A Perfectly Cromulent Blog

"Enough of this running shit."

I am Jack's Pete's impending arthritis...

Broke my ankle in February of 1989. It was a truly impressive 50 foot plummet that caused my talus bone to "shatter" - as the orthopedist put it - into three pieces. The screws in the tibia are from where the surgeon had to reattach the end after sawing it off to get to the sweet, sweet ankle bones.

I was told at the time that I'd probably walk with a limp, but I'm pretty sure the doctor was just trying to scare the shit out of me. I didn't PT 'til I died, as Sgt. Hartman might recommend, but I busted my ass to the point where I was walking pretty normally within 6 months.

And, because I'm an idiot, I started running. It was slow going at first, but eventually I was making it up to 3 and 4 miles at a pop. Thing was, right around the four mile mark, my ankle would just lock up. The range of flexion, only about 45 degrees max on a good day, completely disappeared, and I'd end up limping back to my apartment. The same thing happened when I tried picking it up again about ten years ago.

Rather than accept this as a rather blunt reminder that I'm not exactly built for speed and content myself with cycling and the elliptical machine, I started running again a month or so ago. I made 3.5 miles yesterday, which is the farthest I've gone since the late 20th century, so naturally I'm worried about the dreaded ankle lock. I've been doing some different flexibility exercises and my trainer (okay, the trainer at my gym) has suggested a few things, so we'll see.

I don't really have an ultimate goal. I'd like to get up to doing 10Ks, but I doubt my joints (the non-mechanically reinforced ones) would appreciate much more than that. Mostly I just want to be able to easily outdistance the guys I go camping with should any bears/mountain lions/swamp folk ambush us in the woods.

More Balls for your consumption

My second Hair Balls entry, titled Hollywood Destroys Houston: The Top Five, is up for your perusal. As always, we welcome your comments.

"It's called rocking out! - Pt. 2

Now then, the concert itself. If I had to limit myself to a one word review, that word would be "appalling."

Okay, so there was some good to be had: namely Mick Mars. The guys is 740 years old and suffering from ankylosing spondylitis, which has rendered him unable to turn his head or stand up straight (he's also shrunk from 5' 9" to 5' 3"), but the guy can still shred. If there was anything to recommend the first 3/4 of the set, it was hearing him play, whether he was rooted to his spot stage right or lurching to the front to solo.

As for everything else...let me just say that I saw Mötley Crüe in 1987 with Tim and a couple other guys. They were big back then. I mean, like, Def Leppard big (holla atcha boy, Plantersville!). Whitesnake opened, and both Heather Locklear and pre-high heel assault Tawny Kitaen were in attendance. The band themselves were also assisted on stage by the Nasty Habits, two leather-clad "backup singers" that provided eye candy to our side of the stage. Last week's show, on the other hand, reminded me of seeing KISS in 1989, when the lights in the first giant 'S' went out and they were openly heckled by those in attendance.

And I can't speak for Tim and the others, but I'm nowhere near as svelte or energetic as I was 21 years ago, and that's without the heroin snorting. The Crüe, on the other hand, are definitely the worse for two decades of wear. Vince Neil is a pudgy mosaic of bad plastic surgery, incipient hair loss, and poor lifestyle choices, Tommy Lee still talks like a stoned fratboy and is starting to resemble Jamie Farr in his old age, and all the Road Warrior fashion in the world isn't going to hide the gut on Nikki Sixx. I guess Kat Von D loves him for his mind.

What happened to Marshall stacks?

Even so, the fact that non-Mars members of the band are pushing 50 shouldn't excuse a poor performance, and I might have been more forgiving had I not seen two shows already this year featuring quinquagenarians that both vaulted into my top 10 all-time concert experiences. I was due for a letdown, and - at least in that regard - the Crüe didn't disappoint.

Right off the bat you knew there was going to be trouble. "Kickstart My Heart" was the opening song, and Neil was either unwilling or unable to sing half the words, holding his microphone out for the audience as if he paid $75 a pop to hear us sing. "Wild Side" and "Shout at the Devil" were done in similar lazy fashion, which made the microphone failure during "Don't Go Away Mad" (played about halfway through the show) that much more amusing.

"Saints of Los Angeles," from their latest album of the same name, was up next. The stage, poorly rendered here, was apparently meant to evoke a rooftop in the City of Angels. Was it the post-apocalyptic rape fantasy L.A. of "Looks That Kill?" Or perhaps the incomprehensible Chinatown of "Too Young to Fall in Love?" We may never know:

"Live Wire" followed, and I noted with no small amount of amusement that Tommy Lee's drum solo, for lack of a better phrase, hasn't improved one iota from the thrice tapped cowbell of the album version. We were also spared the fifteen minute spectacle of the elevated, upside down drum kit. I honestly think they killed that part of the set to keep Mick from spending more time on stage than absolutely necessary. I swear, at one point during Tommy's "titty cam" shenanigans (I dearly wish I was joking), Mick looked in my general direction, craned his aching skull skyward, and beseeched someone, anyone, to put him out of his misery.

Thus began a series of songs I honestly couldn't care less about: "Motherfucker of the Year," the aforementioned "Don't Go Away Mad," "Same Ol' Situation," and Primal Scream." It was around this time RTVW and I discovered the Toyota Center stopped serving alcohol at 9:30. Thus thwarted, we turned out attention to the video show accompanying the concert. Always ones for subtlety, the band entertained us with barely edited porn cut with concentration camp footage. And just so we were sure of where they (Sixx) got the idea, there were also plenty of shots of Malcolm McDowell with the eye clamps. The repeated shots of Bush giving the finger (during "Motherfucker") were a nice touch, however.

The final songs, unsurprisingly, provided the show's high points. "Looks that Kill and "Dr. Feelgood" were actually quite tight, "LTK" was especially rocking, but that's probably just because, like incontinent marathoners, they were in a hurry to finish up. And of course, no Crüe show would be complete without their sole encore, "Home Sweet Home:"

The song's annoyance factor is trebled not just by its popularity as an insufferable power ballad, but also because that dude at drum major camp in 1986 totally got all the hot ass because he could play the piano part (and yes, there was plenty of hot ass at drum major camp).

So, 13 songs. Not a lot to show for, what...nine studio albums? And nothing from the John Corabi era? Ah well, I was bound to have some missteps during my year of concert glory. Next up, the Drive-By Truckers in September.

"It's called rocking out!" - Pt. 1

Went to Mötley Crüe's cleverly named "Crüe Fest" Tuesday night - the first of many, if apparently deranged singer Vince Neil is to be believed. I attended the event with "Reality TV Wife" instead of Joni (the Metal Wife), mostly because RTVW has an in with a ticket broker and scored us the seats, which came with their own bar area (the Jack Daniels Lounge, if I'm not mistaken).

But I'm getting ahead of myself. First, we had to contend with the four opening acts at the fest, namely SIXX: A.M. (drolly referred to as "SUXX A.M." by those who referred to them at all), Trapt ("Trapped with a T," as I repeatedly stated to the annoyance of everyone around me), Papa Roach, and Buckcherry. RTVW and I don't agree on much, but we found common ground in our overwhelming lack of desire to sit through any of these performances. While debating options on our approach to the Toyota Center, we happened upon an open parking meter a block away from a bar called the BUS (two blocks from the Center). Our decision made, we went in to grab a few beers and debate when the Crüe would actually take the stage.

We were about an hour off, as it turns out.

I should digress for a moment to describe our ensembles. RTVW had, for whatever reason, decided to go with her slacks/blouse work outfit, while I elected to rock the jeans/fucking awesome Iron Maiden soccer jersey look:

Actual torso may not taper in the displayed manner

Sitting outdoors wasn't that bad for July in Houston. And for that I have to thank hurricane Dolly: you may have heaped misery upon south Texas/NE Mexico, but your outer cloud bands kept me cool while drinking, and that's what really matters.

After several beers/vodkas and much discussion about M*A*S*H-related minutiae, we decided to wander over to the Toyota Center. Security was pretty tight, which is perfectly understandable when the bulk of your audience are paunchy 40-somethings more concerned with whether the sitter is updating her MySpace page from the family PC than getting into a "rumble." Nevertheless, I allowed myself a brief frisson of nostalgia for my younger metal days, when we were hassled by "the pigs" at a Slayer concert. Happy days.

Upon arriving, RTVW went in search of food, while I scoped out our seats and got a pic of roadies striking the Papa Roach banner. Obviously we'd underestimated how long they could stretch out the "Last Resort" encore:

Killing time during a support performance goes a lot easier when you have a bar at which to seat yourself, and we could still hear strains of Buckcherry's performance drifting in from the arena, so - were we so inclined - we could've trotted out and heard instant classics like "Crazy Bitch" or "Sorry," which could go toe-to-toe with anything on Warrant's catalog for a place of honor in the Embarrassing Power Ballad Hall of Fame.

We also met a few colorful characters, including a couple guys down from Plantersville. I don't remember their names (or even if we were introduced), but one was a plumber based in Navasota, and the other was...between jobs, I think. They were metalheads from way back, however (each having graduated HS within two years of yours truly), and were only too willing to discuss their respective hellraising pasts, as well as the state of today's hard rock:

MetalHead #2: So we saw Def Leppard in San Antonio a few months ago, then drove up to Dallas to see 'em again the next night.
Pete: Did they play anything from "High 'N' Dry?"
MH #2: Uh, I don't think so. Anyway, if you ask me, the only current rock band that can come close to Leppard lyrically is Nickelback.
Pete: [chokes on beer]
MH #2: You've never heard of Nickelback?
Pete: Oh...I've heard of them.

I deflected further suspicion by remarking how often "Pour Some Sugar on Me" is played in strip clubs, which led to a studied and thoroughly exhaustive analysis on the quality of fishnet stockings in the immediate vicinity. I noted, with no little satisfaction, that my g-g-generation has few reservations about jockeying with the younger set for elite tramp status:

38-year olds, Dude.

The only other encounter of note involved an underage fellow who approached us to buy him a beer. That's not entirely accurate, for in truth he approached MetalHead #2, who immediately launched into a breakdown of his top 10 greatest teenage drinking stories. We steered him toward the bar anyway, and RTVW gently chided the kid for not knowing to approach the female in any group with such requests.

Of course, I call him a "kid" when the fucker looked/was built like Brady Quinn. I have no doubt he's a regular at the neighborhood Valero station, buying Busch tallboys for his hormonally-challenged friends with impunity. Curse your draconian one ID/one drink policy, Toyota Center.

Finally, it was time for the Crüe to take the stage. Which I'll cover in Part 2...

The waiting is the hardest part

I know everyone can't wait for my Crüe Fest review, but the phone with all my photos is dead, and I need to find the charger for it. In the meantime, here's a humorous picture, of the kind I know you young people enjoy:

My Balls are always bouncing

Earlier this month, there was an entry on Off the Kuff about how Rich Connelly of the Houston Press was taking his weekly column "Hair Balls" online, replacing the HouStoned blog. I need to buy Chuck a beer next time I see him, because had I not read that I probably wouldn't have known to fire an e-mail off to Rich, and I wouldn't now be a contributor. My first Hair Balls entry is a list of the top five films filmed in Houston not set in Houston. Go check it out and leave lots of fawning feedback .

Seriously...fawning. I need the money.

The site updates several times a day, so check often. And I'll be sure to annoy everyone here with reminders as well.

A clarification

I am here to stand by comments made on this blog last week stating that 99 perecent of talk radio hosts are self-loathing closet queens and that the entire talk radio industry is, in fact, a fraud and a racket resulting from a lack of firm parenting. Further, I vigorously maintain the position that the desire to host a radio program is a direct byproduct of not having a father around to keep them from wallowing in their own excrement while listening to repeated playback of Johnny Horton's Greatest Hits.

These comments were meant to "boldly awaken" listeners to the radio community's attempts to produce an atmosphere where messianic blowhards provide them with inaccurate information to keep them in a perpetual state of ignorance and xenophobic paranoia. Many radio listeners are also being victimized by their inability to discern bullshit from the truth, which may not exist in all radio programs. Let the truly discriminating turn their radios off and read a book, let the willfully ignorant get a swift kick in the ass.

Now, I'll concede that the "99 percent" statement may have been a "little high." That's because it was hyperbole, which as we all know is that thing you try to shield yourself behind when a wider audience becomes aware of your idiocy and calls you on it. Still, I'm glad to have prodded discussion on the subject, and I plan to give over my entire comments section today to further discussion on whether Michael Savage is a vile sack of shit because his daddy didn't show him enough love, or if he was simply born that way.

Context

"You crossed the line first, sir."

So...The Dark Knight...I can't lie, I thought it was outstanding. I won't go so far as to say it was a "masterpiece," but it's easily at the top of my list of favorite superhero flicks.

The review won't be up until tomorrow morning, but I can go ahead an give you the link anyway. Here it is. ****1/2 stars.

On an unrelated note, I'd like to point out that AOL now owns indieWIRE as well as Cinematical and the Moviefone sites, leaving Film Threat as one of the last non-corporate movie web spots around.

Just sayin'.

Lousy Phlegms

Braddon: Well now, the result of last week's competition when we asked you to find a derogatory term for the Belgians. Well, the response was enormous and we took quite a long time sorting out the winners [...] but in the end we settled on three choices. Number three: "the Sprouts," sent in by Mrs Vicious of Hastings. Very nice. Number two: "the Phlegms," from Mrs Childmolester of Worthing. But the winner was undoubtedly from Mrs No-Supper-For-You from Norwood in Lancashire: "Miserable Fat Belgian Bastards:"

ST. LOUIS, Mo., July 14 (Reuters) - Outrage mixed with sad resignation on Monday in the home city of brewer Anheuser-Busch Cos Inc, following its $52 billion takeover by Belgium-based InBev NV.

The 150-year-old Anheuser, brewer of Budweiser and 30 other brands, has served as a symbol for St. Louis almost as recognizable as the soaring Gateway Arch.

"Budweiser and St. Louis will remain linked by the thousand bonds that history, bricks, preferences and generations of brewery families can forge," said Mayor Francis Slay.
Slay, like several members of Congress representing the area, had objected to the deal when it was proposed a month ago, but said they planned to do whatever they could to preserve the company's 6,000 local jobs and millions of dollars in charitable donations.
[...]
InBev has suggested it will exploit synergies between the two brewing giants to cut costs, but has proposed keeping the combined brewer's U.S. headquarters in St. Louis, along with the huge brewery on Pestalozzi Street, one of Anheuser's 12 U.S. breweries.

Exploit synergies? That's a relief. If, on the other hand, they had suggested leveraging resources to fast track outside the box deliverables and implement paradigm shifts designed to take core competencies to a more granular level, I might have been worried.

"Beer is basically cheap and heavy. That's why Anheuser's breweries are spread around the country. To sell it in the Midwest you basically have to make it here," said Glenn MacDonald, an economics professor at Washington University in St. Louis.

"I don't think there will be a significant loss of production jobs. One thing they've said is they'll leave management of the U.S. business in St. Louis -- we'll see whether they're going to do that."
[...]
Talk in some taverns turned to grim acceptance of the global economic forces driving the deal, while others opted to express their disgust by switching away from Anheuser brands.

If you must pry, I don't actually drink AB products. Budweiser especially gives me a wicked headache after a few, so at family gatherings in St. Louis I try to stick to wine or booze. The takeover is still a bummer, considering Anheuser-Busch is one of the last big companies left in the area.

And my aunt works there. At least, I think she still does...I should probably follow up on that.

"What about Brett Fav...ruh?"

Didn't any of you idiots realize I retired on Opposite Day?

Brett Favre finally is speaking for himself: He wants to play but doesn't feel welcome in Green Bay, so he's asking to be released.

The quarterback's first substantial comments on his latest retirement decision reversal come in an interview with Fox News on "On the Record with Greta Van Susteren."

"OK, you guys have a different path, fine," Favre said, recalling a June 20 conversation with Packers coach Mike McCarthy. "What does that mean for me? So that means either you give me my helmet, welcome back, or release me, or attempt to trade me. We all know that's a possibility, but way-out-there possibility.

"And he says, 'Well, playing here is not an option, but we can't envision you playing with another team, you know, either.' And I thought, so basically, I'm not playing for anyone if I choose to come back."

According to Van Susteren, who spoke to the AP by telephone Monday afternoon, Favre said he was "never fully committed" to retiring and felt pressured by the Packers to make a decision, a notion Packers general manager Ted Thompson and coach Mike McCarthy tried to dispel in an interview with the AP on Saturday.

Aww. The three-time NFL MVP, a guy once described as the toughest QB to play the game and a future Hall-of-Famer felt pressured. That must be why he spoke with such finality at his tearful press conference, and why he didn't say 'boo' while we got to sit through weeks of coverage and commemorative specials devoted to his career. Now he's whining because he doesn't feel welcome in Green Bay, a town where he could probably die of fellatio overdose, if such a thing is possible.

"You're telling me playing there is not an option, but playing elsewhere, we just can't--we're trying to protect your legacy," Favre said. "Well, thank you. I appreciate that. But apparently now, they're trying to protect my legacy by bringing me back and having me be a backup. Boy, that is really good."

Thompson and McCarthy wouldn't discuss the possibility of trading Favre and said they hadn't received any trade inquiries as of Saturday.

Thompson and McCarthy gave AP a detailed description of their dealings with Favre throughout the offseason, including an episode a few weeks after Favre's retirement where the two were prepared to fly to Mississippi to seal the deal on a Favre comeback--only to have the quarterback change his mind again.

He just makes it look fun, doesn't he?

Shit, with my luck he'll get traded to the Bears.

Five years/That's all we've got

I started this not wholly unsuccessful foray into blogdom on July 14, 2003. I'm too lazy to assemble some sort of list of "greatest hits," or indulge in wistful nostalgia. I also don't believe in dire pronouncements about the future of APCB, except to say I'm exploring all options, including pulling the plug.

For now, let me once again give my thanks to everyone who's ever commented here or written something on their own blog I could rip off. It's been an...eventful five years, I'll say that much.

For Your Review - July 11-13, 2008

Hellboy II: The Golden Army **** - I enjoyed the first one more, but this was still a lot of fun and Del Toro still brings the weird. I was hoping for something a bit more...apocalyptic, but what the hell, it was better than Meet Dave.

"The lights, the noise, the letter X...it's all designed to inflame the senses!"

So, the Alphabet Game. I could explain it for you, but I figured I might as well let Jessica do it:

My friend Carla and I have both just finished some major hurdles in our life. While in them, our social life was somewhat limited. Is this right for two cute chicks in their (very) early 30s? Hell, no.

We needed a way to launch back into the social scene with fierce abandon. So, we decided to do the "ALPHABET OF BARS!" We'll go to a different bar, each starting with the letters of the alphabet (in order of course) and chronicle our experience.

She and I expect to have tons of fun, discover new places, have great drinks, get lots of embarrassing pictures, find cute boys, (not necessarily in that order) and document the whole damn thing.

And so she has. The Wife and I were present at 'B' night, where I'm...proud to say I was the first to use "bestiality" and "Beelzebub" in conversation. This might sound impressive, except those are pretty much part of my everyday vocabulary.

Stay tuned for week 27, when the Alpbahet Game switches to Cyrillic and we all move to Kiev.

And they shall know us by the trail of...panties

Friend and award-winning filmmaker Don reacted to my attending both the new Indiana Jones movie and the Iron Maiden show in May by commenting it must have felt like prom was just around the corner. And while I have yet to go scrounge for Chris DeBurg's "Lady in Red" on iTunes, my attending this event will only serve to prolong my painful second adolescence:

Prepare yourself for 5 bands, one colossal show and a trail of panties from coast to coast. That's right, Mötley Crüe has just announced their massive summer tour, CRÜE FEST.

Featuring Mötley Crüe, Buckcherry, Papa Roach, SIXX: A.M., and Trapt, plus the Rock Band second stage experience, CRÜE FEST is sure to upset neighbors and blow out eardrums across the nation.

Yeah, they're sure to annoy the hell out of all those attendants working the parking garages that flank the Toyota Center. But really, it's cute that the guys still maintain that "rock and roll all nite/party ev-er-y day" façade, even as Vince heaves himself around like a blond Jon Lovitz and Mick strives to be the world's first 170-year old guitar player.

Doors open at 5:30. Looking at that lineup, I'll be showing up around 9.

UPDATE: Laanba reminds me of the upcoming Rock the Bayou fest coming Aug. 29-Sep. 1, of which I had heard rumors but - for fear of being called out on it - hadn't really checked into. Thanks a pantload, L.

I really have to hand it to whoever picked the dates for this, 'cause I can't think of a better place to spend late summer in Houston than on what is essentially a giant parking lot surrounded by a bunch of Malmsteen fans (though I'll bet those chicks who were into Slaughter 20 years ago are finally willing to talk to me).

This is one of those events that requires some serious embedded journalism...a doughty pioneer willing to devote a Labor Day weekend to sweating his ass off while listening to a parade of failures Cheyne-Stokes-ing their way through a horrible rendition of "Summertime Girls" as their paunch strains against the crusty seams of their ancient leather pants.

I'll talk to The Wife.

My Cup Runneth Over, v. 18

From the Mixed Blessings Department:

Like the undead themselves, modern zombie movies keep coming and coming. Get ready for at least one more, Paul W.S. Anderson told MTV News.

Well, maybe.

"Resident Evil: Extinction," the third video-game to big screen adaptation in the popular series will likely not be the last, Anderson said, although talks for a fourth film are still in the very earliest stages of development.

"I'm just starting to talk to Sony about it," Anderson confessed. "I don't even know if anything will come of it, but there's a possibility it might happen."

It would seem like a sure thing given the ending of "Extinction," which saw Alice (Milla Jovovich) beside herself with rage -- literally, thanks to hundreds of perfect clones - promising to travel to the Umbrella Corporation's headquarters in Japan. But Anderson, who scripted the first three films, says a concrete story hasn't yet been decided upon. In fact, it's coming up with a plausible, kick-ass story that's momentarily holding him up.

"I love the 'Resident Evil' franchise and we always try to make the best possible movie we can. If we could find a good 'Resident Evil 4' to make, then we would do it," he said. "But I wouldn't just do it for the sake of it, that's for sure."

My one-word rankings for the RE franchise would go thusly:

Resident Evil - Bleah
Apocalypse - Heh
Extinction - Meh

In my review of the second movie I mentioned that is was apparent Anderson seemed to have some vague plot design in mind for Alice, and the end of Extinction certainly makes it look like they're going to try and wrap things up with a bang over in Japan. Now it sounds more like he's making it up as he goes along. What a surprise.

I can't get away from this series, it seems, and I'm still at a loss to explain why I'm that interested in it. Sure, there's the Jovovich factor and all, but let's face it: zombie movies don't get much more incoherent than the RE flicks. And directors don't come much more craptastic than Paul W.S. Anderson.

Who I just remembered is engaged to Milla Jovovich. Figures.

Monday Offspring Blogging

LET it be known that Pete Vonder Haar has sued to disown his daughter, referred heretofore as SWSNBN, for her lack of respect and reverence for the traditions of the Vonder Haar family. Specifically, their long-standing love of pirates.

As evidence, he submits the following three items:

1. On June 20, SWSNBN did willfully and with malice aforethought press the 'Power' button on the family Blu-ray player during the climactic battle between Jack Sparrow and Davy Jones. Restoring the movie to its former state required several minutes and refreshing of beverages.

2. SWSNBN has repeatedly shown resistance to watch the Backyardigans episodes "Pirate Treasure" or "Pirate Camp," even when her father is trying to get work done. Her appreciation for the "Viking Voyage" episode mitigates this somewhat.

3. Consorting with known ninjas. Or at least sitting quietly through significant portions of several Sho Kosugi movies.

Ms. SWSNBN will be represented in these proceedings by her mother, who has her own motions filed against the complainant.

For Your Review - July 4-7, 2008

What's more patriotic than hot dog eating contests, lite beer, and traffic fatalities on the 4th of July? Why, movie reviews of course:

Hancock **1/2 - As odd a choice for a July 4 blockbuster as I can remember. It isn't horrible, but the twist that comes around midway through the movie derails most of what came before. Smith is likable as always, which doesn't always work for this particular role, and Charlize Theron is hotter than donut grease. To coin a phrase.

Gonzo: The Life and Work of Dr. Hunter S. Thompson ****1/2 - My only problem with this doc - from Alex Gibney, director of Taxi to the Dark Side and Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room - is the short shrift given to HST's later work. All told however, this is a great movie, and loaded with interesting interviews and footage. It's playing at the Landmark River Oaks here in Houston, so check it out.

Christmas in July

Whoever said you shouldn't speak ill of the dead never met the former Senator from North Carolina:

Jesse Helms, the firebrand U.S. senator whose outspoken, conservative views polarized North Carolina and U.S. voters for decades, died at 1:15 a.m. Friday in Raleigh, according to John Dodd, president of the Jesse Helms Center.

He joins the second and third presidents of the United States - Thomas Jefferson and John Adams Jr. - who both also died on Independence Day.

He was 86. His cause of death was not released. Funeral arrangements will be forthcoming, Dodd said.

86? Sounds like the cause of death was "old." And nice of the Raleigh, NC paper to make that parallel between Helms and Jefferson and Adams. He also joins painter Bob Ross, Eva Gabor, and Barry White. So what?

His views on race relations - he opposed a national holiday honoring slain civil rights leader Martin Luther King Jr., led a filibuster against the extension of the Voting Rights Act and called some young blacks "Negro hoodlums" - and social issues sharply divided the public into those who viewed him as a champion of the common man and those who thought of him as a narrow-minded bigot.

David Broder, a widely respected political columnist for The Washington Post, called Helms "the last prominent unabashed white racist politician in this country."

"What is unique about Helms - and from my viewpoint, unforgivable - is his willingness to pick at the scab of the great wound of American history, the legacy of slavery and segregation, and to inflame racial resentment against African Americans," Broder wrote shortly after Helms announced that he wouldn't seek re-election in 2002.

Give Helms credit for sticking by his guns, at least. Wallace and others repented their pro-segregation stances later in life. Not good old Jesse.

Helms acknowledged his polarizing character, saying famed ventriloquist dummy Mortimer Snerd could run as the Democratic candidate for Senate against him and garner 45 percent of the vote.

"I wasn't interested in a popularity contest and surely didn't care about anything the big newspapers called me," he said. "I saw how they constantly ridiculed conservative ideas and conservative people."

Friend to women and minorities, champion of gay rights, and much, much more:

In his early years in office, Helms chaired the Senate Agriculture Committee, providing critical support for North Carolina's tobacco industry. When the Republicans gained control of Congress after the 1994 elections, he gained control of the powerful Senate Foreign Relations Committee, where he became a vocal critic of the former Soviet Union, China and Cuba and a strong advocate of anti-communist - and sometimes repressive - regimes in Latin America and Asia.

He also used his clout on the committee to push for reform of the United Nations, block payment of UN dues by the United States and oppose Democratic-sponsored foreign aid packages and trade deals. The recalcitrant stance he took on many issues garnered him the nickname "Senator No," which only delighted him. "The Raleigh News & Observer dubbed me 'Senator No.' It wasn't meant as a compliment, but I certainly took it as one. There was plenty to stand up and say no to during my first of five terms representing the people of North Carolina," he said.
[...]
Many political observers credit Helms' support for catapulting Reagan to the presidency in 1980 and accelerating the conservative agenda - cutting taxes at home, fighting communism abroad and opposing many government social programs - at the national level. He also served as Reagan's right flank for years, allowing the president to make political compromises as needed. "(I decided to) stay to the right of the president's right and make it easier for Reagan to be Reagan," Helms wrote in his memoir.

So long, Jesse. I don't believe in god, but for you I'll make an exception and hope she's a black lesbian. I also promise I won't bring up your collection of little shoes if you promise to say 'hi' to Nixon for me.

"When you can't tell your friends from your enemies it's time to go."

Now that 2008 is half over, the number of movies I'm actively looking forward to is dwindling rapidly. The Dark Knight is a given, though - in all honesty and for reasons I can't adequately explain - my expectations have lowered significantly. Then there's Hellboy 2 (really dug the first one), the return of the Coens in Burn After Reading, the adaptations of Greg Rucka's Whiteout and McCarthy's The Road, Milk, and that 6th movie about that Harry Potter fellow the kids are so into these days.

And let's not forget Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2.

But the movie I'm probably looking forward to the most is the next James Bond movie, Quantum of Solace. Here's the teaser:

QoS picks up an hour after the end of Casino Royale, as Bond goes after those responsible for Vesper's death. Jeffrey Wright is back as Felix Leiter, and new Bond girl Olga Kurylenko as a habit of getting agreeably naked, which - when combined with Craig's apparent disdain for shirts -means there's something for everyone.

Looks groovy, and I love the closing shot:

It opens November 7. See it with someone you're pretty sure won't betray you for money.

"Why should the race always be to the swift, or the Jumble to the quick-witted?"

The car chase is fast becoming an antiquated concept in movies, since it's a lot easier (and cheaper) just to use computers, resulting in the obviously fake (The Fast and the Furious), the ridiculous (Wanted), or a combination of the two (Speed Racer).

I'm not sure why I've never done a chase entry on APCB. It's probably because my list would look like every other top 10 out there. Without even thinking too hard (and in no particular order), I can come up with:

To Live and Die in L.A.
Ronin
Rendezvous
The Italian Job (original)
The French Connection
The Blues Brothers
The Bourne Supremacy (couldn't find the vid)

And of course, there's the one that prompted this entry in the first place: Bullitt:

I still love how the first three minutes are pure foreplay, with Steve McQueen and Bill Hickman playing cat and mouse before finally going balls out. It ain't pretty. There are sideswiped cars (and trucks) and scraped walls aplenty, but it's still the grandaddy of them all.

I've brought the movie up before, but the reason I'm revisiting it is this site, which tracks the chase in real-time on a map of San Francisco. It's interesting, for those of us not from the Bay Area, to see how the chase jumps around. And also to see how this, the first car chase shot on location (not in a studio backlot) and "at speed" may still never be topped.