A Perfectly Cromulent Blog

"A little beer will put out that fire."

I'm going to withhold comment on the wholly unsettling Quizno's ad I've been seeing on TV for now, because I still eat there on occasion and dwelling on the possibility that the nice young man who makes my turkey-bacon-guacamole (minus the bacon, no ranch) might be fornicating with the sandwich toaster may force me to go to that crappy Chinese place next door for lunch instead.

No, I'm more interested in the inexplicable reappearance of commercials for Natural Light beer. Sure, they've had commercials before (the Mick!), but the latest line of "Nattyism" spots seem to miss the key selling point of Natty Light entirely. Namely: that it's mathematically impossible to get too drunk from it.

You might think trumpeting a beer's inability to make you black out might be a questionable marketing strategy, but it all depends on your ultimate drinking goals. All-weekend poker game? 54 holes of golf? Driving from El Paso to Los Angeles? Obviously you want something that will help you maintain an even buzz while not significantly hampering your faculties, and NatLight is a solid choice. My friend Colby even wrote a song, "O Natural Light" (set to the music of "O Tannenbaum") to offer tribute to the brew that's seen us through dozens of tubing trips down the Frio and Guadelupe. A sample:

I'll drink you hot
I'll drink you cold
I'll drink you when
You're very old

As useful as Natural Light is, however, its 95 calories per can (on par with Iron City Light) seem almost Triple Bock-ian in comparison to the ultimate camping beer: Pearl Light. At only 68 calories a can and something like 2% ABV, I'm pretty sure it's legal to actually drink Pearl Light while driving a school bus in the state of Texas, though I should probably look that up.

Put another way, the a case (24 cans) of Pearl Light contains 1632 calories. That's roughly the equivalent of three Wendy's Big Bacon Classics (580 calories each), two McDonald's Big Xtras with Cheese (810 calories each), one Carl's Jr. Double Six Dollar burger (1520), or one large White Castle chocolate shake (1680).

I'm not sure what this has to do with anything, except I haven't gone camping/tubing in over a year and so my beer consumption has dropped to dangerous pre-college levels.

For your next corporate presentation

In case you find the usual sort a little too confusing:

Finally, a pie chart that delivers.

Of wild rumpuses

In a dramatic 180 from my previous entry, let me just say that I'm actually - against my better judgment - looking forward to this:

Where the Wild Things Are is one of my favorite childhood books, which numbers me among countless millions. I assumed Jonze would muck it up, even if I had no real reason to think that - Being John Malkovich and Adaptation are both very good films, after all, and the guy knows his way around a Beastie Boys video. For me, the trailer strikes just the right balance between real world and whimsical. There's obviously been some fleshing out, but unlike other recent efforts to beef up children's book narratives (The Grinch and The Cat in the Hat spring to mind), everything here seems to fit.

And if nothing else, they got Max's outfit exactly right. We'll see on October 16.

Why I oughta...

I don't care that various movie blogs are reporting it.

I don't care that Entertainment Weekly is reporting it.

I don't care that the goddamned New York Times is reporting it.

Yahweh himself could assume the form of Shemp Howard, descend from on high and whack me in the face with a pipe wrench while permamently giving me a bowl haircut and I'd still refuse to believe all these reports about a Three Stooges movie (directed by the fucking Farrelly Brothers) are anything more than a cruel and elaborate April Fool's Day hoax:

According to Variety, Sean Penn -- coming off his best actor Oscar win -- is set to play Larry; Jim Carrey is in negotiations to play Curly; and Benicio Del Toro is being considered to play Moe. In development, first at Columbia, then at Warner Bros., the project is now at MGM, which says that production will begin in early fall for a 2010 release.

The immediate reaction in Hollywood was, well, a big yawn. MGM keeps making big splashy announcements about upcoming projects, but it's hard to find anyone in town who believes that the studio has the money to make a credible number of movies. Most insiders suspect that this was yet another carefully crafted announcement story aimed at persuading Wall Street that MGM could somehow put together a slate of films with real movie stars.
[...]
As for the casting, Penn has said for years that he'd like to star in what Variety would call a "laugher," having been in comedy jail ever since he costarred with Robert De Niro in the monumentally un-funny 1989 comedy "We're No Angels." If Carrey is actually in negotiations to play Curly (Variety says the actor has already made plans to gain 40 pounds to belly-up to Curly's ample girth), it would be a coup for the actor, who is currently off most studios' comedy A-lists, having fallen out of favor because of shaky box-office performances in recent years, which has led studio execs to believe that comedy audiences are more interested in Judd Apatow-style relationship comedies than Carrey-style high jinks. But in his defense, his recent movie "Yes Man" posted strong numbers both here and overseas.

Some ideas are so catastrophically awful that it is the responsibility of saner minds to step in and put an stop to them before serious damage is done. When they don't, you get things like Goober Grape and Operation Barbarossa. If this story is real, someone at MGM needs to intervene before it becomes necessary to land Marines in Los Angeles.

"Sometimes love don't feel like it should, you make it
Hearst so good"

Hair Balls (the Houston Press blog) is doing a pretty bang-up job covering the layoffs taking place at the Houston Chronicle this week. And I'd say this even if I didn't, you know, write for them.

The Chron buried its own skeletal story and disabled comments on the website article, a decision I'd usualy applaud. 12% job cuts are usually big news in Houston (including a whopping 27% of the editorial staff). Even more so when so many of the choices are - from a local news coverage standpoint - pretty baffling.

- NASA reporter Mark Carreau
- Business reporter Bill Hensel Jr., who covered Continental Airlines
- Editorial board members Claudia Kolker and Veronica Bucio
- Oil beat reporter Lynn Cook
- Brazoria County beat reporter Richard Stewart
- All the college sports beat writers (Michael Murphy (UH), MK Bower (Rice), and Terrence Harris (TSU)
- Foreign/national desk editor Chris Shively
- Fashion/entertainment writer Clifford Pugh
- Religion writer Barbara Karkabi
- Book editor Fritz Lanham

No NASA reporter? No more local college sports coverage not provided by wire reports or unpaid bloggers? No coverage of the non-Metro Houston area? No non-white males on the Editorial board?

I had a Chron blog for about a year (some of you may remember it). It was a not-so subtle attempt to worm my way into the paper as a freelancer, which obviously didn't work. Those in charge politely assured me they'd love to have me come on board, but there just wasn't any money for freelancing. Debates about little white lies and the quality of my writing aside, it doesn't look like there's a lot of money for anything there anymore.

Jeff Cohen's and his fellow VPs' salaries aside, that is.

Shriner's Hospital update

First there was the news of UTMB's decision to stay in Galveston and rehire workers, now we have the possibility of keeping Galveston Shriner's Hospital for Children (previously discussed here) open for business as well:

The national Shriners leadership may vote this week on a proposal to keep open the storm-damaged Galveston Shriners Hospital for Children and its world-renowned burn center.

The vote will come at the insistence of local Shriners, who ask for a financial review of the organization's entire 22-hospital system to find places to cut or consolidate services "and preserve the most acclaimed burn care facility in the world."

If the leadership fails to open the hospital, closed since Hurricane Ike damaged the first floor, local Shriners have vowed to take the issue to the national convention this summer.

"We are just trying to get our hospital reopened," said Shriner Tommy Lambright, a member of the Galveston hospital's governing board.

Shriners Galveston is the only burn hospital in the Houston region verified by the American Burn Association and the American College of Surgeons.
[...]
The Shriners national leadership decided Jan. 16 that it would not reopen the Galveston hospital because the recent downturn in the economy caused a $3 billion loss in the Shriners endowment. The fund finances the operations of the 22 Shriners hospitals.

Chuck is on top of this, as usual. I concur with his line of thinking that getting in touch with Shriners HQ or contacting any Shriners you might know to make your feelings known is probably the best course of action.

I think he's way out of line in encouraging you to clothesline them while they're driving those little cars, though.

"Isn't it interesting how the left - or sinister - twin is invariably the evil one?"

Having met with such great success in the Name That Dog challenge (after all that, they went with..."Milo") and having nothing else entertaining to offer this week, I figured I'd throw the same question out with regards to my own impending offspring. Namely, what should we name them?

We went through this little exercise before, but matters this time around are complicated by their sheer numbers and the difficulty everyone will have in topping suggestions like "Dejah Thoris" (like there's a chance in hell of that) or "Merlena."

As a reminder, they're twin girls (fraternal) and allegedly mine, but don't hold that against them. We already have one name locked down and are about 75% sure on the other, but that doesn't mean another monikier couldn't emerge as a favorite, depending on how much more sleep deprived The Wife gets, or how doped-up she is following delivery.

Oh, and we've already shot down "Cagney and Lacey," "Betty and Veronica," and - for the Bond aficionados - "May Day" or "Bambi and Thumper."

GTG BRB NATO ACLU

The last two weeks have have been a lot like this:

And since the forseeable future promises more of the same, here's a pie chart.

App me

Recently I was lamenting the sorry state of my music affairs to my wholly sympathetic spouse...

Me: I like how I have to cancel Sirius but you have an iPod and that Squeezebox thing.
The Wife: I like how I have to gestate two parasites for nine months. Get an iPhone.
Me: I already have a phone, why would I spend $400 we don't have for that stupid gadget?
TW: Because you need to replace that piece of crap Nokia and you could have everything on one device.
Me: Yeah...but...I'd only have 8 or 16 gigs. Your iPod has 120...
TW: How much space do the complete recordings of Iron Maiden really take up?

A few thhings have swung in our favor recently, not the least of which was the fact that insurance is now paying for a healthy chunk of She Who Shall Not Be Named's therapy. Financial semi-solvency is now an actual possibility, which would be a great relief with the impending arrival of two more remorseless leeches bundles of joy.

So I got the iPhone. It is - admittedly - pretty freaking cool, especially compared to my vintage 2002 Nokia that I'm reasonably sure actually passed through the digestive tract of our neighbor's dog. I goofed around some with the apps last night (UrbanSpoon, Stanza, and BBCReader among them), but there are a ton and I'm a busy man (well, there are a ton, anyway). So I put it to you, Ken: what are some of the apps I absolutely need to have (Elisson, I'm looking at you)?

And FYI, the Iron Maiden discography takes up about 300 Mb.

"What music do you put on to put your wife in the mood? 'Love Gun' or 'Subdivisions?'"

Metal Weekend on VH1 Classic has taught (and in some cases, re-taught) me many things:

+ Appetite for Destruction is that rarest of albums: note perfect wire to wire
+ Japanese band Loudness had, like, six videos
+ That Metal Show is more informative than the BBC and C-SPAN combined
+ Rik Emmett really made some...unfortunate wardrobe choices
+ Forced to adhere to present-day standards for music video attractiveness, Udo Dirkschneider would still be fucking awesome.

Some other "highlights:"

The Mets are pond scum, but Mike Piazza is pretty funny. Plus: Maiden vs. Priest:

Is there anything more heartbreaking than an empty playground? White Lion doesn't think so:

The Throwdown: Zeppelin vs. Sabbath - Yngwie's answer: "Deep Purple:"

Jani Lane laments the fact that "Cherry Pie" tarnished Warrant's good name. Of course, he manages to forget the rest of their ouevre consisted of shit like this:

Udo!

Vinnie! Just horrible. And that's Mark Slaughter lipsynching over Robert Fleischman's caterwauling lyrics. This is the real reason the Taliban hate us.

What did Patricia Arquette do before Medium? She made Dokken videos. Duh.

Finally, here's some Maiden:

Without a tear I draw my parting groan.

"You don't mow another guy's lawn!"

Any Houston folks have recommendations on landscapers?

Ike didn't just do a number on the house, it more or less destroyed our lawn. I can handle laying sod, tearing out the old beds and planter boxes and - probably - planting new stuff around the perimeter, but I'm pretty much lost on tilling and grading. I could rent a tiller from Aztec and pick up a half dozen day laborers, but drainage is sort of important here in Swampland.

"Drugs?"

The other night I was watching Ferris Bueller's Day Off for the first time in, oh, fifteen years and it holds up reasonably well. Though I must say, the passage of time and my own parenthood has made me sympathize less with the rich, suburban twerp and more with embattled principal Ed Rooney, who wants nothing more than to wrest control of his school from the little shit with the Cabaret Voltaire posters and shower mohawk.

And Cameron is a creepy bastard.

But I digress. The important thing about the movie, and indeed all things, is how it relates to me. To make a long story short, I was hit on by a young lady at the UT Honors Colloquium in 1986 solely because I reminded her of Charlie Sheen's character from the movie. Which is to say, this guy:

Ah, the hair, the leather jacket, the creepy sexual predator gaze...yes, this is what got me the 80s ladies. Though in all fairness, the woman in question proved to be a person of otherwise impeccable tastes who ended up being a friend who reads this blog on occasion and I should probably just shut the hell up.

Anyway...Ferris Bueller...decent flick. Maybe I'll rewatch it in 2024 when I've completely morphed into Ferris' dad.

In da house

Nearly six months and tens of thousands of (insurance) dollars of repairs later, we finally moved back into the ole homestead last weekend. Let's take a stroll down memory lane, shall we?

This, as you'll recall, was She Who Shall Not Be Named's room immediately following Ike:

And here it is today:

And then there was our room:

Months later...

It's good to be back. I fired up Smogdor tonight and grilled a few steaks. It was comforting to discover that while our cool neighbors moved to Amarillo back in August (thereby significantly diminishing their coolness quotient), their replacements also have an annoying dog that barks at me when I'm in my own. Fucking. Yard.

SWSNBN is glad to be reunited with her playroom and her Backyard Expenso-Gym, the middle bedroom is bring prepared for the arrival of the Wonder Twins, and The Wife and I are just glad to be paying a mortgage on a property we're actually living in. All the same, I'd be remiss if I didn't give my regards to the apartment complex where we spent the last 5.5 months...

+ So long you tramp-stamped bimbos and gel-headed mooks comprising 75% of the apartment population - Watching your primitive courtship rituals around the pool probably cemented my daughter's need for therapy later in life.

+ Arrivederci to the poorer apartment complex across the bayou - I never tired of your firing bottle rockets at our building in the wee hours.

+ Farewell to the weird old single guy two doors down with the beagle - You proved that dog owners can be as creepy as their feline-friendly brethren.

+ Buh bye to the maintenance supervisor who looked eerily like Gordon Ramsey - He only cursed about half as much, though.

+ Adios to the apartment office staff - While helpful with the occasional question, you only confirmed the fact that 90% of the time you don't do shit.

+ Good riddance to the 11th Street Kroger - All the ambiance of a rural Stop-n-Go with half the selection.

+ Ciao to the call girls living at the end of our row - I'd say I'm sorry we didn't get better acquainted, but neither my marriage nor my bank account would've lasted very long.

+ Auf wiedersehen to the close-to-my-age couple a few units down that grilled once a week and were always keen to offer a drink - I'll actually miss you guys.

Good to be back. And just think, in a little less than three months I get to start freaking out all over again.