list
Brinke Stevens - The Slumber Party Massacre, Sorority Babes in the Slimeball Bowl-O-Rama, and dozens of other B-movie classics
Deborah Van Valkenburgh - The Warriors (though I want to ask her all about that wacky Monroe from Too Close for Comfort)
virtually the entire cast of Return of the Living Dead

The marquee guest, however, is one that would seem a bit out of place given the theme of the event: O.J. Simpson (click here for his extremely creepy recorded greeting). Then again, he is the only invitee who's actually killed someone.

And last but not least, a whole slew of Russ Meyer girls will be in attendance, including Haji, Kitten Natividad, and "Varla" herself. Tura Satana.

Any of you Los Angeles area FTers going to this?

Thanks to TTTWLAM for the heads-up

"Send more quarterbacks"

'stina over at Texas Law Chick has an entry about a pretty remarkable guy. His name's Bobby Martin and he plays noseguard for Colonel White High School in Dayton, OH. He also doesn't have any legs:

Most of you can see where I'm going with this.

I think what this guy has accomplished is remarkable, truly. Personally, I'd probably be well into a smack habit after losing both legs. But let me just say if I was an opposing quarterback and saw this guy coming at me, my mind would probably be filled with images of Jerome Coleman from Return of the Living Dead:

The legless dead have a rich and storied tradition in zombie cinema, from Fulci's Zombi 3, to Return, to the Dawn remake, to this year's Land of the Dead. If Bobby's teammates really wanted to exploit the advantage he gives them, they'd screen one or all of these movies for the opposing team before the game in the hopes that they would collapse into a mewling fetal ball when the guy started coming at us.

Hey, it's what I'd do.

You should see his "hairball"

Han: Let him have it. It's not wise to upset a Wookiee.
C-3PO: But sir, nobody worries about upsetting a [Toronto Blue Jay].
Han: That's 'cause [Toronto Blue Jays] don't [throw a 140 mph fastball at your head] when they lose. Wookiees have been known to do that.

C-3PO: I see your point, sir. I suggest a new strategy, R2: let the Wookiee win.

Bloggus interruptus

Attempts to install some sort of strangulation software on the Whiterose server caused some issues last night and this morning, meaning you were cheated out of my thoughts on the season premiere of CSI: New York.* Everything is back up and running now, and comments should be working again.

* Okay, you got me, the entry was really going to be about According to Jim.

Hammer to fall

Couldn't have happened to a nicer bigger son of a bitch:

A Travis County grand jury today indicted U.S. House Majority Leader Tom DeLay of Sugar Land on a single count of felony criminal conspiracy involving an exchange of money that made corporate cash available to Republican Texas House candidates in 2002.

"I have done nothing wrong ... I am innocent," DeLay told a Capitol Hill news conference in which he repeatedly criticized the prosecutor, Travis County District Attorney Ronnie Earle. DeLay called Earle a "unabashed partisan zealot," and "fanatic," and described the charges as "one of the weakest and most baseless indictments in American history."

In Austin, Earle told reporters, "Our job is to prosecute abuses of power and to bring those abuses to the public." He has noted previously that he has prosecuted many Democrats in the past.

I think it was a Molly Ivins column that mentioned being indicted for conspiracy to break campaign finance laws in a state with virtually no campaign finance laws to begin with was no mean feat.

That Tom Delay is a rotten bastard who would gut his own grandmother with a steak knife if it meant another couple thou for the war chest is not news to those of us who live in Texas. Still, an indictment (while relatively easy to obtain) is a big first step towards finally prying him out of office.

As for conviction and/or sentencing, I'll believe it when it happens. And for everyone crowing about how this signals the end of the Republican party as we know it, the Big Cheese is already distancing himself from the situation:

"Congressman DeLay is a good ally, a leader who we have worked closely with to get things done for the American people. I think the president's view is that we need to let the legal process work." — White House press secretary Scott McClellan.

Would a "You're doing a heckuva job, Tommie" really have been that hard?

Wednesday Offspring Blogging

I give you, the Rocking Horse Whisperer:

The amount of time she spent closeted with her noble steed leads me to believe they were probably discussing a way to distract Dad while she draws on the couch in crayon. Or maybe she was just trying to convince the horse to let her stand on it while she configures the DVD player to play nothing but Elmo.

Who needs a drink?

After several days of fretting over Rita and/or sitting on the freeway for 20 hours, I imagine people might be interested in blowing off a little steam. To that end, I propose that those of you in the Houston/SE Texas area (or anyone who feels like dropping by) meet me for APCB Beerfest II, tentatively titled "Blame it on Rita."

Where? Hans' Village Bier and Vino Haus - In the Rice Village on Quenby (also the site of APCB Beerfest I). There's a map on the web site.
When? This Saturday (Oct. 1), at...say...6-ish? This should give me ample time to fill the screw holes on my window frames.
Why? Because we could all use a break after two weeks of Rita-related news. Plus, the temperatures should have "cooled" down to the mid-80s.
How? Get in your cars and drive there. What am I, your mother?

I realize it's short notice, and while I can't promise Chad and I won't commandeer the jukebox for another impromptu Queen marathon, there will be beer aplenty and (hopefully) fun people to regale with that story about how you had pee in a Whataburger cup while parked on I-45.

This might cause that Engineering School ranking to slip a few notches

Now that things are back to normal, and seeing that it's college football season, let me use this opportunity to poke fun at our Big XII Conference brethren to the north, the Fightin' Texas Aggies:

Truly, Loupot's Bookstore has hit upon a window boarding strategy I hadn't previously considered.

Found on Eric Berger's SciGuy weblog

Return to cromulence

If I ever ride a hurricane out, I'm going to go ahead and have a party, because at least then the clean-up will feel justified.

Came back this weekend. Rita's prudent decision to dodge Houston (and Mom's twitchy AOL account) convinced us to return. No, we didn't heed Mayor White's request to sit tight, but only because we were already to Waco by the time we heard about it. We stayed off the interstates, at any rate, and made it back in only slightly more time than it took to get to Lubbock in the first place.

The best money I spent for this whole ordeal, and that includes the cost of plywood, gas cans, and water, was a $23 power inverter I got in Lubbock that allowed me to plug my laptop into the cigarette lighter and kept She Who Shall Not Be Named happily immersed in Elmo and Barney for the majority of the trip.

With all the crap off the porch and the lawn (which reminds me, Chauncey the gnome needs to be returned to his place of honor) and the windows boarded up, the place looked condemned. Happily, except for branches (a few big bastards, too) and a shitload of pinecones and needles, the house was fine.

Not entirely true; one window pane was broken. By me. When I put a knee through it boarding it up last Wednesday.

The power was off until the morning, necessitating a complete refrigerator clean-out (made all the more entertaining by a loss of Popsicle wrapper integrity at some point). Then there was unpacking the car, cleaning the yard, unboarding the windows, and shopping (I apparently hit the Kroger about an hour after the truck showed up, so we were able to restock pretty well).

I've only been back online for a short period (no connectivity from Saturday AM to this afternoon), but it looks - from my cursory blog surfage - like everyone is okay. I've still got some things to take care of at the house, but APCB will be back wasting your time shortly.

Thanks to everyone (again) for the good thoughts. And thanks to Michael for posting my occasionally coherent ramblings from Lubbock.

Why you trying to second guess me?

Rita hasn't even made landfall (as of this writing) and the finger pointing has already begun: 100-mile gridlock, no gas available for evacuees, contraflow lanes not opened in a timely manner. There will definitely be some serious questions raised in the coming weeks about how all this was handled.

And yet.

I don't regret our decision to take off at all. On Wednesday, we were being told that a Cat-5 monstrosity was potentially coming up the Ship Channel. Maybe, maybe were it just me or The Wife and me, we would've hunkered down with a crate of fine champ-an-ya and some Luther Vandross, but there was no way I was prepared to ride it out with a 21 month-old, especially under 90-foot trees. Will I be sheepishly unscrewing the plywood from my windows on Sunday? Not at all. Given the same circumstances and same forecasts, I wouldn't have acted any differently.

The Cunning Plan now is to head back early AM on Saturday and take super secret back roads as we get closer into town. It was great seeing Mom for an unexpected visit (and allowing She Who Shall Not Be Named to draw on somebody else's furniture with crayons), even if I did have to clean out her garage, but we're ready to come home and loot find some unattended belongings.

I hope our neighbor's boat trailer is still out there.

Gone Daddy Gone

I know we're fucked, because Jim Cantore is in Seabrook.

First of all, thanks to everyone who offered well wishes, especially those of you I've never actually met. It means a lot.

Second, I have no idea where this beast is going to hit, or how strong it's going to be, but I advise getting the fuck out. Basshole, I know you're not in a flood prone area, but I hope you'll reconsider. TTTWLAM, please tell me you're going to see that special lady.

We bugged out about 1:30 PM yesterday. I boarded up the windows while The Wife packed and took pictures. Granted, not all the wood I was able to lay hands on fit perfectly (our place looks like Pete's House of Irregular Plywood), but better that than nothing. Unless a 90-foot pine falls on us, I guess.

It took about 90 minutes to get from our place (north Loop area) to Conroe. Once we cleared that, it was pretty clear sailing. We made Lubbock around 11 PM, and The Mom was kind enough to have procured some beer for The Wife and some Jameson for yours truly.

The ride up was largely uneventful (except for She Who Shall Not Be Named's projectile vomiting episode around Arlington which necessitated the patented White Trash Shower in a gas station parking lot with a jug of water and a bottle of Dawn). And quick. I counted at least 50 DPS cars headed south as we went the opposite direction, which offered an excellent opportunity for The Wife to floor it from Ft. Worth to Lubbock. The result? 300 miles in less than four hours.

At this point, I have no illusions about the aftermath of Rita. I'm a pessimist, so I don't expect there to be anything left upon our return. The Wife is an optimist, and sees this as an opportunity to remodel. My neighbor is retuning to the neighborhood from Weimar late Saturday to repel looters, and promises an update on the state of our homes.

To all who are electing to stay (including the Chron's citizen journalists, I offer my sincere hopes that y'all stay safe through this. As for us, we're going to take the kid to the park tomorrow and try not to stay glued to the Weather Channel.

Which reminds me, any weather "personality" who describes this as "a great show" can eat fuck. I'm looking at you, Dave Schwartz. Get your bug-eyed ass down here and tell everyone waiting on I-45 for twelve hours to go ten miles what a "show" this is.

--Michael, Posting for Pete

"Hurricane Holy Fucking Moses"

I agree with Lewis Black that there should be a more meaningful naming system for tropical weather systems, because I, for one, refuse to let that monstrosity in the Gulf screw up my memories of the one true Rita.

As has been pointed out to me, I'm not the most logical in what I stress out about. Case in point: the aforementioned big freaking storm over which I have no control. We've made contingencies for staying (holing up with a friend who has a generator, keg, and firearms) and bugging out (visiting Mom in the Panhandle). We have water, batteries, and diapers, the cars are gassed up, and I may or may not nail plywood over the windows tomorrow.

Because if anything can stop a 2x4 blown by 80 mph winds, it's a sheet of plywood.

It's the waiting that's driving me nuts. The latest models are once again all over the place, but with consensus seeming to put landfall around Matagorda Bay. The storm is expected to intensify beyond...what was expected, and mandatory evacuations for Galveston are set to begin later today.

Some things will be a little clearer late Wednesday night, and I think we'll make the call whether or not to take off at that time. And of course, it's also looking more and more likely that I won't be making it to the Bend Film Festival this weekend like I'd planned.

Time for bed. We'll see what the morning forecasts bring.

"Don't know why, there's no sun up in the sky"

Stormy weather.

This is where we all reminisce about past tropical weather experiences, right? Sadly, my memory's not that good, and I didn't move to the Gulf Coast until 1997. Growing up in College Station, anything that made it the 140 miles or so inland to my house usually amounted to a shitload of rain and some stiff breezes. I do have hazy recollections of being in Ft. Myers, FL when it was brushed by one storm (Agnes?), but then, it rains a lot in Florida.

1. In September, 1998, Frances hit us and dumped about a foot of rain on Houston. The water got up to the top step on our porch before receding (it was a rental, so no big deal). Our upstairs neighbor Scott and I spent most of that morning helping people push their cars off the street, which was mostly pointless, as by the time the majority of those stoners woke up, the water was already into their cars (it was about thigh high on the street).

One girl in particular stands out, however. Not because she had one of them newfangled (at the time) VW Bugs, but because of the huge stash of Hustler magazines she had on her back seat. I love an open-minded woman.

2. When Allison came onshore, dropped 6" of rain, went north, turned around and camped over Houston (dropping 16" of rain in my neighborhood in 10 hours), we had just moved into our house. We (myself, frequent blog guest Denny, and another guy) sat on the porch watching the waters rise until the beer ran out (around 4 AM). The Wife, wisely deciding there was nothing to be done by sitting up and worrying, had gone to bed. I operate on a higher level of neurosis, and was fretting over potential flooding of my nifty new abode. As it turns out, the water never got closer than 15 feet to the house, and I'm pretty confident that if we made it through Allison, we can make it through anything, water-wise.

It's the wind that worries me. Our neighborhood is 60 years old, and we have some massive pine trees. If current models showing Rita hitting somewhere near Matagorda hold up, I think we might be all right. But again, we're still too far our to be sure.

Oh well, anything to keep our minds of that hurricane out there, that may make landfall as a category 3 hurricane, leading to a storm of media coverage, lots of hurricane related damage and possibly prompting calls for the Miami Hurricanes to change their name, right?

Hurricane.

For those obsessing about this like myself, here are a couple places to hang out and savor that icy ball of dread in your stomach:

SciGuy - The Chronicle's Eric Berger
Wunder Blog - Dr. Jeff Masters' hurricane updates
National Hurricane Center - NOAA updates

Let the freaking out begin

God must really hate New Orleans if he's still taking shots at its residents living in other cities:

I realize these things are subject to enormous changes with five days to go, but...shit. Maybe we should just pack up and head out now to beat the rush. Then again, there are at least two models I've seen that have it hitting NOLA. Now might not be the best time for those guys to move back.

Talk to me in a couple of days.

And on a weekend, too. Just once, couldn't we get one of these on a Wednesday?

Bart: "Are there pirates in hell?"
Ms. Allbright: "Yes, thousands of them."
Bart: "Hoo baby!"

This post actually has nothing to do with Talk Like A Pirate Day, and everything to do with a certain not-so-heavenly movie experience.

My review for Just Like Heaven went up over the weekend. Ordinarily I'd just point you to it and leave it at that, except I'm not crazy about the way it was formatted. So here, in its entirety, is my review.

[With apologies to the Cure.]

"Show me show me show me
How you make a flick,
That has a hackneyed theme," she said
"A formulaic meme," she said
And poured her latte down my neck

"Show me how to sell it,
And I promise you I promise that
We’ll make a hundred mil
We’ll make a hundred mil."

Tossing out a clichéd plot,
It sold to DreamWorks on the spot.
One half Ghost and Mrs. Muir, and one half
Terri Schiavo
"I would cast Reese Witherspoon," she said
"And the guy who boned Meg Ryan: Mark Ruffalo
Oh yeah, Mark Ruffalo"

You
In a coma
Phew
Some aroma
Whew
She’s no angel
Thriving on the lamest bromides
We’ve seen a million times
Please make this a dream

[piano solo]

Lights came on, to my relief
It seemed like it had taken weeks
Moved my hips to leave my seat
Could not believe my eyes
I found myself alone alone
Alone amidst a cheering crowd
Uncaring that they chose to clap
For such a blatant pile of crap

You
Won’t want to sit
Through
A piece of shit
Like
Just Like Heaven

"The masses of humanity will always have to suffer"

Always have to suffer:

Take note, the names have changed since last we spoke of this abomination, but it's still going to suck. To wit:

Bugs Bunny was "Buzz Bunny." Now he's "Ace Bunny:"

A martial arts expert and a natural team leader, Ace makes saving the world look easy. He's always cool and in control of any situation. Ace also has a very sharp wit, so you'll always catch him making fun of the bad guys right before he toasts them with his infrared laser vision.

That is indeed witty, toasting his enemies like that.

Lexi Bunny is still Lexi Bunny, not that it matters:

Lexi is definitely one tough girl - a gymnastic and acrobatic expert gifter with hyper-sensitive hearing. She's a confident, reliable and independent gal who's hip and always into the latest trends. She also has the unique power to blast away objects with her mind, a move she calls the "Brain-Blast."

Can it possibly get any worse? Wait for it:

[Danger] Duck longs to be the center of attention, but deep down, he thinks it's "despicable" that Ace gets all the respect. He wants nothing more than to be seen as a hero and recognized as a good leader. He has the power to teleport short distances (he calls it "quacking") and can also create magical power eggs and launch them at his enemies. Unfortunately, he hasn't quite mastered his powers fully, which can get him into quite a mess.

What, more of a mess than a MALE DUCK LAYING EGGS? Daffy Duck is fucking Nightcrawler now? And he has Super Mario Bros. powers? Are you kidding me?

How did our beloved Wile E. Coyote fare?

Tech E. Coyote is the smartest, most analytical and technical member of the Loonatics, very calculating and a natural strategist. In his spare time, he loves to invent all sorts of weapons and gadgets for the team to use on their missions. His powers work very well with his hobby - he is gifted with electro-magnetic capabilities, allowing him to lift and bend metal objects at will. Tech also possesses regenerative self-healing powers, which help him recover from any mishap.

That electro-magnetic shit would've come in handy with all those anvil mishaps. I don't think Magneto needs to get worried yet, however.

Everyone rememeber "Spaz?" No you don't:

Slam Tasmanian is the muscle of the tesm, possessing super strength and the ability to spin into a tornado and trash anything in his path.

Although he possesses great destructive power, Slam has a strong sense of justice and is always ready to use his powers.

Oh, enough of these great power/great responsibility questions (although "Slam Tasmanian" does kinda sound like "Armin Tamzarian"). Here's the last sad toon:

Rev is a high-energy roadrunner gifted with the ability to run at blurring speed. Unfortunately, he also happens to talk as fast as he runs, which can sometimes make it very hard for everyone else to keep upwith him. On top of his super speed, he also possesses a mental psychic radar which allows him to pinpoint and track down villains. Rev is also the only member of the Loonatics who can fly, which is why he doesn't need a jetpack like the others.

Check please.

Loonatics Unleashed debuts later this morning at 9:30 CST. Set your VCRs/TiVos accordingly.

And for anyone still curious, here's another shot of your childhood getting flushed down the toilet:

Have a nice day (and thanks to The Thing That Walks Like A Man for his reminding me about this. Your venomous snake is in the mail.

Copy editor wanted

Did you know the letters 'O' and 'P' are right next to each other on a keyboard?

And did you know how easy it is type a 'P' instead of an 'O,' especially when you're a self-taught typist like me?

And do you know what the word "superheroes" becomes when you commit exactly that error?

Good thing that review hadn't run yet. And why the hell is "superherpes" in my MS Word dictionary?

Anyway, reviews for Corpse Bride and Lord of War are up. Just Like Heaven to follow shortly.

Unfortunately.

He has the power. Oh yes.

Like most people, I wish I had more hours in the day. Just a few here and there to let me take care of important things, like painting the bedroom, reading The Brothers Karamazov, or doing all the gnarly jumps in GTA.

Sadly, if I did have that added time, I'd probably spend it putting together something like this. I give you: He-Man Sings 4 Non Blondes (via MetaFilter).

Watch for the Skeletor cameo.

My world has collapsed

Hate to bring everybody down so early on a Friday morning, but it seems the latest celebrity marriage is no more:

Oscar-winning actress Renee Zellweger and country singer Kenny Chesney are seeking an annulment after four months of marriage.

The Bridget Jones star, 36, married Chesney, 37, on a Caribbean beach in May, having met four months earlier at a benefit for tsunami victims.

In court papers Zellweger listed "fraud" as the reason for the break-up but did not elaborate.

To have a marriage annulled due to fraud, one of the parnters has to have "misrepresented some matter vital to the marriage." In Chesney's case, I'd hazard a guess one or more of following assertions he made to Zellweger was a lie:

A) he's straight
B) he has a full head of hair
C) he isn't a talentless Nashville whore, and his grotesque attempts at "music" aren't causing Hank Williams, Carl Perkins, and Johnny Cash to spin in their graves

I think I'll go with B, because even though C is true, what would that matter to someone who starred in Chicago?

"Big fat guy. I mean, like, orca fat."

I need to turn off these "CNN Offbeat" e-mail alerts. My idea of what is "offbeat" probably differs greatly from their usual parade of water-skiing marmots and 3 year-olds who can fly a plane, but I don't imagine Time-Warner is too keen on mass mailing stories about octopus porn just to give me a laugh.

Occasionally, however, one of them piques my interest:

Anchorage zookeepers are installing a 16,000-pound treadmill to keep an isolated elephant from getting fat during the long, cold Alaskan winters.

The 20-foot-long treadmill was designed specifically for Maggie, a 23-year-old female African elephant that has become the subject of a national debate over the proper care for captive pachyderms.
[...]
Zookeepers said Zimbabwe-born Maggie would start using the treadmill in about two months.

As a youngster, I loved the zoo. I still think it's a great place to take kids so they can see exotic animals up close and personal (though not too up close, She Who Shall Not Be Named is particularly fond of cobras, for example). However, even a well-funded zoo is basically an animal jail, and while they're to be commended for helping protect endangered species and educating the public about other forms of wildlife and their ecosystems, I fail to see why an Arctic zoo should have an African elephant.

Maybe they could trade with the Houston Zoo for our snow leopards.

Dismember the Alamo

We may be moving to the suburbs sooner than I thought:

Alamo Drafthouse Cinemas, the Austin-based theater chain that combines dinner and a movie, plans to open a Katy site on Dec. 1.

Alamo Mason Park will be in the Mason Park Shopping Center at 531 S. Mason Road near Kingsland Boulevard. The 29,000-square-foot facility will seat 900 and employ 150 full-and part-time staff members, said Terrell Braly, Alamo Drafthouse's CEO.

"Katy is growing tremendously, and its demographic fits our company's target audience," Braly said. "Most of our customers are hip and cool, and while you think the suburbs wouldn't be like that, we know people are just dying for something like this out there."

Oh no you didn't just diss Baytown.

Alamo Drafthouse has six theaters, including four in Austin and one in San Antonio. The chain's only Houston theater is at West Oaks Mall.

What a crock of shit. They've already got "something like this out there." West Oaks is 15 minutes from Katy, anyone living closer to town than, oh, Memorial City Mall has a longer drive, and that's 80% of the population.

Maybe I'm overreacting, but this hardly seems like ideal placement:

Though I'm sure all the "hip and cool" B-movie fans in Fulshear and San Felipe are happy as clams.

Inside an Alamo Drafthouse theater, customers sit at tables and order from a menu that includes pizza, sandwiches and 30 brands of draft beer, which are served during the films.

"Our concessions earn four times what a typical theater makes on its concession stands," Braly said.

He expects to serve 2,000 customers in Katy each weekend night.

Houston proper supports three limited release movie houses in addition to the glut of monstro-plexes sprinkled around the metro area. Plop one of these babies in Rice Village, or West U, or the Galleria, and you'll haul in more than 2000 a night.

Or is the argument here that Katy's hipsters don't have enough to do out in the sticks to distract them from their placid, joyless lifestyle? It wasn't bad enough you're screwing up the freeways because you don't want to spend more than 30 minutes to drive 30 miles, now you're depriving us of another Alamo Drafthouse.

At the very least, think of your city's beleaugered movie reviewers. If I have to sit through the latest heap of offal starring Reese Witherspoon, at least let me order a bucket of beer to ease the pain.

Besides, do you know how much a cab ride to my house from West Oaks Mall costs?

"I went to AstroWorld on mushrooms and I had a shitty time."

I swear I was on top of the whole story about AstroWorld closing down when it broke a couple of days ago, but I couldn't really dredge up too much outrage at the news. As Tom so ably points out in his entry on the subject, AstroWorld wasn't originally a Six Flags theme park, and Six Flags didn't spend as much on it as on its other places, lending AW a growing patina of sleaze over the last decade or so.

I haven't been there in a few years, but even then it was obvious the place wasn't making a lot of money. Combine that with persistent parking issues and a dawning realization that wandering around a cement enclosure in 96 degree weather isn't exactly "amusing," and its fate was pretty much sealed.

My only regret is that, after October 29, there won't be any roller coasters closer than San Antonio. I consider scaring the bejeezus out of oneself on possibly hazardous rides to be a staple of one's upbringing, and since I don't want my daughter lacking in her appreciation of the finer things, I guess we'll just to move to Eureka, MO in order to be closer to Six Flags over Mid-America.

We'll work out the whole school/job/quality of life thing later.

"I am Calliope, the muse of heroic poetry!"

What's the opposite of muse?

Guy Ritchie's new movie has been savaged by critics after its premiere at the Toronto Film Festival. Just two years after his last effort, Swept Away, flopped miserably, Revolver, Ritchie's return to the gangster genre, has been dismissed as a "convoluted, risibly overwrought muddle" by one US magazine. Screen International also warned viewers would be left "bewildered and disappointed" by what the Hollywood Reporter described as "pretentious style and fractured storytelling". [R]eviewer Kirk Honeycutt adds, "The movie spins wildly in circles, continually doubling back on itself, repeating scenes - once even backward - and lines of dialogue until a viewer loses a grip on what is supposed to be real."

First Swept Away (starring Esther herself), now this. Ritchie's 0-2 after marrying the Material Girl. And while reasonable people can disagree about his pre-Madonna oeuvre, neither Snatch nor Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels were as universally panned as his last two films.

Ritchie might want to take a cue from Sean Penn - who made one good movie (At Close Range), one mediocre (Casualties of War), and two stinkers (Shanghai Surprise, Colors) during his Madonna period - and get the hell out while he still has a chance to salvage his career.

Ritchie was accompanied to the Toronto screening by his wife Madonna - appearing less than a month after she suffered three cracked ribs, a broken collarbone and a broken hand in a horse riding accident.

"Accident," eh? Maybe Ritchie's a little more proactive than I thought.

And I realize that's a picture of Martin in his Wondrous Wizard of Latin outift, but I couldn't find the Calliope picture.

Irregular bunny update

No, the bunnies themselves aren't irregular, but rather the timing of my updates. Jennifer over at AngryAlien has put together her version of The Big Chill (in 30 seconds, re-enacted by bunnies). You can see it here.

I think she really captured the essence of that horrible, horrible movie.

"But Aquaman, you can't marry a woman without gills...you're from two different worlds!"

Over on Film Threat, where - as some of you may have heard - I write reviews, the annual Summer of Stink feature is up. It's a list of the 15 crappiest movies of the summer of 2005, and while the byline reads "The Film Threat Staff," the truth is that the article consists entirely of excerpts from those films' reviews. No big deal, except for the utterly depressing fact that 12 of those 15 were reviewed by yours truly.

This is where I'd normally offer some pithy observation on the decline of American cinema and my small part in it, But I'm too busy contemplating the hours I'll never get back from sitting through Supercross and the Dukes of Hazzard.

Oh, did I mention my review of The Man is up?

"I'm gangsta."

Always ahead of the curve, I just recently purchased Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas for the Xbox. It was the last copy the guy had in stock, and was a good deal. I suspect he wanted to give it to me free of charge, however, considering how hard he laughed after She Who Shall Not Be Named dutifully repeated the words "po-po" and "gangsta" for him.

As for the game itself...I may be a desensitized participant in a bankrupt, pornographic culture, but after a while, killing peace officers just loses some of its naughtiness. Especially when the game's opening sequence has you picked up by dirty cops who blackmail you by threatening to finger you for the murder of a decorated policeman. This would be a frightening prospect, if I hadn't already murdered 50 on my own (admittedly, most of those were a result of my poor driving skills). What are they going to do, use an extra large needle for my lethal injection?

Overall, it's still a fun game. Like Vice City, you can pretty much go anywhere and do anything you want. I've mostly stuck close to the missions, but have taken a few side trips to explore. I've also enjoyed buffing C.J. (your character) up at the gym and getting lots of tattoos.

One of the rewards for successfully completing the low-rider competition is that you get very own low-rider (from C.J.'s sister's boyfriend, a Latino banger whose friendship you need to keep from getting filleted by the "Vagos"). In my endless (and largely unsuccessful) quest to include The Wife in my immature pursuits, I thought I'd ask her to help customize it (you can choose everything from color schemes to bumper styles). It wasn't quite as successful as I'd hoped:

Me: How's this color?
The Wife: Too pink. And use silver for the interior.
Me: Ooookay.
TW: You also need new rims.
Me: I can't afford new rims right now. They're like, $3000.
TW: It's your car. I'd be pretty embarassed to drive around on those.
Me: What are you talking about? I got the bass boost, didn't I?
TW: Please. You're a pretty sad gangster.
Me: Why do you say that?
TW: Because no self-respecting "gangsta" would waste money on bass boost while he was still driving around on those shitty rims.

And this is why the second Xbox controller remains inert and covered with dust.

So what did we learn?

I spent a good portion of last night's UT-OSU game lying across my coffee table in supplication to the spirits of football to look favorably upon my prideful quarterback so that he might wring a victory out in front of yet another stadium full of people who think it's somehow psychologically damaging to make the inverted "Hook 'Em Horns" sign. Happily, they complied, as Texas pulled it off against the Buckeyes, 25-22.

As for the title of this entry, here's what I learned:

1. A.J. Hawk is a hell of a player. No taunting, no dancing, he just happened to be involved in just about every stop, and dogged Vince Young all night.

2. Mack Brown does some stupid shit. He panics. I don't know what the point of that cutesy botched reverse was in the 3rd quarter, after Young has opened the field up nicely with two good pass plays, but he needs stick with the game plan.

3. Contrary to the OSU defense's wishes, and in spite of some bad decisions of his own, Young is very much a Heisman candidate. My biggest fear, after the first quarter of last night's game, was that the guy is starting to believe his own hype.

4. If Texas has managed to pin OSU down a few times inside the 20, this game wouldn't have been close. Neither of the QBs Tressell trotted out was very effective at moving the ball, but they were able to nickel and dime some field goals out of it.

5. Nobody's probably going to be able to beat USC anyway, but I like UT's chances of getting to the title game a lot better now.

6. The Big 10 officially sucks. All of their top 10 teams (OSU, Michigan, and Iowa) lost yesterday.

7. Oklahoma is officially in trouble. Adrian Peterson is great, but lack of any passing game whatsoever is going to bite them on the ass here in the next month or so.

Sorry I didn't get back to you yesterday, basshole. I was at a softball tournament and didn't check e-mail.

"Yes. Men like sports. Men watch the action movie, they eat of the beef, and they enjoy to look at the bosoms."

I don't want to brag, but after bravely picking the Patriots to win last night, I am once again perfect (at 1-0) in my NFL pick 'em leaggue. I fully expect this to hold up for another day or so.

The Cardinals' magic number is 10, and they're essentially a lock to win the NL Central. This in spite of losing the season series to the Cubs. No offense Cubs fans, but if the best thing you can say about your season (in which you will finish roughly 20 games back and may not even break .500) is "at least you beat St. Louis" (as I've seen on a couple message boards), I'd point out that Tampa Bay (59-82 overall) also has a winning record against the Yankees this season.

Meanwhile, the Astros are certainly making a race of it in the wild card. I'll continue to pull for them, in the hopes St. Louis will face a relatively quick Division series against the Padres, while Houston and Atlanta can beat each other into easily dominated jelly.

Moving on the football...boy howdy. Biggest regular season game of the year tomorrow night between Ohio State and my Longhorns, and OSU is a 1-point favorite. Young looks like he has command of the offense, and OSU's D is a beast. There's really no way to gauge how this will go, since both teams played creampuffs in their first games. If Texas wins, there will finally be some legitimate talk about a national championship. If not, I suppose we can always try beating Oklahoma for a change.

That'd be something.

Turning to other sports, I plan on taking Jeremy Roenick's advice with regard to the NHL:

"I say personally, to everybody who called us 'spoiled,' you guys are just jealous...we have tried so, so hard to get this game back on the ice," Roenick said.

Hell yes I'm jealous. Your maximum individual salary "dropped" to about $7 million, while the minimum went up to $450,000. I'm incredibly freaking jealous.

Thieving owners, crybaby players...the only pro sport I follow anymore is baseball (out of genetic imperative, I think), and yes, I realize this makes me a hypocrite.

Well, and football, but mostly because I stand to profit personally.

Feh on the NHL. Give me the AHL (Go Aeros) and the Weremonkeys.

The devil made her do it

No really, he did. Don't believe me? Go here.

"It was just as if everyone had swelled."

I haven't seen the show Reunion yet, and as I have absolutely no intention of sitting through it even once this season, I won't even be able to devote what I'm sure would have been a worthy edition of Bad TV Ponderings to the show.

However, as a man fast approaching his 20th high school reunion, and who attended festivities associated with his 10th (though not the reunion itself...no open bar? WTF?), I can safely say that the show is already doomed.

It's not because of the gimmick, in which each episode of the show chronicles a successive year (tonight is 1986, next week is 1987, and so on up to 2006). No, I'm talking about something even more outlandish, which is Fox's suggestion that out of a group of six friends (three of whom are men) not one person became fat, bald, or both after 20 years' passage of time. The best they appear to have come up with is frosting one of the male actor's hair with silver spray paint.

Forget the new version of Battlestar Galactica, here's the year's best science fiction show.

"Coconut milk is a natural laxative. That's something Gilligan never told us."

Not much illustrates the disjointed nature of my thought processes over the last few weeks like driving down the freeway the other day, seeing all the flags at half-staff, and thinking, "Gee, they sure are making a big deal out of Bob Denver's death."

I don't fault Denver for Gilligan's Island, which gave everyone of my generation the cultural touchstone it so sorely needed. It was an awful show, really, but we watched it because - unlike "kids these days" - we had a bare handful of channels to choose from. It was either the entertainment trifecta of The Dick Van Dyke Show, Gilligan, and The Brady Bunch on those indolent summer afternoons, or soap operas. VCRs didn't exist, and one could only play Pong for so long before grabbing a steak knife and attacking the TV.

So it isn't Denver's fault that half the obituaries ran under the headline "Gilligan dead" (even though most did mention Dobie Gillis as well). I'm sure it was never the guy's intention to be famous for one role and nothing else, but such are the vagaries of entertainment, and he seemed to find peace with the idea in recent years. Perhaps a hundred media outlets saying, "So long, little buddy" wouldn't have upset him.

No word on how Jerry Mathers, Adam West, Leonard Nimoy, and Jaleel White are taking the news.

Possible revocation of geek credentials

Excerpt from a conversation between myself and The Wife last weekend:

The Wife: Your daughter needs a bath.
Me: Nonsense. A thin layer of grime builds character.
TW: And her hair, she looks like that guy from Thunderdome.
Me: Tina Turner?
TW: No, the Feral Kid.
Me: [snicker] That was Road Warrior, not Thunderdome.
TW: Am I right? Look at her.
Me: Yeah, okay. There's definitely a feral thing going on there.
TW: I'm surprised you didn't mention it yourself.
Me: Yeah, well...
TW: You didn't notice, did you?
Me: ...no, I didn't.
TW: Holy shit, I actually beat you to a Mad Max reference.
Me: You tell anyone and I'll cut you.

In my defense, I was really coked up at the time.

For those among you who may have had better things to do with your lives during the last two decades than sit through The Road Warrior upwards of 100 times, here's the Feral Kid:

We haven't obtained a stainless steel boomerang for She Who Shall Not Be Named just yet, but the hair's definitely getting there.

Happy Fun Entry

Say what you will (and I have) about the circumstances surrounding the federal response to Katrina, there can be little doubt that the people in my town have stepped up something fierce to assist those displaced by the disaster.

Although the evacuees from New Orleans are understandably getting most of the attention from the mainstream media, hotels and shelters from the Texas-Louisiana border to throughout the Houston-Dallas-San Antonio triangle are filled with tens of thousands of other Gulf Coast evacuees. The largest concentration of evacuees in Texas remains at Reliant Park in Houston, where about 25,000 people are currently located and, as of Sunday, another 7,200 will be located at the George R. Brown Convention Center in downtown Houston. In addition to those evacuees, an estimated 170,000 other people from Louisiana and Mississippi are staying with friends or relatives, or in hotels in the Houston area. A spokesman for Houston's hotel owner's association estimates that about 45,000 of the Houston area's 55,000 hotel rooms are occupied by Gulf Coast evacuees.

As a result of the surge of evacuees, city and county officials shifted gears on Saturday and turned Reliant Park into a medical way station where newly arriving evacuees are assessed as to their medical needs. The injured or sick are taken off to either the onsite medical facility or the nearby Texas Medical Center, and then the healthy are given a meal and transferred to new shelters being opened in Huntsville, Corpus Christi and Lubbock. On Saturday, at the Reliant Park medical clinic, about a 1,000 volunteer doctors, nurses and other medical personnel treated 3,500 evacuees and sent about 100 of those to area hospitals. Doctors gave about 2,000 tetanus shots to people who were injured during their ordeal in the hurricane and its aftermath.

Local relief agencies are turning the well-meaning away in some cases, as they have more volunteers than they know what to do with. Keep in mind, of course, that the need for assistance is going to be there for months, if not years.

I saw several drop-off points for supplies in my neighborhood alone, and a number of businesses that are donating a percentage of money paid for goods and services to the relief effort.

This city may be an textbook example of urban sprawl that, for most of the year, lies under a sub-tropical miasma of humidity and petrochemical emissions, but I'm proud of the way Houstonians have been doing everything they can to make things a little better for the evacuees/refugees/displaced (what exactly are we calling them these days?).

There you go. The finger-pointing will resume soon enough.

We don't need no water

Let the *mumble mumble* burn (via MetaFilter):

As New Orleans Mayor Ray Nagin pleaded on national television for firefighters - his own are exhausted after working around the clock for a week - a battalion of highly trained men and women sat idle Sunday in a muggy Sheraton Hotel conference room in Atlanta.

Many of the firefighters, assembled from Utah and throughout the United States by the Federal Emergency Management Agency, thought they were going to be deployed as emergency workers.

Instead, they have learned they are going to be community-relations officers for FEMA, shuffled throughout the Gulf Coast region to disseminate fliers and a phone number: 1-800-621-FEMA.

Well, if anybody knows about matching a person's position to their abilities, it's FEMA.

On Monday, some firefighters stuck in the staging area at the Sheraton peeled off their FEMA-issued shirts and stuffed them in backpacks, saying they refuse to represent the federal agency.

Federal officials are unapologetic.

"I would go back and ask the firefighter to revisit his commitment to FEMA, to firefighting and to the citizens of this country," said FEMA spokeswoman Mary Hudak. The firefighters - or at least the fire chiefs who assigned them to come to Atlanta - knew what the assignment would be, Hudak said.

"The initial call to action very specifically says we're looking for two-person fire teams to do community relations," she said. "So if there is a breakdown [in communication], it was likely in their own departments."

One fire chief from Texas agreed that the call was clear to work as community-relations officers. But he wonders why the 1,400 firefighters FEMA attracted to Atlanta aren't being put to better use. He also questioned why the U.S. Department of Homeland Security - of which FEMA is a part - has not responded better to the disaster.

Careful there, don't you know now is not the time to be playing the blame game? Why, our President will be leading an investigation into his own Administration about why they screwed the pooch.

You can't get much more thorough than that, really.

Meanwhile, at least some of those firefighters are being put to good use:

But as specific orders began arriving to the firefighters in Atlanta, a team of 50 Monday morning quickly was ushered onto a flight headed for Louisiana. The crew's first assignment: to stand beside President Bush as he tours devastated areas.

Disaster accomplished.

"We're looking for a new food critic, someone who doesn't immediately pooh-pooh everything he eats."

Don't respond, Terry...you'll only encourage them:

Terry Gilliam is convinced The Brothers Grimm has been critically slammed because an adult audience is too narrow-minded to appreciate his fantasy-driven work. The quirky director insists the film was a "desperate attempt" to smash cynicism and bring out the child in the viewer, even though The Brothers Grimm has been dismissed by one critic as a "fiasco... too violent for children and too inane for anybody else". He says, "Everybody has their opinion and some people are wrong. One of the things I enjoy about my films is that children really love them. They are open-minded. As we get older we seem to close in. We limit the size of the world we limit everything about it. We have to break that shell open sometimes and Grimm is just a desperate attempt to do so."

Yeah, the kids just begged their parents for permission to stay up late and watch Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and Twelve Monkeys.

Gilliam isn't the first person to discuss the ossification of imagination that occurs when we get older, and one of his welcome trademarks has always been the way he manages to introduce the fantastics into what is often a mundane setting. But he needs to make up his mind about Grimm, the movie he said he "thought he liked" in an EW interview, and which he hinted might not be his most capable effort in interviews during the weeks leading up to its release.

As one of the narrow-minded critics who didn't care for The Brothers Grimm, I appreciate Gilliam being protective of his baby, but all this talk of "smashing cynicism" (Heath smash!) is a bit after the fact for my tastes.

I still like Gilliam, for all his bitching, so he can be forgiven for going a little Rob Schneider on us.

"You know, there are a lot of other sports that don't require physical contact."

In the wake of a very hectic couple of days, let me just express my gratitude to the following teams for making sure that my weekend, at least, was extremely enjoyable:

1. The Oklahoma Sooners - for giving this Texas Longhorn hope for the first time in four years.

2. The Texas A&M Aggies - for losing, period.

3. The Houston Astros - for giving up 2 of 3 to the NL Central champion Cards and making Chris Carpenter the odds-on favorite for the Cy Young.

It doesn't mean much in the grand scheme of things, but I'll take what I can get.

Got an RV?

Scott Chaffin (he of The Fat Guy fame) runs Buck's on the Brazos, and has put the call out for people to donate RVs for use by some of those displaced by Katrina:

Please consider donating, for long-term use, your idle RV or travel trailer. We are opening our park to our good neighbors from Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama who have lost so much in Hurricane Katrina. We have RV hookups available for their use, but we don't have RVs. Your donation can make all the difference in the world to people who are looking for a place to call home for a few weeks or months as they sort through the aftermath. It's absolutely crucial that we all work together to help out our friends and family. Please email (info@buckbrazos.com) or call (254-898-2825) if you're able and willing to help out. We can help make arrangements for getting your RV or fifth-wheel to our place. Buck loves to drive.

If you or someone you know owns a Winnebago or the like that isn't getting any use, have them get in touch with him.

"Do you really think any of us are getting out of here alive?"
"Well...I might."

Saw Serenity last night. I am not a hardcore Joss Whedon-ite: I watched the first few seasons of Buffy before kind of losing interest, and I only saw a few episodes of Angel. I am was, however, a big fan of Firefly, and was very sorry it fell victim to the poo-flinging chimps responsible for the majority of Fox's programming.

I won't spoil anything about the movie (it won't be released until the end of the month). I'll just say that I enjoyed it quite a bit. Serenity's more action-oriented than the TV show, which is understandable when you consider Whedon's usual verbal gymnastics probably aren't the best fit for a 2-hour movie, though the dialogue is still superior. It isn't necessary to have seen the show, but it helps, as some characters get shorter shrift than others in the introduction department.

And I can happily say I found River's character much less annoying here than in the TV show.

One big difference is the scope. Firefly was, at heart, an episodic TV show, and Whedon could afford (or so he thought) to spend time developing backgrounds and writing smaller stories. In Serenity, he really shoots his wad - creatively speaking. One almost gets the feeling he's trying to justify Universal giving him a sequel, though if rumors are to believed, Serenity is just the first in a three-picture deal.

I don't know if those unfamiliar with Firefly are going to make Serenity a success. I hope they do. It's an intelligently written little film with great characters and some nifty twists. That it just happens to be sci-fi shouldn't put anybody off checking it out.

And I think Jayne deserves his own movie.

Our Leader

President Bush on a "personal visit" to New Orleans.

Maybe we're being too hard on the President and his people for their clusterfuckian handling of the crisis in New Orleans. Maybe blame should be apportioned out equally to past Administrations, all of whom share some of the culpability for why things have gotten so bad and why the richest country in the world seems incapable of getting food and water to people four days after the storm has moved off.

Or maybe not (via TBogg):

Bush administration funding cuts forced federal engineers to delay improvements on the levees, floodgates and pumping stations that failed to protect New Orleans from Hurricane Katrina's floodwaters, agency documents showed on Thursday. The former head of the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, the agency that handles the infrastructure of the nation's waterways, said the damage in New Orleans probably would have been much less extensive had flood-control efforts been fully funded over the years.

"Levees would have been higher, levees would have been bigger, there would have been other pumps put in," said Mike Parker, a former Mississippi congressman who headed the engineering agency from 2001 to 2002.

"I'm not saying it would have been totally alleviated but it would have been less than the damage that we have got now."
[...]
Since 2001, the Army Corps has requested $496 million for that project but the Bush administration only budgeted $166 million, according to figures provided by the office of Louisiana Democratic Sen. Mary Landrieu.

Congress ultimately approved $250 million for the project during that time period.

Another project designed to shore up defenses along Lake Pontchartrain was similarly underfunded, as the administration budgeted $22 million of the $99 million requested by the Corps between 2001 and 2005. Congress boosted spending on that project to $42.5 million, according to Landrieu's office.

If only, I dunno, we had some sort of federal agency to manage emergencies in times like this. The one we have doesn't seem to be up to the task:

Col. Terry Ebbert, director of homeland security for New Orleans, concurred and he was particularly pungent in his criticism. Asserting that the whole recovery operation had been "carried on the backs of the little guys for four goddamn days," he said "the rest of the goddamn nation can't get us any resources for security."

"We are like little birds with our mouths open and you don't have to be very smart to know where to drop the worm," Colonel Ebbert said. "It's criminal within the confines of the United States that within one hour of the hurricane they weren't force-feeding us. It's like FEMA has never been to a hurricane."

Maybe they shouldn't have put the guy forced to resign from the Arabian Horse Association for mismanagement in charge.

Dear Sony Pictures

Please stop airing commercials for The Exorcism of Emily Rose during the 5 PM Simpsons reruns on my local Fox station. They're really starting to freak my shit out upset my daughter, and I strongly protest the decision to broadcast them when excitable thirty-something goobers young children might be watching.

Yours sincerely,
A Big Fat Weenie A Concerned Viewer

Taking the plunge

This story has Official Spousal Sanction[TM].

Cast your minds back, if you can, to the summer of 1994. Those were the salad days of the late 20th century, when a man named Forrest Gump taught all of us how to view history through the prism of mild retardation, and Boyz II Men held sway over all.

Yours truly was waiting tables and slowly but surely coming around to the idea that, hey, I better get my ass to grad school if I want to do anything more meaningful with my life than teabagging the local bank president's vodka tonic. The Wife (or, as she was known at the time, The Girlfriend) was in her last year of college, and - inexplicably - had yet to kick my deadbeat ass to the curb.

Our thrilling social life consisted largely of going to movies and drinking free Castlemaine at the local Outback Steak House, where one of my roommates worked as a waiter. Sure, it would have been nice to zip away to Vegas for a weekend, but I could barely afford upkeep on my 12 year-old Honda hatchback, much less airfare and a hotel room. No, when it came to trips, we had to improvise.

Enter The Girlfriend's Brother, a diligent government employee who, for reasons we need not go into here, found himself in possession of a free room in San Antonio for the 4th of July weekend. We didn't need to be asked twice, and before you could say "misappropriation of taxpayer funds," we were on our way to S.A. to spend the weekend with him and his wife.

[Click the More button for the rest of this tale of mirth and woe]

I like San Antonio. It's not too big, and while it's hotter than Houston, it's nowhere near as humid, and the city lies very close to some of my favorite Hill Country destinations (Bandera and the Frio River). When you're in San Antonio itself for a visit, however, you go to the Riverwalk.

For those unfamiliar with the area, the Riverwalk is where the San Antonio river winds through three miles of cobblestone paths, restaruants, hotels, and bars. People can take boat rides, or just sit on the bank and lounge. It's a pretty cool place.

Of course, on July 4th weekend, it's more like the day after Thanksgiving at the Galleria. The walkways are around 12 feet wide, and on this particular occasion, people were walking 5 or 6 abreast. It was crowded, in other words.

The four of us had just lef Dick's Last Resort, a charming little place that features buckets of beer and waitstaff who are encouraged to be abusive. It's fun for about half an hour, and so we decided to bail. As we were making our way back to the pakring garage, a scuffle ensued up ahead of us, somewhere in the vicinity of the Holiday Inn, causing pedestrian traffic to come to a halt.

I should probably point out at this point that The (Then) Girlfriend is not the most patient of human beings, and she spotted what I'm sure she felt was a perfectly acceptable alternative to standing around while the SAPD truncheoned some poor fratboy. Many of the hotel and restaurants have slips for water taxis, you see ("slip" is being generous, they're really just cement ramps sloping slightly into the water), and she apparently thought she could make her way around the fracas by using the one in front of the hotel.

The funny thing about river water, especially that which flows through an urban area, is that all kinds of fun things grow in it. Now, I was also searching for a way around the crowd, but had dismissed the boat slip because I knew it was most likely covered with algae, slime, and Davy Crockett knows what else.

[Note: The Wife always interjects to point out that she'd had two beers the entire night, and so her judgement/reflexes were not clouded by alcohol. I'm not sure that's an argument in her favor, but whatever.]

Not so The Girlfriend, who made for it like Kevin Bacon going after the taxi in Planes, Tranes, and Automobiles. I barely had time to yell, "Wait!" before she'd set a first sandal-clad foot on the slip.

A foot that shot out from under like she'd stepped in a snare.

I've never seen someone go horizontal from losing their footing before except in hockey, but for a second she looked like one of those levitating babes David Copperfield used to employ before he moved on to landmarks. Then she hit the water.

I couldn't give you an accurate headcount of how many people were there that night, but I'd say 10,000 wouldn't be too far off the mark. 10,000 drunken Texans celebrating Independence Day, but two seconds after my girlfriend went Aquaman, you could've heard a pin drop.

In my defense, the second I saw her go feet up I was shoving people out of the way to get to her. When I got to the water's edge, I could see this white blur (did I mention she was wearing a white blouse?) sort of...hovering a few feet below the surface of the water. Not knowing if she'd pulled a Louganis and cracked her head on the pavement, I started pulling my shoes off when I realized she was slowly floating towards the surface.

Still deathly quiet, by the way.

Her hand popped out first, and I grabbed it with both of mine and pulled her up onto the slip, and it was as that point that 10,000 drunken Riverwalk revelers broked into wild applause.

"Are you okay?" I asked, "Did you hit your head?"

"Take. Me. Home."

I gave her my shirt, and we headed back to the car. I endured several friendly types giving me slaps on the back and high fives, because this is the sort of thing guys like to do, I guess. And as we drove back to the hotel, I couldn't help thinking this is one of those things we'll be laughing about in a couple of years.

We finally reached that point a few months ago.

Oh, and the San Antonio River may bubble up from the Edwards Aquifer in pristine goodness a few miles away, but I can guarantee that ain't the case after its flowed past a few miles worth of bars. After we got back to the hotel, she spent about an hour and a half in the shower.

Reason #43,292 to be happy you're not in New Orleans

You gotta be fucking kidding me

Bull shark seen on i-10 service rd in metairie.

Although one has to wonder how long any of the water over there in what is rapidly becoming the Western Dead Sea will be capable of supporting marine life.