A Perfectly Cromulent Blog

Worst spoiler ever

This, stolen from Carol at Ain't Chicken, gave me the biggest laugh I've had all day:

I know a lot of people are pissed about the Harry Potter spoilers all over the internet so, if you haven't read this bestseller don't look.

Yeah, but it was a relatively minor character, introduced late in the book, that actually killed him. Kind of a cop-out, if you ask me.

Thoughts on finishing the third Harry Potter book...

Man, I like that Sirius Black guy. Hope nothing happens to him.

"And I think it's gonna be a long, long time"

"'til touchdown brings me round again to find":*

A report to be released by NASA today not only describes heavy alcohol use by astronauts prior to launch, but also says flight surgeons complained that their medical opinions on astronauts' fitness to fly were ignored by the agency's leadership.

"Several senior flight surgeons expressed their belief that their medical opinions regarding astronaut fitness for duty, flight safety and mission accomplishment were not valued by leadership other than to validate that all (medical) systems were 'go' for on-time mission completion," says the report, obtained by the Houston Chronicle.
[...]
The findings, which include the fact that "alcohol is freely used in crew quarters" and that shuttle astronauts in at least two instances were launched into space despite warnings that they posed a safety risk by being intoxicated, bring fresh embarrassment to the agency.

NASA Administrator Michael Griffin formed a committee of civilian and military experts to review astronaut health care five months ago, after astronaut Lisa Nowak was arrested in Florida and charged with attempted kidnapping in her strange confrontation with her female rival for the affections of a male astronaut.

Today's report, a summary of which was first revealed Thursday by the trade publication Aviation Week & Space Technology, implies that beyond Nowak's conduct, NASA has looked the other way when it came to some astronauts' reckless behavior, especially the heavy consumption of alcohol before shuttle launches.

Sure, it all sounds pretty bad, but have you ever seen a shuttle launch? Even the ones that don't blow up are still pretty frightening.

I haven't been following the story too closely, but surely some of the folks going up on the shuttle aren't involved in actively piloting the thing. How sober does the person growing the seedlings or the schoolteacher need to be, really?

This was before there was a late break in the case, however...

The report, which is about a dozen pages long and was delivered to NASA's Washington headquarters on Thursday, does not include the names of the intoxicated astronauts, the dates of their risky behavior, nor whether they were quietly disciplined or dismissed.

My sources have revealed one of the names in question, and this new information explains a lot. Apparently one of the astronauts actually requires some form of sedation before boarding a shuttle:

Happy to clear things up.

*Wow, my third APCB entry using lyrics from "Rocket Man" for a title. Keen.

"Excuse me...sporty nuts?"

Over at Sports Illustrated, where they still manage to cover sports pretty well in spite of the bad taste assault leveled each month by ESPN: The Magazine, their writers are talking about the best games they've ever seen.

A full list can be found here. I myself have three:

1. The Miracle on Ice - Clichéd, I know, and already discussed here, but I honestly can't think of anything that compares.

2. The 2006 Rose Bowl - Watched this at my old UT roommate Basshole's place. I'm usually the most pessimistic son of a bitch when it comes to my teams succeeding (e.g. last year's World Series), but even when USC was up 12 points with six minutes left, I never doubted Texas was going to win. To this day, it's the greatest football game I've ever seen.

UPDATE: Basshole kindly forwards a pic. I have no idea at what point it was taken, but from some of the expressions it might be when UT stopped the Trojans on 4th and 2. I'm the guy wearing excessive amounts of burnt orange, while the dude staring at me because I just shrieked like Fay Wray is Carlos, another high school friend:

3. 1987 Texas Lutheran High School Basketball Championship - I don't remember the names of the schools, all I know is Vince, one of my fellows from the 8th floor of Jester Dormitory, had a younger brother on one of the teams and invited me to come along. They played the championship at Concordia Lutheran College in Austin, and Vince's brother's team was down 25 point with five minutes left, and they won the game. Afterwards, everyone went to an Italian restaurant to celebrate, and Vince's dad bought our 18-year old asses pitchers of beer. All told, a pretty good day.

Anybody else?

You were the bomb in Iron Eagle III, yo!

The Republican candidate for President who isn't actually a (declared) Republican candidate for President is in Texas today:

On his first trip to Texas since announcing his presidential exploratory committee, Fred Thompson is presenting himself as the contender more conservative than Rudy Giuliani, more consistent than Mitt Romney and more viable than John McCain.

Thompson, who will headline a rally in a Hobby Airport hangar this morning followed by a Galleria-area fundraiser this afternoon, has become the great hope of Republicans looking for an alternative to the GOP frontrunners.
[...]
State Sen. Dan Patrick likened Thompson to Barack Obama, the Illinois senator who has drawn enthusiastic support among Democrats.

"Voters in both parties are fed up with the establishment politicians," said Patrick, R-Houston. "People are so desperate for change and someone they perceive as being a fresh voice."

As Thompson the Hollywood actor and longtime political player knows, perception is key, his supporters say. He has mastered the ability to come across as laid-back and plain-spoken.

Thompson probably is more widely known for his role as the hard-charging district attorney on NBC's Law and Order than he is for the nearly 10 years he spent in the U.S. Senate.

In the campaign for the Republican nomination he has cast himself as the reluctant warrior, not someone whose lifelong ambition it has been to run for president, Patrick said.

He's doing a good job of faking it, then. Otherwise it's hard to jibe that statement with Thompson's membership on the Council on Foreign Relations and 40-year political career, with a lengthy and lucrative stint as a Beltway lobbyist thrown in.

But Patrick's categorization of the Senator as a "reluctant warrior" is dead on, whether he's talking about Thompson's role as the gruff but efficient Rear Admiral Joshua Painter in The Hunt for Red October or his effective use of student deferments to avoid - a la fellow tough-talking candidates Rudy Giuliani, Mitt Romney, and (maybe) Newt Gingrich - military service in Vietnam.

Ballyhoo it like Beckham

Get used to this pose, Galaxy fans:

The amount of coverage given to Beckham joining the L.A. Galaxy is pretty hilarious. Admittedly, I'm glad we're hearing about someone who's actually accomplished something - 58-time English national team captain; only English player to score in three World Cups; played on the 1998-99 ManU team that won the treble (Premier League, F.A. Cup, Champions League) - other than the usual rotation of Hilton/Lohan/Spears.

And he's a better role model than Michael Vick.

But he's also 32 years old. He's not part of the "new direction" of England's team and though Real Madrid finally won a title in the final year of his contract, he didn't play much. He was responsible for a 137% increase in merchandising profits, however, and that's going to be his biggest contribution in L.A. I don't know that anyone is expecting the Galaxy to win the MLS Cup based solely on Beckham's signing, but the owners are already enjoying a healthy boost in jerseys. More importantly, it's another advance on the ongoing battle to increase soccer's popularity in the U.S.

Much of the Beckham coverage to this point has trumpeted how he's finally going to make soccer a marquee sport - something earlier imports Pele and Franz Beckenbauer were unable to do in the '70s. And yet, as this on-target BBC story puts it, it may not be necessary. More to the point, I don't think it addresses the right symptom.

Soccer is already the most popular sport in America...for kids. This was almost the case back in the '70s when I played. And even then, we were told how soccer would be the biggest sport in the U.S. RealSoonNow. And with the visibility brought by hosting the World Cup in '94 and airing all the MLS games, to say nothing of the enthusiasm brought by transplants from south of the border, the sport's popularity has never been higher.

But coverage of Beckham's arrival ignores the gap between youth league enthusiasm and professional paycheck, and it'll always lag behind the Big 3 until the following issues are addressed:

+ Football, basketball, and baseball remain the major scholarship sports in college
+ The best American players go overseas, and foreign players in their prime don't want to come here
+ The U.S. team sucks in the World Cup
+ American networks can't solve soccer's lack of breaks. This last World Cup allowed advertisers to sponsor chunks of games, but it's still going to be unattractive compared to other sports, which go out of their way to stretch 60 minutes of playing time to three and a half hours
+ Drop the Beckham Cam - soccer, like hockey, is a sport where you need to see the whole field to watch plays develop

I like soccer well enough (though not enough to call it football, which I realize puts me in the global minority). I'll watch a decent Premier League or World Cup match, even if the players' incessant flopping makes even the most exciting games nigh unwatchable (makes it a lot like basketball, come to think of it), and I think it'd be great if America enjoyed the same global dominance as it does in baseball basketball uh...beach volleyball, but we're not there yet.

And while I'm enjoying the saturation bombing-style coverage of the Beckham Invasion (which will likely drop off now that they've lost their first game with him), I'd remind him that Houston's own Dynamo are still the reigning MLS Cup champions.

Avada kedavra, snoogans

I'm seeing reports of alleged Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows spoilers all over the place. Hell, I was on YouTube earlier and someone had posted what I assume was a list of prominent deaths and the pages on which they occur in the comments section. Folks are disabling comments, posting warnings, and contemplating unplugging their computers. It's craziness.

I pre-ordered Deathly Hallows for my dad for Father's Day. We're going to visit him next month. Since I've only read the first two books, my cunning plan, conceived after making the purchase - honest - was that I would read books 3 through 6 in the weeks leading up to our vacation so I could, ah, "borrow" the final volume and check it out. I realize now that I don't have the time for that. I also realize that - although I have yet to run across any actual spoilers - I'm not actively avoiding them.

So here's the deal. If you're one of those pathetic jagoffs so cognitively stunted you have to fuck up everyone else's fun, feel free to post your bullshit here. Now understand that I have to approve every comment, which means I won't allow spoilers to actually appear on the site. However, I can promise I'll read them myself, which should hopefully satisfy whatever obnoxious compulsions you have.

Everyone else, go ahead and chat. I promise not to let anything through that will ruin the fun.

"Da, that's just what we wanted you to think!"

Ever read any General Sir John Hackett?

I don't know where I picked up a copy of The Third World War when I was in junior high, but I can say it played a big part in the development of my Cold War era paranoia (which was also shaped by Dr. Strangelove, Testament, and Eddie Albert's nightmares in Dreamscape). It was also oddly comforting, in that the bulk of the conflict is conventional (Soviet forces move into Yugoslavia, the US counters, and the Warsaw Pact reacts by invading Western Europe) and takes place mostly in West Germany, Scandinavia, and Turkey. The only nukes fall on Birmingham, England (sorry, Brummies) and Minsk, USSR, which - combined with the relative ease of the West's victory, was probably overly optimistic.

What prompted this little nostalgia trip? This story:

President Vladimir Putin's announcement over the weekend that Russia will suspend participation in a major European arms control treaty finally got the West's attention.

The Kremlin said the decision was forced by security concerns, but it was seen as less about fears of military confrontation and more about a resurgent Russia's desire to show the West that its interests cannot be ignored.

For years, the Kremlin has voiced its frustration that no NATO members have ratified the updated treaty, which limits the number of tanks, aircraft and other conventional weapons in Europe. After Putin threatened in April to suspend Russia's participation, a meeting was held in Vienna, Austria in June, but no progress was made on breaking the impasse.
[...]
Under Putin, Russia has been reasserting itself as a global power and challenging what it sees as U.S. domination. Washington's plans to build a missile shield in Central Europe have angered Russia, which is bitter over NATO's expansion into the former Soviet bloc.

But Russia's suspension of its participation in the treaty does not reflect any intention for a major buildup of heavy weaponry in European Russia, military experts said. It has neither the need nor the resources, they said.

Uh huh. Maybe I'll revisit that idea of a 30cm concrete shielded "clubhouse" in the backyard anyway, just in case.

"I'm bugging out!"

I have a few observations about HBO's recent lineup of Sunday evening programming:

1. I'm done with John from Cincinnati. Maybe one day they'll get past the pseudo-philosophical crap, Rebecca de Mornay's shrill harpy character, and the inability of the kid playing Shaun to act his way out of a paper bag, but five episodes (half a season) is more than enough, thanks. And thanks to you, David Milch, for quitting Deadwood in order to bring it to us.

2. Lloyd (Rex Lee) makes every episode of Entourage he's on 1000% better, and tonight's was no exception, as he added the perfect element of swish to Ari's plot to sabotage Josh Weinstein. "Woo woo," indeed.

3. I liked Flight of the Conchords better when it was called Tenacious D and was actually funny.

When the hell does season five of The Wire start again?

"...whenever the show becomes unprofitable."

Yet another entry in the no shit file, though it's one of the more well-thought out and cogent ones:

You can almost hear the panic in the voice of The Simpsons' creator Matt Groening. The film will be "deliberately imperfect". It contains "everything we couldn't show on television". His co-producer Al Jean has even boasted that "if you've never heard of The Simpsons, you can enjoy the film". They know expectation is sky-high, even for something that's been 15 years (yes, 15!) in the pipeline. So why the need to qualify the film with so many caveats and premature apologies? Could it be that they know, deep down, The Simpsons is but a shade of what it used to be?

Once, it was the greatest show on TV. Every episode was brimming with imagination, excitement and some of the sharpest one-liners to come out of America for decades. But above all it was smart: The Simpsons knew how to parry crudity with intelligence blow for blow. Bart's big-haired nemesis Sideshow Bob stepping on a rake nine times would be followed up with a surreal two-minute performance of HMS Pinafore. Homer lobbing a lookalike of himself over a waterfall would be followed by a reference to Walt Whitman's collection of poems, Leaves and Grass. This was dizzyingly intelligent, daring, exhilarating stuff. For every burp gag came an arch pop-culture reference. For every time Homer fell down the stairs or Bart got strangled, we had a nifty TV parody or sly political dig.

And it kept on coming, week after week. An entire generation didn't understand it. George Bush senior, then US president, even wished aloud that American families could be more like the Waltons than the Simpsons. A massive rift opened up between those who "got" The Simpsons and those who hated it. You chose your side carefully. To be a Simpsons fan was truly one of the most privileged things in the world.

Then it all changed. A new guard took over and ripped up the rules. Veterans of the show with pedigrees on venerated US comedy institutions like Saturday Night Live and The Tonight Show - Jon Vitti, George Meyer, John Schwartzwelder - either departed or went part-time. In came writers who had cut their teeth on sappy teen comedies like Blossom and unsophisticated knockabouts like Beavis and Butt-Head. A looser, lazier sensibility took hold, given free rein by new executive producer Mike Scully. And the show became stupid.

Sad but true. Had this movie come out in 1995 I would've been first in line for the opening night midnight screening, but - the name of this blog aside and my inertial habit of using series quotes for entry titles - I really couldn't care less about The Simpsons Movie. I've missed over half the episodes from each of the last four seasons, and my Sunday night TV viewing now focuses more on what HBO is airing that what Fox is trotting out.

Look at the movie's credits, Scully is one of the screenwriters, as is Ian Maxtone-Graham, another architect of the show's decline. All the celebrity cameos in the world (and there will be a crapload, mark my words), won't make up for that.

You can even put a date on it: 1997, in the early episodes of the ninth series, where the head of Bart's school, Principal Skinner, was suddenly, arbitrarily revealed to be an impostor, and his entire life to date had been a lie. Come again? A major character in a long-running series gets unmasked as a fraud? It was cheap, idle storytelling.

This was just the start. The show went on to jettison all interest in pretending to have earthy, avuncular roots: the warm, good-natured centre that, when you scraped away the multi-layered jokes and cerebral grandstanding, had been there from day one was obliterated. No longer did we see the family bonding, caring for each other, showing emotion. Instead, it was anything goes.
[...]
True, a long-running series has to evolve. Nobody would expect Simpsons episodes to still be solely about Lisa getting a pony or Bart failing a school exam. But, in the second decade of its life, The Simpsons evolved into a dreadfully predictable monster. With each new series came the same questions. Which foreign country will the family just happen to end up visiting this time? Which pop star will the family just happen to encounter while there? And what unsubtle bit of physical violence will Homer be subjected to en route? Contract leprosy, perhaps; get raped by a panda; or maybe get his head trapped between two halves of a lowering drawbridge?

This was change all right, but change as an excuse for idiocy. It was desperately disheartening for those who cherished and loved the show's early years. Watching Homer hold forth on the topless women he'd seen on holiday in Florida, or Marge accidentally getting breast implants, you wanted everything to be revealed as a huge wind-up, or a cunning satire on trashy TV. But there was no hidden agenda. What you saw was what you got: a base, repetitive, unfunny cartoon.

Not much more I can add to that. I'll see The Simpsons Movie, but only because it's not going to cost me anything.

"You've answered our prayers in Hollywood."

"Jigglin' titties. Who would've thunk of it?"

What is it with these Jugs?
Fashioned after a lifelike set of woman's breasts, Jingle Jugs™, when activated, begin to move in rhythmic motion to the song, "Titties & Beer" by Capitol Records success Rodney Carrington.

The Jingle Jugs™ make a perfect gag gift. They're a must have in the game room or in the bar. Put 'em in your home office or garage and liven up your workspace. Put a new top on 'em to match the season. Mount 'em next to your trophies in the game room - after all, it's the Trophy Rack You've Always Wanted! Leave 'em on "Motion Detect Mode" and startle visitors when they jiggle and dance to "Titties & Beer." The opportunities for laughter and fun are endless with Jingle Jugs!

The Jugs are manufactured with high quality components. You can either install batteries in them or use the included AC Adapter. Jingle Jugs are easily mountable on the wall or you can use the included stand to put them on a flat surface, like the Thanksgiving table centerpiece.

While I contest the assertions of "endless" entertainment potential, I certainly wouldn't walk out on a Thanksgiving dinner where these were prominently displayed, if only because of the assumed likelihood of someone driving an ATV into the river later that night, or one of the kids accidentally shooting Dad in the ass. I guess this is for the family that found "Billy Bass" too upmarket and sophisticated.

And only one size? Is there nothing in this country that caters to fans of large breasts?

R.I.P. Lady Bird Johnson

I don't have much to add to the coverage of Lady Bird Johnson's demise. She was a campaigner for civil rights, champion of the environmental movement, opponent of "homogenization," and she married one of the most cantankerous bastards ever to hold the office of President of the United States. Pretty impressive for one lifetime.

And she's the only First Lady I ever met. Even then, 20 years removed from the White House, she was a hell of a nice lady. It didn't even bother me when her Secret Service escort elbowed me out of the way.

Hope you die before I get old

Two unrelated musical thoughts:

1. She Who Shall Not Be Named sometimes falls asleep in the car when I'm driving her home in the afternoon. To facilitate nap time, I'll occasionally switch to the easy listening station on Sirius (Movin EZ). Today, I caught Olivia Newton-John's "Please Mister Please," and I had occasion once again to thank the Great Old Ones I didn't spend my formative years in the 1970s. I don't know how anybody survived that shit.

I mean, I delude myself into thinking that - were I a '70s teen - I'd be really into the Stooges, Ramones, the Clash, and Big Star, but I know I'd be sporting the white boy afro and listening to Kansas and Styx in Peenman's Good Times Van, and I hate myself for it.

2. Also today, and possibly on the same station, I heard that John Mayer song "Waiting on the World to Change." With insipid lines like, "It's not that we don't care/We just know that the fight ain't fair" to justify his inaction, I was reminded Of that equally lame Jesus Jones song, "Right Here, Right Now." Remember that video? Here, let me refresh your memory:

The most striking thing, aside from that goofy bastard playing keyboards, is how Mike Edwards celebrates the fall of Communism and the exciting changes in the world by watching fucking TV. You couldn't illustrate narcissistic apathy better if Paris Hilton made an appearance. No wonder David Lowery sang about hating his generation.

Advantage: Roenick

And...repeat.

Phoenix Coyotes center Jeremy Roenick announced his retirement earlier this week. This, in itself, is mildly interesting from a sports perspective and more so if you follow hockey. The...outspoken center will retire with 495 career goals, which puts him third all-time for American-born hockey players (Roenick was born in Boston) behind Mike Modano and Joey Mullen. He never won a championship, however.

More importantly, as the Sports Hernia point out, Roenick was easily the best offensive player in Sega's classic NHL '94 videogame:

Upon hearing the news of Jeremy Roenick announcing his retirement, we couldn't help but look back to the key moment of his career, the moment that truly put the center of the Chicago Blackhawks on the map. Yes, we're talking about NHL '94 on Sega Genesis.

Roenick was a beast in every sense of the word, nearly impossible to take down, dished out murderous body checks and flashed a one-timer that went through torsos; all this with a relatively modest rating of 87 out of 100. He quickly became one of the most feared names in homes across the nation, quite possibly only taking a back seat to the immortal Tecmo Bowl Bo Jackson.

To appropriately honor this man, er video game man, take some time today to abruptly check a random co-worker into a wall.

I shared an apartment with three guys, and we played NHL '93 and NHL '94 like we were getting paid overtime for it, losing entire weekends to marathon Sega sessions. And The Wife will confirm that I was late to more than a couple of dates because a game went into overtime. We played entire seasons, letting the other match-ups be decided automatically while sitting down to actually play those games involving our chosen teams. Through sheer coincidence, I ended up with the Blackhawks. You see, when we first acquired the game, we took teams that shared a city with our favorite football teams, so - being a Bears fan - I took Chicago. Lewis was a Raiders guy, but since there are no hockey teams in the Bay Area, he went with the L.A. Kings (and Gretzky, coincidentally enough). I don't even remember who Bo ended up with though I want to say it was Hartford, for reasons known only to him.

And while Roenick was indeed nigh unstoppable, a lot of people seem to forget that Ed Belfour, the Blackhawks' goalie, was a freaking 98 out of 100 (on '93 at least). And Dominik Hasek backed him up.With that kind of awesome power, we had to limit periods to five minutes just so Chicago wouldn't outscore the Whale 22-0 every time.

Roenick can retire secure in the knowledge he might be, next to The Great One himself, the modern player most recognizable to non-hockey fans. Now isn't that better than a Stanley Cup?

"There's flooding down in Texas"

"All of the telephone lines are down:"

The Fourth of July turned out to be another soggy day for much of Texas, with 20 counties in Southeast Texas -- including Harris County -- under a flash flood watch that has been extended until Thursday afternoon.

An upper level low pressure system combined with abundant moisture to produce scattered to numerous showers and thunderstorms across the area today, the National Weather Service said.

Rainfall amounts of two to four inches, with isolated amounts of four to six inches can be expected in the watch area by this evening, the weather service said.

The ground in the area is already saturated and any additional heavy rainfall could produce flash flooding.
[...]
The rain that has fallen for nearly two consecutive weeks will continue into the weekend.

In the first three days of July it's rained 1.66 inches at Intercontinental airport and 1.82 inches at Hobby airport.

We've had rain for - literally - three weeks straight. This is somewhere on the spectrum between the folks in central Texas, who've been getting millennial level rainfall, and most of the rest of the country, which is under some variety of drought/fire hazard warning. All things being equal, I'll take a little sogginess.

But it's not all bad news:

The Houston-area temperature is also five to 10 degrees below the average of 93 degrees. Temperatures today are expected to be in the low to mid-80's.

So we got that going for us. Which is nice.

"Grab a shovel. I'm one skull short of a Mouseketeer reunion."

Okay, so...I went to my 20th high school reunion last weekend. I suppose the sense of dread that had been simmering in my gut for the previous couple weeks could be considered a normal reaction in anticipation of reconnecting with a number of people I hadn't spoken with in two decades, most by mutual unspoken consensus. Exacerbating this was the fact that a number of folks I had been looking forward to seeing had to bow out for personal reasons. That left the aforementioned Peenman and Seadogs, who were shooting in from the East Coast for a drive-by visit. They flew in Saturday morning, and we drove up with The Wife and She Who Shall Not Be Named to College Station that afternoon.

Going up on Saturday meant we missed the Friday happy hour (sorry Tim). At...Wings N' More. The only novelty about that particular gathering was that this particular wing joint had been built less than half a mile from the house I grew up in, which probably would've led to a number of arrests as a group of us drunkenly traipsed through our old neighborhood, angrily (and loudly) pointing out whatever alterations the new homeowners had made to our childhood domiciles.

But like I said, that didn't happen.

We also missed the tour of our old high school and the family picnic. The former might have been interesting, but I wasn't keen on leaving my daughter in the care of some kids handpicked by the guy who keyed my Buick senior year, and while it would've been just peachy to meet the spawn of several dozen Baptists, none of us were really prepared to go into this without the help of alcohol.

Having skipped the happy hour, that left Saturday night's dinner/dance. SWSNBN was left with Gran and remained oblivious to our departure while Beauty and the Beast played and she sat in a roomful of puzzles. Meanwhile, we headed to the Veranda, a banquet facility near Messina Hof winery in Bryan. The Wife, knowing our likely post-party condition, took driving duties, and helpfully swung us by a convenience store on the way there so we could secure warm-up beers. We also had an agreement that, should any of us become unable to continue, we'd bail and reconvene at Duddley's Draw with whomever we could convince to join us.

As it turns out, we stayed quite a bit longer than expected.

Missing the previous festivities meant we weren't immediately recognized and set upon as we arrived, and actually saw some friends we still keep in touch with as soon as we got there. This allowed us to form an observation post of sorts, strategically located near the bar and as far from the band as possible. From there, it was a matter of availing ourselves of the free booze and getting caught up. I won't name names, partly because I don't want to misquote anyone, but mostly because I don't know who reads this and I want to avoid any repercussions involving me getting physically assaulted. A few general observations:

1. For being 20 years older, the general trend in physical appearance was surprisingly positive. Some people had gotten fat, and several of the girls who had been merely slender in high school were nigh cadaverous. I retained some comfort in the fact that I still had all my hair, gray as it might be. Also, it is possible to look 50 when you're only 38, but it helps to have gotten started on the vodka and Marlboros when you were 16.

2. The number of people who actively discussed their "blessings" or Jesus with me became tiresome after the first one. I had to bite my tongue to keep from asking one of the saved if she'd found god before or after that party where she blew a guy for coke next to the pool at Treehouse Village Apartments.

3. I apparently grew taller after senior year. That or a couple guys who used to bully me shrank. This was gratifying.

4. Three out of our class of 300 died. 1% is probably pretty low, and I only knew about one of them. Another girl died of cancer, and one guy was someone none of us could remember talking to, or being in school to begin with.

5. The assholes are still assholes. It never failed to amaze me that - for every time I found myself thinking about a classmate, "Wow, how cool that he/she became successful/straightened out, I'm really happy for him/her" - one of the half dozen or so jagoffs whose skulls I always wanted to crush Roy Baty-style in high school would yell something and I'd be right back to wanting to stick my thumbs in their eye sockets. Fuckers.

6. One girl - a cheerleader and member of the homecoming court, among other things - apparently dropped off the face of the earth. Even those of us too lazy to fill out the questionnaires (*cough*) sent in contact info. Not so this person. The only thing listed was her name, and even her fellow cheerleaders had no idea what happened to her. I chose to believe she cast aside her shallow, materialistic ways and joined Doctors Without Borders and is fighting the good fight in Darfur. But then, why should she be any different than the rest of us?

7. Everyone had three kids. I'm not kidding.

We stayed until...oh, midnight or so. Then we apparently went to Duddley's anyway, though my recollection is hazy. The drive back to Houston on Sunday wasn't much fun, but I have to say I'm glad I went. If nothing else, it was entertaining.

I'll probably be up for more entertainment in, oh, another 20 years.

____ like a beast

I have learned, through no fault of my own, that K-Y has a new "personal lubricant" out. It goes by the name of "Intrigue," retails for twice what the normal brand lists for, and has quite the ad campaign behind it. For example, here's how they describe the bottle:

The curves, at once sensual and ergonomically satisfying, reach a crescendo in a cap that has been artfully crafted to ease dispense of the contents. In the glow of candlelight, the white metallic sheen makes the bottle luminous.

That's the second reference to "metallic sheen," by the way.

The best part comes from the commercial, which sadly isn't available online. It shows a couple in various stages of undress and intimacy as a clock ticks off the hours at the bottom of the screen. Once we get to 3 AM, a single line reads, "Like there's no tomorrow."

While there's little ambiguity to what they're suggesting we should do like there's no tomorrow, I find it amusing to insert other verbs in there. "Spoon," for example, or "tie flies."

King of Lame

As mentioned previously, there were a couple Eighties-riffic activities taking place this last weekend. The first (and least mortifying) was the Police reunion concert Friday night.

The Wife and I attended with two other friends, and all of us elected for one reason or another not to get righteously bombed. In retrospect, this was probably a mistake. The row behind us seemed to have opted for this approach, and I have to admit; they definitely enjoyed themselves. Then again, I find that mullet-sporting 40-somethings often have lower fun thresholds.

Fiction Plane opened up. You probably haven't heard of them unless you happen to know more about Sting's family than I did. FP is led by one Joe Sumner, Sting's son. They weren't entirely horrible, but we showed up about halfway through their set and I spent a good chunk of the remainder looking for a draft beer line less than 20 people long.

As for the Police...I really wanted to enjoy the show. They were one of my favorite bands and I've been looking forward to the concert for a while, but overall it was disappointing. I could deal with the nagging fear that 64-year old Andy Summers was going to pull a John Entwhistle on stage, and the obvious boredom Sting showed at times, whether clenching his jaw and shaking his head when Summers missed a cue, rolling his eyes while playing those pan flute notes at the beginning of "Walking in Your Footsteps," or flubbing the lyrics to "King of Pain." He wasn't in it for the money, we were told, but his behavior made it plain the weight of the favor he was doing for Summers and Stewart Copeland had placed on his toned shoulders.

And truthfully, I wouldn't have about any of that if they hadn't dicked around so much with the music. Sure, some Police songs lend themselves to noodling: "Driven to Tears" comes to mind, or even "Demolition Man" (which they didn't play). But "Roxanne?" "Roxanne" is not a seven minute fucking song. "Walking on the Moon" doesn't require melodic structure changes. A little goofing around is to be expected, but they did it to such an extent it was taking the crowd completely out of the show. You could see the fans getting excited during the intros to (for example) "Don't Stand So Close to Me" and "Can't Stand Losing You," then watch their enthusiasm fading as the songs went in entirely new, goofy directions. I even made a "Welcome to The Police, Phase II" comment that went largely ignored misunderstood.

Though I did ask the guy behind me if they'd played "Jazz Odyssey" yet.

We'll get to the reunion in a little bit.