A Perfectly Cromulent Blog

"So this is Planet Houston."

Never have I wished I had a big box of signboard letters in my trunk more than when I passed one of our many local Baptist churches today:

Or at least just a 'Z.'

A blaze of gloryholes

I was going to come here today and say I don't endorse schadefreude, but the truth is, I'm rather fond of it. Lucky for me there are people like Sen. Larry Craig:

Under fire from leaders of his own party, Idaho Sen. Larry Craig today said the only thing he had done wrong was to plead guilty after a complaint of lewd conduct in a men's room.

He declared, ``I am not gay. I never have been gay.'' ``I did nothing wrong at the Minneapolis airport,'' he said at a news conference with his wife, Suzanne, at his side.

Earlier today, Senate Republican leaders in Washington called for an ethics committee review into Craig's guilty plea.
[...]
Craig entered his plea several weeks after an undercover police officer in the Minneapolis arrested him and filed a complaint that said the three-term senator had engaged in actions "often used by persons communicating a desire to engage in sexual conduct."

The bathroom incident in the Minneapolis airport occurred on June 11. Craig signed his plea papers on Aug. 1, and word of the events surfaced on Monday. The senator issued a statement Monday night that said, "In hindsight, I should have pled not guilty."

These truly are sad times when a United States Senator has less than adequate access to legal counsel. And I'm guessing the cops ignored his protestations, which were along the following lines: "I was offering him a ride," "I was asking for directions to baggage claim," "He's my cousin."

In Craig's situation, I think I'd have acted like I thought I was in the ladies' room. That way at least it'd be heterosexual sleazery. After all, the "family values party" has never had a problem turning a blind eye to infidelity. Among their own, of course.

The married Craig, 62, has faced rumors about his sexuality since the 1980s, but allegations that he has engaged in gay sex have never been substantiated. Craig has denied the assertions, which he calls ridiculous.
[...]
According to the prosecutor's complaint, obtained today by The Associated Press, airport police Sgt. Dave Karsnia, who was investigating allegations of sexual conduct in airport restrooms, went into a stall shortly after noon on June 11 and closed the door.

Minutes later, the officer saw Craig gazing into his stall through the crack between the stall door and the frame, fidgeted with his fingers and returned to gazing through the stall for about another two minutes.

After a man in the adjacent stall left, Craig entered it and put his roller bag against the front of the stall door, "which Sgt. Karsnia's experience has indicated is used to attempt to conceal sexual conduct by blocking the view from the front of the stall," said the complaint, which was dated June 25.

The complaint said Craig then tapped his right foot several times and moved it closer to Karsnia's stall and then moved it into the area of the officer's stall to where it touched Karsnia's foot. Karsnia recognized that "as a signal often used by persons communicating a desire to engage in sexual conduct," the complaint said.

Craig then passed his left hand under the stall divider into Karsnia's stall with his palms up and guided it along the divider toward the front of the stall three times, the complaint said.

First, I submit Craig's actions as further proof of something I've long suspected: all Republicans are gay. Well, all of the vehemently pious, born-again ones at least, and Craig certainly qualifies.

Second, I realize it's hard to meet people. Hell, I had to go back to the Forbidden Zone of College Station, TX to meet The Wife, but an airport bathroom? We're not talking about some poorly frequented lavatory in the basement of some ill-lit college building, but one patronized by thousands of people a day. And the fact that Craig spent that much time in a place most human beings manage to vacate in under a minute is more damning than if he'd been caught with a penis in his mouth.

Unsurprisingly, Craig is a shining example of his party's noble conservative tradition:

In recent years, Craig's voting record has earned him top ratings from social conservative groups such as the American Family Association, Concerned Women for America and the Family Research Council.

He has supported a federal constitutional amendment banning same-sex marriage, telling his colleagues that it was "important for us to stand up now and protect traditional marriage, which is under attack by a few unelected judges and litigious activists."
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In 1996, Craig also voted in favor of the Defense of Marriage Act, which denies federal recognition to same-sex marriages and prevents states from being forced to recognize the marriages of gay and lesbian couples legally performed in other states.

Craig also has opposed expanding the federal hate crimes law to cover offenses motivated by anti-gay bias and, in 1996, voted against a bill that would have outlawed employment discrimination based on sexual orientation, which failed by a single vote in the Senate.

I sympathize with someone forced to deny their true selves, whether due to the circumstances of their upbringing or simple fate. But someone who hides behind their own hypocrisy while making life harder for others like him deserves what he gets. Getting busted in an airport toilet is a fitting end to Craig's unfortunate career.

"Ruprecht, do you want the genital cuff?"

Checking in from Maine to register my, uh, outrage at this story (via WithLeather):

An Oklahoma City man has been charged with aggravated assault and battery, accused of causing extensive damage to another man's scrotum just because he wore a University of Texas shirt into a local bar.

Allen Michael Beckett, 53, has not been arrested on the felony charge, which was filed Monday in Oklahoma County District Court. It carries up to five years in prison if he is convicted.
[...]
Thomas said Beckett, whom he had never met, called him "everything under the sun" for wearing a Longhorns T-shirt into [Henry Hudson's Pub].

He said he and his friend sat at a table in the corner and tried to ignore the other man, but other man -- who apparently is a University of Oklahoma fan -- kept screaming at him.

Thomas said he decided he'd had enough after about 20 minutes of Beckett's abuse so he went to the bar to pay his tab. When he turned around, he said Beckett grabbed his crotch and refused to let go.

Thomas hit the other man several times before several bar patrons intervened, but Thomas said Beckett didn't let go until Thomas heard his scrotum tear and blood ran down his leg.

I've seen my share of violence between fans of both of our proud, felon-spawning institutions, including some choice altercations in the stands in Dallas during the '80s, and one brawl in our hotel that required several dozen riot police to break up. I don't recall seeing/experiencing any scrotum tearing, but I'm usually more concerned with making sure my beer doesn't spill (during the hotel brawl I was sitting with two 60-something Sooner fans in the lobby, drinking beer and sharing commentary about the shame of the younger generation).

Hell, one of my best friends is one of those obnoxious OU fans who has a "Stoops for President" bumper sticker and a football autographed by Barry Switzer, and I still let him in my home. Occasionally.

Thomas, who grew up a Texas fan, said it took more than 60 stitches to close his wound.

Finally, check out the sponsored link on that page:

I'd advise everyone going to Dallas this October to wear a cup. Even the ladies.

Putting the "crap" in "crapola"

We leave for Maine on Monday. Thankfully for those of the Houston persuasion, it looks like Dean is heading south of the border. Unfortunately, Jamaica and probably Cozumel (again) are in for some fresh hell. And I wouldn't want to be in Tampico or thereabouts middle of next week.

As always, those living in the H-Town area need look no further than Eric Berger's SciGuy weblog for the latest on any and all tropical shenanigans.

In case you were curious, the forecast for Bar Harbor next week calls for highs in the 60s and lows in the 50s. We'll be thinking of everyone cowering in their air conditioning here while we're sitting on my dad's deck in our sweaters and drinking Bar Harbor Blueberry Ale.

Because it worked for me so well last year, I'll go ahead and say the Cards are done. Chicago's leading the NL Central? Dogs and cats will be living together before you know it.

Is that stupid commercial for NCAA 08 where Matt Leinart pretends he didn't lose to Texas in the Rose Bowl still airing? If so, it's almost as pathetic as his 4-7 starting record with Arizona.

Am I a bad person for owning a DVD copy of Varsity Blues? If so, it belongs to The Wife.

Speaking of movies, The Invasion sucks (review pending). Go see Superbad.

Since I've invoked both FT and the Chronicle in the same entry, I have to say I'm not fully behind the decision by both (pending with FT) to allow people to comment on stories. I have nothing against feedback, specifically, except the people who "contribute" on a regular basis always seem to...I don't know...lack what might be regarded as the most basic grasp of logic and reasoning. Can't wait to hear what "yoda85" thinks of my latest review.

"How interesting. I have a husband named Dean Wormer at Faber."

Dean? Erin? I'm not downplaying these respective storms, believe me, I just wish they'd stop picking names out of an Aaron Spelling series.

Erin came ashore earlier today near Corpus Christi, dumping 7-10" of rain in some areas of Houston. All the local networks reverted to their usual footage of flooded streets, abandoned cars, and interviews with local citizens who conveniently forget this kind of shit happens four or five times a year.

Hurricane season continues apace, as two of the latest computer models for Dean show a track taking it unpleasantly close to the Texas coast.

Personally, I'm not too worried. Not because I've become any less paranoid since Rita, but because next Monday, when Dean will likely be slamming into the Yucatan, we'll be fleeing to Maine on our sort-of annual escape from the Dress Rehearsal for the Heat Death of the Universe that is August in SE Texas.

And I don't know what a "Sepat" is, except that it's a "super typhoon." Your name could be Pansy, but as long as you can preface it with "super typhoon," you'll get the respect. And then the women. Or something.

You're gonna need a bigger foot

Curiously, no grim-faced CNN anchors are interrupting coverage of Lindsay Lohan's stint in rehab to warn us of the skyrocketing rate of stingray attacks:

The Galveston Beach Patrol reported 14 stingray injuries over the weekend, the largest number of painful wounds reported this summer.

The Beach Patrol reported 10 injuries Sunday and four injuries Saturday, caused by bathers stepping on stingrays and causing them to lash out defensively with their toxic-tipped spiny tails, Beach Patrol Chief Peter Davis said Monday.

Davis said beachgoers can easily avoid a painful sting by shuffling through the water when they see blue flags on the beach warning of dangerous marine life.

See, that's why I avoid beaches with lifeguards. I don't need some stupid flag to warn me about the teeming swarms of toothy, ill-tempered monsters lurking just out of sight.

Which, on the Texas Gulf Coast, means about one foot underwater.

My experience with stingrays, however, is limited. When I was 17, my family went to Aruba for a week. I was wading a little ways offshore and stepped on what felt like a rubber mat. Something struck me in the calf, and then the 'mat' shot out from under my foot. I could see a ray swimming away, and I figure the thing either missed with the tail or its spine had broken off.

This other time in high school, my friend Mark got a '66 Stingray for his birthday. It was pretty sweet, but I only rode it in a few times.

How 'bout this heat?

Nobody's complaining about two months of rainfall now, I reckon.

"Murderous," "bloody hot," "fiery" and "worse than Dallas" were how some portrayed Sunday's sweltering heat, which reached 102 degrees at George Bush Intercontinental Airport.

The combined humidity and temperature created a feels-like heat index of 112 and led the city to declare a heat emergency, the first this year. Many stayed indoors, leaving pools and parks eerily empty during the hottest part of the day.

Houstonians face dangerous heat again today, with temperatures expected to break the 100-degree mark and no relief in sight until Wednesday, forecasters said.

I chose this last weekend to accompany my friend Sir Not Appearing In This Blog and several of his co-workers to the Houston-Chicago pre-season game on Saturday. Naturally for the guy who built Smogdor, tailgating was involved. Not quite as naturally, he and co-worker BT recently purchased a firetruck for just such occasions.

Big Red, the name under which the non-air conditioned, emissions violating monstrosity travels, is a 1971 Mack. Beyond that, I sort of blurred on the details. Did I mention it was really freaking hot?

Obviously, the truck didn't look originally look like this. They've put a ton of work into it already, and by the start of the regular season, they want to have a couple pits installed. I watched some guys working on this one, which I believe is going up top:

In the meantime, they're "making do" with this number:

It has a big brother lurking somewhere. As there were only going to be eight or ten of us in attendance, the little one seemed sufficient.

After some minor prep, which included securing the flags and - in a rare sign of maturity - purchasing more water than beer, we headed down to Reliant Stadium around 5 PM. The reading on the thermometer at the shop when we left was a crisp 105.

Once we rounded everybody up, it didn't take long to make camp. And those tents would come in handy when a freak storm blew up over us around 6 PM.

The view from the top.

The game, like all pre-season affairs, was essentially pointless. New Texans QB Matt Schaub played two series, while Bears starting goat Rex Grossman lasted one less. The "new" Houston offense looked suspiciously like the old, and we went back to the beer and food at halftime.

One of the few existing pictures of BT (center). I think the last guy to take his photo got stabbed in a port-a-john, so I hope everyone appreciates the risk I'm taking.

I don't know who the dork with the hat is, he just kind of showed up.

We're in the habit of being one of the last vehicles out of the lot. I'm not sure that's the best way to commemorate a 20-19 loss, but I wasn't driving.

I made it home a little after midnight, took the greatest shower of my life (not counting a few during my sexually adventurous college days), and collapsed. I think it's safe to say I'll be joining Big Red and the crew a couple more times this season, but probably not until the temperature dips into the relatively frigid 80s.

"Do you have a flag?"

Actually, someone does:

As the race to back up claims over the resources of the Arctic Ocean heats up, Canada has said it will build two new military bases in its far north.

Prime Minister Stephen Harper made the announcement during a tour of Canada's northern territories.

It comes as a Danish mission prepares to sail to the North Pole to map the seabed under the ice.

Last week, a Russian expedition planted the country's flag on the floor of the Arctic Ocean under the North Pole.

And if current trends continue, Oaanaaq will be known as "the San Diego of the 76th parallel."

Melting polar ice has led to competing claims over access to Arctic resources, including the Northwest Passage, a shipping channel between the Atlantic and Pacific oceans currently blocked by ice during the winter months.

Mr Harper announced plans last month to build six naval vessels to patrol the passage.

Canada, Russia, Denmark, Norway and the United States also have competing claims to the seabed below the North Pole, an area containing as much as 25% of the world's undiscovered oil and gas according to a US study.

How swell that our continued reliance on fossil fuels is the very thing that has freed up access to the amount needed to complete our realization of the SPF-1000 future promised in the first RoboCop.

Meh, that's all I've got. Go read my Rush Hour 3 review. It's Polanski-riffic.

"Here's a drawing of a spirochete."

And like the leprechaun, it apparently told Bush to burn things:

President Bush was successfully treated for Lyme disease nearly a year ago, the White House announced today.

The condition had never been revealed until the White House today made public the results of his annual physical exam. They said that he was treated for what they called "early, localized Lyme disease" last August after developing the characteristic bullseye rash, and that it did not recur.

Lyme disease is a common tick-borne infection that if left untreated can cause arthritis and other problems. The president's main form of exercise and recreational activity is mountain biking, which could bring him in contact with ticks.
[...]
"Doctors have determined that the president remains in superior fitness for a man his age -- anybody who's seen him on the bike or out and about certainly knows that -- and that he is fit for duty," Snow said.

We do? Here's a list of some of the late stage neuropsychiatric symptoms of Lyme disease:

- short-term memory loss
- sleep disturbance
- hallucinations
- depersonalization
- neurocognitive impairment (brain fog)
- psychosis

Just saying.

Oh, and "brain fog?"

No hari kari for Barry

So Barry Bonds finally limped his way to the all-time home run record tonight.

I thought I'd care more about that fact before it became inevitable, but I really don't.* Like the guy or not, and - let's face it - hardly anybody does, but he's one of the greatest players of all time. My quibbles about him hitting #756 have more to do with the fact that Hank Aaron faced a truly difficult road on his quest for the record, while Bonds' difficulties have been almost entirely of his own making. That, and I was sick of ESPN breaking in on SportsCenter every night for the last month to show me his ABs.

Is the record "tainted?" Probably. But you might as well put an asterisk next to every record set from the '90s on, and that includes Ken Caminiti's MVP, Brady Anderson's 50 HR in 1996, and Mark McGwire's breaking of Roger Maris' HR mark.

Truth be told, I don't know that many people besides ESPN and Giants fans (hi Don!) really give that much of a shit anymore. If nothing else, we've already seen one pretty impressive record already this season.

[As a Cardinals fan, I've had more reason to loathe Tom Glavine than Bonds over the last 20 years, but 300 wins is something else. Even though it came with the hated Mets, I have to salute him.]

So give old Pumpkin Head his due. He's the all-time (American, non-Negro League) HR leader. At least until this guy takes a shot at it. Speaking of assholes...

Besides, there's another truly historic record lurking in the wings this season. And it's one I'll be following with a lot more (morbid) curiosity than the home run title.

* Believe it or not, I was actually writing another baseball related entry as SportsCenter cut in to show 756.

"In the still of the night"

"I hear the...bear...howl honey, sniffing around your door:"

Rock star David Coverdale has been confronted by a black bear at his home in Lake Tahoe, Nevada.

Writing on his website, the Whitesnake singer said the bear broke into a guest bedroom on Wednesday morning.

Coverdale, 55, recounted how he ran at the animal with an air horn canister and scared him into the garden.

The British singer, formerly of Deep Purple, said bear attacks had become a "daily worry" and that authorities had warned he may have to move out.
[...]
"I'd like to think it was the smell of my fab cooking that seduced him," said Coverdale, "but it was only a slightly charred bagel!"

Don't be so coy, Dave. It was obviously the memory of all those sensuous pelvic microphone stand thrusts that lured your ursine suitor to your door.

I blame society

Nick Nicholson and Danny Minton finally went and gave form to something I've been idly bitching about for a while now: a Houston Film Critics Society:

The Houston Film Critics Society is a not-for-profit, unincorporated voluntary organization of print, broadcast, and internet film critics based in the Greater Houston metropolitan area that meet its membership criteria. Its purposes include:

+ Encouraging the publication and broadcasting of substantive critical commentary on film, and cooperation among those regularly engaged in film criticism in the region
+ Increasing public awareness and appreciation of cinematic excellence
+ Recognizing extraordinary accomplishment in film through the selection of annual recipients of Houston Film Critics Awards and the publicizing of those awards
+ Honoring both current and former distinguished members of the Association and their contributions to the Association's mission

Nick and Danny were kind enough to ask me to be one of the founding members. We'll see how long it is before they rethink the wisdom of that decision.

Meanwhile, here's my Bourne Ultimatum review. I seem to be one of the few people who felt it was inferior to Supremacy.

I give up

I mean, Houston's only the fucking 4th largest city in the country:

Oct 14 - College Station, TX - Big State Festival at the Texas World Speedway (this will be a ROCK SHOW) BUY TICKETS

The DBTs are playing Oct. 13 in New Orleans, and Oct. 16 in Tulsa.

Pros for attending the Big State Festival: Willie, Lyle Lovett, Robert Earl Keen, Reckless Kelly, Kelly Wills, and Charlie Louvin.

Cons: Tim McGraw, Trace Adkins, Dierks Bentley, and sitting through about two dozen other bands I've never heard of.

The hell with it. TWS is about a 75-minute drive from my house. And at this rate, the next DBT tour won't take them closer than Little Rock.