A beautiful night.

We never mentioned what day it was, or what we were doing five years ago. We’re good friends, old friends, and we’ve talked about it all before, and increasingly again these past few weeks as the anniversary loomed and the news coverage increased. We dined on all the sushi we could eat, drank a little saki and berry wine, and talked mostly about old times. And then, stuffed to the gills with sushi, we walked around the city.

People traveled in groups of twos and threes, some of them wanderers like us, others walking with purpose. As we neared Times Square, the crowd thickened, as is usual. A screen curled the words “We will never forget” around a bank. Across the street, a line of fans curled around the block, preparing to wait out all night for a Justin Timberlake CD signing. A man tried his best to play “America the Beautiful” on a steel drum, but it was obvious that it wasn’t in his normal repertoire. And looking south, two high-intensity spotlights shone up into the night.

We knew what night it was. No one needed flags, banners or a presidential visit to remind them. But it wasn’t a vigil; it wasn’t solemn. It was just people doing what they do, an unconscious testament to resilience.

Rob

Five Years Ago

I can't tell you how scared I was on September 11th. I can't express the dread with which I looked to the skies. I don't even know how much I cried that day, and for days afterward.

But I can tell you that the next day, when phone lines were back up, I called my dad. We weren't able to make sense of any of it, but we were there for each other. And I'd go through all those horrible feelings again to have one more phone call with him.

I remember visting him in the hospital soon afterward. We watched the footage on one news show or another -- they were still running 24 hours then. Most of all, I was glad he was there for me when the world broke apart, but sorry that he ever saw things come to this.

I can't say I'm happy I saw it, either. But we get through, day after day, and we bear the public and private hurts the only way we can...by moving forward. By living. By learning. By not forgetting, but by remembering with a little more distance every time.

It's been five years since September 11, and almost that long since my father died. Where will I be in ten years? Where will you?

Pick a destination and start walking. I'll meet you there.

Rob

Baby, if you've ever wondered...

The intrepid Clark Kent DC at the Captain Comics Forums has uncovered the secret to one of life's great mysteries: What the hell are they singing during the WKRP end credits?

First of all, take a listen. Just hearing that again brings back memories. Man, I miss that show.

Next, once you've satisfied yourself that no way are you ever in a million years gonna have the slightest idea what the mush-mouthed singer is belting out, check out this transcription. It makes about as much sense as could be expected, I suppose.

Thanks, CK, and especially to you, transcriber extrordinaire T.E. Ackerson! Now get to work on whatever Benicio Del Toro says in The Usual Suspects!

Rob

Government Pork? More like potato skins.

Rah, Rah! Sis Boom Bah!

The war profiteers at Haliburton throw a Super Bowl party on our dime.

Just a little reminder of why, when we kick the Repugs out of office, we should kick hard.

Rob

Sex, Death and the Spirit

I've been too busy to do this justice, but I wanted to direct your attention to the Nicole Maynard showing at the Bowery Gallery in New York. Nicole's a friend of mine, and her work never fails to provoke an emotional--visceral--response from me. Take a look at her website and online gallery to see for yourself, but understand that there's no way that the pixels on your screen are going to convey the intensity of feeling you get with the works hanging right in front of you.

The ones that really hit me yesterday were "Loss," "The Veil," "Eve and the Snake Goddess" and one simply called "Eve" which isn't posted in the online gallery. Nicole's paintings deal with religion, feminism, terrorism, war, hope and hopelessness -- and the intersection between them is always more complex than you might think.

I only wish I'd had more time to take them in yesterday; we left for other galleries, intending to return, but when we got back, the BG was closing up and our friends were pouring out. These paitings are always worth a second look -- they remind me that there are treasures hidden in skeletons, and skeltons hidden in all of us.

SharonGR has more.

Rob

Today's PSA

Courtesy of Licensable Bear.



The sad thing is, I know who first started using this hateful discrimination. No matter what they amount to, don't all numbers desrve a square deal?

Rob
(Via The Beat)

In Anticipation of an Anniversary

I’m waiting for the planes to tumble
Waiting for the skies to fall
I’m waiting for the cities to crumble
I’m waiting till I see you crawl

I was looking around for a new set of lines to put atop the blog, and found these. I’ve been listening to this song – Blackie and the Rodeo Kings’ recording of John Martyn’s “Don’t Want To Know” – and it consistently gives me chills. It’s a wonderful song, and if I quote the chorus, you’ll probably recognize it:

I don’t want to know about evil
I only want to know ’bout love

It’s really beautiful, almost like a prayer to me. It reminds me that there’s a stronger force out there than fear, but warns that fear itself makes it hard to look away.

Sometimes it gets so hard to listen
Hard for us to use our eyes
All around the cold is glistening
Making sure it keeps us hypnotized

It turns out that the song was written and first recorded by John Martyn in 1973. He had no idea the images that first verse would conjure 28 years down the road. (Incidentally, from what I can tell online, the lyrics are “waiting for the plains to tumble,” not planes.) It’s been recorded by quite a few people, including Richie Havens, Dr. John, and Beth Orton. The first time I heard it, I felt like I recognized it. The song sticks with you.

I don’t want to know one thing about evil
I only want to know ’bout love

If only.

Rob

Two Daysssss Left.

It’s pretty safe to say that Snakes on a Plane will be out of most theaters by the end of the week. And I don’t have time to write a long post about it. But if you’re looking for a dumb, fun action movie, this one is firing on all cylinders. Four of us went to see it Saturday night, and we came out giddy with adrenaline and action movie goodness.

See it with friends, of course – there’s no sense watching it alone. Snakes must be shared.

Rob

This Makes Me Sad

Harry Anderson is leaving New Orleans.

He should do what's right for him and his family, of course. But he always seemed to have the right spirit for the city, and I hate to think that spirit has been broken.

Good luck in Asheville, Harry.

Rob

Now I Know My ABCs

It’s Tuesday, so once again I’m telling it to Janet at The Art of Getting By. This week she asked for a memorable first day of school story.

So here it is – my introduction to the public education system, a story in which I am a smartass before I even knew how.

It’s my first day of kindergarten. The bell hasn’t rang yet, and I’m just waiting outside with all the other kids. (I find this hard to believe, now—I’d think my mom would be with me, at least, and everyone else’s moms would be with them. But apparently we were all, K through fourth-graders, standing outside the school alone, possibly unsupervised.)

An older kid comes up to me and pushes me against a wall. I’m terrified of him. I’m not a big kid, and he’s towering over me. He’s a second grader, I think. “What’s your name, kid?” he snarls. It’s a second-grader snarl, designed to instill fear and respect.

“Bobby,” I say. I try to make friends: “What’s yours?”

“Jay.” Now, I have no idea what he wants with me. Kindergarten was only half days, so I didn’t even have lunch money to extort. Most likely, he just wants to be seen as a big guy among his peers – although how pushing around a kid two years younger will accomplish this, I have no idea. But there he is, big tough guy. Jay.

And I start laughing, like he made a joke. “That’s not a name,” I said. “That’s a letter.” Jay’s no longer a tough guy. He’s some kind of comedian. He’s named after a letter! It’s a real knee-slapper to a 5-year-old. This guy kills me!

His friends have heard the exchange, and start laughing. Jay lets me go, flustered. I told him he’s named after a letter, and he’s got nuthin’. Not only did I never have any trouble with him again, but we later became friends through Indian Guides. I haven’t heard anything about him in years, though.

Maybe I should send him a letter.

Rob

My First Embedded Video! (Will It Work?)

I saw this cartoon at a sick and twisted animation festival in Baltimore years and years ago. And all I could remember was the name, which cracked me up. So I hereby present: "Jean-Jean and the Evil Cat." Thought you might like it.



Cheers!

(And in that spirit: check this out.)

Rob

This Just In: Trash Lover Has Gutter Mouth

First of all, apologies for ruining your childhoods.

I can't remember why, but for some reason the other day I saw a clip of Oscar the Grouch singing "I Love Trash." I think I was surfing around on YouTube, but who knows. Anyhow, I noticed something very curious as Oscar sang this verse:

I've a clock that won't work
And an old telephone
A broken umbrella, a rusty trombone
And I am delighted to call them my own!
I love them because they're trash!

He has a WHAT??

I didn't even think that was possible for a muppet.

Rob

Pop!

Courtesy of Doc Beechler at the Captain Comics board...

your Friday Bubble Wrap.

Thanks Doc!

Rob

33 Percent Chump

SO, last night, I’m hurrying out of work. I want to buy stamps if the post office is still open, I want to buy shoelaces because this morning the skin shed off the laces of my right shoe as I tried to tie it, and I want to catch my—

Smash!

I bump into this guy, a little hand-against-hand jostle, and just my luck, I knock a brown bag with a bottle in it out of his hand. I say “I’m sorry man,” and go to pick up the bottle, but it’s smashed and leaking all over the sidewalk.

“I don’t want your sorry, I want a new bottle,” he says. This guy’s a black man in his mid-to late forties, and he’s angry.

I don’t know what he’s drinking – it didn’t look like a beer, but it was a small bottle, maybe one of those little Jack Daniels drinks or a wine cooler, if they still make them. I ask him how much it was and he says “This is the good stuff -- four dollars.” I really do feel bad about getting between this guy and his snooter. So I look in my wallet and I’ve got a twenty and two singles.

“I’ve got two I can give you,” I say, but he’s having none of it.

“Two won’t buy me a new bottle,” he says.

“Look, man, I’ve gotta catch a train,” I say, offering him the two again.

“I’ll walk with you, and you’ll get me one,” he says, and he starts barreling down the street in my direction. At first he wants to go to this card and candy shop on Madison that I didn’t know sold liquor, but then we head over to a lottery ticket stand. I decide to get some change so I can give him four bucks and be quit of him.

And.

Some.

Guy.

Is.

Buying.

Every.

Lottery.

Ticket.

In.

New York.

I swear, it was like he was cornering the market on Powerball. If the only money in the kitty is yours, pal, it’s not winning, it’s just a bank.

So the guy, as impatient as I am, shouts “Anybody got change for a twenty?” I turn to a woman waiting in line – this guy’s making her as uncomfortable as he’s making me – and she looks through her money. “I’ve got $19.95.”

“Deal,” I say, handing her the twenty. I take her money, count out four singles for Drinky McSlipperyhands, and head off on my—

“Hey!” he shouts. “Four dollars ain’t gonna cut it!”

“You said it was four dollars,” I argue.

“I said it was twelve dollars,” he says. “It was the good stuff.” Which is bullshit, top to bottom.

“It was also half empty,” I say. “You’re getting four or nothing. Be happy with it. Because This Is Not My Problem.”

And I give him the four bucks, and he goes his way and I go mine. I’m a four-dollar chump, but there’s no way I’m gonna be a twelve-dollar chump.

Rob

The Lady Vanishes

Heard about this video on the Penn radio show. May I present Ursula Martinez, in a 5-minute striptease while performing a magic trick. Pretty much the essence of the art of misdirection. I'd warn you that this isn't kid- or work-friendly, but who am I to tell you what your child or boss should see?

Rob

Sleuth or Dare

Which TV detective would you want to take your case?

I think I’d have to go with Monk. There’s just no one currently on TV who gets to the truth of the matter like Adrian Monk. He’s got a great track record, and if you’re innocent, it just means putting up with his annoying habits for a while.

Then again, there are always Frank Pembleton or Kay Howard from Homicide: Life on the Street. No guarantees, but Frank’s amazingly good, and Kay is every bit as good and lucky, to boot. Then again, there’s Vic Mackey of The Shield. Chances are, he’ll be a bit preoccupied with covering his own ass, but if you’re looking for revenge, Vic’s your man. There’s no one who’ll bring the hammer down harder on evildoers, as long as he doesn’t have a piece of the action himself.

The TV detective I’d least like on my case is Dr. House. Sure, he pretty much always solves the case and cures the patient, but generally on Monk you don’t suffer acute system failure before the case is closed. Adrian’s clients vomit less blood, too.

Rob

We Are Not Descended From Fearful Men

Keith Olberman offered a stirring rebuke of Donald Rumsfeld's recent attempts to quell dissention (coincidentally enough, as an election is coming up). It runs about 6 1/2 minutes, and it's well worth watching.

Here's the video at Crooks and Liars.

Rob

Spelling Counts!

Okay, this totally cracked me up.

I was looking over what searches have brought people here, and the most recent one was shmale movie. I write about movies now and then, and that, combined with the post about Lakewood's "Yale Shmale" campaign down below, has apparently misled someone in search of hot shemale action.

Proofreed yur serches, guyz.

Hoo!

Rob

Vital Statistics

Okay, it’s another Tell it to Me Tuesday at The Art of Getting By, and Janet’s asked us to tell a story about our first crush.

Well, there’s not a whole lot of narrative to mine. Colleen was a smart, pretty, friendly girl, and I was a shy, geeky guy, and nothing every happened. End of story.

Except one day, me and my friend Joe (who also had a crush on her), were discussing her various attributes in the school library, as middle-school geeks were wont to do in those days of yore. Now, when I say “attributes,” you shouldn’t read anything lurid into it. Far from it. The conversation began when Joe said: “If you were to give Colleen three 18s, what would they be in?”

Yes, we were talking about her D&D stats.

I can’t believe I’m even telling you this. I am such a geek.

Well, Charisma and Intelligence were the two obvious choices. After all, we were bright guys who liked bright girls, and the charisma goes without saying if she caught our discriminating eyes, right? But where to put the third 18?

I said, “Dexterity,” which, it turns out, is what Joe was thinking, too. This seemed kind of profound to us back then.

But really, what were the other choices? Strength? Please. We weren’t exactly Olympic-level athletes, even in those halcyon days of puberty. Neither of us was looking for a girl who could bench-press even our scrawny bodies.

Constitution? That’s just a nice way of saying, “She can take a punch.” Pass.

And the only other option was Wisdom. And with an 18 Wisdom, she’d never have had anything to do with us.

Come to think of it…

Rob

Can This Man Defeat the Fantastic Four?

If it's an acting competition, there's no contest -- Andre Braugher can act rings around almost anybody.

In what will certainly be seen by some as a crazy waste of his talents, he's rumored to be in the second Fantastic Four movie -- turning down a recurring part on ER to do it. Frankly, I think a nice villain part could be just the sort of thing to remind people how good he is.

But while the film is subtitled "Rise of the Silver Surfer," I doubt he's playing ol' shinytrunks. I think the blog at Newsarama has it right -- he'll be playing Alicia Masters' dad, the nefarious Puppet Master.

And even though in every comic I've ever read the Puppet Master comes off like a chump, if anyone can instill the guy with menace, Braugher can.

Besides, it's a chance to see two of TV's greatest cops share a screen. How cool is that?

UPDATE: Sadly, it looks like Braugher will be playing a military general instead. Which is too bad -- it's hard to find a superhero movie where a general doesn't come off like a chump.

Rob

So's Yer Alma Mater!

Lakewood University in Canada is taking aim at Yale through its weakest link -- its alumnus who lives at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Its "Yale Shmale" campaign, reported by the Toronto Star, features a picture of Bush's face on posters with the words:

"Graduating from an Ivy League university doesn't necessarily mean you're smart. Choosing Lakehead does."

Go Lakehead!

Rob

Duplicating Euclid

I’ve been researching a book on ancient mathematicians for a little while now. Aa few weeks ago found this huge, scholarly tome on Greek philosophers and thinkers at the New York Public Library. Make no mistake, the book is enormous. I can barely fit it in my laptop bag. But it’s got a few chapters that should really help me understand this stuff.

On the other hand, 90 percent of it is completely useless to me at this point. So, after lugging this bad boy home and reading the chapter on Pythagoras, I’ve dragged it back into work so I can photocopy chapters on Euclid and Greek mathematics in general. (I photocopied the Archimedes chapter on our printer/copier combo, but the book’s almost as big as the printer, and the whole operation was just plain awkward.)

Anyway, this photocopying chore reminded me of a time back when I was in middle school – probably around 6th grade – and I asked my dad to copy the monsters chart from the end of Dungeon Master’s Guide. The whole chart was cool, but what I really wanted was the experience point calculations on the far end of it. That way, my friends and I could look at our character sheets, see how many experience points we needed to make the next level, then look at the charts and decide “We need to kill a xorn!” And then we’d all go kill a xorn because the DM was accommodating – after all, he had characters in the group too. (We didn’t have a lot of players, and the system did keep us going up in level, so if you wanna complain, tell it to my 135^th-level magic-user. Yeah, you heard me.)

But what strikes me now is that Dad went and copied those 30-odd pages of charts for me at work. Remember, this was at a time when hardly anyone had ever heard of D&D, and some of those who had thought it was some form of devil worship. And I can picture Dad bringing this book to the photocopier and copying page after page of what can only have looked like utter nonsense for me. I mean, look at that cover! Boss or not, Dad must’ve had some explaining to do.

So thanks Dad. I’m dedicating my next xorn to you.

Rob

The 9900

I just noticed my blog counter hit 9,900. Exactly.

Which, if my math is right, is two and a quarter times 4400.

And, if my understanding of tv shows I've never seen is right, I could disappear all y'all and do experiments and poof! bring you back all at once in a big mysterious way--two and a quarter times over!

So you should probably look out if you wanna be safe.

Me? I'm goin' ta bed. When my mind starts working like this I need sleep.

Rob

Fest 2006

Some random memories from this year’s Philadelphia Folk Festival…

Fest stared out with some magic. Down at the bottom of the camp hill, a number of tents had sat in the sun for too long as people were setting up on Thursday. A gust started blowing, hit the tree line and swirled up, taking a few hot-air-filled tents with it. We watched them swirl and dance some hundred or so feet above us. I’m glad it didn’t happen to me (one tent landed high in some trees), but man was it cool to watch.

Some great music… Jackson Brown and David Lindley played a 2-hour concert on Saturday afternoon… saw great sets by the Avett Brothers, Canadian funny band Arrogant Worms (“We are the Beaver!”) … Shemekia Copeland brought the house down Sunday night with a jawdropping set… The Burns Sisters took a surprisingly political turn, doing such a great job with Leonard Cohen’s “Democracy” and “When Johnny Comes Marching Home” that I picked up their new album just to hear what they do with Steven Van Zandt’s “I Am a Patriot.”

There’s just great stuff all around at Fest. Every time you turn around, there’s a new band you’ve never heard of rocking you to the core. The two Hoots and Hellmouth sets I saw were amazing. They topped off they’re first one with a rousing “Everybody Must Get Stoned” (yeah, too lazy to look up the real Dylan title now) with labelmates Andrew Lipke and Matt Duke. Then the next day Gandalf Murphy and the Slambovian Circus of Dreams (no lie, that’s their name) joined H&H and the terrific slide-guitar player Natalia Zuckerman for a rock-your-ass-off version of “Angels We Have Heard On High” mixed with Them’s “Gloria.” It was probably my favorite moment of fest, fresh and inspiring and full of the impish glee that always comes when you mix the sacred and the sexy.

Then again, there was the guy who wandered into our camp and the song about Jesus’s brother, Craig – which I just discovered is a Stephen Lynch song that you can hear online.

Plus, we were camped near our traditional fest buddies Nick, Brian, Lisa and Joyce, but right up next to the Illegal Aliens group. We had a blast hanging out in the shade with Clare, Dee, Celeste and the gang. Even if we occasionally forgot all about the letter “n.”

Plus, wandering children who won’t go away and a deeply stoned woman who stumbles into camp and proceeds to spoil a bunch of movies we haven’t seen yet! Good times, good times.

Rob

Done Packing.

Fest now. See you Monday.

Rob

R.I.P. Bruno Kirby

I'm sorry to say that Bruno Kirby died today. He was an actor who could almost unfailingly make me laugh -- he had a true knack for playing a regular Joe. I don't think I'd ever seen him in a role I didn't enjoy, but the one that stands out for me was playing a pissed-off guy stalking Frank Pembleton on an episode of Homicide. And, of course, he completely sold us that someone would blurt out "Baby Fish Mouth" during a game of Pictionary.

Rest in Peace, Mr. Kirby. I'll miss seeing you around the edges, and the too-rare times you were in the spotlight.

Rob

World Trade Center

Note: I originally posted this as a comment on The Art of Getting By, but I’ve edited it a little so that it stands on its own.

I don’t really have any strong feelings about Oliver Stone’s World Trade Center. It’s just a movie – an artistic way of expressing an idea about a true event. But it’s not the event itself, and certainly any criticism or praise it gets should be about the movie on the screen, and not the reality around the theater.

I doubt I’ll see it. When I eventually see a movie about 9-11, I’m pretty sure it’ll be a documentary. A reenactment like this doesn’t interest me much.

One thing that might set me apart from the crowd: I don’t think the staff of the movie has any obligation, moral or otherwise, to donate part (or all!) of their paycheck to victim’s funds. They’re professional people. Like everyone I know, part of the reason they work is to get paid. And as professional people, they deserve to be paid.

Now, you may argue that some people in Hollywood get paid too much for the work they do. But it’s still work, and they’re getting paid what the market will bear. And I don’t see why Oliver Stone or Nicholas Cage should have to give up several months of pay, but the dolly grip or the best boy can pocket their earnings. And I certainly wouldn’t ask these crew members to give up the money they’re making to feed their families; I don’t think many people would. But both Cage and the grip are profiting; the only difference is degree.

Sure, it would be a nice gesture (and good PR) for Cage to make some donations or public appearances at survivors’ charities. And I think if the studio doesn’t devote some percentage of the profits to it, they’re fools. But if they make a film that people want to see, they certainly deserve to profit from their work.

What I think is necessary for their participation in the movie is that they believe in the project wholeheartedly. No matter where the money goes, what matters is what the movie says, and how firmly the people who made it believe it.

Rob

Shit. Fuck. Goddamn it.

Goodbye Sploid. I'll miss ya.

Rob

Flight Risk?

So. Last week there was a bit of news over in England. Some blokes got nicked for a terrorist plot. Thankfully, no one was hurt. But once again it’s going to change the way we travel.

From now on, no liquids (save baby formula, medicine and, I believe, our precious bodily fluids) will be allowed on board passenger airplanes. Which sucks for Jet Blue – apparently they had allowed passengers to bring cases of beer on board. And hey, it could be worse – for a while, at least, the Brits were allowing no carry-ons at all.

Of course, this is portrayed as the government leaping into action to prevent a terrorist threat. Except that this is hardly a new threat. The government knew about this particular plot for quite a while, all the while we were blissfully sipping the Snapples we toted into coach. And hell – mixing liquids on an airplane to generate a bomb? I came up with that idea myself, still gripped with fear, sometime around September 13, 2001. I remember seeing someone make napalm out of gasoline and detergent (or something) on a made-for-TV-movie in high school, and it stuck with me. And if I could think of it. I didn’t see any reason why bad guys couldn’t. And any reason (besides the guy at the top) why the government couldn’t either.

But aside from a swift action to make the TSA look busy, what will the ban accomplish? It’s tough to say. But it’s certainly gotten everyone acting jumpy. Which is the point of terrorism, by the way. They’re not called terrorists because they want to give us all ponies.*

What’s good is that knowledgeable people who are willing to voice a possibly unpopular opinion (and certainly one that could draw the patently unfair knee-jerk question “whose side are you on, ours or the terrorist’s?”) will speak up. It usually takes a few days for them to be heard, but they do get heard.

They say, “Hold on a minute. Don’t be scared, let’s think this through.” I hope, more often than not, I’m on the side of these people.

So, in that spirit, here’s a link to a conversation with Michael Boyd, who spoke with Paul Harris at KMOX about how the new TSA regulations are doing precious little to make us safer.

Rob

*Ponies and terror are almost mutually exclusive, with the exception of that scene in The Godfather.

Keeper Tunes

It’s Tuesday, so I’m telling it to Janet. What am I telling? The songs that I seem to be able to listen to again and again. That just won’t move off my MuVo, no matter what else I might want to put on it. And what are they?

Ah, that would be telling. Go see Janet; I’m in the comments section.

Rob

Fest on Google Earth!

This is where I'll be.

The southern part of the field is the campsite. The northeastern part is parking, and the northwestern part is the performing area. You can see the Main stage (the big white box near the trees), the Craft stage (to its right) the Tank stage (to its left) and the Camp stage (the white box just beyond that thick grove of trees). By Thursday, it'll be a sea of blue tarps.

Rob

Swampass B-Gone!

Ten Years.

I've been going to the Philadelphia Folk Festival, i.e. The Happiest Place on Earth, for 10 years. Since 1996, actually, making this my eleventh show. In a row.

On our first trip, Greg and I went on a Friday afternoon, parked a pup tent on the only place available -- a 45 degree slope to which Pythagoras would give a hearthy thumbs up -- and went to see some music. That night, it began to pour. The sort of rain that makes you want to trade your tent in for an ark. But under some trash bags, we perservered, and got to watch David Wilcox amazingly sing the rain away, first by appeasing it with a few rain-themed songs like his "Eye of the Hurricane" (which is really about a motorcycle, but the man loves a metaphor like I love cheese fries), and then by easing into some sun-centric music ("Sunshine on the Land," and "Here Comes the Sun" spring to mind. And even though it was pitch dark out, it worked. For the rest of the concert and some time after, the rain stoppped. Life was good. (True, it started again later that night after we'd sacked out. And when we woke up, or tent had slid about 50 feet toward closer to sea level. But still, that was a magic show.)

That's not the only time it's rained, of course. We danced like hell in that rain, listening to the Saw Doctors lay it down a few years ago. (I think that was Kathy's first fest -- so is that seven or eight? Jaysis.) And once we took refuge in a friend's cool-ass bus, and returned to the three-man tent to find water seeping in at ever seam.

But often -- very often -- it's just hot. Awful, sticky hot. Egg-fryin', chocolate-meltin' hot. Slow-cooked-barbecue hot. Re-entering Earth's Atmosphere hot. And it doesn't have to be nearly that hot for me to sweat like I'm in the heart of the sun.

So, after ten years, I did what any sensible human being would have done after one. I bought a shower!

A nice camp shower you can see right here. Now, I know it won't keep me clean. It won't keep me half clean, to be perfectly honest. This is camping after all, and I'll be living among the dirt and the bugs and the old folkies and nuveau-hippies and granola chix. But there's gonna be a moment or two every day, when a certain 15 percent of me is going to feel clean. Clean, I say!

And that 15 percent makes all the difference.

Rob

On Notice

Just thought you'd all like to know.

Rob

We is Stupid

In your face, Turkey!

Hideous.

Rob

A friendly pointer down below

Well... maybe not so friendly, but ya take what Google Images gives ya.

My post on Heath Ledger as the Joker has sparked a nice little discussion on cross-ethnic casting (Thanks Dave!), and seeing as how the post is sinking beneath the waves just as it's getting interesting, I thought I'd provide a link for latecomers. And for me, to save my delicate scrolling thumb.

Rob

Whether the wether be cold…

Bellwether. Been hearing that word a lot lately, in conjunction with the Connecticut primary between Joe Lieberman and Ned Lamont. And I’ve been thinking it’s a pretty cool word.

The way it’s used, it means an indicator of trends – that is, if voters select Lamont, it indicates tough times for pro-war candidates, and if they choose Lieberman, it means the anti-war folks aren’t as strong as some people think. But as interested as I am in the outcome of that race, it’s only pertinent here as an example. (Although I also have to note that I really only hear the term in connection with politics anymore, but that may just be because that’s where my interests are. It could be used in football reporting all the time, and I’d never know.)

Bellwether originated as a term for a bell shepherds would hang on their lead sheep – which would indicate to the shepherd were the flock was. But what I like about it is what it seems to come from. A bell, of course, is a signal, just like in the original. And weather is something that we’re accustomed to having forecast. We’re used to thinking about weather in the future. So despite the term’s etymology having nothing to do with the Doppler 2000 Weathercenter, it still makes sense to the modern ear. Cool, huh?

Rob

(The other term that catches my ear on the news lately is Israeli pullout, but that’s mostly because it sounds kinda porny.)

Kiss Kiss

KTBuffy just recommended the movie Kiss Kiss Bang Bang on her blog, and I've got to second that. (Click the link to her place to see a preview.) It's a terrific movie, well-versed in the film noir tradition, tweaking it (and movies in general) in enough ways to be really, really funny.

Watching the commentary track, gills-full of whiskey, I noticed something. When you can't hear him talk, just watching his face, it's almost eerie how much Robert Downey Jr. looks like a young Alan Arkin. Seriously. Watch Catch-22 and then watch this. It's friggin' uncanny. (Or it's friggin' Bushmills.)

One way or another, you won't be sorry you rented this puppy. Enjoy.

Rob

The Fightin' Keyboarders

Don't miss this post on the conservative blogosphere by Jesus's General. It's called "This Week in Heroism." The message is elegant in its simplicity.

Rob

To the Girl With the Great Legs in the Translucent Blue Skirt Walking East (Into the Sun) on 33rd Street This Morning:

Thanks.

Rob

Turtle Power!

It's been a long time since I followed the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. But if you've ever been a fan -- or even if you haven't -- this movie preview is likely to impress you.

Rob

New Commute

With a new job comes a new commute. Due to the relative positioning of my new desk, my commute is now 27 steps shorter!

Seriously. I paced it out this morning.

Rob

Rumor

I just read that Heath Ledger has been cast as the Joker in the next Batman film.

Hmm.

I'm glad they didn't go with an actor known for comedy -- a Jim Carrey (who's too old by now) or David Cross or someone like that. Ledger, huh?


Yeah, I can see it.

Rob

Change

You know how after a good vacation, you really don't feel like going back to your job?

Well, that's how things are working out for me. I was just back to working at the magazine for two days when I was offered the managing editor position at one of our sister magazines.

I didn't do a lot of hemming and hawing. The new job gives me more responsibility and a title to match. It's a good opportunity.

And one more thing: For the first time in my life, I'm leaving one job for another in the same industry. Yes, I've been editing for a while, but a newspaper is not a magazine, which is most certainly not a children's story in an unconventional format. Could my career be getting some sort of continuity at last?

Wouldn't that be sumthin'?

Rob

Don't know why

...but I haven't been in a blogging mood lately. I'm sure I'll get back on the horse forthwith. Hopefully, this picture of Doc Venture will inspire me to spring into action.Rob

Another Secret Mission

Blogger's acting weird, so no Spy picture this time. Heck, I'm not even sure if this will get through. But either way, I'll be gone til next Thursday.

Rob

Sidetracked by Weasels

I meant to blog about my cover story—er, weekend at “the shore”—last night, but I got sidetracked by a sleepy ferret taking a nap on my chest.

Hopefully I’ll have photographic evidence tonight, but in the meantime, here’s a decidedly less placid photo of me and a ferret (Gus). Go back to this post on the weasel sandwich, and check out the link in the comments section to thw graphic Dave Decay adapted from a Frank Zappa album cover.

Thanks, Dave! You're a sick man.

Rob

Off on a Secret Mission

I'll give you my cover story Monday.

Rob

Rocketed From the Planet Krypton

Greg The Sporadic Blogger has returned from his home planet long enough to review Superman Returns. Since I never got around to it, lets all go over to his place to talk about the movie.

(I hear he's serving punch and pie.)

Rob

It's Gallileean for Beer, Mate.

Someone's hijacked a billboard in Texas. For when water into wine just doesn't quench your thirst.

Sploid has the details.

Rob

It's Really Annoying...

...to have a song in your head and not know the words to it. At all.

My head is buzzing with Gnarls Barkley's "Go-Go-Gadget Gospel," the opening tune on their CD with a lot of high-energy gospel shouting backed up by what sounds like manic, sped-up cartoon music. The only line I thought I could discern in my few listens was "Introduce some flavor to your savior," and, though I think it's a nice turn of phrase, the lyric sheet told me I was wrong. I just can't remember what's right.

Rob

We All Scream for Ice Cream

Johnny Bacardi has posted an old 12-page House of Mystery story by a master storyuteller who recently left us, the great Alex Toth. It's "A Connecticut Ice Cream Man in King Arthur's Court, and more than that, Johnny'll tell ya.

It's hot outside. Enjoy.

Rob

Real-Life Bumblebee!

Walking to work today, I saw a girl with the same hairstyle as Bumblebee in the Teen Titans cartoon.

It looked just as cute in real life.

UPDATE: I saw her again today, only she was wearing her pigtails low, behind her ears. Still cute, but not quite Bumblebee cute.

Rob

How does anyone but the Flash get around?

Over at the Absorbascon, Scipio's concocted a quiz dealing with the whacked-out Infantino perspectives of Central City. Go and see. And be sure to check out his earlier look at Central City for more fun.

Rob

World Cup!

Congratulations to Italy, 2006 World Cup winners! (And incidentally, the team Kathy was rooting for.)

I was rooting for France -- mostly on the strength of Zindine Zedane's play in earlier games. Not to discount the contributions of the other players (Henry and Ribery are amazing too), but some of Zedane's moves, along with the announcement of his retirement after the tournament, really grabbed me and made me a fan.

And then Zidane head-butted Marco Materazzi in a graphic display of poor sportsmanship. He was sent off with a red card, ending his career on a sour note.

I don't know at all what this guy is like. I didn't follow soccer before a couple of weeks ago. But out of everyone, he was the guy I was rooting for, and for him to pull a stunt like that? I was stunned. It was like he was possessed. I can't imagine what would make a guy jeopardize so much good will with ony 10 minutes to go in his career.

I continued to root for France after that -- after all, it's not like they flew off the handle as a team -- but I can't say I'm sorry that Italy won. Zedane let his team down with that head-butt, and I don't doubt that he'll regret it for a long time to come.

What a waste.

Rob

Truth, Justice and the American Way

Eureka! I've found a place where my politics and my comics converge!

There’s an interesting (and probably soon to be behind the subscription wall) article in the New York Times about the origins of Superman’s “truth, justice and the American way” slogan that a lot of conservative bloggers and bloviators are up in arms about. (Frank Langella’s Perry White asks “Does he still stand for Truth? Justice? All that stuff?” and O’Reilly and his goon squad have been taking it as a slight to the Republic.) The article acknowledges that as a serial character in several different media, Superman has always been a work in progress, and the slogan has always been changeable: From “a never-ending battle for truth and justice,” it morphed to “truth, tolerance and justice,” to the familiar TJAW in the 50s tv series, and even into “truth, justice and peace” on the old Superfriends show (although the NYT didn’t mention that).

So there’s really no reason to get upset at the loss of the phrase “the American way.” (Although I do have to wince a bit at one of the screenwriters saying that it was omitted so it would play better in foreign markets. Not so much at the admission, but at the acknowledgement that there are far fewer markets that consider the American way a good thing than there were a seven or eight years ago.)

But let’s look at the character for a moment, rather than the symbol. Superman is an immigrant. What’s more, he’s an illegal immigrant, with false papers the Kents somehow obtained for him when he was just an infant. Superman’s origins are well known to the world, and he’s been granted citizenship. Even if he hadn’t, he could certainly be considered a refugee, although since it took so long for Krypton’s status—and even its existence—to come to light, he’d probably be tied up in hellish paperwork. Still, it’s that Kent fellow who’s holding the job. I can’t imagine Bill O’Reilly would appreciate that if he gave it a minute’s thought.

Nonetheless, Superman is here, using his talents, powers and abilities to make his local community of Metropolis and the world as a whole a better place to be—all despite Clark Kent’s illegal status. He’s found a place where he can be everything he can be, and we all benefit from that.

On second thought maybe “the American way” should be in there after all.

Rob

Wut da Fug?

Every now and then, Sisyphus rolls that "simplified spelling" rock uphill. May I be in my grave a thousand years before this catches on.

Rob

Weasel Sandwich!

Just ain't no finer eatin', nowhere.

Rob

Ahhh.....

Refreshing as a cold beer on the Fourth of July.

And more!

Rob

My Worthless Umbrella

...managed to keep nearly one quarter of me dry on my walk to work this morning. It's just enough for me to truly appreciate how thoroughly saturated I am.

And how omnipresent the air conditioning in this building is.

Rob

In the Pennsylvania Town of Eldred...

...everyone hates Corey and Kristie Chase.

And, give the facts laid out in the Sploid article, well they should. I'm just doing my part to make it a global shunning.

Rob

Overheard at the World Cup

An announcer describing play during the Brazil/France match said:

"Ball circulation is fantastic on both sides."

Now cough.

Rob

Lyric Victory

I just picked up a Decemberists album, The Picaresque, and it's already won me over with track 2, "We Both Go Down Together." How can you not love this couplet?

Meet me on my vast veranda
My sweet untouched Miranda

Oh, I'm gonna dig this'n.

Rob

Uh-oh, It's Magic!

So we've got a couple of episodes of Criss Angel: Mindfreak on the ol' Tivo. The listings for this magic show are pretty simple descriptions. One of 'em, "In Two," says: "Criss saws someone in half." But the other description, for "Walk On Water," just cracks me up. It reads: "Criss tries to walk across a swimming pool."

Tries? What's this tries?

It really gives me the impression that he takes a few wet steps and then hits the drink.

I mean, I can try to walk across a swimming pool. I must be some kind of mindfreak.

Rob

For Your Edification

A picture of the noble Gin and Tonic, where it belongs:

On a pedestal.

Rob

Credits Due

I've got a great song in my head -- Warren Zevon's "Even a Dog Can Shake Hands" -- and it happens to be the perfectly suited theme song to the short-lived Jay Mohr Hollywood sitcom, Action. Here's a snatch of it, a twisted look at the art of the Deal:

All the worms and the gnomes are having lunch at Le Dome
They're all living off the fat of the land
Everbody's trying to be a friend of mine
Even a dog can shake hands

It sets exactly the right tone for the show, and there's nothing that I'd rather hum right now.

So what are your favorite TV theme songs? Lyrics and/or instrumental; I'm not picky.

Rob

Sports? Me?

I'm not really sure how I got started watching the World Cup -- okay, that's not true, I started watching the Angola/Portugal match, because whenever a team faces their colonial oppressors on an international stage for the first time, it sounds like good TV. But I don't know why I've kept watching, me being not a sports person at all.

But this Australia/Italy game that I just watched (thanx Tivo!)... whoa. The Italians lost a man about halfway through due to a red card (which I take to be a really bad foul), although the announcers seemed to think it wasn't merited. Essentially, they had an 11-10 power play for 50 minutes of the game. And yet they never really pressed the advantage. While they seemed to have control most of the time, they weren't ferociously attacking. Which is a shame, because I was rooting for them.

And then, at the absolute last moment, an Italian player trips over an Aussie, causing a foul. Looking at the replays, it looks more like he steped over him and then decided to fall, to be honest. One slo-mo shot even showed him with what I'd call an excited smile as he dropped. But the refs call the foul, and Italy gets a penalty kick. Which, since things are tied 0-0, could decide the game.

And it does. Goes right in. So one guy's brainstorm to take a dive when the opportunity presents itself gets Italy into the final 8.

As much as I wanted Australia to win, my inner con man says that's pretty cool.

Rob

Revoke My Cinephile License

I caught Jean-Pierre Melville's Army of Shadows the other day, and I'm ashamed to say I didn't do right by it. I was a bit drowsy, and wasn't in the right state of consciousness to really appreciate a foreign film. (Sometimes I close my eyes and just listen, momentarily forgetting that a movie has subtitles; this doesn't work well for the film as a whole.)*

It was interesting, and at times very tense. But I'm certain I would have enjoyed it much, much more had I not drifted off in a couple of the early scenes. Reading this Roger Ebert review makes me want to watch it all over again, to make better sense of it all. If you miss a little of the intricacies of this thriller of small details, you miss a lot.

Rob

* I wouldn't have fared much better at my other option, the 1924 silent film Pandora's Box.

Meet the Meerkats

So, I posted that last piece just to reinforce the idea that I am a man, because this next one might shake that foundation a bit.

Kathy & I have gotten wrapped up in a little show on Animal Planet called Meerkat Manor. It follows the lives of the Whiskers family of meerkats in the Kalahari Desert. Narrated by Sean Astin (although the website says Bill Nighy), it’s practically a soap opera, with births, deaths, wars with rival families, and life and death struggles. And yes, I’m a big ol’ baby just for liking it, but I do.

What first caught my eye were the names of some of the meerkats. The dominant female’s mate is named Zaphod; his brother (and her former lover) is named Youssarian (who is royally pissing me off right now). As Kathy pointed out: “They’re part of a scientific study. Of course they were named by geeks.” There’s also Shakespeare and Mozart and Flower and others.

It’s a fun show, first airing Fridays at 8. I was hooked within three minutes. And I'm only a little ashamed of that.

Rob

Blue All Over, or Littleblackdress?

Had a good drink-up with Jim the Bastard & his brother Mofo last night at Doc Holliday’s on 9th & A. I was drinking Doc’s Amber Ale, which I liked quite a bit, but JtB said had an afterflavor of cat hair. So he wound up buying more expensive stuff.

We also got to see a little parade of draq queens & other assorted folks, including a jolly fellow who was blue from head to toe. I got in front of him and said, “You’re completely blue. Mind if I take your picture?” and he told me he’d love it and began bouncing around. Hence the blur.
Nothing against the place or the company, but the personal high point of the night was after I got off the train on my way home. It was 1:30 in the morning or so, and we weren’t the only partiers out late. A couple of girls, early 20s maybe, got off the train in front of me. One was wearing her littleblackdress, with a slit in the center of the back. And well, the thing just kept on creeping up.

She was aware of the creeping, because on several occasions her hand traveled back and pulled her skirt down a bit, but I don’t think she was quite clear on how much it was creeping. And it kept creeping. (And why not? There was no underwear friction to slow it down!) In the short walk to the parking lot, I think I saw about half of her butt.

Which half? The middle half.

Rob

(And no, I have no cameraphone pictures of her.)

Graham Parker Mad Libs!

One more reason why I love Graham Parker:

On his My Country album, he covers the Grateful Dead's "Sugaree" with a bit of a country twang. But he changes the original opening lines just a hair, from

When the come to take you down
When they bring that wagon round

to

When the come to take you down
When they bring that raygun round

It's an off-the-wall homophone that makes his version a little more special to me, setting it in an entirely different place by changing just one word.

Shake it...

Rob

Mad Libs Revealed!

I thought about asking you all to guess the text we were Mad Libbing, but Sharon let me know that I was insanre to think anyone was trying to suss that out. So without further ado:

HAMLET: To plagiarize, or not to plagiarize--that is the squid:
Whether 'tis skankier in the mind to suffer
The slings and bastards of saucy fortune
Or to take BRAINS! against a sea of Packers
And by opposing end them. To die, to grind--
No more--and by a grind to say we end
The TUSK!, and the thousand natural jugs
That flesh is heir to. 'Tis a spork
Wryly to be wished. To die, to grind--
To grind--perchance to parrot: ay, there's the goblin,
For in that grind of death what parrots may come
When we have spewed off this slimy coil,
Must give us SAP. There's the respect
That makes billy club of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and squelchers of time,
Th' Austrian Gold Medal Winner's wrong, the proud man's cheese danish
The pangs of crispy love, the law's bush,
The tragedy of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th' unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a swollen bodkin? Who would hamdingers bear,
To grunt and debride under a voracious valium,
But that the noun of something after instructions,
The undiscovered spit bucket, from whose bourn
No traveller smurfs, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than rumple to others that we know not of?
Thus compulsiveness does make body shots of us all,
And thus the native hue of jagermeister
Is sicklied into with the pale cast of thought,
And the Heart of Gold of great pitch and moment
With this regard their skin tags turn awry
And lose the name of preposition. -- Soft you now,
The fair Mother! -- Nymph, in thy boudoir
Be all my lemmings remembered.

Thanks for playing, everyone!

Rob

She’s No Lady…

Mad Libs: The Final Votes

To wrap this up, I figure I’ll do this as a separate post (although I’ll include the any votes logged under the original post, too). So, without further ado, here are your choices:

Round 42: Choose from MOTHER, LUCINDA and FEMALÉ.
Round 43: Pick your fave from among MURDER, LAVATORIES and BOUDOIR
Round 44: Enjoy the dulcet tones of MAXIPADS, LUCITE LAMPS or LEMMINGS.

Voting will be open until Wednesday morning. I’ll tally it all and post the altered text then!

Rob

UPDATE: Voting is closed. MOTHER, BOUDOIR and LEMMINGS are the final winners!

Get Your Paws Off My PBJ, You Damn Dirty Ape!

On his blog, Mark Evanier's reminiscing about lunchbox culture at his elementary school. It got me to thinking about my own favorite lunchbox as a kid. And lucky me, I found an image of it, which I hereby share.

Gaze in awe and dread at the Lunchbox of the Planet of the Apes!



Rob

Mad Libs: The Final Rounds!

This is it: The moment before the moment before the moment you’ve all been waiting for. You’ve got all weekend to choose the last three words!

Round 42: FEMALE PROPER NOUN
Round 43: PLURAL NOUN (a fancy word referring to common objects)
Round 44: PLURAL NOUN (just a plain ol’ plural noun, but it’s the last one, so get your ya-yas out)

Soon, all will be revealed!

Rob

P.S. Remember to vote in the previous round!

Mad Libs, the Penultimate Rounds!

Yeah, you heard me. Let’s get to it:

Round 40: PLURAL NOUN
Round 41: NOUN ending in –TION

We’re nearing the last big drop of the roller coaster, kiddies. Try not to barf.

Rob

UPDATE:Voting is now open for Rounds 40 and 41. For 40, your plural nouns are SKINTAGS and BALLS. For 41, your “-tion” choices are PREPOSITION and ERECTION.Make your voice heard!


UPDATE 2:SKIN TAGS and PREPOSITION takes it. Which begs the question: What the hell are skin tags?

Mad Libs, Rounds 38 & 39

I'll be away from the computer until Wednesday afternoon, so this one will have to hold you till at least then:

Round 38: PREPOSITION
Round 39: NAME OF A SPACESHIP

Enjoy!

Rob

UPDATE: Voting is open, my lovelies. Your prepositions: THROUGH, INTO, BEYOND and UPON. As for the Spaceship, choose from the HEART OF GOLD, the ZNUTAR and the H.M.S. BLUMPKIN (since the Cleveland Steamer sounds more like it should be cruising through Lake Erie).

UPDATE 2: Our winners are INTO and HEART OF GOLD. Onward!

The DC List Returns!

Maybe I look like a spider man
But just say the word and I'll learn to fly

Like Ralph Dibny, the list streches on and on. You didn’t think I’d forget about them, didja? I mean, it’s a list, for chrissakes. A list. Let's think about what that means and hop on down to 31.

31. The Question:The star of one of the most remarkable books of the eighties, Vic Sage (aka Charles Victor Szasz, aka No-face guy—no one ever called him the Question in the book, although he tended to respond to “Who the hell are you?” with “Good question”) was motivated more by curiosity than justice – a very odd motivation for a super hero. It was a curiosity directed both outward and inward. In a demonstration of how cerebral the book could be, there was a two-issue story where Vic was buried up to his neck, motionless.
32. Deadshot: The best marksman in the world, and an assassin for hire. Yet for some reason, he never hits Batman. But those are just the rules of comics, right? Wrong. When Batman tells him to his face, “You’ve been pulling your shots around me,” it opened up a new avenue of character: Why would the world’s best marksman subconsciously keep himself from killing Batman?
33. Bat Lash: Essentially Maverick to Jonah Hex’s Man With No Name. A fun-lovin’ sweet-talkin’, card-cheatin’ cowboy, and a breath of fresh air in the midst of the grittier tales of the Old West.
34. Detective Chimp: A talking chimp who solves crimes in a deerstalker cap. Or at least, that’s what he did in the 50s. After a 50-year bender (and what’s funnier than a drunk monkey?) this ball-busting primate has taken up leadership of a bunch of DC’s “magic” heroes in the lacklusterly-named “Shadowpact.” (Lacklusterly? Ah, whatever. This is late enough as it is.)
35. Dian Belmont: As Greg predicted, Wes “Sandman” Dodds’s better half is here. The daughter of a D.A. in 1930s New York, Dian completes one of the best love stories in comics. Slowly evolving from a somewhat spoiled party girl with a good head on her shoulders to a concerned citizen of the world, she pushes Wes through as many changes as he inspires in her. What’s even sweeter is that, years later, when Jack Knight finally meets them, it’s Dian he’s awed by. She is, after all, one of his favorite writers.
36. Johnny Thunder: He’s always played for laughs, and appropriately so. I’ve always thought that a teenager (well, he was created in the 40s, before teenagers had any cultural identity of their own) with a Badhnesian Hex-bolt (read: genie) that would do his bidding was a great, kid-friendly idea. The fact that he didn’t know the Thunderbolt’s activation words for so long was the icing on the cake.
37. Braniac 5: Surprisingly, the only member of the Legion of Super-Heroes on my list, and I’ve never even really considered him a favorite. But as the arrogant scientist, he’s got a personality strong enough to take him consistently through the group’s many iterations. The idea that he’s the descendant (sort of) of one of the 21st centuries’ greatest villains is another plus.
38. Cyborg: One of a long tradition of superheroes “turned into a monster,” spearheaded, of course, by Marvel’s the Thing (and followed by DC’s Robotman). But what Cliff Stone, turned into a half-robot as the result of an accident in his father’s lab, was able to do that most similar heroes haven’t? He got over himself. It started in New Teen Titans #8, when he is confronted by a group of kids playing baseball in a park, who, like him, all have prosthetic limbs. Except they can’t turn their arms into sonic cannons. Eventually – and it was a long, slow process – he came to terms with his condition. And the happy-go-lucky cartoon version is always a joy to watch. Boo-YAH!
39. Crazy Jane: A multiple personality superhero, with a different power for each personality. Not the most reliable person to have on your team, but one of the most entertaining.
40. Enemy Ace: How DC ever had the chutzpah to make a recurring antihero out of a German World War I flying ace (the second most famous WWI airman in comics, and the first is a dog!), I’ll never know. But there’s something about Baron Hans von Hammer’s melancholy and skill that are compelling. The Hammer of Hell does three things well: fly, shoot, and brood.

More soon!

Rob

Mad Libs, Rounds 36 & 37

Hella busy today. Let's get right to it.

Round 36: PLURAL NOUN
ROUND 37: NOUN

What more need be said?

Rob

UPDATE: Voting is open. Round 36’s candidates are ANTIOXIDANTS and BODY SHOTS; Round 37’s are JAGERMEISTER and ANALGESIC.

UPDATE 2:Victory for Drunken Combo (aren't they Jet Li and Jackie Chan?)! BODY SHOTS of JAGERMEISTER for everyone!

Mad Libs, Rounds 34 & 35

We really are entering the final stretch.

Round 34: VERB
Round 35: PERSONALITY TRAIT (a noun, such as GIDDINESS)

Make those nominations!

Rob

UPDATE: Time to vote! For the verb in Round 34, it's RUMPLE or BLUDGEON. For the noun in Round 35, it's GULLIBILITY and COMPULSIVENESS (I changed it a bit to make it work within the text, JtB).

UPDATE 2: RUMPLE and COMPULSIVENESS win the day!

Full O' Whiz

Sploid has an article up about the owner of Geno's Steaks in Philadelphia, and his policy of refusing service to anyone who doesn't speak English. The story makes it seem like the signs are fairly recent, but they've been around for about a year, at least.

Put simply: I'm a Pat's guy. Always have been. I expect I always will be. But I know some people prefer the neon scream of Geno's across the street, so one day last summer I decided I couldn'tr know for sure until I tried a Geno's steak at least once. Kathy and I wandered past Pat's (my cheeze-whiz-clogged heart breaking just a bit with each step) and went to stand in line at Geno's. It would be a new experience, I told myself. And hey, it's a Philly cheesesteak, so it can't be that bad.

So we took our place in line, and I saw the sign: "This is America. When Ordering, Speak English." And frankly, I lost my appetite.

Kathy and I left without ordering, and luckily our appetites returned once we neared the greasy gravitational field of Pat's.

Now, the owner of Geno's (Joseph Vento) can run his business however he wants. But he's not going to get any money from me until I can order in Spanish.

"Querría un filete queso con cebollas fritas, por favor." Until that gets me a cheesesteak and a gracias, Make Mine Pat's.

Rob

Ow!

Just in case you missed these comments by Jon Stewart: Freakin' Ow!

Rob

Mad Libs, Round 32 & 33

What I need:

Round 32: Yet another NOUN.
Round 33: A VERB signifying a recurring action (for a singular subject). (Basically, this a present tense verb ending in S. In the time-honored tradition of the Smurfs, I provide this example: “He SMURFS so much I had to smurf a window just to get the smurfing smell out of the cushions.” (The capitalized “smurfs” is the word to watch.)

Rob

UPDATE: Just one nomination for these round, so no voiting. SPIT BUCKET's our noun; SMURFS is our verb.

Every tool is a weapon...

Yikes.

I just read about the lead story of Flash #144 an old Flash lettercol, and a quick check of the Grand Comic Book Database reveals that yes, its rather shocking title did appear on the cover:


"Menace of the Man-Missle." Yow.

Rob

Mad Libs, Rounds 30 & 31

Noun, noun, get a noun, I need a noun (yeaaaah!)
Get a noun, noun noun, I need a noun
I need a NOUN…
on the town…
I’ll be your lifelong friend…
A mariachi band…

(Seriously, I’ve never had any idea what those last two falsetto lines are.)

And more important: Round 30 and Round 31 each call for a NOUN.

Rob

UPDATE:Another either/or pick. Round 30 choices are NOUN and SUNDIAL. Round 31 choicesare INSTRUCTIONS and SLAVE NAME. Vote, me hearties! Cast yer ballots to thefour winds of th'Internet!

UPDATE 2:One vote tips the scales for NOUN and INSTRUCTIONS.

Switched Counters

A little housekeeping... I switched counters over to Sitetracker because.. well, because I forgot my blogpatrol password. And when they send you a new one, they send it to you as an email.

But they never sent the email. So when I got into work and found my actual password, it wouldn't work. Their program had already changed it. But time after time, I tried to get an email from them, to no avail. I wrote to their admin and it bounced.

So fuck 'em. Sitetracker's in the corner now...until they piss me off and feel my wrath.

Count's the same, though.

Rob

Flour Power: A New Orleans Moment

It’s late at night, early May. Jay and I are walking back on Decatur after a night in the bars of Frenchmen Street (where we caught what were supposed to be the last few minutes of Christian Scott’s jazz combo, which kept on getting extended as more and more musicians—including Jason Marsalis and Terrence Blanchard—wound up sitting in. A guy leaned over to Jay and said, “We sure got our five dollars’ worth!” Which would be an awesome deal, but ours was even better; we came in so late they just waved us in without a cover).

Anyway. So, on Decatur. Jay and I, walking a little drunkenly. There’s a guy on the sidewalk, on his hands and knees, kinda sprawled actually. He’s looking like his mental state has been significantly altered from how he’s accustomed to it – his brain cells aren’t marching in line anymore. A girl is down on the sidewalk with him, pressing her palm gently against his chest, almost to reassure him that she is real and she is there.

And did I mention? He’s covered head to toe in baking flour.

He’s got two friends (friends?) sitting in a doorway, announcing like carnival barkers: “Amazing! Astounding! Come one, come all! See the man covered in flour! An actual human being, my friends, completely engulfed in flour! Only two dollars to see this amazing sight!”

Needless to say, we kept our money to ourselves. But we couldn’t help talking about this guy for the rest of the way home. I figured all we had to do was dip him in an egg wash and then some spicy bread crumbs and then we could pan-fry him. Jay was more philosophical about the whole thing:

“You’ve gotta think – at one point, he had a plan for all that flour. And if it had worked, it mighta been awesome. All his friends were behind him, they were probably all for it. But then something went horribly, horribly wrong. And they turned on him.”

“One minute you’re the man of the hour, then next minute you’re the man covered in flour.”

Truer words were never spoken.

Rob

Mad Libs, Rounds 28 & 29

For Round 28, I need an ADJECTIVE.

For Round 29, a NOUN's what the doctor ordered.

Rob

UPDATE: Voting is open. Your choices for Round 28’s adjective are VORACIOUS and DOPE. Round 29’s noun will be either VALIUM or JERK. Get those ballots in!


UPDATE 2: VORACIOUS and VALIUM take it.

Another Chunk o' DC Goodness

"I--I wish you could swim...Like the dolphins, like dolphins can swim
Though nothing will keep us together
We can beat them for ever and ever
Oh we can be heroes just for one day"

21. Aquaman: Yeah, he’s usually the butt of jokes. But he’s the king of an undersea kingdom, and that’s gotta count for something. And he swims... like dolphins can swim.
22. Starman (Jack Knight):A reluctant “legacy” hero, the youngest son of the Golden Age Starman. Jack’s brother was killed trying to follow in his father’s footsteps – and despite his best efforts, Jack managed to uphold the tradition, too.
23. John Constantine: A combination of Faust and Tom Regan from Miller’s Crossing. Plus he smokes like a chimney, drinks like a fish and looks like a rock star.
24. The Red Tornado (Ma Hunkle): One of my absolute favorites. Ma Hunkle didn’t want her kids getting into trouble in the rough neighborhood they lived in – so she pulled on some longjohns, threw a saucepan over her head and foiled mischief as the Red Tornado. Mother of the Year.
25. Gorilla Grodd: A psychic gorilla. He has two ways to pop your skull like a grape. Because he has amazing mental powers. And he’s a gorilla.
26. Ra’s al Ghul: Because he got all Woodward and Bernstein on Batman – instead of trying to unmask him, he simply followed the money, figuring out who in Gotham City could afford a Batmobile. Nothing he’s done since has ever compared to that one moment.
27. The Spectre: God’s Old Testament vengeance given form. And on his coffee break, he’s the ghost of a hardnosed cop. Ostrander and Mandrake performed an amazing feat in their 1990s series, saddling him with enough ethical and philosophical dilemmas to make someone so powerful a plausible protagonist. Plus, I love when people look in his face and they see skulls where his eyes should be. That shook me to my core as a little kid, and I still love it today.
28. Mr. Mxyzptlk: Superman can do pretty much anything. So to pit him against a foe who can do anything is a great idea – particularly since it forces Superman to resort to trickery rather than overwhelming force. And getting him to say his nearly unspellable name backward? Genius.
29. Hitman (Tommy Monaghan): Okay, so he kills people for money. He and his pal Nat the Hat still had one of the best friendships in comics. And he cheered Superman up once, so he can’t be all bad.
30. Alfred: The Man behind the Bat – and one of the few people willing to call Batman to the carpet for a bad decision. Scipio at The Absorbascon has a good post on Alfred; I think he’s 100 percent right.

Rob

Mad Libs Round 27

Today's the day when I need a VERB. Which I already have, in DEBRIDE (whom, I might add, I knew when she used to rock and roll).

Rounds 28 and 29 will start tomorrow.

Rob

Mad Libs Glitch

Blogging is hard!

Some idiot (read: me) clicked on "Save as Draft" rather than "Publish" when he updated Rounds 23 & 24. Which probably explains why it didn't get any votes yesterday. So I've fixed it, and will be holding these rounds and Rounds 25 & 26 open for another day. My bad.

Rob

Mad Libs Rounds 25 & 26

Here's the preciouses I needs:

Round 25: ADJECTIVE
Round 26: FUNNY-SOUNDING PLURAL NOUN

Gollum! Gollum!

Rob

UPDATE: Voting is now open. Round 25: HYSTERICAL, SWOLLEN, ROASTED and RAUCOUS. Round 26: SQUABS, GOITERS, GUPPIES and HAMDINGERS. Voting is still open for Round 23, below, as well, until we have a winner there. (Which we now do, so don't worry your pointy little head about it.)


UPDATE 2: Voting is closed; SWOLLEN and HAMDINGERS enter the winner's circle.

Mad Libs Reminder

Rounds 23 & 24 are going great guns, but there's still time to vote in Rounds 21 & 22. So far, no one has.

And happy Memorial Day.

Rob

(Okay. All done.)

More Top DCU Characters

My buddies and me are getting’ real well known
Yeah the bad guys know us and they leave us alone...

More from the top 50 DC characters:
11.Lois Lane: Once she got over trying to prove Superman was really Clark Kent, she started being portrayed as the best investigative reporter out there. A writer that knows his stuff can do wonders with her.
12. Jonah Hex: The Man With No Name has a name, and it’s Jonah Hex. This scarred Confederate vet travels the old west, righting wrongs with brutal justice.
13. Sgt. Rock: The tough-as-nails, “never say die” everyman. Not that he has a problem with playing dead until he can toss a grenade your way, Shultzie!
14. Adam Strange: An archaeologist on Earth, but the teleporting Zeta beam sends him to Rann, where he’s that planet’s greatest champion. He’s got a jet-pack and a ray gun, but he always solves his problems with his fin-topped head.
15. Swamp Thing: A miserable guy covered in mud? No! A miserable plant that thinks he’s a guy covered in mud! Alan Moore’s reimagining of Swamp Thing changed the character forever – and that’s a good thing.
16. Flash (Wally West): A sidekick who graduated to the big leagues (moreso than any other hero, including Robin/Nightwing). What’s more, the transition wasn’t the smoothest – without Barry around, Wally had a very shaky moral compass for a while, and only gradually became the down-to-earth hero he is today. I don’t think that road was planned in any but the vaguest terms, but it provided us with more character nuance than the classic good guys usually get.
17. Sandman (Wes Dodds): First of all, I’m kicking myself that I didn’t include Neil Gaiman’s Morpheus on this list. Under the rules, he could have fit, but I was considering him off in his own little universe. But enough about ol’ gloomy. Wes Dodds is the anti-Bruce Wayne. Sure, he’s a single millionaire, but he handles himself completely differently. Awkward and aloof where Wayne is sociable and glad-handing, Dodds is the sort of thoughtful man who provides us with an excellent window to pre-WW2 America. The fact that his nightmares compel him to fight crime in a business suit and a gas mask is a bonus. Sandman Mystery Theatre remains one of comics’ unsung gems.
18. Oracle: The former Batgirl, after being crippled by the Joker, turns to her information-gathering skills to fight crime by proxy, first being an informant for the Suicide Squad, then for Batman and the JLA, and finally by gathering her own team of heroes for special missions in Birds of Prey. She’s awesome, and should never walk again.
19. The Shade: Seemingly immortal, he’s lived for centuries, and is a criminal everywhere but the city he loves, which he’d lay down his life for (if he could). A golden-age character made shiny and new. Well, maybe not shiny.
20. Amanda Waller: The Sgt. Rock of covert ops. She’s never in the field, but more often than not, she’s three steps ahead of whoever she’s facing. And when she’s caught off guard, she’s more than willing to toss everything up in the air, confident that she’ll wind up on top. (And voicework from the amazing CCH Pounder on the Justice League cartoon never hurts.)

Rob

Mad Libs, Rounds 23 & 24

Half day today, and I didn’t come in yesterday, so I’m just gonna power through the Mad Libs posts. This weekend’s rounds are:

Round 23: LAST NAME OF DISGRACED POLITICIAN
Round 24: NOUN

Go!

Rob

UPDATE: Whole lotta choices today. For Round 23: CLINTON, HART, CONDIT, NIXON, BUSH and DELAY. For Round 24: MOTORCYCLE, LOBSTER, HAIRPIECE, PROBOSCIS, TRAGEDY, BLOG and DELAY. Vote your conscience, everyone.


UPDATE 2: TRAGEDY takes Round 24, but Round 23 will remain open until we have a winner. Sudden Death, people!

UPDATE 3: BUSH puts an end to sudden death! When's the last time that happened? I'm shocked and awed.

Mad Libs Update

I'm keeping the most recent Mad Libs open for another day, since I'm stuck at home on a personal day (a sincere thank you to New Jersey Transit for letting me recover from last night's drinking in style), and the list of words in at work.

Rob

No Jokin'?

Think Progress has a story that's too rich for words. Apparently Delay's legal team has sent out mailers citing Steven Colbert's interview with Robert Greenwald, the political documentarian who made The Big Buy: Tom DeLay's Stolen Congress. Plus, defenddelay.com has the entire Colbert/Greenwald interview on its site. (I'm not linking to it, but you can follow through from the Think Progress story.) They just don't get that Colbert is making fun of them. They think he's a real conservative.

I'm sure this won't be up for long, so check it out while you can. Just the idea of it makes me feel all sunny inside.

(I can't help wondering if it's a hack to make him look ridiculous, but I have a hard time imagining a hacker being so subtle.)

Rob

Mad Libs, Round 21 and 22

And with this, we officially reach the halfway point! Oh, how my grandfather, who started this game on his abacus, would be proud.

Round 21: NOUN
Round 22: ADJECTIVE

And remember, Sudden Death voting is still open for round 16 – will it be SLIMY, HERETICAL or OBTUSE? You decide! Or not. SLIMY enters the Winner's Circle.

Rob

UPDATE: Voting is now open. Round 21’s candidates are: CHEESE DANISH, CURIOSITY, FEAT and HAIRBALL. Round 22 brings us CRISPY, SPECKLED, LITTLE and OVERREACHING. A veritable bounty of words!


UPDATE 2: Voting is closed. CHEESE DANISH and CRISPY take it.

Everybody! Everybody!

I want to direct your attention to what may be the Best Podcast Ever. It's certainly the coolest thing I've ever heard broadcast on radio. I've been listening to the Penn Jillette show fairly regularly since it began airing on FreeFM, although I only get it via podcast. And the one I heard today was kinda special.

See, Penn's wife is in the hospital during the show, ready to have their second child, Zolten. And although Penn has been assured that there's pleny of time for him to do the show, things don't quite work out that way.

Go to the Featured Audio section of the show's website to hear it for yourself: It's labeled Penn Flees The Studio For The Birth Of His Son, and it may only be available for a short time. The whole show's cool; it always is. But if you're in a hurry, start listening at around 26 minutes. That'll give you a minute or so to hear what the show is like before everthing gets nutty.

I'm also posting a link to download the show directly, but that may or may not work. And, of course, if asked, I'll drop this direct link. (I don't know what the laws are on direct links like this, but nettiquette, I think, frowns on it.)

Enjoy the show, and Happy Birthday, Zolten!

Rob

Top 50, Part One

Tom at The Great Curve has asked for help in assembling a list of the Top 50 DC Comics characters, and I’ve been thinking about it for the last few days. I just sent him my list, and figure I’d publish it, with some comments, here. So here are the Top Ten:

1. Superman: The original. No one would be asking this question without him. Moses from space. Both powerful and wise, the world would be much better with him in it.
2. Batman: A victim of crime, he’s devoted his life not to seeking justice for himself, but for others. Driven and selfless.
3. Wonder Woman: The premier female hero. A warrior for peace, she’s one of the toughest superheroes to wrap your head around. But when someone gets it, its always rewarding.
4. Robin (Dick Grayson): The first sidekick. Despite their difference in age, the original Batman/Robin relationship wasn’t Father/Son, but Best Friends. Even the world’s greatest detective needs someone he trusts completely.
5. Captain Marvel : The only character who can one-up the kid wish fulfillment of Robin. Instead of being the best friend of the coolest guy in the world, Billy Batson turns into the coolest guy in the world. All that, and Gomer Pyle gives him shout-outs.
6. Flash (Barry Allen): My personal favorite. He’s got just one power, superspeed, but every adventure showed an inventive new way it could be used. Superhero, forensic scientist, and all-around good guy.
7. Green Lantern (Hal Jordan): A cop in an intergalactic police force. A test pilot, born without fear, with a ring that can do whatever he imagines. The essence of coolness under pressure.
8. Joker: Batman’s insane counterpoint. Batman approaches from logic, where the Joker just wants to get to the funny. He’s just got an awful sense of humor.
9. Lex Luthor: The guy who’d probably be running the world if it weren’t for Superman. Genius, but with an envy streak a mile wide.
10. Green Arrow (Oliver Queen): Brash, outspoken, and always ready to take the little guy’s side.

Hey, it's the top ten. There's not all that much room for surprise, if you're gonna be honest about it. Quirkier choices await.

Rob