The Busiest Man in the World

Not in a million years would I trade places with Bill Paxton's character in the new HBO series which premeires this Sunday, Big Love. Bill Henrickson owns a hardware store that's just branching out into a chain. Which is keeping him busy enough. But he's also got his wife Barbara to think about (Jean Tripplehorn). And his wife Nicolette (Chloe Sevigny). And his wife Margene (Ginnifer Goodwin). Plus all their kids. And his parents. And a ton of in-laws.

The way the series is set up, it looks like Bill and his immediate family (a phrase that takes on a different meaning here) broke free of a religious commune, run by Nicolette's father, Roman (Harry Dean Stanton). The commune practices polygamy, and it looks like Bill & co. took that on the road. But in the outside world, they've got to keep it secret.

I got to see a preview of the series tonight (with my friend Steph) and it looks like it'll be a helluva show. I won't get to see it for a while, since I don't have HBO, but I'll consider renting the DVDs. It's got nice tension -- familial, marital, and just a hint of legal (which will surely grow as the series progresses). It'll be interesting to see more of the wives' relationships with each other, and of Bill's private relationship with each wife. One of Jean Tripplehorn's lines -- "are you going to wear pajamas to bed all the time, or just on my nights?" illustrates what a crazy tightrope he'll be walking throughout the show.

Oh well. He made his beds.

Rob

UPDATE: (Just to add a little meat to this post, since it seems to be getting some attention.) Based on the premiere, Big Love is a good show – it looks like a well-realized drama about the troubles of a polygamous family. And while it’s bound to delve into some disturbing territory (Roman’s teenage bride being the example placed front-and-center in the premiere), it’s not a documentary. It’s a TV show presented as entertainment. Which probably means that some aspects of polygamy will be glossed over, or not shown in the most disturbing light possible. And other aspects of the show will be unrealistic, in order to make the premise work and be relatable to a general audience.

This isn’t a bad thing. Someone can make (and doubtless has made) documentaries about the true state of polygamy. I’d be interested in seeing one. But I can say for certain that it will never get the kind of audience a show like Big Love gets. But while Big Love may pull some punches, it will almost certainly be disturbing enough to bring polygamy onto the radar of people who never gave it a second thought. And it may even drive a percentage of viewers to seek out more information about the issue. Is it really fair to ask for more from a cable drama series?

Crime and Punishment

Atrios posts an interesting exchange from an old Hardball, in which Chris Matthews corners then-PA Senate candidate Pat Toomey (who was running to the right of Arlen Specter in the 2004 Repug primary) about his views on abortion. Specifically, he tried to get Toomey to say what the punishement should be for an abortion if it's banned. Read the whole weaselly exchange.

If abortion is murder (which most pro-lifers believe), then it would follow that the doctor should be charged with murder, and the woman for, at the very least, conspiracy to commit murder. Although I think if you hire a hitman -- essentially what she'd be doing under a ban based on the idea that fetuses are human beings -- you get charged with murder, the same as if you'd pulled the trigger.

Conservatives won't say that -- none but the far-fringe whackjobs, at least. It's the underpinning of what they believe, but it's so far out of line with what any sensible person can accept that any support for their argument would fall apart.

Rob

(Edited to place the conversation in its proper context.)

Moxie

While I'm certainly not a member of the Cult of the Cat, sometimes spunk just can't be denied. As Elvis homself once said, "Go, cat, go!"

Rob

Three Keyboards and a Wayback Machine

Last night Kathy & I headed out for pizza and a rock concert…at a high school, but a rock concert nonetheless. Spiraling was playing a benefit for the Metuchen High School music program and Feed the Children. Spiraling plays an aggressive synth-rock, with frontman Tom Brislin playing three keyboards, sometimes all in the same song (and despite having only two hands, seemingly all at once).

As impressed as I am with Brislin—and I have been ever since I first saw him play at one of Glenn Burtnik’s Xmas Xtravaganzas, years ago—tonight drummer Paul Wells grabbed my attention. Watching him pound away during “Transmitter,” I got a sense of how truly complex the rhythms are behind these songs.

The band played a few songs from their upcoming album during the set – “Victory Kiss” and “Choices” were two of the names I caught, plus lots of songs from their first two albums. We have Transmitter, and I recognized “Girl on Top (of the Piano),” “This is the Road,” Lightning Twice” and “The Connection,” from that album, as well as “Ah, Sugar,” “Texas is the Reason” and “A Face for Radio” from Challenging Stage, which I really oughta pick up one of these days.

But then their encore came. And it only took a moment to recognize it: A-Ha’s “Take On Me.” And there we are, sitting in the auditorium, watching a bunch of high school kids dance to this song, that I have a hard time believing they even know. But I catch sight of a couple of girls singing along, and the same thought flashes through my head that I later find out flashed through Kathy’s: We were that age when this song first came out.

Thanks, Sherman – I didn’t realize the Wayback could go to 1984.

Rob

Curse you, Snowmiser!

I've shaved my head. That means it should be Spring! Spring, I say! I'm like a groundhog, only shinier. Don't mess with me, frostypants.

Rob

Dreamlinkblogging.

Up until now, I never really dreamt about work. Even more shocking, Jim the Bastard is blogging my dreams. Eerie.

Rob

The one review to read...

...when you're reading only one.

Here's James Wolcott's terrific, spoiler-free review of V for Vendetta. It sounds like something I wouldn't want to miss even if I weren't such a big geek.

On the other hand, I've heard Harry Knowles (of Ain't It Cool News) didn't like it. No matter. I'd honestly rather know whether this movie works for people unfamiliar with the source material, rather than people who know the ins and outs of the comic before the credits roll.

I'm so seeing this.

Rob

"Set the Ferrets on 100% Poem"

Those are among the words of wisdom a very drunk Mike shared with us shortly after I painted a big orange eye on his forehead.

After he wiped the eye (and the paint) on Jessica's new sweater (this will come back to haunt him, you can be sure), he also said:

"Fan that fart with a ferret."

"You jesters, you fools, you bees that sting me in my anus"

and, in Spanish: "The dog ate the big car," "My vagina is very big," and "Her asshole is red."

What with the bees, I can only imagine the condition of his asshole. I hope he's not allergic.

Perhaps most poignantly, he told us: "Just onions."

We'll take that to heart, Mike. You smeary orange bastid.

Rob

P.S. This is a signal that the Mardi Gras party was a success, by the way. Laissez les bon temps roulez!

Jambalaya Time!

Can't post. Stirring.

Rob

Santorum on the Take?

Of course he is. Not just a prick, but a prick bought and paid for. Kevin Drum has details.

Rob

Anger Management

Stealing JtB's M.O.:

Hey shitwit, the fact that I'm trying to sleep on this wobbly fucking train car isn't a signal for you to park yourself right over me and start with the blah blahs and yadda yaddas. I DON'T WANT TO HEAR ABOUT YOUR FUCKING IPOD, and if you continue to yammer on about your adventures with said object, I'll crank it up to full and cram it so far up your ass you'll hear a new chapter of The DaVinci Code every time you fart.

You're lucky I don't travel with a machete. You came this close to hemorrhaging from the sheer force of my hate.

Rob
(Vegas recap soon, honest!)

Juans and Cyros.

01001000 01101111 01110111 00100000 01100011 01101111 01101111 01101100 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01110100 01101000 01101001 01110011 00111111

01010010 01101111 01100010

01010100 01101000 01100001 01101110 01111000 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01010011 01101000 01101100 01100001 01100010 01100001 01101101 00100000 01100001 01110100 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01000011 01101111 01101101 01101001 01100011 01110011 00100000 01000011 01100001 01110110 01100101 00101110

Bizarro World

Does this seem ridiculous to you?

''My family and I are deeply sorry for everything Vice President Cheney and his family have had to deal with,'' Harry Whittington said in his first comments since being shot on a South Texas ranch six days earlier.

If I am ever shot in the face, there will be no apology forthcoming.

Rob

If BRAINNZ be the food of love, play on...

Am I ever sorry I’m going to have to miss this. If you're free this weekend, you might not have to.

Rob

Home again, home again

Jiggity jig.

I'll give a full Vegas report soon -- probably in a wave of posts, rather than one long one. Suffice it to say that I have not changed tax brackets.

Rob

Will I be Stranded In Vegas?

Tune in tomorrow.

Rob

Club Life

Jim’s cousin got us into Light, a high-end nightclub at the Bellagio. They opened up our own escalator to let us up, to give you an idea of our first impression. Then they brought us to a table (through a dance floor that included platforms with poles, if the mood struck you and you had two X chromosomes). We had two servers, a guy in a shirt and tie and a girl named Katie in a bustier and garters. They told us we were comped two bottles, so we chose a bottle of Grey Goose vodka and Bombay Sapphire gin. They brought out carafes full of mixers and mixed us whatever we wanted.

A big guy came over and introduced himself. His name was CJ, and he had our backs. Yes, we had our own bodyguard. Jim the Bastard has a picture of him with Sara/Suzie that I took here. He’s ginormous. The first time I tried to take their picture, I didn’t leave enough room for his head.

If we’d paid for it, it would’ve cost around $800. But lemme tell ya, it was priceless.

Rob

Didn't change a goddamn word

Okay. Here’s the goddamn deal.

I’ve been drinking since like 7:15. It’s now 4:30 in the morning (almost) and nothing but gin and tonic has passed my lips (aside from a delicious goddamn meal at Fix and one screwdriver mistakenly poured for me. And while I may post this at 8 or so in the morning, I’m writing it at 4:30 and am not changing a gorram word. (Yes, sometimes I think in Firefly. Deal.)

Had wonderful, comped food from Jim’s cousin. I can’t articulate how good it was. Kobe beef. $65 a plate. Knock your feet off good. This is at the Bellagio.

Next, drinks at Caramel. Also comped. Got drunker there.

Then, Light, an awesome nightclub. Were comped two bottles of liquor – gin and vodka. Most people drank vodka. Up to me and Jim the bastard to drink gin. Oh, gin.

Did not finish bottle of G. JtB left at about the halfway point, about 2 hours ago. Eventually, just me and JtB’s friend, Johnny Airplanes, still there. Stayed til about 4. Left the club. Hit the head before cab ride. Propositioned by two hookers (from a team of three). Really nice looking. Let ‘em dangle, walked on. (The line between virtue, stupidity and plain old cheapness is blurry.) Took a cab to Hilton. Blogged instead of sleeping. I’m a goddamn idiot.

Rob

What Happens in Vegas

As you may know, I’m in Vegas for a few days for the SHOT Show, a outdoors and shooting sports industry convention. It’s busy and huge, and I may not have much time to blog. But check out Jim the Bastard’s site for the mulletwatch and other events of note.

I'll report in when I can. On a personal note, so far the craps tables have not been kind. But the guy making crepes at the Paris buffet? So friendly I nearly split in deux.

Rob

Taxicab Revelations

A quick story before I leave for Vegas.

This weekend, Kathy & I met up with our friends Mike and Jessica (see, Mike – here’s your name!) in NYC. It was raining, so we hopped a cab from their hotel to the restaurant (Sushi Samba, where we had a delicious meal and dropped quite a bit of money doing it – but I’m getting ahead of myself).

I got in the cab in the front seat. The cabbie—a wiry latino guy wearing a bandana with skulls on it—quickly moved a backpack on the seat and said “hold on, hold on, watch the bag.” After the bag was set in the foot area, I got into the car. We started moving. Here’s a little play of our exchange.

Cabbie: I didn’t mean to yell, I just didn’t want it to go boom, y’know?

Me: uh…

Cabbie: It’s not a bomb or nothing, I’m not a terrorist, no way. I’ve got a license for it.

Me: Sure, I understand.

What I understood was that there was a loaded gun at my feet.

So we drive around a bit – Mapquest gave us the wrong address – when the windows start to fog. I crack mine open a bit. The cabbie turns on the defogger and tells me to roll up the window, rain was getting in. I say (although a little voice tells me there’s risk in this joke, but what the hell): “I wouldn’t want to make a man moist.”

The cabbie stops the cab. “What’d you say?” The driver fishes for the cab license and shows me the picture. “Look here, look here – what do you see?”

I get a brief look at the cabbie’s picture, under the name Valentine. I’m not sure what I see.

“That’s right, all woman.”

Holy crap. I get it now. I’ve insulted this woman. I’ve insulted this woman, and she’s got a gun.

She says “You want a squeeze? Your wife is here, or else I’d tell you to feel ’em,” indicating her breasts. “I made a guy feel ‘em once – he made the same mistake. His girlfriend was in the car, and she kept quiet, but I know he got hell later.”

Mike, Jessica & Kathy are cracking up in the back. Me, I’m just mortified.

Val assured me it was okay, and there were no hard feelings. Then she started telling us about people having sex behind her cab. “I think they were trying to shock me,” she said. “I just pushed the mirror away.” She was really friendly and chatty, especially considering my mistake.

She let us off at the restaurant, I paid her, and we’ll never see her again. But I don’t expect to hear the end of this anytime soon.

Rob

DAY-ammmmn!

TPM has a sharp quote from Sen. Feingold.

Rob

We're we're going, Marty...

...we don't need roads.

Chris R. sent me a link to this video, which at last answers the question of what my coworkers were laughing so hard at when I was trying to concentrate the other day. Thanks, man.

Rob

That Republican "Can-Do" Spirit

Giving it 110 percent.

This pretty much speaks for itself, don’t you think?

Rob

Who's That Girl?

I swear I saw Reese Witherspoon as I was walking to work today. Except she was black.

Is there a black Reese Witherspoon? Did Chappelle have another Racial Draft?

Rob

The surprise surprise

Nasty surprise this morning. I woke up, thinking, “Aw hell. It’s not Saturday after all. It’s goddamn Friday.”

Wasn’t more’n a minute after that I got my second nasty surprise.

Rob

It's Here!

Handless mutant-retards should ask a friend to zip them up.

Rob

Scoooore!

Kathy & I went to a Rangers game last night. They were playing my hometown team, the Flyers, so the two of us had a good rivalry going. For a long while, the Rangers had the upper hand, scoring two goals to the Flyers zilch. Frankly, it was all Henrick Lovstuen – nothing was getting by him. And then, in the third period, the Flyers whizzed two by him – one right after a face-off. The game went into overtime, and popped another one into the goal in under two minutes. Final score? Flyers, 3-2.

Bottom line is, we both had a really good time. Kathy’s the hockey fan in the family, but I have to admit I had a blast. I’d love to do it again – maybe even watch a game where I can root for the Rangers. But not last night. I’ve never felt better watching a bunch of disgruntled fans shuffling from the arena as I did last night.

Rob

Every Day I Write the Book

Well, today and yesterday, anyway. And many, many days before that. I'm hip-deep in my Angola book, but finally see the light at the end of the tunnel. Just type up my corrections for this draft, and then it's on to the backmatter.

Whoo-hah!

Rob

As Buddha said to the hot dog vendor...

"Make me one with everything."

This is one with everything. Bless these people.

Rob
(Via the inimitable KTBuffy)

Hard to Say Goodbye

And, as unexpectedly as it appeared, Handless Mutant-Retard Month ends. Not because I feel any less kinship with my handless mutant-retard brethren, but simply because it’s hard to post about anything else when my heart is drawn to these brave, brave, handless, brave, mutant-retard souls. I must close myself off a little bit, from the heroism of Chucky P. Sloan, the handless mutant-retard who saved six pigs (and a stuffed wallaby) in the Great Chicago Fire, or the abstract villainy of Huey Devlin, who painted all the Bibles in his church with clear nail polish, which he called “the devil’s pigment.”

Or Theresa Puttie, the handless mutant-retard mistress of Felix Mendelssohn, who inspired so many of his notebook doodles but not a note of music. Or my email correspondent who I only know as “JrRaindrop,” who uses voice recognition software to compose villanelles out of the numbers s/he can’t fit into his/her sudoku puzzles.

All of these people, and more have touched me. Their stumps are on my heart.

I look forward to the next handless mutant-retard month, however long it lasts, whenever it may come.

Rob

Did You Know?

Milton von Fleimanchen, a Viennese confectioner, once crafted exquisite hands out of marzipan for his handless mutant-retard son, Fritz.

He didn't make that mistake twice.

Rob
(What the %#$@% am I talking about? Lemme ’splain.)

Did You Know?

Handless mutant-retards are still partying like it's 1999.

Rob
(What the %#$@% am I talking about? Lemme ’splain.)

Life is a Carnivore

Oh, I'm sorry, I meant a Carnival! Which reminds me, the newest Carnival of New Jersey Bloggers is up, this time at The Center of NJ Life, where the latest fireworks went down (up?) and Handless Mutant-Retard Month was born. Take a stroll, peek in some tents, and don't gawk at the goat boy. As we all know, it could be worse.




Rob

Did You Know?

A certain segment of the handless mutant-retard population can see into the infrared range. Others can hear subsonic noises or detect scents at a level science has not yet named, although "ultrastink" is being considered.

Rob

Did You Know?

The inclusion of Tom Bombadil in Peter Jackson’s movie, The Fellowship of the Ring, was squelched by a legal dispute. Jackson had cast handless mutant-retard heartthrob Neil Garvey as the legendary musician and nature spirit, but Garvey pulled out when he learned he would not be allowed to keep the CGI hands used to make him appear to play the lute. A sympathetic court ordered the footage—and “handage”—to be destroyed.

Rob
(What the %#$@% am I talking about? Lemme ’splain.)

Did You Know?

Two handless mutant-retards, Wally Monroe and Akimbe Londagala, received special dispensations from Pope John Paul II to hang-glide from the top of the Vatican in 1992. Miraculously, Londagala survived!

Rob

Did You Know?

As a side-effect of their mutation, many handless mutant-retards' armpits smell like fresh blueberry waffles.

Rob

Did You Know?

Most handless mutant-retards would be right-handed.

Rob

Did You Know?

A handless mutant-retard known only as "Davey" invented the toy rhinoceros. Plans to follow up its success with a toy baboon were scuttled for unknown reasons.

Rob

Stumped by your Heritage?

It’s Handless Mutant-Retard Month here at Laughing at the Pieces. Sure, it started just two days ago, and God willing, I’ll tire of this joke before 30 days are up. But it’s still a “month.” What can I tell you? We’re handless mutant-retards. Coherence is not our strong suit. (Neither is piano.)

An explanation: I got involved in a bit of a flame war this week. Eventually, the anonymous poster I targeted called me (for reasons too complicated to get into here, but here’s a good place to start looking) a “handless, mutant-retard.”

Yeah, I know. I couldn’t believe it either. So I took it as a badge of honor. And started posting little-known facts about my handless mutant-retard brethren.

With the first three, I was just warming up:

Fact One
Fact Two
Fact C

After those, I started getting into the groove, fitting handless mutant-retards into odd nooks and crannies of history and pop culture. And generally making stuff up.

Fact Four
Fact Sigma
Fact Epsilon
Fact G
Fact 7-11
Fact PUPPIES!
Fact Pi
Fact Lozenge
Fact One I Forgot
Fact Frizbee
Fact Cicuenta y Dos
Fact 25
Fact Naomi told a FIB!
Fact Helmut

More tidbits of handless mutant-retard history may come to light. I’ll try to add them to the list. (In case I forget, click here to whisk yourself to the top o' the blog.)

Rob

Did You Know?

Members of HUMMER, a militant handless mutant-retard group, were prohibited from coming within 200 yards of the "Hands Across America" event in 1986 when the courts ruled that they intended their planned protests to erupt in violence.

Rob
(What the %#$& am I talking about? Lemme 'splain...)

Apologies.

Chris & Cecilia,

I know that you both use the anonymous option to post on my and other blogspot blogs, signing your posts in the text. And I always love hearing from both of you. But lately I've been involved in a dust-up with an anonymous poster, and in the end it turned so repugnant to me that I've decided to disable anonymous posting. I figure, if this guy's gonna come at me -- and there's been no indication that he even has the sense to follow my name to my blog -- he's gonna come at me with an honest-to-god made-up name.

I hope you both register with blogger and continue to post here, not just because I value your input, but because I miss you guys and like hearing from you. I'm truly sorry for the inconvenience. It's just that this guy went from being an amusing little idiot to someone whose behavior has made me sick to my stomach. They're just words, and I'm almost certainly overreacting, attributing malice to him where it's most likely simply a lack of imagination. But he's nameless, he's a creep, and he's local. And that combination, in my mind, makes him a problem.

So until further notice, I'm disabling anonymous comments. Anyone who can't bother to sign even a made-up name most likely isn't worth listening to anyhow.

Rob

Did You Know?

Angus Nichols, a 22-year-old handless mutant-retard welder, worked on the Golden Gate Bridge. Wearing a special mask, he held the torch in his teeth.

Within six months of the bridge's completion, Nichols' teeth fell out and he was forced to wear dentures, ending his career.

Rob
(What the %#$& am I talking about? Lemme 'splain...)

Did You Know?

Handless mutant-retards account for 60% of all non-restaurant drinking-straw sales (excepting Crazy Straws, whose sales are dominated by the handless mutant-agorophobes).

Rob

Did You Know?

There have been six handless mutant-retard winners of the Great American Danceapalooza since its inception in 1962. All but one, Mary Ellen Krupthoffer, danced the jitterbug. (Krupthoffer frugged.)

Rob

Did You Know?

Handless mutant-retards love ice cream. Hell, everyone loves ice cream!

Rob

Did You Know?

In the Netherlands, handless mutant-retards are believed to be able to scratch the backs of the dead. People always invite handless mutant-retards to wakes, just to make the guest of honor comfy.

Rob
(What the %#$& am I talking about? Lemme 'splain...)

Did You Know?

Handless mutant-retards are chick magnets in Greenland, thanks to the national pop sensation Neil Garvey, whose hit song "Evvyone Wanna Get Wit Moi" topped the Greenland charts.

Rob

Did You Know?

The 1982 series “Joanie Loves Chachi” employed not one but two handless mutant-retards on its writing staff. Together, they opened a lot of (automatic) doors in Hollywood.

Rob

Did You Know?

The Gap is introducing a new line of pullovers for handless mutant-retards for Fall 2006. Naturally, someone else will have to do the pulling over.

Rob

Did You Know?

Sir Winston Churchill had a little-known brother who was a handless mutant-retard. Named Henry, he was often called "Poultice." The origins of the nickname are unknown.

Rob

Did You Know?

"I'm a handless mutant-retard" can also be sung to "I've Been Workin' on the Railroad."

Rob
(All the live-long day)

Did You Know?

In the phrase "handless mutant-retard," the hyphen makes it extra special!

Rob

Did You Know?

“Handless mutant-retard” can be sung to the tune of “Peaceful, Easy Feeling.”

More fun facts to come.

Rob

I’m a Handless Mutant-Retard!

Okay, maybe a little background is needed. Back in November, Sharon at The Center of NJ Life posted about NJ’s workplace smoking ban. And since it recently became law, she’s been getting a lot of hits and comments on this older post. When she noted this action with a more recent post, some new people chimed in, me being one of them.

And, long story short, I’ve been going back and forth with an anonymous poster for a while now. Debating him was a dead end, so I just started teasing him. Which, a few hours ago, led him to call me a “handless mutant-retard.” Which is awesome. I’m still a little dumbfounded.

Anyway, if you want to watch, the post is here. It’s like bear-baiting, except you don’t feel sorry for the bear.

Rob

P.S. And if you have any thoughts about the NJ smoking ban or smoking bans in general, please post, too. God knows, between him and me, we could use some adult voices in the room.

I Sing the Body Electric

Jeri has a sick laptop. I think we should all go over there and sing it little songs.

C'mon, guys! Darla! Spanky! Let's put on a SHOW!

Rob

Finding Frank

If you like reading Frank Rich's weekly commentaries as much as I do, you can find the most recent one here.

Rob

Want to be a Superhero?

Here's a casting call for a touring children's production starring the DC heroes. Just wondering how they'll do the Flash onstage (actually, I have an idea). Or Beast Boy, for that matter.

Rob

Week of the Bat

A new meme has infected Livejournal posters: everyone's drawing Batgirl.

Batgirl.

Batgirl.

Batgirl?

Here are links to over 200 of them.

Rob

Roberston Apologizes

Just to follow up on the "Pat Robertson: What a dick" post, it seems he's written a letter of apology to Sharon's son and the people of Israel, asking for forgiveness.

God, of course, forgave him right away, knowing that the simpleminded and deranged can't really be held responsible for their outbursts. But the guy who lets him him keep his microphone? Not so much.

Rob

Not a Chappelle Sketch

Sploid: Black Klansman Retires.

Rob

A New Case

Just before our love got lost you said,
“I am as constant as the Northern Star,” and I said,
“Constantly in the darkness, where’s that at?
If you want me I’ll be in the bar.”

That’s the opening verse of Joni Mitchell’s “A Case of You,” and it’s one of my favorite opening verses of all time. It may be the bluntest presentation of an argument I’ve ever heard in a song, and – flowery North Star stuff aside – seems very real to me. Get a parting shot in, leave the room mad, and fume about it afterward.

The rest of the song’s just as good. And if you want to hear a new recording of it by one of this generation’s talented singer-songwriters, it’s this month’s free download at MarkErelli.com. After this month you’ll be able to find it in the archive, also at this link. Check it out.

Rob
(Frightened by the Devil, and drawn to those ones that ain’t afraid)

He's Not There

Okay, this is just freakin' cool.

Sploid: Chinese Man Can't Be Photographed!

News you can use, oh rabid ones.

Rob

Disappointment

I read an article on Buzzscope last night that really got me angry. Ronee Garcia Bourgeois interviewed three women on sexual harassment in the comics industry. You can read it here. There’s no point summarizing it; the women talk about their experiences, and as expected, reading it made me angry. Angry that people treat other people this way, just because they’re women. Angry because I’m an outsider who likes to think that the comic book industry is better than that, even though I know it’s not. Angry because we’ve all still got a long way to go before we’re civilized.

You can read it for yourself. You’ll get angry too.

But underneath that anger is a real sense of disappointment. I’d heard one of these stories before, and I’d love to not believe it. The offender in question is a guy whose work I’ve admired since I could read the credits in comic books, even if I wasn’t quite sure what an “editor’ did. And it bothers me that he personally doesn’t live up to what I’d built him up to in my head, what even other anecdotes I’d hear about him billed him as. I met him briefly when I was in high school, and he was very nice to me and my friend, showing us a big wall of upcoming comics covers.

Then again, I was a teenage boy. I didn’t have anything to worry about.

This guy was, in my opinion, one of the best editors comics ever had. The comics he produced were exactly what the ten-year-old me craved. Certainly, he was one of the people who made the stories so compelling that they’re still my hobby, nearly 30 years later.

And yet.

Everyone is entitled to feet of clay. No one is perfect. But in some people, that’s what you want from them. That’s what you expect, because you do idolize them, as silly as that sounds. They’re, in some way, your heroes. And when they fall short of that ideal—as this one certainly did—it hurts. This isn't simply a matter of a human failing. It's manipulative and it's mean and I don't have any sympathy for it. Everyone should be better than this.

Certainly, there’s more at stake here than my feelings. People have been hurt or traumatized in genuine, direct ways. I haven’t had that experience, and wouldn’t presume to speak for those who have.

But I have to ask: if you build your career spinning the adventures of true-blue superheroes, paragons of virtue and honor, shouldn’t that sense of right and wrong rub off on you? Because it rubbed off on me, and I just read the stuff.

Rob

(Via Johanna. Heidi at The Beat also has a thoughtful (and far less self-absorbed) perspective on the topic.)

Incompetence

Another great Frank Rich column:

That the White House's over-the-top outrage about the Times scoop is a smokescreen contrived to cover up something else is only confirmed by Dick Cheney's disingenuousness. In last week's oration at a right-wing think tank, he defended warrant-free wiretapping by saying it could have prevented the 9/11 attacks. Really? Not with this administration in charge. On 9/10 the N.S.A. (lawfully) intercepted messages in Arabic saying, "The match is about to begin," and, "Tomorrow is zero hour." You know the rest. Like all the chatter our government picked up during the president's excellent brush-clearing Crawford vacation of 2001, it was relegated to mañana; the N.S.A. didn't rouse itself to translate those warnings until 9/12.

It doesn't matter that Bush's ear is to the ground; chances are he wouldn't recognize an oncoming stampede. Bush can't keep us safe. He's already proven that, twice.

Rob

(Via Mark E.)

Stating the Obvious

Multimillionaire Richard Branson is expanding his Virgin brand with a line of comic books: Virgin Comics.

Is it me, or do the jokes just write themselves?

Rob

(Good luck to them, but jeez...)

1940’s Double Feature!

And believe me, the only thing these two movies have in common is the decade in which they were released.

I was home sick today, under doctor’s orders not to do anything, so I took the opportunity to watch some movies. My first pick was Casablanca. I’d seen it a number of times before, and so have you, so I’m not going to bother to summarize the plot. Besides, if you haven’t seen it, go out, buy it on DVD, and watch it. Don’t bother renting it, it’s too good not to watch more than once.

This time, I watched it with Roger Ebert’s commentary on (rewatching some of my favorite scenes with the movie audio), and I learned a few things. The thing that probably sticks with me most is that very few of the actors were born in America. Most had fled Europe after Hitler came to power. Look at the IMDB bio of S.Z. “Cuddles” Sakall, who played Carl, the Maitre’D at Rick’s. German movies from 1917 to 1937, then a three-year gap, then American movies from 1940 onward. The extensively European cast gives the movie an extra stamp of authenticity.

Another thing I learned (and this wasn’t in the commentary) is that Claude Rains looks a lot like one of our ferrets, The Dude.

Later on, Kathy and I sat down to watch The Devil Bat, a 1941 horror movie in which Bela Lugosi plays a kindly doctor who secretly has been enlarging bats to enormous proportions, and training them to attack whoever wears a special shaving lotion he’s prepared. The great fun of the movie is watching him jump through hoops to get people to splash a bit of it on. Well, that and the giant rubber bat. There are no giant rubber bats in Casablanca. You’re looking for giant rubber bats, only Lugosi’s got you covered.

Everything else, though, I’d go with Bogart.

Rob

You saw this coming, didn't you?

Pat Robertson: What a dick.

Rob

Sick. Tired.

I'll be back soon, but right now I feel like hell. If you're good, though, I won't tell you all about it.

Rob

Happy New Year

One of my favorite times of year. Here's why.

I hope 2006 brings great things to you and yours.

Rob

Virus

Click here to get the Amish computer virus. (This won't hurt your computer, I promise.)

Rob

Rubberneckin'

If you're not reading Josh Marshall's daily coverage of the DeLay/Abramoff scandals at Talking Points Memo, you're missing the best political car crash since Nixon. It's like sitting on the guard rail, watching the pileup. Best seats ever!

Rob

Thank you, 2005!

Paul Krugman looks at the difference between where the country stood on the Bush presidency at the beginning of the year and where we stand at its close.

Of course, it would have been even better year if Chimpy McPretzlechoker had turned out to be a competent president. But since this isn't Bizarro World, we'll have to settle for three more years of the country increasingly turning against him and his corrupt little cabal. Too little, too late.

Rob

Kickin' Ricky

There's no good way to link to it, but Jack Curtin (at I've Heard the Mermaids Singing) has a nice look at Senator Rick "Man on Dog" Santorum's most recent backpedaling over so-called "Intelligent Design." Click here and scroll down to Dec. 22. I'm glad Jack's move has turned out okay, and he's back to posting regularly. He had me at "Creepily babyfaced."

(Presumably once we flip to 2006, you'll have to click to the archives. I'll try to update the link.)

One more thing about Rick Santorum. At the infamous office Christmas party I wrote about earlier, somehow Rich Santorum's name came up. A coworker (a lifelong New Yorker) said, "I'm surprised anyone ever took him seriously. Doesn't his name mean something dirty?"

So not only is spreadingsantorum.com the first link on a Google search (I just checked to set the link above), but Dan Savage's efforts to equate his name with a sex act Mr. Beastiality would find distatasteful are working. (Here's the column that explains it all; if you clicked on all my links you already know which option was chosen.) Which is a fine Christmas present indeed.

And, as always, welcome to the folks who only stop by when I kick Ricky. Say hi in the comments!

Rob

The Times Honors a Hero

You'll only have a couple of weeks to read it before it goes behind the NY Times' pay wall, but take a moment and read their profile of Cmdr. James Stockdale, who passed away in 2005. Like most people of my generation, I knew him more as a failed VP candidate; I had a sense that he was an impressive man, out of his depth in political waters and treated unfairly by the media, but I had no idea what he'd done before siging up with Ross Perot.

Here are the first two paragraphs of the Times piece. If they don't make you want to read the rest, I don't know what will.

Cmdr. James Stockdale parachuted out of his nose-diving Skyhawk over the North Vietnamese jungle in September 1965, the war was still young. Little was known about the fate that awaited American prisoners of war. It didn't take Stockdale long to gain a clearer sense. After a few months in solitary confinement in Hoa Lo prison in Hanoi, he was introduced to "the ropes," a torture technique in which a prisoner was seated on the floor - legs extended, arms bound behind him - as a guard stood on his back and drove his face down until his nose was mashed into the brick floor between his legs. The North Vietnamese knew they were overmatched militarily, but they figured they could at least win the propaganda war by brutalizing American P.O.W.'s until they denounced their government and "confessed" that they had bombed schoolchildren and villagers.

For his part, Stockdale intended to return home with his honor intact. One afternoon, he was given a razor and led to the bathroom - a sure sign that he was being readied for a propaganda film. Instead of shaving, Stockdale gave himself a reverse Mohawk, tearing up his scalp in the process. More determined than ever now, his captors locked him in the interrogation room for a few minutes while they fetched a hat for him. Stockdale glanced around, looking for an appropriate weapon. He considered a rusty bucket and a windowpane before settling on a 50-pound stool, and proceeded to beat himself about the face. Then, realizing that his eyes were not yet swollen shut, he beat himself some more. By the time the guards had returned, blood was running down the front of his shirt. For the next several weeks, Stockdale kept himself unpresentable by surreptitiously bashing his face with his fists. The North Vietnamese never did manage to film him.

He spent eight years as a POW, organizing other servicemen to resist their torturers, and developing a code of conduct which allowed them to keep as much dignity as possible in that situation. His efforts kept himself and the men he was imprisoned with in better psychologial shape than they would have been without him. It's an amazing story.

Here's to you, Commander Stockdale.

Rob

Via Steve at Political Animal

Ho Ho Ho!

Media inTrouble has posted the final NJ Carnival of Bloggers for 2005. Merry Christmas, y'all.

Rob

Merry Blank to you

I will likely be swallowed up by the holidays this weekend, so let me wish you the merriest of December 25ths, whether you wish to call it "Christmas," "Hanukkah" or "Sunday." Merry knows no boundaries.*

Rob

*This was a constant source of tension between him and Pippin, by the way.

Meme o' Sevens

’Twas the day before the night before Christmas, and I’m finally picking up the gauntlet that Jeri threw down:

(But since I’m typing this on the train, I’m doing it from memory. Bear with me if I forget any.)

7 favorite books or series
87th Precinct novels by Ed McBain
Catch-22 by Joseph Heller
Madeliene’s Ghost by Robert Girardi
The Chronicles of Prydain by Lloyd Alexander
House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski
The Adventures of Kavalier & Clay by Michael Chabon
Matt Scudder mysteries by Lawrence Block

Since I know I won’t remember all of these, I’m adding 7 favorite comic-book series (available in trade paperback for your easy browsing)
Neil Gaiman’s Sandman
Garth Ennis & Steve Dillon’s Preacher
Bill Willingham & Mark Buckingham’s Fables
Warren Ellis & Darrick Robertson’s Transmetropolitan
John Broome and Carmine Infantino’s The Flash (available in Flash Archives 1-3, with more on their way soon, I hope)
James Robinson’s & Tony Harris (and Peter Sneljberg)’s Starman
Alan Moore & Dave Gibbons’ Watchmen

(Holee smokes, those are all published by DC. I'm sure there are some indies I'm not thinking of, but that's what I gots now.)

7 movies I could watch again and again (despite my love for certain movies, I’m limiting this to ones I’ve seen at least 3 times—once, again, and then again)
Joe vs. the Volcano
Payback
The Big Lebowski
Miller’s Crossing (I’m limiting Joel & Ethan to two; even that was tough.)
Casablanca
Goodfellas
The Shawshank Redemption
Silence of the Lambs

7 places I’d rather be
New Orleans (helping out by day, becoming part of the problem by night)
Galway
Paris
Nolay, France
High in the air, in a glider
Seaside, NJ, with a whole mess a’ friends
Aboard a pirate ship, yo-ho!

7 things I say most often (I’m leaving out “I love you,” since y’all don’t come here for that)
“Beanie!”
“You’re nuts. You’re like some nutty nut girl, you know that?”
“Worst…president…EVER!”
“Fuckity shit!”
“EZ Pass! Kiss my ass!”
“duke duke duke duke duke!” (or any other noises to stir up the ferrets)
“You’re a geek too, y’know.”

7 (okay, 8) people I’d like to rope into doing this
Sharon & Andrew
Greg (if I’m in under the wire for the three of them)
Rob
Chris R.
Chris A. (even if they have to start up a new blog to do it!)
KTBuffy
Jim the Bastard

And I’m missing one…umm… 7 new dwarf names?
Sticky
Rusty
Ornery
Shifty
Randy
Weepy
and Chet.

Rob

UPDATE: Here are the three “official” ones I forgot (I must’ve pulled 7 places I’d like to be from elsewhere in the memosphere):

7 things I cannot do:
Remember every last detail of memes
Doodle anything but the same few faces. I think these are the faces of people who will one day kill me. (And they’re sorry-looking sons a’bitches, lemme tell ya.)
Whistle between my fingers
Raise only my left eyebrow (the right one works fine solo; I practiced for a long while after watching Moonraker as a kid)
Play basketball (with any success)
Hold a note
Respect the President (He had his chance and blew it.)

7 things that attract me to people…
Y’know, I really hate this one. It’s the same thing that attracts YOU to people. Because we’re all wired pretty much the same in that respect. I can say eyes, smile, sense of humor, and four more (oh, let’s just say tits tits tits tits) – and they’re pretty much what you’ve got too (aside from tits four times. Maybe.) But we all like the same things in general, and we all enjoy different versions of those same things. Some people like a wide, friendly smile. Others like a warm but subdued grin. All of these things should be followed by “…that I like.” So here goes.
Smile that I like.
Eyes that I like.
Sense of humor similar enough to mine, but not exactly the same.
Way of expressing emotions that I like.
Physique that I like.
Someone who likes me (in a way that I like) for who I am.
And must love old Warner Brothers cartoons.

I think we can all agree on that stuff, right?

And 7 things to do before I die:
Publish some comic books, including writing an issue of the Flash.
Have a play produced off-Broadway
Ride a considerable distance in a submarine
Skydive
Roll down a hill in a Zorb
Publish a buncha novels
Wish for three more wishes

Rob

My Furley Sense is Tingling…

True story:

Our office Christmas party was Wednesday night, and we’d pretty much taken up the back room of a bar. After a while, we were all pretty well lit, and I went downstairs to hit the head.

So I’m there at the urinal, and I can tell there’s someone in the stall next to me. But there’s conversation, low and quiet. A man’s voice, saying something I can’t quite hear. There’s some jostling going on in there, some maneuvering for position. A thump against the barrier between the stall and the rest of the men’s room.

And you’re thinking what I’m thinking, I know you are. S-E-X, with a capital X.

And then I hear something that makes my jaw drop. A higher voice, a woman’s voice I guess, singing.

Singing the dreidel song.

“Dreidel dreidel dreidel, I made you out of clay…” And I think: This is the single kinkiest thing I’ve ever been witness to. This is Surrender Dorothy territory.

I wash up and head up the stairs to my coworkers. One of them’s coming down the stairs, and I pull him aside and say: “There’s a couple doing it in the men’s room stall – and she’s singing the dreidel song!”

Then I go up and report the same exact thing to my horde of coworkers. I get amazed looks, and laughs, and every reaction you’d hope imparting that news would provoke.

And then a father and his preschool-age son come back up to finish their dinner, and I know exactly what was really happening in the stall: potty training.

Mortified is the word.

Sheesh.

Rob

"Lazy Sunday"

SNL was really on their game this weekend. Jack Black was the host, but he doesn't appear in this clip -- a pre-made spot which is one of the funniest things all season.

Check it out. (It might take a while to load, but it's worth it.)

Rob

There's a clot in your sink

"You haff a lot uff tartar," she said, as she scraped my teeth with something sharp and unyielding.

I'd already figured that out. It was taking an awfully long time for the hygenist to clean my teeth. At first, I thought my teeth were being sprayed by a high-intensity beam of water -- sort of like power-washing your siding. Certainly, the tube in my mouth was sucking a lot of fluids out. Then I realized the tool she was using had not tube attached to the handle. The pointy feeling in my gums was due entirely to a pointy object poking around in there. Knowing this made it hurt more. Water never hurts as bad as metal, even if it's the exact same pain.

"It us just pressure," she said when I flinched. "No pain." Maybe it was a painful pressure.

And man, was it taking a long while to get down to my teeth under the archaeological layers of cheesesteak and doughnut that had evaded my brushing. I was waiting for her to pull a jackhammer from a sanitary sealed plastic pouch.

Eventually, I decided to spit.

I have never spit anything with such a deep red color in my life. Just a torrent of blood. I drank from the cup, and the next spit got pink -- or rather, it was pinkish with floating blobs of red suspended in it. I tried to make them swirl down the sink, but one of the globs didn't make it past the drain screen. I assume these were platelets.

One thing I knew: I wasn't about to spit again until it was completely done. No sense grossing myself out twice.

Eventually, my teeth cleaning was done, and I thanked my hygenist for doing such a thorough job. She stressed that regular six-month visits would make things go a lot more smoothly. She's right, of course. Hopefully the nightmares will have stopped by then.

Rob

It's Carnival Time

The Carnival of NJ Bloggers is up at the Rix Mix. As Hannibal Lecter would say: Go! Now!

Rob

Three Cheers

Not a bad week, all (well, some) things considered. The Iraqis had (mostly) violence-free elections with a higher turnout rate than we’ll ever see here. The Prez was dragged kicking and screaming to the moral high ground on torture (thank you, Mr. McCain, for this and your delicious frozen krinkle fries). And Friday, the Dems (with at least one Repub, Chuck Hagel) successfully filibustered a cloture of debate on the Patriot Act extension, So we may see some debate on whether or not some of our freedoms really need to be abridged after all. Whatever the outcome, shouldn’t we at least talk about it? Cheers to all of these developments.

Rob

Jeremiah (Lobster) Johnson

Two items of note: First of all, I’m about a month into a new face. Kathy suggested that I grow a “mountain man” beard a while back, and after careful consideration (and a sufficient amount of laziness) I decided that I’d stop shaving. It’s soft by this point, and only a little itchy. It also keeps more warmth in that my bare skin and fuzzy chin. So chances are, it’s in place until March. Until then, kiss my cheeks goodbye.

(And I just learned Kathy's secret motivation for the beard. Quoth she: "I wanted some hair to run my fingers through." Ow.)

Second of all, my friend Jim the Bastard told me that he’s probably going to stop calling me left-hand rob on his blog, and my new nickname will be Lobster Johnson. This is after the Hellboy character, and (as far as I know) is not an editorial comment on my Johnson or its carapace.

And if that doesn’t leave you wondering why you even bother stopping by my little corner of the outernet, nothing will.

Rob

The Trouble with Narnia

Okay, this is really appalling.

From what I understand, in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe movie, there are four kids, and one of them, Edmund, is tempted by an evil queen called the White Witch. She lures him onto her sledge and convinces him to betray his brother and sisters and Aslan, the titular lion and analogous Christ. He’s the Judas of the story.

But what does the White Witch use to get him on board with the plan? How does she tempt him?

Afternoon Delight, my friends.

Now look, I know my code words, and I know that sex equals sin and death in these Bible allegories – the lessons of Friday the 13th didn’t completely escape me, y’know. But can we please have a little innocence in what is ostensibly still a children’s film? He’s a kid, for cryin’ out loud! Why not lure him with candy?

What?

Turkish Delight?

What is that, Afternoon Delight in a bath?

Rob

It's so cute when they eat their young

As you may have heard, President Bush sent out a bunch of greeting cards with the words "Happy Holidays" on them -- and the usual Christian Right nutjobs have gone apeshit.

Peter David has a great post about it.

Rob

Whoa.

Looks like I’ll be buying Aquaman again. Lookit that sweet art.

Rob

Starve the beast... with steak!*

Very interesting post by Ed Kilgore at Newdonkey.com today, about how the corruption that runs through the Republican-controlled government like fat marbled through a ribeye is inherent in conservatism itself, and not merely the corrupting influence of absolute power. Their power makes this corruption possible, of course -- but it's their philosophy which made it inevitable.

Here are the money paragraphs at the end, but read the whole thing:

The ready embrace of "starve the beast" ideology by the Republican Party of the W. era has also exposed another rotten underpinning of conservatism in power: if you don't believe in the actual ability of the federal government to do anything of real value, then why not turn federal agencies into patronage machines and well-paid holding pens for rising young ideologues?

This question, I suspect, explains how you get from Reaganesque critiques of bureaucratic incompetence to Brownie, in less than a generation.

In other words, I believe the endemic corruption of conservatives in power we are witnessing today is not just a morality play about power's corrupting influence, or about the descent of ideologues into the practical swamps of politics. Worse than that, it's about the consequences of entrusting government's vast power to people who can't think of it as a force for the common good, and thus, inevitably, treat it as a force for private gain.

Rob

*analogy only. No actual cattle were consumed.

It just hit me.

I’m four years older than Bill Hicks was when he died. I better get moving.

Rob

Our Hideous Economy

Stepping out of Penn Station today, I couldn't help notice a guy wearing a big sign that said "Women and Children Sample Sale 35% to 70% Off".

Good grief. Sample all the women you want, pal, but leave the children out of it.

Rob

Bible (T)humpers

A German Protestant group is releasing calendars featuring nude photographs inspired by erotic scenes of the Bible. Save the date!

Rob

On the Battlefield

James Wolcott’s “Scenes from the War on Christmas.”

Go. Read.

Rob

Today's Meow Mix

Go, Mummycats!

I can't wait to see their team logo.

Rob

The War on Christmas Continues

Some megachurches are closing for Christmas.

No shit, really!

Rob

They're Cousins....Identical Cousins...

While I always regret turning over a rock and finding Coulter, at least I can cheer myself up by watching Rick "Man on Dog" Santorum's campaign woes. Now there are questions raised by footage in one of his campaign ads that's identical to footage in an Americans for Job Security ad. Campaign and 501(c) groups (such as AJS) are not allowed to coordinate.

This is better than NASCAR. Can I watch this car wreck in slow motion, please?

Rob

Coulter and O'Reilly

I just don't fucking believe those two. They're bottomless pits of venom. And little crybabies, to boot. Their buddies rule the whole fucking universe, and all they can do is whine that they're being persecuted. They best part a' them ran down their daddies' legs, I tell ya.

Rob

Choi Wins Recount

The Home News Tribune has reported that Jun Choi has won the Edison mayoral recount, adding one vote to his total. Stephens has still not conceded, saying he will either concede or file another challenge by Dec. 8.

Personally, I think we have our mayor.

Rob

OnStar...with a side of jibberjabber

NavTones and TomTom, two voice services that can be downloaded into your car navigation system, are adding celebrity voices. Among them are John Cleese, Burt Reynold, Dennis Hopper ... and Mr. T.

I really think they're missing a bet by not giving William Daniels all the money he could ever want to do this.

Rob

Podcast Alert

My friend Rob, of Usdin.net, just posted the first installment of The Jersey Jamcast. It's a half-hour podcast showcasing Jersey music talent that you can probably find playing in clubs around the state. This one features the harder rock of Cold Promise, singer-songwriter Lori Malvey, and (my favorite band of the bunch) the New-Brunswick-based Amphibians. He caps it all off with a really nice tune by the Candy Butchers -- not a NJ band, but certainly worth straying from the formula.

He's done a great job with it, so give it a listen. Congratulations, Rob.

Rob

…and Checkin’ It Twice

A New Jersey State Superior Court judge, Yolanda Ciccone, has authorized a recount in the Edison mayoral race. Democrat Jun Choi is currently considered the winner, by 269 votes. That’s barely more than 1 percent of the total votes cast. His opponent, William Stephens, has challenged the vote, and the recount is scheduled for Wednesday.

Stephens plans to be there for the recount. The Sentinel quotes him as saying, “Tapes will be pulled out of the machines to make sure the numbers are correct.”

That’s the way these things should go. Voting machines should leave a paper trail that can be checked during a recount, whether it’s for a mayoral seat or a national election.

Computers make errors. They crash, they freeze, they can be hacked. We need to know that the votes that register in voting machines at the end of the day are the same votes we cast, and not the product of a bug or an intentional attempt at rigging the election. The best way to do this is HR 550, a bill in the U.S. House to require a voter-verified permanent paper record of votes. Sharon has an excellent post on the subject at The Center of New Jersey Life. And its sponsor, NJ Congressman Rush Holt, has started an online petition. Sign the petition, but also write to your representative to ask him or her to support the bill. We should know that we’ve gotten the leaders we asked for.

I’m hoping Choi wins the Edison recount. But I don’t begrudge Stephens asking for it, and I'm glad the recount should be reliable. Whoever wins, I want our mayor to be the guy we voted for.

Rob