Saturday, December 30, 2006
As the New Year approaches, I really want to effect resolutions that will tangibly improve my life and make me a better person. And not run-of-the-mill promises that have become more cliché than call to action, such as "I will lose ten pounds" or "I will stop making obscene gestures at squirrels." No, I want this New Year to truly mark a turning point in my life.
Thus, my resolutions for 2007:
* Publicly, stop being so hypercritical of Alexander's strategic ineptitude at Austerlitz (privately, remain just as outspoken).
* Use more pepper.
* Sort that huge pile of coupons into those that have expired and those that haven't yet expired but are for products I don't use.
* Let it ride at the roulette table; use winnings to prevent Bachman-Turner Overdrive reunion.
* Learn the difference between a calendar and a colander (every time I try to rinse pasta, the paper turns to mush).
* Stop and smell the roses. (Note to self: Will the florist let me do this without purchasing them?)
* Teach myself pinochle, get involved in a weekly pinochle game, stop going after three weeks because they're a bunch of jackasses with no sense of wit, timing, or subtlety!
* Sit in on drums during open-mic night at a jazz club; finish comped martini before I'm thrown out.
* Send Mick Taylor a Hickory Farms gift basket for his superlative work on Sticky Fingers.
* Replace my contact lenses with a pair of monocles.
* Answer all phone calls in my Bullwinkle voice -- if the caller fails to respond in a Rocky J. Squirrel voice, the conversation wasn't meant to be.
* Stop in the shoulder and jot down any phone number and/or e-mail address in each highway billboard I pass -- those people are just trying to help.
* Get the first season of Hee Haw on DVD and fall in love all over again.
* Start conducting my daily life according to my horoscope instead of Chinese fortune cookies -- it's much cheaper and far less fattening.
* Strive for a life of unabashed opulence.
* Fill a footlocker with SpaghettiOs and move as far away from the Yellowstone supervolcano as I can.
* Finish my master's thesis on Shakespearean symbolism in "Othello," the board game.
* Don't take things so seriously.
If I can stick to these resolutions, 2007 is sure to be a very good year...
(Calendar image by Zhuo Meng.)
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Rather than regurgitate those same tired ideas, shake things up. Instead of the Five-0 representing the 50th state, I say let it denote the maximum height of the Honolulu Police Department. Sure, in real life, Jack Lord stood a lanky 6-foot-two (here he can be seen using his immense stature to push down a coconut palm),
but some of Hawaii Five-0's best episodes resulted from Lord uncharacteristically playing the underdog, such as below, in Episode 108, "The Case of the Giant Bathrobed Man."
James MacArthur ("Danno") was a 5'8 pipsqueak anyway, and the rest of the cast -- well, let's just say they never had to bend down to receive a lei. It's time to exploit that angle.
A Five-0-tall Steve McGarrett and his diminutive detectives chasing NBA-sized villains through a Hawaii set built to scale is not what the public expects -- and they'll eat it up.
Again and again.
(Photos copyright CBS.)
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Friday, December 22, 2006
Thursday, December 21, 2006
"Oh Oh Glory-oh!
I'm the Lord's disciple
Oh Oh Glory-oh!
Now hand me down my Bible"
Pat heard this song and said, "Is he saying, 'Oh Oh Gloryhole'?"
If those had been the lyrics, The Dubliners could have been considered trailblazers in writing songs about deviant sexual practices.
"CHESTER, England - As Christmas approaches, a virgin mother is anxiously awaiting the arrival of her offspring. She’s Flora, the Komodo dragon.
In an evolutionary twist, Flora has managed to become pregnant all on her own without any male help. It would seem the timing is auspicious: The seven baby Komodo dragons are due this festive season.
'We were blown away when we realized what she’d done,' said Kevin Buley, a reptile expert at Flora’s home at the Chester Zoo in this town in northern England. 'But we certainly won’t be naming any of the hatchlings Jesus.'"
(Excerpt of Associated Press article by Maria Cheng, Copyright 2006.)
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Reply to: xxxxxxxxxx
Are you a musician, maybe playing with a band but want to do something fun for a while? Do you long for the days of Dio. Do you want to only write music about Dragons, Mystical Lands, Time Travel, and possibly String Theory? We do. We are fed up with bands only sort of singing about dragons or alluding to dragons through metaphors. This is going to be an in your face band singing about Dragons from the highest mountain top. We don't care what you play, we probably already have two guitar players, and a synth player. But if you love dragons we won't discriminate we'll be a 12 person band if we have to, and I think the more people the better, that is the only way to really bring the power of the dragon to the stage. We want it to be over the top, we want to wear lots of velvet and leather, write some songs, record them, play some gigs, rock some balls off, and bring the power of the dragon back to the nation's capital."
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
All he has to do is three simple things, like not get his Gremlin wet, not put him near light, and not feed him after midnight. Simple, right? Except for the fact that the majority of the planet is water, water falls from the sky A LOT, we are the third closest planet to a huge light source called the sun, and isn't it technically ALWAYS after midnight? Seriously, when can you feed them?
Perhaps the best part, however, is after the complete silliness of the Gremlins storming the town, some dressed in drag, some dressed as flashers, Phoebe Cates takes a couple of minutes for a dramatic monologue about her father dressing like Santa Claus, getting stuck in the chimney, and rotting there dead for months. Merry Christmas, everybody
(Photo copyright Warner Bros., 1984.)
Monday, December 18, 2006
On the way, Randy explains that, for extra money, he has gotten a temp job at the hotel at which we are staying. I nod approvingly but secretly think, "Man, that is a horrible idea." We arrive, and it's in a, should we say, not-so-nice neighborhood. But, we're here and it's time to hit some Irish pubs! Not so fast. Randy is immediately assigned front-desk duty and though he tries to fake his way through it, he double charges us for the room (including himself!) and then doesn't know how to make those keycards for us. So we just sit in the lobby. I say, "I'm going out for a walk." BIG mistake; it is getting dark. On my walk, I encounter a strange group of people who surround me and tell me this bizarre story about being lost and how not to go down to the river (pointing down a shadowy alley that leads to the harbor) because "someone had hurt (them) there; the children ran away screaming."
I am significantly rattled by this and return to the hotel, but Randy and Brendan are gone. A note stating "Drinking" is on the door of my room, which I take to be from them. I go out AGAIN. Now it is pitch black and I am with a larger group of people who look like tourists. A woman (with 5 o'clock shadow) is asking for money through a fence. She starts telling me about people who had approached her and told her not to go near the river. I laugh and say, "Oh, ha, that's a scam! Don't give them any money." Then I fly away. Yes, fly. A recurring "power" of mine in my dreams since childhood is flight. I've figured it out, and no one else has. It's like treading water, where I push off on the air with my legs and stay airborne that way. I really should try this in real life sometime. I think I'll do that now.
EDIT: Just tried. Couldn't fly.
Us are the heroes.
These Guys are bad and are always fighting with Us.
These Other Guys are badder than These Guys and will sometimes fight with These Guys or they may just fight with Us. Sometimes These Guys and Us will team up even though they hate each other and fight These Other Guys.
Anyway, the Show will be about what happens when Us finds out that These Guys are builiding an Huge Bomb Thing. What the Huge Bomb Thing does is when it's dropped, it goes BOOOOOSH! That's all that currently known about it.
Both These Other Guys and Us have interest in the Huge Bomb Thing. Us wants to destroy it. These Other Guys want it for their own evil purposes: To get Us and These Guys together and drop it on them.
This Show should be done in Cartoons. This is key. And These Other Guys look like huge blocky robots and they talk in roboty voices... like this:
Hello. I'm a robot.
Us look like muscley humans and talk normal. These Guys look like giant monkeys with uniforms. These Guys communicate with brain waves, so you hear them talking but their mouths don't move. Maybe their eyebrows move a little so you know which one is talking.
And when the music is playing in the beginning of the Show there should be a huge pile of melting TVs.
Sunday, December 17, 2006
I was George Washington, including tri-cornered hat. (I played him in our second-grade series of plays for the Bicentennial—what a disaster; perhaps more on that later). I was assembling the Continental Army for a march to Trenton to confront the Redcoats. Now, Trenton is approximately 30 miles from here; in reality, I'd be happy to be able to walk to the nearest Wawa. The odds against our rebel army were long, as evidenced by the fact that as I waited for their elevator to reach the ground floor, I could hear them whooping it up inside—not the sound of minds prepared for battle. I had ordered assembly at 8:00; now many minutes past that, I solemnly muttered, "I said eight o'clock..."—they didn't seem to feel any remorse. (Why was I, Commanding General of the Army, muttering?) Another potential problem with my army was that, when they stepped out of the elevator, they were donning red uniforms—the logistical headaches of which I need not elaborate on.
After the army came to attention (there were only about a dozen soldiers, including women, and although now magically dressed in uniforms other than red coats, they looked anything but soldiers), I brandished my sword and began a short but moving speech concerning the dangers of what we were about to undertake. My voice was not my own. At one point, I declared that if anyone wishes to now back out of this rebellion, "I will not think less of him." Instantly, the heavy-set soldier to the extreme right, next to the wall between the pair of elevator doors, passed out, sliding along the wall to the floor. Strange thing is, his quick demise much resembled that of portly, wheezing "Dr. Swanson," the hypnotherapist who falls over dead in Office Space, but he was dressed just like portly, wheezing "Dr. Philipse" from Sleepy Hollow. (Probably just as well—how would he have made a 30-mile march?) Anway, my baritone speech concluded with, "...then let us tell our enemy to get out of our land," and I began leading my troops through the lobby, at which point, I woke up.
Last night, I brought a bottle of wine to the hosts of a Chanukkah party I attended. I'd acquired the bottle at Crossing Vineyards and Winery, which is located in Washington Crossing, PA, approximately a mile from the spot where Washington led his men across the Delaware, en route to attacking the Hessians at Trenton. So that explains the scenario. At the party, we watched several "YouTube" videos, including a comically redone trailer of Office Space, which included the snippet of Dr. Swanson keeling over. Another video was "Ten Things I Hate About Commandments," a re-edited trailer of The Ten Commandments that combined the two films (from the makers of Must Love Jaws). I believe that was the source of my deep voice and final heroic line, much in the spirit of Charlton Heston's "Let my people go!"
What I can't figure out is, where do all of the latkes I ate last night fit in?
Saturday, December 16, 2006
Friday, December 15, 2006
Australopithecus and Other Words I Find Difficult to Pronounce
The Government Might Be Wrong on a Few Issues
Trout Fishing in the Sahara: How I've Wasted My Life
Chopsticks and Knit Socks: One Man's Pursuit of Sasquatch Across Rhode Island
Don't Bother: The Plot to Assassinate William Henry Harrison
Pork Roll on White Bread with Mayo at 3AM: The Helen Keller Diaries
Kiss Me Like You Mean It: The True Story of the Exxon Valdez
Who's Lying Now?: Oliver North And The Greatest Nap Ever Taken
Hail to the Cheese: Choice Cheeses Loved By US Presidents
Raising Puppies in a Pup Tent: How To Maximize Your Cuteness Dividends
Thunder From the North: Viking Influence on Aboriginal Australia
The Worstest Generation (with Foreword by Leif Garrett)
Murdertown: America's Eighth Deadliest City
CHASMS!: Famous Mounds
Constitution and Chocolate Chip Mint: The Amazing Madisons
Faking Your Own Death: Get In On America's Latest Fad
Mahogany Pigeon: The Story of the Spruce Goose
Napoleon Bonappetit: War as a Culinary Necessity
Say It, Don't Spray It!: The Life of Jimmy Stewart
Won Ton Ton: The Dog That Forged the NFL-AFL Merger
Big Pizza Pie Hit His Eye: Dean Martin's Tomato Sauce Induced Eye Twitching And What You Can Do To Not Be The Next Victim
Fly Me to the Moon: Frank Sinatra's Secret NASA Tryout
Hard to Read: Encrypted Stories You May or May Not Enjoy
If I had a Hamner: The Incredible Story of Granny Hamner and the 1950 Whiz Kids' Meaningless Split-Squad Games in the Preseason
Cash In Big On The Black Market!: A Quick Guide To What Organs You Probably Don't Need
Triassic Park: When Giant Plants Roamed the Earth
It's All Greek to Me: Adding Shopping Cart Wheels to a Coffin
Toga! Toga! Toga! Greece's Role in the Attack on Pearl Harbor
Shhh!: Arimincus and His Graceful Leading By Example Inside the Trojan Horse; Or, The Quietest Soldiers in The History of Mankind
I'm So Cold and Hungry: Paris on Ten Dollars a Day
Quit Your Stalin: Terrible Leader, Terrible Car Troubles
Genghiz Cohen: Meshuggenuh Mongol
Things Ferment: What Not To Add To Your Bath
Surfragette City: When Surfers Finally Got the Vote
"I Thought It Was a Candle": What Dynamite Looks Like
Dark Times: Life in the Age Before Thumbtacks
I Never Promised You a Weed Free Garden: Green Thumb Fraud
I Like Dike: How Holland Claimed Itself From the Sea
Chinless: On Not Being Chinese In Trinidad
Old Man Fjord: Sea Chanties of Norway
Beanie Babies: Obsession and Murder in Suburbia
Chad: The African Country Named After a White Guy
I've Had Your Wife: The Man Who Has Slept With Every Woman On Earth and, Surprise!-- He Was Born Without Feet
Tin Canada: A Steamy, Lusty Look at Canada's Mining History
See You In 55 Days!: Perhaps It's Time To Revisit the Idea of Taking a Rowboat to Europe
EEEEEE E. EEEEEEE: An Everyday Man's Life in the Land Which Banned 25 Letters of the Alphabet
Howdy, Saudi: The Texas-Mideast Oil Trade and How It Affects You (Yes, You!)
Creatine A Monster: Mark McGwire and His Post-Baseball Insatiable Thirst for Living Flesh
Can Conjoined Twins Run for President and Other Constitutional Conundrums
They Grow 'Em Big in Texas: A Walking Tour of the Pacific Ocean
Waiting for Godzilla: Existentialism in Low-Budget Japanese Monster Flicks
Raising Arizona: What If We Put Arizona on a Platform?
Alas, Alaska: Why Alaskan Girls' Love Is Always Unrequited
Smilla's Sense of Shellfish
Smilance of the Lambs: Don't Let Your Sheep Graze in Poppy Fields
Every Little Thing Bing Does Is Magic: Sting on Bing (ghost-written by The Addams' Family's Thing)
Mookie Blaylock and the Moog Organ: Sound Strange? It Sure Does
The J-23 Noskoyev-Ilushykin Dog Sled: Cadillac of the Siberian Tundra
Tommy Tune: A Big, Fat Loudmouth
Dad, Can I Have the Dirigible?: What If the Airship Had Caught On?
Devil With a Blue Dress: A Look at Cross-Dressing in the Underworld
Mount Drinkmore, © 2006
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
(Photo copyright The Sci-Fi Channel, 2006.)
Amazing. Thousands of little kids getting their feet blasted with x-rays just to see if the shoes momma was buying fit right. This thing had 3 viewing ports: one for the salesman, one for the person having his feet irradiated, and one for an interested spectator.