Two Thoughts I Could Not A-Voight

I was watching some of Deliverance last night, and I got to thinkin' that the Seinfeld episode, "The Mom & Pop Store," in which George believes he bought Jon Voight, the actor's, Chrysler LeBaron convertible, should've been about George purchasing a canoe because he thought it once belonged to Jon Voight. After all, the only real on-screen mode of transportation with which Voight is famously identified is a canoe (unless you wanna count FDR's wheelchair in Pearl Harbor or Luke Martin's wheelchair in Coming Home—but a Seinfeld "wheelchair" episode ["The Handicap Spot"] had already been done)...

Every hillbilly's talkin' at me
I can't understand a word they're sayin'
Just rowin' around in Jon Voight's canoe

And in another Jon Voight–related matter, my 35-and-over baseball season recently ended...with my team losing in the semifinals. Batting an even .300 over three games, as well as drawing three bases on balls, I'm satisfied that I pulled my weight in our effort.

Or did I?

It occurred to me several days after we were eliminated that I could have taken the opportunity after at least one of those Ball Four's to yell at the opposing pitcher a Ratso Rizzo–esque "I'm walkin' here!" while running to first base. This most famous quote from Midnight Cowboy—and its accompanying profanities and obscene gestures—likely would have unsettled the pitcher, providing us a chance for a big inning that may well have swung the series in our favor. Ultimately, I don't think I can be faulted for failing to try this tactic...but you can be sure I'm going to study it all winter and practice my "Ratso" intently during spring training so I'll have it ready for Opening Day 2013!

(Image from Deliverance copyright Warner Brothers; image from Seinfeld copyright NBC; image from Midnight Cowboy copyright United Artists.)

Knowing: The Rabbits Are Coming, Doomsday! Doomsday!

So I watched some of the Nicolas Cage science-fiction thriller, Knowing, last night. I saw it in the theater, in 2009, and really liked the film’s concept, although I thought it bogged down into the formulaic traps of many recent end-of-the-world movies. But last night, I noticed something that eluded me upon first viewing: Even though the whispering aliens provided for humanity to survive—our species is still doomed.

As shown in the last scene, on the “Eden” planet, there are about half a dozen ships departing after dropping off their presumed pair of children. So, including Caleb and Abby, there are maybe five other pairs of “Adam and Eves” to rekindle humankind. (Even if there are more ships across the planet, and thus more pairs of children, you will see that this is essentially irrelevant...)

We are doomed because the aliens foolishly—and without the foresight one would assume superior beings to possess—allowed Caleb and Abby to bring that pair of rabbits with them. Forget that the rabbits are likely no more than an afterthought to the aliens, and merely an on-screen symbol of the fertility that these children will one day need to regenerate the human race—we all know the rabbit’s well-deserved reputation for rapid breeding.

According to Dana Krempels, PhD, of the University of Miami’s Department of Biology, a single female rabbit can birth up to 14 bunnies. Dr. Krempels then goes on to base her estimates (http://www.bio.miami.edu/hare/scary.html) of rabbit reproduction on just three female offspring (rather than at least six to eight of that litter likely being female), using, again, a very conservative time frame of six months (a female produces a litter one month after impregnation and, in contrast to Krempels’ six-month parameter, can become pregnant again almost immediately after giving birth).

By the end of the first year on planet “Eden,” there would be approximately 37 female rabbits. By the end of Year Two, more than 1300 rabbits. Within three years, more than 50,000—and Caleb and Abby haven’t yet even reached their teens...

So...keeping in mind that Caleb and Abby—and, likely, the rest of the young Adam and Eves—won’t reach childbearing age for at least five years after arriving on “Eden” (probably longer), the rabbit population will be growing exponentially, with no competition from humans. By the time that each pair of “Adam and Eves” can produce one child—making, at most, a half-dozen offspring across this “Eden” planet—rabbits will outnumber humans by the tens of millions, and, as you can see from Dr. Krempels’ Year 6 and Year 7 estimates, the population will further explode into the tens of billions, with no end in sight. The ecosystem will be overrun, and eventually destroyed, by rabbits, forcing humanity into extinction. Even if the kids learn how to construct rabbit traps and acquire a taste for hassenpfeffer, they won’t put a dent in this leporine ascendancy. Besides, enjoying such dominance, rabbits will probably grow to gargantuan proportions, as in Night of the Lepus, and begin to feed on the humans. Regardless, all traces of human existence would be gone from this rabbit-packed planet in a handful of years.

This nightmare scenario was literally drawn for us in 1946 by Looney Tunes. In The Big Snooze (Dir. B. Clampett; Reg. U.S. Pat. Off.), Elmer Fudd’s serene dream is invaded by Bugs Bunny, wreaking his rabbit-based havoc. We can see the sleeping Elmer physically shaking in distress as, in his dream, he is trampled by a parade of neon rabbits. Within the dream, Elmer laments, “Ziwwions and twillions of wabbits! Where are they all coming fwom?”

At an adding machine, the quick-witted, and quick-breeding, Bugs retorts, “From me, doc! I’m multiplyin’, see? I’m multiplyin’!”

Soon after, Elmer, bound to railroad tracks, cries in a-go-NEE as he’s run over by the “Super Chief,” a seemingly endless train of rabbits.

Like the 50-year-old page of apparently random numbers that serves as humanity’s warning of its doom in Knowing, The Big Snooze, itself, serves as a warning for those to be spared in Knowing. Of course, Caleb and Abby might be too young to ever have seen The Big Snooze—and certainly too young to have grasped its message even if they had—but John Koestler (Nicolas Cage’s character), like anyone of his generation, almost certainly had seen The Big Snooze at some point in his life and, being a professor of astrophysics at MIT, unquestionably should have understood its dire warning of a race that humanity simply cannot win.

Thanks for nothing, benevolent aliens!

(Images from Knowing copyright Summit Entertainment; images from Looney Tunes copyright Warner Brothers.)

Fee-Fifield-Fo-Fum...I Hear the Thud of an English Drum!

In Ridley Scott's Prometheus, we see in our introduction to the android, David, that he has modeled his own facial appearance and grooming on Peter O'Toole's Lawrence of Arabia, which is confirmed by David, himself, watching the film with wide-eyed admiration.

Symbolism, both implicit and explicit, abounds in Prometheus, and like David idolizing his celluloid hero, another character clearly has copped the look of a pop-culture legend from their distant past: Fifield, the prickly English geologist, undeniably worships circa-1966 Ginger Baker. Apart from Fifield's mohawk and the geometric tattoos gracing the side of his cranium...well, see for yourself how much the fiery redhead resembles Cream's mighty drummer, right down to their patterned shirts:

Ridley Scott never hints whether rock music still exists in the late-21st century—when Prometheus is set—but we know that at least some of Fifield's generation rocks out to the music of their great-grandparents. In fact, Capt. Janek is seen playing an accordion that he boasts "once belonged to Stephen Stills."

Of course, the expedition to LV-223 would have no need of a rock musician, so why not make Fifield the next-best thing, at least symbolically: a geologist, a studier of rocks? ("I love rocks," Fifield states early into the film.)

Fifield even speaks with the same Cockney accent—albeit slightly softer—as Ginger. (This is little surprise, as the actor who portrays Fifield, Sean Harris, was born in Bethnal Green, about seven miles from Baker's home town of Lewisham. And for good measure, Harris was born in 1966—just as Ginger was finding superstardom with Cream.)

Abetting the strong physical resemblance between Fifield and Baker, Cream's music—and Ginger's martial, polyrhythmic drumming with it—easily could have constituted the Prometheus soundtrack. Such songs as "World of Pain"; "We're Going Wrong" (perfectly echoing Elizabeth Shaw's anguished realization, "We were so wrong..."); and especially "Strange Brew" (with its "killin' what's inside of you" nod to the deadly black liquid) would have ideally complemented the on-screen horrors of LV-223. As well, several lines of "Tales of Brave Ulysses" paint a more fanciful—yet just as stark—portrayal of the crew's, and the Engineers', downfall: "But you rode upon a steamer to the violence of the sun" and "Carving deep blue ripples in the tissues of your mind" (as we see happen to the sacrificial Engineer in the film's opening scene), among others.

Even after Fifield is grotesquely mutated by the black liquid, he still bears a resemblance to Ginger—not just aesthetically (see unmutated yet still scary Ginger below), but in behavior, as Fifield goes on a psychotic spree, killing several of the crew with his now-superhuman strength...becoming, like the title of Ginger's recent autobiography, a quintessential hellraiser. Baker, though never killing anyone, became legend for his incendiary temper and proclivity for fighting—Fifield's ultimate fate.

Furthermore, Fifield's contentious relationship with similarly doomed crewmate, Millburn, mirrors Baker's thorny relationship with Cream bassist, Jack Bruce. Fifield coldly countering Millburn's offer of an introductory handshake with, "I ain't here to be your friend—I'm here to make money. You got that?" pretty much encapsulates any studio session or moment on tour between Baker and Bruce in their decades-long, barely tolerated association.

And Fifield also shares Ginger's penchant for drug use. As Fifield and Millburn re-enter the chamber with the dozens of vases containing the black liquid, Fifield's helmet fills with smoke, which he more than tongue-in-cheekly concedes to Millburn is not tobacco. Baker has been very candid about his drug use, including long-time heroin addiction, but, as it would be very difficult to inject smack through a spacesuit or snort coke while wearing his helmet, Fifield's cannabinoid tip of the cap to Ginger seems the best way to go.

Now, it may be too much to contend that the mutated Fifield's creepy "sitting position" owes anything to Ginger Baker's signature drum solo, "Toad," but there can be no doubt that, more than 120 years after Cream's heyday, Fifield is paying interstellar homage to the great Ginger Baker.

(Photos from Prometheus copyright 20th Century Fox.)

Once Hittin'...Bryce, Why?

Bryce Harper, the Washington Nationals’ highly touted hope for the future, recorded his first Major League hit last night at Dodger Stadium. Smashing a Chad Billingsley fastball to the centerfield wall, Harper flung off his helmet while racing toward second base—an action commented upon both by the Nationals’ play-by-play announcer at the time and the ESPN anchorman during highlights the following morning.

Let's set the record straight right off the metaphorical and literal bats: I did this habitually in Little League and Senior League in the early 1980s—well, as habitually as a player who hit in the low .200s could—and more because the helmet just annoyed me rather than for any trace of flash.

Yet, incorrectly, this is now a signature moment in Harper’s just-begun career.

I feel a little bit like Sam Rice, the (ironically) Washington Senators' outfielder who made an incredible catch while falling into the bleachers during the 1925 World Series, yet whose accomplishment has faded into near-obscurity because no film or videotape of it exists, unlike Willie Mays' oft-seen 1954 World Series catch.

It would have been nice—and fair—had ESPN mentioned during the highlight that I was discarding my helmet in abandon more than a decade before Harper’s birth. Okay, perhaps the Elias Sports Bureau doesn’t possess documentation on this, but just ask any of my teammates during the 1980-83 seasons. Or better yet, ask Pete Belafsky, the opposing catcher whom I caught napping as he adjusted his gear after a play without calling “time,” while I sprinted to an undefended plate just ahead of the pitcher racing from the mound—throwing off my helmet halfway down the line and signaling myself safe before the umpire did.

It’s been done, Bryce.

Maybe Coke Does Add Life...Where Nature's At Fault

In February 2010, Natasha Harris, a 30-year-old woman from Invercargill, New Zealand, died of a heart attack. This past Thursday, a pathologist testified during an inquest that Ms. Harris probably suffered from hypokalemia, which can contribute to heart problems, and toxic levels of caffeine—both likely resulting from her excessive intake of Coca-Cola.

As the Associated Press reported:

Experts say a New Zealand woman's 2-gallon-a-day Coca-Cola habit probably contributed to her death, a conclusion that led the soft-drink giant to note that even water can be deadly in excessive amounts.

Two gallons a day—that's four to five 2-liter bottles of Coca-Cola from morning til night. Every day.

Now, I'm not one to defend giant, heartless corporations; however, considering that the life expectancy of a New Zealander is probably not much longer than 20 years because the nation is part of the Ring of Fire—the edge of the Pacific tectonic plate highly prone to earthquakes and volcanic eruptions—you could say that drinking all that Coke prolonged this woman's life by nearly a decade.

Rather than utilizing the sophistic and easily assailable claim that "even water can be deadly in excessive amounts," why is Coca-Cola not defending itself with my highly scientific reasoning?

In other words: WHY HASN'T COCA-COLA HIRED ME AS ITS CORPORATE SPOKESMAN?!

(Photo of Coca-Cola bottles copyright Reuters; Ring of Fire map copyright BBC.)

Which Is More Desirable: A High-School Suck or a Cup-Winning Puck?

This photo presently is making the Internet rounds. That's the Boston Bruins' Tyler Seguin grinning like he remembers those two pretty fans. Only twenty years old at present, that sweet memory should still be fresh in Tyler's mind.

I suggest that this placard be hoisted to the Boston Gahden rafters to hang alongside the retired number 4 of Bobby Orr.

Let's face it: Bobby Orr's exuberant Stanley Cup–winning leap is about on par with getting one's dick sucked by two high-school girls...

That's the Way Pittsburgh Became The Bylsma Punks

Game 3 of the Flyers-Penguins first-round playoff series degenerated into a barroom brawl between cross-state rivals that love to hate each other. En route to a third-straight loss that would put them on the brink of an early playoff exit, Pittsburgh got downright dirty, prompting several fights and ejections.

Sidney Crosby—long teased throughout the league as "Cindy" for his tendency to whine, and thus positioned in Cindy's square, at bottom-right—precipitated Pittsburgh's cheap play by jabbing several time at a puck already covered in goaltender Ilya Bryzgalov's glove. When Flyers captain Claude Giroux came to his goalie's defense and pushed Crosby, the Penguins captain—who missed more than 100 games over two seasons after suffering a concussion—shoved Giroux's head into the glass and, during the ensuing fight, took a swing at him while Giroux was wrapped up by one of the linesmen.

Then, after Flyer Brayden Schenn blasted Penguins defenseman Paul Martin with a booming hit, Pittsburgh enforcer Arron Asham (Mike Brady's spot, bottom-center) cross-checked Schenn under chin, sending him sprawling to the ice, pounced on him, and punched Schenn while he lay prone. Schenn clearly charged Martin, but for Asham—well known as a fighter—to cross-check a smaller player rather than drop the gloves...and then to hit a man as he lay defenseless on the ice...is the apex of cheap play. Asham received an immediate match penalty, and later a four-game suspension.

Early in the third period, James Neal (Peter Brady's spot, center-right) left his feet and intentionally blindsided Sean Couturier with a forearm to the head, leaving the Philadelphia rookie lying senseless on the ice for several moments. Philadelphia coach Peter Laviolette was understandably furious with Pittsburgh coach Dan Bylsma (Alice's spot, center square) for allowing—perhaps even encouraging—his players to goon it up. Unbelievably, Neal received no penalty.

So, altogether now... 

 

Here's a story

Of a lanky lady

Who whines and moans and knocks away others' gloves

Cindy scores a lot of goals

But like her mother

She cries like a little girl

Here's a story

Of a coach named Danny

Who was bringing up two dozen boys of his own

They were twenty-five men

Skating all together

Yet by the Flyers they were all owned

Til the one day when Cindy came to Philly

And they went head-hunting and threw a sucker punch

That this group might play like the Corleone family

That's the way they all became the Bylsma Punks

The Bylsma Punks

The Bylsma Punks

That's the way they became...the Bylsma Punks