A Perfectly Cromulent Blog

Deutschbags

I don't know, man. Every time I tell myself I'm going to sit down and watch a football soccer game I enjoy it for about ten minutes, and then I can't get past what whiny little bitches they all are.

Case in point, ABC's playing the MLS match between Los Angeles and D.C. this morning before the Euro Cup final (sort of like the battle of the bands winner opening for the Rolling Stones). First off, after listening to the announcing crew talk for 20 minutes about the Galaxy's David Beckham and MLS goals leader Landon Donovan, I decided I was going to root fiercely for D.C. United. I have nothing against Donovan, except for his utter collapse in the last World Cup and his worsening habit of taking out his anger over advancing male pattern baldness on opposing players. It hasn't helped, D.C. was up 4-1 when I changed channels to...

The Euro 2008 final is on today. In news that should be no surprise to anyone who's heard me correct someone describing my surname as Dutch, I'll be pulling for Michael Ballack, Bastian Schweinsteiger (what a name) and Germany to pull it out.

UPDATE: Aaaand Spain's up 1-0 at the half. Loverly.

UPDATE 2: I'm junking any more pro-Spain comments.

Just kidding. Yeah, I was really taken with ESP's speed and accuracy throughout the match. I hate using the expression "they wanted it more," but they played with a lot more fire (and flopped with a lot more enthusiasm). Patrick's right, the best team won.

As promised

I mentioned She Who Shall Not Be Named's new nightshirt back when I bought it at the Iron Maiden show. Here's a pic:

Any parent who hasn't outfitted their spawn in a nylon bug costume during an 85-degree Halloween is welcome to comment.

For Your Review - June 27-29, 2008

A banner weekednd, in that I can enthusiastically recommend both wide releases (and mostly recommend one limited):

WALL-E ****1/2 - With Cars, Pixar proved it could make mistakes. With Ratatouille, they redeemed themselves admirably, though without reaching the heights set by Toy Story and The Incredibles. With WALL-E, they're back on top. I don't like using the word "delightful," because I never do, but this really is a treat.

>Wanted **** - I know, right? The trailer had my eyes rolling so loudly my daughter woke up. Three miles away. Two things work, though: director Timur Bekmambetov (Night Watch) knows how to embrace the ridiculous, and James McAvoy sells his 'Peter Gibbons goes postal' persona. Angelina Jolie needs a pork chop, however. Or to stay pregnant.

Sex Galaxy ***1/2 - A couple years back, I reviewed Pervert!, the first release from Stag Films. This is their follow-up, the world's first "green" movie (made from 100% stock and newsreel footage). It's more uneven than their first, but still amusing. Not sure why I'm telling any of you, since it's only playing in L.A. and probably not for long. But there you go.

"You're such a Pollyanna, Egon."

Apparently Saturday morning cartoons still exist. And here I'd thought the advent of satellite TV and a 24-hour cartoon channel killed them off entirely, but no, I see the networks wheezing along with a handful of Spider-Man and Ninja Turtle toons scattered amongst the Hannah Montanas and Ravens. I don't really have any editorial comment to make, beyond the usual lamentations about not being able to sleep in until 11 like my parents because the offspring are zombifying in front of the TV.

And certainly, there was a lot of garbage on the tube back in the 70s and 80s, when I first learned you could watch TV for five hours straight and not go into convulsions. We can try to blame the hazy prism of nostalgia, but really there was no excuse for sitting through shit like Jabberjaw and Captain Caveman.

And yet I never actually watched The Real Ghosbusters when it originally aired. The 1984 movie is still one of my favorite comedies (and has the distinction of being the first VHS tape the Vonder Haar family ever purchased), but by 1986 Saturday mornings were all about either mowing the lawn or sleeping off the previous night's beer shotgunning contests. I got caught up with the show in college (my friend Shane had a thoroughly frightening assortment of recorded 80s programming), and this episode in particular stuck out. I couldn't believe I was watching a kid's cartoon about the Great Old Ones, but there you go (via MetaFilter).

"The Collect Call of Cathulhu[sic]"[1] was written by Michael Reaves and edited by J. Michael Straczynksi (one assumes the Ghostbusters' previous dealings with the supernatural boosted their SAN enough to properly deal with horrors from beyond space and time). I love it all: the Raiders style ending, "Alice" Derleth, no Slimer. The first season really was the best, though the whole run...reportedly...is coming to DVD this fall. And the new video game should be out for the Wii early next year.

I have a sudden urge to go shotgun a beer.

[1] Good old Chaosium, always ready with a lawsuit

"Don't confuse my point of view with cynicism. The real cynics are the ones who tell you that everything's gonna be all right."

I take some small comfort in the fact that George Carlin would most likely be laughing his ass off at all the heartfelt lamentation going on in the wake of his demise. The fact remains, however, that Carlin was - along with Steve Martin - the first stand-up comic I ever got into. One of the first shows I remember watching when we got HBO (that wasn't Beastmaster or one of those late night burlesque specials) was Carlin at Carnegie. Unlike Martin, Carlin's movie career was...spotty at best, but he was Mr. Conductor in Shining Time Station, which blows away anything Martin has done since the first Bush administration.

Like most of my friends, I had memorized much of Carlin's oeuvre as a kid, from "Baseball vs. Football" to the "69 assholes tied in a knot" chant. In later years he was often accused of being more hectoring than funny, but I really thought some of his strongest and most incisive material came during that period.

It's a lousy feeling when all those artists and entertainers you admired in your youth start dying off. Fortunately for me, there were only a handful that affected me significantly and changed the way I look at things. Unfortunately, Carlin was one of them.

Anyway, here are some of my personal highlights.

The Seven Dirty Words

Life is Worth Losing

The table is tilted folks, the game is rigged. And nobody seems to notice, nobody seems to care. Good, honest, hard-working people...white collar, blue collar, it doesn't matter what color shirt you have on...good, honest, hard-working people continue - these are people of modest means - continue to elect these rich cocksuckers who don't give a fuck about them. They don't give a fuck about you, they don't care about you, at all[...]That's what the owners count on, the fact that Americans will probably remain willfully ignorant of the big red white and blue dick that's being jammed up their assholes every day. Because the owners of this country know the truth: it's called the American Dream because you have to be asleep to believe it.

Maybe my favorite of his recent ones, You Are All Diseased:

Question #1: Did you pack your bags yourself? No. Carrot Top packed my bags. He and Martha Stewart and Florence Henderson came over to the house last night, fixed me a lovely lobster Newburg, gave me a full body massage with sacred oils from India, performed a four-way around the world, and then they packed my bags. Next question.

Go fuck yourself, George. And I mean that in the most reverent way imaginable.

"Your balls itch?"

Bonus points to anyone who can tell me what '80s movie that pharmacist-delivered line is from.

Anyway, I guess it's a good thing these assholes weren't around when my friend Louden got crabs our junior year:

When DMC Pharmacy opens this summer on Route 50 in Chantilly, the shelves will be stocked with allergy remedies, pain relievers, antiseptic ointments and almost everything else sold in any drugstore. But anyone who wants condoms, birth control pills or the Plan B emergency contraceptive will be turned away.

That's because the drugstore, located in a typical shopping plaza featuring a Ruby Tuesday, a Papa John's and a Kmart, will be a "pro-life pharmacy" -- meaning, among other things, that it will eschew all contraceptives.

The pharmacy is one of a small but growing number of drugstores around the country that have become the latest front in a conflict pitting patients' rights against those of health-care workers who assert a "right of conscience" to refuse to provide care or products that they find objectionable.

It's a long article, filled with the usual bilge about how these noble beacons of moral supereminence are simply following the hallowed American tradition of "following their conscience." I'd encourage you to read the whole thing, but I'm just going to quote a few choice (har) bits:

The pharmacies are emerging at a time when a variety of health-care workers are refusing to perform medical procedures they find objectionable. Fertility doctors have refused to inseminate gay women. Ambulance drivers have refused to transport patients for abortions. Anesthesiologists have refused to assist in sterilizations.

Then fire them. I'm sure it varies, but aren't health care workers in a state-regulated system required to provide treatment when the prescription/diagnosis is legitimate? Take any of these homunculoids who refuse to provide the services they've been licensed for and shitcan them so they'll be free to preach their 17th century gibberish in whatever ratholes these people inhabit.

"This allows a pharmacist who does not wish to be involved in stopping a human life in any way to practice in a way that feels comfortable," said Karen Brauer, president of Pharmacists for Life International, which promotes a pharmacist's right to refuse to fill such prescriptions. The group's Web site lists seven pharmacies around the country that have signed a pledge to follow "pro-life" guidelines, but Brauer said there are many others.

I'm not linking the web site, but here's a list of the pharmacies:

- David's Pharmacy, Cartaya, David and Carmen RPhs - 2302 W Martin Luther King Blvd, Tampa, FL
- Andrew Eells, BSP, Greta Pharmacy, 1475 W Okeechobee Rd, Ste 5, Hialeah, FL
- Richmond Apothecary, Rokosz, David RPh 1626 East Main Street - Richmond, IN
- DuPlantis, Lloyd J, PD , Lloyd's Remedies, PO Box 1780, 3696 W Main St, Gray, LA
- Koelzer, Michael G, RPh Kay Pharmacy and Home Medical Equipment, 2178 Plainfield Rd NE, Grand Rapids, MI
- Superior Pharmacy, Lane L Hawley, RPh 348 N Central Ave, Superior, NE

Alternatives are probably easy to find in places like Tampa, Hialeah, and Grand Rapids. But tough shit for the woman who needs Plan B in Gray, LA (50 miles from New Orleans) or Superior, NE (75 miles from Lincoln). Or the out-of-towner who loses their birth control pills in Richmond, IN. And I guess it never occurs to these people that The Pill and other contraceptives are often prescribed for uses other than legitimizing those pagan orgies Bauer and her ilk see lurking behind every script for Ortho-Novum.

"We try to practice pharmacy in a way that we feel is best to help our community and promote healthy lifestyles," said Lloyd Duplantis, who owns Lloyd's Remedies in Gray, La., and is a deacon in his Catholic church. "After researching the science behind steroidal contraceptives, I decided they could hurt the woman and possibly hurt her unborn child. I decided to opt out."

Some critics question how such pharmacies justify carrying drugs, such as Viagra, for male reproductive issues, but not those for women.

Yeah.

This is the standard fallback, that these maladroits somehow care about women's issues in a way that those who dedicate their entire lives and careers to women's health somehow don't understand. It's beyond disingenuous: it's bullshit. Any pharmacist that refuses to fill legitimate prescriptions or stock contraceptives yet have no problem doling out boner pills has shown their true self: not a concerned practitioner bravely standing up for his individual rights, but rather a delusional misogynist whose attitude towards health care has more in common with Theodoric of York than any human being educated in the last 50 years.

Maim Canada

Seriously though, WTF?

Another human foot encased in a running shoe has been found on the shores of British Columbia in Canada, the second this week and the sixth within a year.

Like four of the others it was a right foot, a police official said.

The foot was found near Campbell River on Vancouver Island and appeared to have been severed, a witness said.

Police, who are not speculating on this, are trying to determine the origins of the feet and whether they are any links between the discoveries.

Wow, more like British Colombia, right? Right?

Anyway, could it all be a bizarre podiatric coincidence?

"In the first four cases, police have no evidence that the feet were severed. It is too early to say if this foot was severed," police spokeswoman Annie Linteau said.

On Monday, a left foot was found on another island off Vancouver.

Like the previous four, it is believed to have become detached at the ankle, in a process called disarticulation.

Forensic experts say it is not unusual for body parts to become separated after they have been in the water for a long time.
[...]
Investigators are looking at the cases individually but are also trying to establish if there any links.

Forensics experts are taking DNA samples and police are also trying track down the manufacturers of the shoes and then the shops where they were sold.

But with so little concrete information, theories abound.

Organised crime, boating accidents - even the 2004 Asian tsunami - are all being offered as possible explanations.

This was no boating accident.

We'll look over the misspelling of "organized" for the moment and try to concentrate on who could possibly behind such gruesomeness? Canadian mobsters? Angry moviegoers clamoring for a sequel to My Left Foot?

But wait, this just in:

What appeared to be the sixth human foot to wash up on British Columbia's shore since last August is actually an animal's paw and seaweed stuffed into a sock, the provincial coroner's office said. Five feet had previously been discovered, all in running shoes, and investigators have not been able to identify any of them. But an examination by a forensic pathologist and an anthropologist concluded that the latest discovery was a hoax, the coroner's office said.

That's a relief. I mean, five was weird and all, but six would just be...crazy.

To live and die in OKC

I'm back. Have been for several days, in all honesty, but have only now been able to dredge up the will to sit in front of a computer for leisure.

deadCENTER was great, as expected. Good movies (generally), great parties, and lots of cool folks. My full write-up can be found here.

I'll be back with more tomfoolery once the migraines stop.

The corn is as high as a cheerleader's thigh

Wait, that isn't right...

Anyway, I'm back in the OKC for the 2008 deadCENTER Film Festival. Things picked right up where we left off last year, with more opening night tomfoolery and a sulfurous after party at the Maker's Cigar Lounge.

Oh, and I saw a movie.

Anyway, I'm off to interview Okie Noodling II director Bradley Beesley and see a bunch more movies. Further festival updates can be found this weekend on the FT Blogs page, assuming anyone can recover from seeing Don's pics from CineVegas.

Ahem

The Incredible Hulk is better than Iron Man.

Two caveats:

1) Your enjoyment of the movie will be greatly enhanced if you have a decent grasp of the supporting cast, as well as a lot of affection for the old TV show.

2) I'm not writing the FT review, so I don't need to justify my statement any further.

"Everyone in this room is now dumber for having listened to it."

Started out a typical Sunday morning: drinking coffee, tinkering with next week's fantasy baseball lineup, enduring another episode of The Backyardigans, and reading about G4's latest attempt to usher in the end of civilization, Hurl!

Representing an entirely new type of competition, HURL! combines competitive speed-eating with intense physical challenges all designed to shake up the competitors...it's an eating competition with an extreme sports chaser.

With HURL!, participants are subjected to a series of challenges: Spiraling down a tunnel in a steel cage ball after eating multiple bowls of clam chowder...saddling up for a bucking, spinning, spew-inducing thrill ride on the mechanical bull after downing some franks n' beans...and much more! Last contestant to spew wins a cool grand plus bragging rights as an "Iron Stomach Champion."

The hazmat suits are a nice touch.

As someone who once engaged in this kind of behavior for free*, I can't fault anybody humiliating themselves for a cool G. But it makes me wonder how long before we see the following programs:

CRAP! - After downing unhealthy amounts of four-alarm chili, prunes, and All-Bran, the competitors consume steadily increasing quantities of laxatives. Those that survive the initial stages must then contend with the Enema Round.

NUT! - Contestants engage in frottage and high school-level making out with second tier porn stars until release is imminent, then attempt to hold out as select dancers from the Cheetah grind on their pelvises. The last one to bust in his pants earns bragging rights as "Blue Balls McGinty."

BLEED! - The lucky participants endure wounds ranging from paper cuts to wounds inflicted by straight razors and chainsaws. The winner is the one who...doesn't die.

I think any of these would make a great double-bill with Cheaters.

* Wolfing down $5 worth of Mexican food from Pepe's, shotgunning three beers, and sprinting up and down the ramps at Kyle Field. Last one to spew won eternal glory or something.

"Go ahead...throw your vote away!"

I admit, I've always thought it'd be neat - in a creepy kind of way - if things like the Loch Ness monster or werewolves or the Wellborn Goat Man actually existed. My inner skeptic prevents from really believing, in the Mulderian sense, but I still keep an eye open for news stories about such phenomena, just in case.

And then there are those phantasmagorical creatures I never thought I'd encounter:

A hard core of Hillary Clinton's supporters are threatening to resist Barack Obama's nomination right up to the party's convention in August, leaving the Democrats dangerously divided ahead of next November's elections. Some may even abstain or vote for Republican John McCain in protest against Obama's candidacy.

The long Democratic contest exposed sharp divisions in support between Obama and Clinton. In contest after contest, Clinton beat Obama among middle-aged and older white women, white working class men, Latinos, and Jewish voters.

Mass defections to McCain are unlikely, said Thomas Mann, a politics expert at the Brookings Institution. "The vast, vast majority will just automatically come over," he said. "What we are talking about is only the hard core - 20% or below of her supporters will be angry enough to vote for McCain or not at all."

I've been hearing this stuff for a couple of weeks, but always put it down to a few loud cranks with a sore loser complex getting excessive airtime on Fox News. That was until I heard one of them at dinner last night. She was an older woman, eating with her husband and another couple. Everybody talks pretty loud in Tony's, and we were sitting right next to them so I heard most of their conversation regarding the election primaries and Obama's impending nomination. That was when the woman said, plain as day, that she - a lifelong Democrat - would sooner vote for McCain than Obama.

We all say things when we're pissed off that we regret later, so I'm hoping that was the case with this person. And yet I almost couldn't resist the urge to grab her by the padded shoulders and shake her while politely asking:

Are you out of your fucking mind?! John Paul Stevens is almost 90 years old! Ruth Bader Ginsburg is 75! McCain has marched in lockstep with Bush for almost eight years and will continue embracing religious intolerance and rolling back civil liberties in the name of "security," and you're going to vote for him because your candidate never apologized for helping send us to Iraq? I hope you choke on that flauta!

But then, it was just me and my daughter, so I contented myself with flicking borracho beans in her hair and blaming She Who Shall Not Be Named.

I tend to think Clinton's hardcore faithful are just blowing off steam and will come back on board by November. At least I hope so, because you can bet your ass McCain will be dangling Obama's "inexperience" and "naivete" like bass lures over them for the next five months.

The Hell of Endlessly Signing Autographs

Kung Fu Panda screened tonight. As Dreamworks cartoons go, it wasn't bad. 'Course, when your competition consists of shit like Shark Tale and Madagascar, that's not an accolade I'd go out of my way to publicize.

I got there late, thanks to a few last minute beers at Harlow's traffic, so I didn't know a member of the cast was in attendance (though it would explain why all those seats were blocked off). Upon emerging from the theater, I saw it was none other James "Lo Pan" Hong himself:

Houston's got a lot of hells. And Lo Pan's got a lot of daughters.

And yes, of course I got a picture.

He said I was the only person to identify themselves as big fan of Big Trouble in Little China, and his mystical powers are obviously still in full effect, as he somehow managed to sign the picture a full day before I actually met him. At least he didn't say, "Shut up, Mr. Vonder Haar. You were not brought upon this earth to 'get it.'"

For Your Review - May 30-June 1, 2008

My review of Sex and the City (**) is up at Film Threat. Anyone who has even a passing acquaintance with my particular tastes can probably guess my reaction, but I tried to give it a fair shake.

And honestly, I try to give them all of fair shake. Directed by Brett Ratner? Okay. Starring Scarlett Johannson? Sure. Written by Uwe Boll? Well, actually, I haven't seen one of his movies since a bootleg of BloodRayne, but I'd take the hit.

Not everybody agrees, of course. There's been a message board on the FT site for several years now, It's largely silent (when we're lucky), which may ultimately be a better fate than ending up like the Ain't It Cool News talkbacks, or the Rotten Tomatoes forums, or the fucking IMDB boards, which make AICN look like the Algonquin Round Table.

But recently Film Threat implemented a user comment feature, and my reaction to that was the same as when the Houston Chronicle or any other publication has done the same: awesome! After all, merely giving out the author's contact information and dedicating server space to message forums just doesn't allow enough "interactivity" for readers who can't wait to call Mayor Bill White a douchebag (on the Chron page) or call me a homophobic asshole (on my SatC review).

I welcome this new culture of feedback with open arms. In fact, I think the current situation doesn't go far enough. I say give readers edit access to the articles and reviews themselves, that way they can put their opinions right there in the article in question. No longer will they be forced to go through the extreme inconvenience of completing two fields in order to register for a comment account, because how fair is that when you want to register your immediate outrage over the fact that Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull "took a shit on your childhood?"

People feel strongly about their mass-produced corporate entertainment. I'm just trying to help.