I Sincerely Hope W's Xmas Sucks

In an exceptionally convenient move, the White House has announced that it will wait until after the holidays to announce any new approach to the Iraq War. The AP coverage can be found here among other sites:

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/16173078/

Please, Mr. President, tell that to the Marines. No, really, tell the Marines and every other serviceman and woman over there right now that you want to mull it around for a bit over the Christmas break. You see, you're the decider, so you tell them that the holidays are such a hectic time what with shopping and Chrismahannukwanzukka and Festivus parties and all that you need some time to make up your mind.

You see, these policy decisions are tough. They're hard to make. They're what you call "hard decisions," and the holidays are more of a get-together-with-friends-and-family time than a do-my-job-so-fewer-American-soldiers-lose-their-lives time. You've decided, decider, to take your sweet time, so take it. Shucks, you've got plenty of time; a whole lot can happen in two years. Besides, it's not like anything you decide today is going to get them home any quicker. That would require admitting that you may have made an error in prior decision-making situations; furthermore, it would require quick, decisive measures on your part, and
quite frankly, sir, you've more than proven that you're able to make one or the other but not both.

So Merry Christmas, Mr. President. I sincerely hope that the coal you receive in your stocking will keep your cold, grinchy heart warm enough to keep track of every American casualty you rack up between now and when you finally get off your draft-dodging duff to decide.

May God continue to bless America, and have mercy on your soul.

Dept. of Potentially Bad Parenting Choices

I took my daughter to Club Libby Lu, a store/salon for little "princesses." Check out the web site here: http://www.clublibbylu.com/ This place is kind of like Paris Island Boot Camp, and by Paris I mean Hilton. Lots of make-up, lots of pink, and lots of bling. Madonna's "material girl" phase has nothing on this place. Think Paris-the-Heiress for pre-teens.

Granted, I took her to this place because one of my students works there, and she told me that she would do Hadley's nails, convinced me that it's a lot of fun for little girls, etc. I'm not entirely sure that I should have taken a three-and-a-half-year-old. We--we? who am I kidding--I bought a little stuffed dog, dog collar, dog shirt, and dog purse to carry the dog in a la Parisite Hilton. Clearly, the salesgirl/salon technician saw me coming.

That having been said, she did sprinkle glitter dust in my daughter's hair, painted her nails, and generally treated her like a "big girl." And Hadley has already named her new dog Trevor--yeah, I don't know where that came from, either. Furthermore, Hadley did have a gay old time, so I'm thinking I got my twenty-five buck's worth.

But I still feel like I may have opened Pandora's make-up kit.

Newest Little Bosch

Yes, I know, I should have posted this a couple of days ago.

My son, Dashiell, was born last Thursday, November 30th at 5:35pm. He was 7 pounds and 14 ounces, and 19 3/4 inches long. There he is at the right with Hadley, his older sister.

No jokes, no sarcasm. We're all just fine. Happy birthday to me.

Bush and Kerry's Gorilla

Here's the problem: John Kerry's botched joke is a painful and poignant reminder that there is a 300 lb gorilla in the corner that no one wants to address. Kerry hit the nail on the head when he said that smart kids are not going into the military.

I've got about 130-some-odd AP level juniors this year, and about 35 "on-level" kids for a total of 6 classes. The one "on-level" class is a mixture of regular, ESL, and special ed kids. Out of 130 AP kids, two (2) are in JROTC, and one other kid plans to go ROTC in college. Out of 35 regulars, I have four (4) in JROTC. Around my school, ROTC is known as the ESL club; the last white kid in the program graduated last year. Simply put, the bright, college-bound high school kids are not going into the military straight out of school. At best, they're entering ROTC in college, but that's not the same thing as enlisting in military first. If you as a graduating senior are in the position of choosing between low-level manual labor and the military, then odds are college wasn't an option for you anyway. If you are a low socio-economic class kid in the position of working to go to college or joining the military before school, then you still are not, most probably, one of the bright shining stars. That isn't to say that there aren't exceptions to these rules, I'm simply talking about the odds.

I bragged on my former students to the Colonel in charge of my school's JROTC, and I pointed out that I've had at least one kid every year for the last three years enter into a service academy. He told me that he has always had at least one kid try per year until he got to our school, but he just doesn't have the quality or caliber of student in his program to bother. JROTC and ROTC have some attractive economic packages set up for participants, but if you graduate from college through the ROTC program, you are going to start at a level that the average grunt is never going to achieve.

This isn't to defend Kerry's remarks. They were stupid, and he's being called on the carpet for a total lack of campaign prescience. However, nothing the Republicans have shot off in retalliation has begun to address the problems in which our men now find themselves. The people fighting Bush's war in the Middle East are invariably of a low income background, or a low IQ one.

This is a shame. How many more Lt. Calleys do we have to suffer before we learn our lesson?

Indigestion

Everything edible at the State Fair of Texas is fried, or tastes like it has been fried. I have survived my trip to High School Day at the State Fair, but I am undeniably a fat, lazy American pig. Here's today's menu:

• 1 Fletcher's Cornydog
• 1 Fletcher's Jalapeno Cornydog with Cheese
• Partial order of french fries
• 1 substantial bite of fried Peanut Butter and Jelly and Banana Sandwich
• 1 order of Deep Fried Coca Cola
• 2 bites of Frozen Key Lime Cheesecake on a stick

It was good, but now I am so fucking full I can't stand myself. I suppose that I should add to that list the 2 pepto-abyssmal I took to fight the waves of nausea I'm currently suffering.

For the record, the fried pbj&b sandwich was very good; the bread tasted a lot like a Monte Cristo sandwich, but with pbj and 'nanners instead of meat. Elvis was definitely on to something there. On the other hand, the deep fried coke was excessive. They were essentially cola-flavored doughnut holes with straight cola syrup drizzled on them topped with whipped cream. Plain cake doughnut holes with powdered sugar and whipped cream would have been just as good; actually, just order a mess of beignets from Cafe du Monde for a better culinary treat.

One more note: if the powers that be that decide what frozen treats to offer are reading this, bring back the frozen key lime pie on a stick. The key lime flavored cheesecake was weak to be perfectly honest.

iVictim

Some piece of shit student stole my fucking iPod from my filing cabinet at school. They had to have done it while I was out of the room, and there's only one time of the day that I'm not in the room: fourth period.

I don't blame the teacher that uses my class during fourth. When I'm standing at my door (per the administration's directive, to ensure the little darlings get to class), I know that a suspicious device could be detonated in the room with little chance that I'll see it happen. That given, I was not in my class at any point in the day. I was in the auditorium, making sure that my classes sat through an incredibly meaningful review of the student code of conduct. That means that with the exception of 4th period my room was locked all day long.

What's worse is that the only reason that I stashed it in my filing cabinet (under a pile of papers, no less) was that I didn't want to be in violation of the student code of conduct while students were reviewing the student code of conduct--no electronic devices or hand-held video games are allowed in DISD schools during school hours. The only reason that I even had the thing at school was that I use it for class: presentations, music, television rebroadcasts, etc.

Dang. It's enough to make a fellow hate public school kids.

Thank you, Mr. Lucas

Okay, I have to hand it to Mr. Lucas: he delivered.

If you actually have a life, then you probably missed the release date this past Tuesday (9/12) of the ORIGINAL Holy Trilogy. This latest release of the Star Wars remasters features a second disc of bonus material with each movie that contains the original theatrical release. Please allow me to boil the importance of this down to its most pure essence:

HAN NOT ONLY SHOT FIRST, GREEDO DIDN'T SHOOT AT ALL.

A couple of years ago, whenever Episode I came out, but before the Phantom Edit, a colleague and I were recollecting our first viewings of "Episode IV" in the theater, and he pointed out that the original text crawl did not have any of that "Episode IV: A New Hope" business attached to it; furthermore, he remarked to his friends at a subsequent viewing the addition of this curious lead. What did it mean? Where are the first three episodes? Et cetera.

So last night, after setting up the new LCD tv in the family nexus, and after the obligatory revisitation of the Han Shot First scene, I started the movie from the beginning and was pleasantly surprised. This latest release of the Trilogy features the for-real-no-shit orignal release without the Episode IV business.

Of course, this new release, coupled with the original novel written by Mr. Lucas himself, does call into question this whole "grand vision" claim that Star Wars was supposed to be about Vader's redemption, but I'm sufficiently sated for the moment to let that dog lie.

Warning: Nerd Content

Interesting little D&D quiz. Ends up that I had been playing the same character every time for a reason.

http://neppyman.irulethe.net/dndwho/

Enjoy.

Romance Blossoms in the Classroom

No, this isn't a Lolita thing.

Today, one of my students used Powerpoint to ask a girl to Homecoming. I put up quizzes on the big screen with an LCD projector (it saves paper). He forwarded me a slide by email to add into today's quiz, and I put it up on the screen at the beginning of class when everyone was walking in. She was suitably surprised, and, one hopes, impressed. Smart, cute people should date smart, cute people; eventually they may make more smart, cute people after they get out of college.

By the way, she said yes--this story would really suck if she hadn't.

Dept. of Going Out Doing What You Like

The Croc Hunter, Steve Irwin, died yesterday in one of the most god-awful ways possible: a poisonous stingray barb to the heart. Crikey, indeed.

I always liked his show. I thought he was crazy, but he evidently always knew what he was doing. The only time I really got upset at one of his shows was during the one with the spitting cobra. He had been wearing protective goggles which prevented the venom from killing him instantly, but he still needed to wash it off post-haste. He went into some local tribe's village where he was given a bucket full of water. As he washed off the venom, he sloshed water everywhere while villagers looked on in silence. His narrative voice-over pointed out that the bucket represented more water than a family of villagers would use in a day, and while he expressed his heartfelt thanks for the help, I couldn't shake that look the villagers had on their faces.

Irwin would later defend his Australianisms in an interview: "When I see what's happened all over the world, they're looking at me as this very popular wildlife warrior Australian bloke. And yet back here in my own country, some people find me a little bit embarassing. You know, there's this ... they kind of cringe, you know, 'cause I'm coming out with 'Crikey' and 'Look at this beauty.'

"Just say what you're gonna say, mate. You know, is it a cultural cringe? Is it, they actually see a little bit of themselves when they see me, and they find that a little embarassing?"

Fair dinkum, mate. I cringed when I saw him sloshing water everywhere because I saw it as a typical Westerner taking advantage of a stereotypical native, and that made me reflect on my own country's image overseas. My disatisfaction with his behavior was a disatisfaction with my sense of all things American. Hey, wasn't this supposed to be a nature show? Why is this spitting cobra episode making me think about global politics and stuff? Duh. Like all great literature and great cinema, the Croc Hunter reflected the human experience. We are all poorer for the loss of him.

I'm certain that the Discovery Channel will have some kind of farewell retrospective. I'm going to go set the Tivo now.

Armed Hiking Gets Old

Crapped out again this yearon opening day of dove season. Now I realize that it has been dry here in Texas--REALLY dry--so the doves are more scarce, but I'm reasonably ticked this time.

In the outfitter's defense, we went to a hog guide for a dove hunt. That is the only concession I will make.

Dick and Dwayne Danner (my in-laws), Jim Davis, Carter Brauer, and Aloysius Sr. and I comprised our merry band.

Had we been after deer, turkey, or pig, then www.texashuntingcompany.com would have been a swell place. The problem is that we were after dove, but then Mr. Moore's claim was that the place had plenty of dove. When we hit the field, it became abundantly evident that other than some tanks near some open fields that happened to have a few random wild sunflower bushes, no real preparation for attracting dove had been made. None whatsoever.

The night before, we enjoyed Mr. Moore's company, and even got more than a little excited by the prospect of having so many various hunts available in one hunting lodge. Mr. Moore traps wild hogs and feeds them in a five acre pen. He sells "guaranteed hunts" wherein you get to shoot one of these mean beasts, and the photos on the wall of his previous customers' kills were impressive. If you pay to shoot a deer, then he throws in a hog and turkey to sweeten the deal. If you want to shoot one of these things in season, then this is an okay lodge to visit as he has pigs, turkeys, and deer in spades (though we question the sport in walking into a fenced-in area with a high powered rifle to shoot a "wild" pig that's been feeding on protein-enriched corn). But we came to hunt dove.

The eve of opening day, I slept in the same bunk room as the guide, Mr. Moore. This was a mistake as he either talks or grunts in his sleep, or perhaps suffers from sleep apnea. I have become a light sleeper of late. Fatherhood, I guess. Anyway, I bolted up in my sleep every 45 minutes or so believing that something was wrong, or that I had overslept, blurting out "what--what'' and hitting the overhead bunk with my noggin, only to glance at my watch and discover how little time had elapsed and that no one was awake but me. When his alarm finally went off, I waited what I thought was a respectable amount of time (a minute, minute and a half?) before hitting the clock's snooze button. I sat up, stumbled to Tinkletown, and made it back to the bunk before my cell phone's alarm went off. No one else was awake. Moments later, his alarm went off again, and I had to ask him if he wanted me to press the snooze again. When one wakes up before the guide, I see this as a problem.

We got out there, and long story short, we didn't see shit. Dad and I spotted two at once, both way out of range, that reversed direction and disappeared. This wouldn't be a problem ordinarily, because that sort of thing happens all the time; however, there are usually MORE FUCKING BIRDS to follow. I heard turkey, quail, buzzards, and hogs, and even got to listen to my father-in-law and brother-in-law and his friend, Carter, take a shot each in the distance, but no doves. About nine o'clock, we wandered back to the trucks where Carter and Dwayne had bagged one bird each. Mr. Moore drove up with three feral pigs in a trailer, and we followed him to the main pen where he released them into the pseudo-wild for a future hunt/massacre. We all went in to town to eat brunch at the Hole in the Wall (really, that's the name) in Newcastle, TX--a good place if you already happen to be in Newcastle. Afterwards, we went back to the lodge to wait for the afternoon hunt.

Carter and his dog, Hoss, ditched the afternoon hunt, and none of us blamed him. He went to see a friend at Ft. Belknap, and I sincerely hope he limited out. He could not have had a worse afternoon than us. Dwayne, Jim Davis, and I took a walk around the perimeter of the grounds while my dad and Dwayne's dad took naps. While we were gone, some friends of Mr. Moore showed up and surpised our dads by walking in the door. They had been invited to come out to hunt that afternoon, too, but they were friends of Mr. Moore whereas we were customers of Mr. Moore. Hang on to that tidbit of info as it will become important later in the story.

Moore came back after his buddies go out to scout the fields. Moore was pertubed by this as he claims that their scents would make it difficult for him to trap pigs for several days. He was even more peeved that the three of us had been wandering around the grounds, taking pot shots at random dove. It's worth noting that up to this point, we were impressed by his lodge, and at the care he had thus far shown in keeping the place. It's too bad he didn't extend the same care and attention to paying customers, but now I'm getting ahead. We all waited around until about 3:30 when all of us, our party and theirs, got ready to go out. At about 3:45 or so, they headed out to go to their field (Moore said they were going to the one we went to in the morning). We stood around waiting for a while longer when Moore decided to fill the 200 gallon water tank with a garden hose to take to one of his field tanks. He had been standing around, acting surly and barking monosyllabic answers to our vain attempts to strike up conversation, for about 15 or 20 minutes before he decided to fill this water tank, and when it was finally filled, he had us wait at the lodge rather than follow him to wherever it was he intended to place us while he drained the water into one of the tanks in the field. This was at 4:45. He said it would take him ten minutes as he drove off.

We stood there in shock, trying to maintain some sort of enthusiasm. My father-in-law gets this look when he's displeased: he presses his mouth into a short, thin line and his upper lip disappears. I have never had this look turned on me, and I never want to have this look turned on me. It means he's thoroughly pissed. After a bit of idle chatter on our part, he suddenly asks, "You want to just pack up and get out of here?" It was the question we all were waiting to ask. Jim and Dwayne and my dad all said they didn't care. I could tell we all wanted to get out of Dodge, so I picked up my shotgun and began to break it down. I offered, "I can shoot skeet at a range and have as much or more fun than this. Either way, I wouldn't have any dove to eat. He said it would be ten minutes at quarter 'til, and it's five past five now." The rest of the party concurred noting that we had yet to hear any gunfire in the distance. Jim suggested that we at least stick around to air our grievances, but I don't think any of us wanted to bother. We were changed into street clothes, packed and ready to go within ten minutes when Moore drove up. He said something along the lines of "the birds aren't flying yet" when my father-in-law replied, "We won't be doing any further business." He said this as he flung his bag into the back of the truck before hopping into the cab. Moore then ran inside, asking us to wait to make sure we didn't forget anything. I assured him that we hadn't as I got into my dad's car, though in retrospect I believe he was making sure that we weren't absconding with his property.

I recalled as we were pulling out that he made a comment earlier about some other customers being poor tippers, so it was an act of will on my part not to roll down the window and yell, "Want a tip? Don't buy a car that's on fire."

Hey, Chet! Next year we're all going back to Brownwood if you want to join us. At least we can have a proper hunt, if not a successful one. Lawyers, Guns and Money. The shit has hit the fan.

Dept. of Things That Delight Me

Yo' momma's so fat, when she does ballet, she wears a three-three.

"NOT Rec. Materials"

My employer, www.dallasisd.org, has a section under "Staff" called "Curriculum Central." The only way you can access this portion of the web site is with some menial form of staff identification, although, considering how fucked up everything else is with DISD, a monkey armed with a mighty Texas Instruments 99-4A could probably hack it in under a grande cafe mocha. I digress.

Curriculum Central has all kinds of turgid reading for the tech-savvy (and not so tech-savvy) staff member. Mostly what it contains is something called the "Scope and Sequence" for each course by discipline. These list what skills are supposed to be taught in each class, and in what order, all on handy pdf files to print or download. There are also some other things such as vendor lists, forms and the like. These are offered off to the side of the main page of Curriculum Central, and it looks like this:

• OIR (Data)
• Dallas Collaborative Model
• GIB (Revised 7-25-06)
• Recommended Materials
• NOT Rec. Materials
• Environmental Education Center
• Inet
• Dallas ISD Home

So you know which one I just HAD to click. The document was one big mundane table: various vendors, what they hawked, why it wasn't appropriate to DISD's needs, etc. Then I came to the following (and I quote verbatim, emphasis mine):

• Company/Address: Madden Football Video Game
• Contact Person/Tel. Number: Submitted by (don't want to be sued)
• Program Purpose: Commercial Video Game
• Intended Audience/Grade Levels: Recommended for use with Grade 6
• Reason: No written curriculum to support TEKS/TAKS skills to be reinforced by game, not researched-based, and excessive cost.
• Submitted: May 2004
• Reviewd: May 2004

As near as I can figure, either the dumbass who submitted it thought Madden '04 would be a good teaching tool for 6th graders, or the person who submitted it was ratting out a coach who was using it rather than teaching. Either way, kudos to someone for recognizing that it was not a legitimate teaching tool.

But wait a minute... I want to know who had the stones to submit a materials request like this, and I want to know whether or not they had a P-card.

And if you are a football coach reading this, fuck you. Fuck you and your brand fucking new stadium, and fuck you with the stack of dry-rotting paperbacks that I have to use in my class room. Of course, if you really are a football coach, odds are you can't read this much in one sitting anyway, especially not without pictures, you fucking fucks.

Dept. of Monkeys Fucking Footballs

Only in the Dallas Independent School District: we're under federal investigation for misappropriation of funds, we're reeling from a more recent but related scandal uncovered by the Dallas Morning News involving the lack of supervision of district credit cards (called procurement cards or p-cards), so what are we going to do? How about a three hour district-wide pep rally for teachers at the American Airlines Center sponsored by Ford?

But wait, it gets better! Our speaker is none other than "Dr. Attitude," a motivational speaker noted for being a "dynamic life coach who specializes in changing behaviors through a positive attitude and who has addressed employees at many top U.S. corporations."

He's a fucking salesman giving us a fucking motivational speech "especially tailored to DISD employees." Oh, and did I mention that there will only be 9,000 parking spaces available for the 45,000 DISD employees? Hmm. Well, I guess we can just load up some busses and--no, wait, we don't have discretionary money available to individual campuses any more to cover the costs of things like this, so we're just going to trust that everyone will show up. We'll take roll.

For more of this sickening silliness, go here:
http://www.dallasisd.org/kickoff/

Free to Good Home: TI-99/4A

So I had a garage sale last weekend, and amongst the fabulous treasures that I tried to hawk on my driveway was my first computer. I was hoping that just maybe some retro-techie kind of person would garage-sail by, geek out, and buy my solid state piece of early-80's technology, but to no avail. Actually, one guy came by with his French friend (no joke, the guy had a French accent) and said, "Hey! Want to see the first computer I ever programmed on?" He was the only one that knew what it was, and the fucker didn't buy it, so now I offer it for FREE to the web-community.

First come, first served, no strings attached: I'm giving away the mighty Texas Instruments-99/4A. It comes with all of its original cables (you can hook it up to a black-and-white or a color television), a tape recorder for storing information (also known as "data" in the computing industry), and a speech synthesizer module that plugs in the side of it kind of like an Atari cartridge. So if you (or someone you know) collect old computer artifacts, drop me a line and it is yours. We'll work out shipping arrangements or, if you live in the DFW metromess, pickup arrangements.

Dept. of Things I Need

This, my friends, is comedy. More of these here:



http://www.evolvefish.com/fish/emblems.html

Math Joke

A successful, aging businessman leaves the following note on the dining room table for his wife:

Darling,
I know that we have have a wonderfully open and trusting marriage together, and that I am still very much in love with you; however, we have come to a point in our lives as a couple where you as a 54 year old woman cannot satisfy all of my male physical needs. Therefore, I will be spending the remainder of the evening at the Comfort Inn with my 18 year old executive assistant. I am sure that you will appreciate my honesty and forthrightness in this matter. I will be home shortly after midnight.

When he arrived home, he found the following response written on the back of his original note:

My loving husband,
Thank you for note alearting me to your evening's plans. After reading your message, I went ahead and made plans for my evening as well. Since I teach math at the local community college, it was not very difficult for me to find my own 18 year old student to spend the evening with me at the Doubletree. As you, too, are 54 years old and have used math throughout your business career, you will note that we are on essentially a level field with one exception: 18 goes into 54 more times than 54 goes into 18, therefore I will not be home until some time tomorrow night at the earliest.

Dispatch from Manassas Junction 4

Unfortunately for me, I don't know everyone's name in this photo, but this is our company waiting to march out Sunday afternoon. Missing from the back row are Fred Yokubaitis, "Hi-Fi Mike" Corso, and Bill "Bucket" Graswich. Fred and Mike were fetching water, and Bill was "elsewhere" at the time. Captain George Hatcher is three men to the left of me (light gray battle shirt, leaning on a sword), Sgt. Tudd Dean is mostly obscured by Cpl. Holloway(?), Wes Crisp is behind the tall guy named Jeff, John Feldt is behind Jeff, Louis is next behind me, then Scott Corso and Gary Booker, then some very friendly guys from the 37th NC, and the last two on the right are Anthony McShane and Cpl. Tyler Dean. Private Bucket, to his credit, did eventually find us on the field just before we marched into battle.

Dispatch from Manassas Junction 3

Look yonder at ye general, standing like a stone wall (or something to that effect). The guy in the center cuts a very fair (and intentional) impression of Thomas Jackson--better even than the fellow in "GaG" (Gods and Generals).

You've heard of a herd of cattle, a flock of geese, a bevy of beauties, a murder of crows? To the right of the picture you can see a confusion of officers.

Dispatch from Manassas Junction 2

This is the reserve Confederate battle line. The main force is on the other side of the hill that the line of battle faces. Behind the camera is a couple of hundred more soldiers in line. There were a goodly number of people there, and the Cornfederate to Federal ratio was allegedly 60/40 for the event. Fred (in the foreground) has some strange spots on his hat.

Dispatch from Manassas Junction 1

Some guys from the 9th Texas fell in with the 37th North Carolina at the 145th Anniversary Reenactment of First Manassas/First Bull Run. Standing L-R John Feldt, Gary Booker, Wesley Crisp, Scott Corso, Fred Yokubaitis, Me, New Guy, Fred's friend Jeff. Kneeling L-R Bill Graswich, Mike Corso, Anthony McShane. Behind us, just behind the tree line, is Cedar Creek where we dipped our feet and drank beer after the horrors of warfare. It was quite nice.

Recently Declassified

Heh. This just forwarded to me in an email:

Here is the recently discovered photo of the top-secret fighter the U.S. used during WWII. This fighter is the real reason we beat the Jap Navy. It is speculated the U.S. Navy did not share this technology with the Army Air Corps in the European theater because they didn’t want to risk one falling into the hands of the Germans: a technologically superior country to Japan (THEY might have actually figured out how to fly it).

Goodnight, Doll

Mickey Spillane, dead at age 88. I suspect foul play, if only for old times' sake.

http://tv.msn.com/tv/article.aspx?news=227868&GT1=7703

The Return of the Midget

According to the AP wire, China's oldest car manufacturer, Nanjing Automobile Corp., is planning to revive the MG and open a plant in Oklahoma. This is apparently good news for Oklahoma as less than a year ago GM closed its plant. Full story here:
http://hosted.ap.org/dynamic/stories/M/MG_PLANT?SITE=DCUSN&SECTION=BUSINESS&TEMPLATE=DEFAULT

I, for One, Would Like to be a Millionaire

So I went to the auditions for "Who Wants to be a Millionaire?" yesterday in Ft. Worth at the Bass Performance Hall. Allow me to express first my firm belief that the Bass Performance Hall would be SOOOOOO much prettier if it hadn't been decorated by a French aristocrat during the reign of Louis XVI. Snarkiness aside, I proceed:

The auditions began at 9:00am, so that's when I arrived. I knew there would be a line, but I had no idea that the line would wrap around the block. In fact, it wound around the entire block, turned back on itself, went back down the block, crossed the street, went down the next block, and turned the corner again. Fortunately, I got there when it was on the fourth side of the building.

Met a lady named Dina who stood next to me in line with another, much weirder lady named Mary. Somewhere around 11:00, with the temperature rapidly nearing 100 degrees, we turned the corner onto the shadeless side. It only occured to me when we were already halfway down the block to go get my golf umbrella out of my car. That made things much more bearable, and also attracted the attention of the local press.

The above picture is from today's issue of the Fort Worth Star-Telegram, second section or whatever the "local" section is. I haven't actually gone to the store to get a physical paper yet, but the story can be found here:
http://www.dfw.com/mld/dfw/entertainment/special_packages/encore/15028304.htm

They were giving the test for the movie version of the show and for the regular version of the show. I took both tests, but the chick flick questions killed me. For example, Scarlett O'Hara's real name was Katie. I got that one right, apparently, on a wild-assed guess. I missed the question about from what musical did Harry and Sally sing a duet (it's Oklahoma!). There were some others that I blew as well, so I did not pass the movie test.

An aside: as we waited for the assistants (flunkies) to collect the tests and answer sheets for the movie version, a gentleman very fervently demanded an answer to a burning question. I thought he wanted one of the answers, so I turned and looked. He said something about following the producer's directions to the letter, and so when he removed the test questions from the envelope, he started with the questions on the top page. He started with number 16. On a scantron answer sheet. There was an awkward pause, then the producer asked, "Did you put number 16 on answer bubble 16?" Apparently not. The room started buzzing at that point, people all around us (the guy was only one row back and maybe six people over from me) started making jokes, and Dina next to me said, "If you can't figure out how to answer the questions in order, you probably shouldn't be on the show." I suggested that maybe we shouldn't say things like that so loud since grown men that look like him often have access to firearms if they aren't actually carrying one on their persons. He didn't stay for the second test.

A further digression: So I'm torn. The guy stood in line for hours for his one shot at a million bucks, and he made an earnest if simple-minded mistake. Poor guy, my heart goes out to him. On the other hand, what a dumbfuck.

Anyway, I waited with bated breath for them to call out the numbers for people who passed the regular test. I felt pretty good about that one, even if I didn't know that coulrophobia is the fear of clowns. I turned to Dina and said, "You know, I've been pretty smug all along. I don't know how I'm going to handle it if I don't pass this thing." We were all confident but nervous. Dina was 81, I was 82, and Mary was 83. The producer had only called something like 5 for 6 passers for the movie test. Number-sixteen-guy was evidently par for our group. He called number 83 next to last, and he only called about 15 out of 200 in our group.

The assistants ushered us upstairs in a restricted elevator to the green room for the Hall. This is where we had our polaroid photos taken, and were interviewed briefly by other producers of the show. The guy spoke to some of the people for a few minutes, and for others for what seemed like seconds. Finally, he called my name and asked me the dreaded, "Why did you go into teaching" question. (I hate that question; my answer is not a simple one, and I have yet to encapsulate it for just such an occasion.) We spoke for a moment or so. I'll find out within the next two weeks or so by postcard if I made it into the contestant pool or not.

And thus my saga is complete.

Reason #433 Why I No Longer Play RPG's

Occasionally, maybe once every three fiscal quarters, I get the urge to play a role-playing game. Usually this occurs when I wander into a comics and games store, and I see one of a kajillion GURPS books on a rack or a shelf. To tell the truth, I don't even know why I go in these places. Nostalgia, perhaps.

The last time I played a RPG was when I lived in Nashvegas, TN. My friends (who ran a comics and games store) would come over for FAG Night. Fantasy Adventure Gaming Night. We eventually changed the name to Poker Night as it was easier to say out loud in a bar.

Anyway, cruising the net, looking at other people's blogs, I discovered this: http://geographic.net/gurps/hotheavy/having_sex

Yep. Rules for how to have RPG sex. Twelve-year-old boys and college-aged nerds everywhere can now have sex the safe way: with dice.

Boussh and Hadley

For whatever reason, my daughter really connected with this person.

There was a particularly scary man in an Emperor's Royal Guard get-up behind and to the left of this picture. He liked to take his helmet off in a patheically apparent attempt to freak people out; he was wearing a thin ski mask with a fanged skull printed on it, and he had contact lenses that made his eyes look reptilian. He bent over, got right in Hadley's face and said, "My, but you have pretty blue eyes." Hadley looked at him and replied, "Yes, I do." Pause, turning to Mom, "I've never seen anybody that looked like that." The guy put his helmet back on.

That having been said, the woman in the Boussh outfit was very friendly, and Hadley kept trying to take her thermal detonator.

That's Mrs. Chewbacca to his Left

I am a dork; I do confess this freely. That's Mr. Peter Mayhew sitting next to me. When I walked up to the table, he looked at the shirt and said, "No, he didn't." And his wife said emphatically, "Oh yes, he did. That's the controversy. I guess we'll just have to wait until September to settle this."

I am now, more than ever, a Mayhew fan.

The Final-No-Really-I-Mean-It-This-Time-Guys Cut

Ridley Scott just can't leave a lead turd alone. According to scifi.com, Blade Runner: Final Cut will be released to video in September for four months only. It will then hit the theaters in 2007 for the 25th anniversary; the special edition dvd will follow with the "remastered director's cut of the classic SF movie Blade Runner" and the other three versions of the film (yes, Grasshopper, the original theatrical release will be on dvd).

Full story at: http://www.scifi.com/scifiwire/index.php?category=0&id=36328

Maybe I'm a barbarian for suggesting it, but I rather liked the theatrical release. The novel only suggests that Deckard is an android as an allegorical device to make us question our own actions. Are we human or merely humane? In the end, Deckard realizes the errors of his way and makes at least a fumbling attempt to be more human, to live as human as he can.

Ridley Scott decides for us in claiming that Deckard is indeed an 'andy,' and I think he misses the mark. Yes, Blade Runner is the grand-daddy of all cyberpunk. Yes, it's supposed to have a more bitter ending than one would expect. But the original release's ending is not happy: Deckard and Rachel book it with the knowledge that 1) they have little time left together because her batteries are nearly run dry, and 2)Deckard will live the rest of his life stuck on the post-nucular hellhole that the Earth has become as an outlaw.

But gee, Mr. Bosch, doesn't the fact that they will be together suggest that it's a Romantic kissy kissy "you had me at Voigt-Kampf" ending? Like a cyberBonnie and Clyde, they'll burn their double-ended candle in the wind until the man shoots them down?

No. It's a Pyrrhic victory at best, and that's what makes it cyberpunk. It's Gaff saying, "Hey, Deckard, you have fun poking Teddy Ruxpin for a couple of years, but don't bother coming back because you're dead to me." It's Deckard replying, "Well, at least I won't put any more holes in my soul this way." That's the way this thing should end.

It's worth noting here that the one of the many drafts of this screenplay had a final shot of Deckard looking in his rearview mirror at Gaff's squadcar closing in. At least that would have helped the movie make some kind of sense. Maybe if Scott had actually read the book....

Hadley's Third Birthday on the Fourth

This is my daughter, Hadley, at the Park Cities 4th of July Parade. She wanted to be Snow White for her birthday, and her eyes near-about exploded out of her head when we gave her the dress. It was money well spent.

George Lucas: Hero, Fiend, Dark Lover

My affection for the Star Wars character Han Solo is well documented. Probably too well documented. Suffice it to say that my nipples explode with delight every time I think about the upcoming release of the Holy Trilogy on September 12th. In fact, I just pre-ordered all three at www.starwars.com this afternoon.

However, while trolling the site examining the upcoming figures to be released in time for Xmas (hint, hint), I stumbled across a special t-shirt commemorating the the brouhaha over the first of the redone (overdone) Originals. Go here to see the LucasArts version of the "Han Shot First" shirt. http://shop.starwars.com/catalog/product.xml?product_id=105047;category_id=306

Note that if you preorder a copy of the Trilogy, you get a "free" collectable card from Topps which outlines the Han v. Greedo debate. If you click on the second image, you can read the card. You get another limited edition card for ordering the shirt, but it's different. Like I don't have a shoebox full of the original Topps trading cards from when I was a child.

This brings up a problem for me: I already have a "Han Shot First" shirt from www.thinkgeek.com on the way (and a much less queer version, I might add). I'm going to go out on a limb and suggest that all good and proper Star Wars geeks should pick up a shirt from ThinkGeek rather than LucasArts for the following reasons:

1. ThinkGeek marketed it first. Yes, I know the character belongs to George, and he has a right to reap the fruits of his labor; however, I assert that this is very much like W blaming Congress for underfunding his war when W is to blame for failing to forecast his funding needs. See my next point.
2. George is covering up what he must know is a mistake without actually admitting fault. There were some visually stunning effects added to the remade/o'erwrought versions of the Holy Trilogy, but there were some fuckups as well. Greedo shooting first is one example. For another example, why does Jabba look like a pre-lubed Japanese squeaky sex toy in Episode IV? The most basic lesson one learns when tinkering with Photoshop is that if you want digital horse cock that you superimposed upon an unfortunate photo of your college fuckbuddy dozing with her mouth open to look even sorta maybe realistic, you have to, for lack of a better term, 'crappify' the newer elements of the final photo. But I digress; George realizes his mistake, or at least his marketing execs do. While he is going to make a metric shitload of money off the Star Wars franchise over the course of his remaining years (presumably to go along with the 6 metric shitloads he has made already), I must urge the faithful to dink him a couple of demerits here, especially considering my next point.
3. George is milking the faithful without even the courtesy of warming his hands first. This is George calling us all 'bitches' in his best Dave-Chappelle-voice. This is George hearing the protests of the faithful, and now this is George turning those protests on their collective ear and making a buck.

So protest, my brethren and sistren. Maybe only Japanese tourists will be wearing the limited edition "Han Shot First" shirts at Disneyworld, and maybe you'll have to purchase the limited edition Topps Trading Card on eBay from some disgusting, live-action version of the comic book shop owner from the Simpsons, but George will have made one less buck from you, and you can hold up your head a little higher as you watch Greedo take it like a bitch without firing a shot the way that God, and George, meant it to be.

More like Satan or OJ?

(Spoken in my best impression of Ben Stein in "Ferris Beuller's Day Off"): Wow. Rove will not be indicted for Plamegate. Outrage. Surprise and outrage are the feelings coursing through my body as I type.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/06/13/AR2006061300267.html?referrer=email

When I was in elementary school, I used to go to a day care center after school called "Little Folks." By the time I was in the third grade, I was the oldest kid there, and I had a miniature posse that would trail behind me and do my bidding. In fact, I was really good about "suggesting" to other kids interesting things to do for our mutual entertainment. Inevitably, the other kids got in trouble while I remained scot free. I feel the occasional pang of guilt when I look back because I never really compensated those wee ones with anything more than the pleasure of my company. And now for my big question of the day:

Are any of the toddlers running with scissors for the Bush administration reaping any kind of benefit for their association with W?

Why GI Joe Doesn't Go on Leave Anymore

Since I'm in a mood to discuss toys, I'm thinking I need one of these for my GI Joe collection.

http://www.prankplace.com/turleen.htm

"Pour me a double; I'm drinking for two!"-Turleen

I wonder if there are action playsets for this doll, like:

• Turleen's RV
• Turleen's Tarot Reading and SnoCone Concession
• Planned Parenthood (with Realistic Exploding Front Door)
• 'Hair by Turleen' Beauty Salon Playset
• Turleen's Camaro
• Roy's Tattoo and Piercing

The Death of the Man who Invented Saturday Morning

This past Friday, Bernard Loomis, "The Man who Invented Saturday Morning," died of heart disease at age 82 in his home in Palm Beach Gardens, FL. From the late 1950s to the 1990s, Loomis forged a legendary record in toy marketing. He came up with the idea of making Saturday morning cartoons based on toys. Previously, the cartoons came first.

While some people believe this to be repugnant and point to the more blatant examples of kiddie commercialism in the 80s like "GI Joe" and "Jem" and "MASK," Loomis' first concept of this was a half-hour long show in 1969 that highlighted kids playing with Mattel's latest product, Hot Wheels.

His products included:

• The Six Million Dollar Man action figure (had two, first one chewed by Boston Terrier)
• The Bionic Woman (had one, er, to go with my Six Million Dollar Man. Shut up.)
• Hot Wheels (had many)
• Baby Alive (never had one, but the idea of a realistic doll that you feed a special formula that requires you to change its diaper later really appeals to me)
• Strawberry Shortcake (he conceived of this as a line of dolls, greeting cards, and a made for tv movie. I had the boy one that looked like Huck Finn because the girl next door had several. That's my story. Shut up.)
• Steve Scout, the official doll of the Boy Scouts of America (had one, but apparently this is one of Loomis' flops, like Duke the Wonder Dog.)
• the Star Wars line of toys

One amazing thing about the Star Wars line of toys is that he advised General Mills to pass on Spielberg's Close Encounters because it wasn't "toyetic," but opted on the Star Wars because the people in the movie wore costumes. (I remember the rubber and wire bendable/poseable grays put out by Mego[?] or some company like that. They sucked.) The movie was such a runaway hit that they pushed the release date for the toys to Christmas even though there was no way to physically produce the toys in time, so the man sold empty boxes with IOU's that promised to deliver the toys within the next couple of months. When the toys eventually arrived, the other kids who's parents hadn't fallen for the marketing ploy were clamoring for the cool toys their friends had, thus upping the Spring quarterly sales.

In 1988, he was the subject of the book title The Man Who Invented Saturday Morning, and Other Adventures in American Enterprise by David Owen.

I, for one, would like to pay my respect to the man that invented my childhood memories. Thank you, sweet Prince, and flights of Angels sing you to your rest.

My Geeky Little Heart Explodes with the Power of a 1000 Suns

I'm too giddy to type! The rumors are TRUE!!! September 12th!!! I have purpose in life again!

http://www.starwars.com/episode-iv/release/video/news20060503.html

Things to Do in Houston When You're Dead

I don't know how I found this, but give it a try. I know what I'm going to try to see the next time I'm in Houston: Dead Marilyn.

http://www.slickandhisruin.com/LateMonroeGraveYard.html

Nice scar. Reminds me of this local band in Dallas I stumbed upon called the Necro Tonz. I remember them covering "Suicide is Painless" as a lounge tune.

And I wonder why I always run into weirdos wherever I go.

The "Tax for People Who Failed Math"

Seen the new Texas Lotto commercials with Emmit Smith and Troy Aikman? Some tight-ass at the Dallas Morning News is all up in arms because she believes that Troy and Emmit are encouraging poor people to gamble. Really.

I maintain that the real reason to play the Lotto is not because you have better chance of being struck multiple times by lightning; rather, the true reason to play the Lotto is that for one American dollar, all of your problems are solved. Think about it: you fork over that buck to the foreign person behind the counter of the 7-Eleven. What is immediately on your mind (other than 'No, I want the soft-pack Marlboro Lights')? You start spending the prize money in your head. You pay off all of your bills, you move into a better neighborhood, you buy a new practical car and a new fun car, you pay for six more months' worth of maintenance on that machine that keeps Uncle Frank alive, you set up a trust fund for your kids. Every problem that you have is temporarily lifted from your shoulders, at least until the lottery numbers are chosen. But who cares? It's a palpable feeling of optimism and relief, and it's cheaper than smoking, healthier than booze, and it won't make you go blind.

If you still need a better reason to play the Lotto, you can win a cocktail table Pac Man game with the new Pac Man scratch-off. Go for it. You know you want to....
http://www.txlottery.org/scratchoffs/activeticket.cfm?gnum=664

Keith and Shannon Black, Congrats

My good friend and colleague, Keith Black, got married yesterday at the Sons of Hermann Hall in Dallas. His officiate for the proceedings was Pinky Diablo (found here: http://oneandonlypinky.blogspot.com/) .

The ceremony was broken into parts, one of which was a poetry reading. Three established poets were read, as well as a poem by Mr. Black. "The Elephant is Slow to Mate" by D.H. Lawrence, "i carry your heart with me (i carriy it in" by e.e. cummings, and "This is just to say" by William Carlos Williams. Keith read an original poem, "First Born Unicorn (Shannon sonnet #3)," but he didn't read the one that I thought he was going to read called "My Heart--Your Love." With all rights reserved by Mr. Black, I reprint the latter for your consideration:

My Heart--Your Love
by Keith Black

My heart is a high performance fuel injector--your love is the name brand
fuel additive that keeps my nozzle clean.

My heart is an empty patch of earth--your love is the Garrett Juice (tm)
infused mulch that keeps my soil nutrient rich.

My heart is a gossamer haute couture designer gown--your love is the
buxom, sultry starlet that wears my heart to the red carpet event (and
gets on the cover of two weekly entertainment magazines as a
result).

My heart is a small child allergic to mosquito bites--your love is the kindly
old neighbor who insures that there is no standing water on his
property, for standing water is a breeding ground for
mosquitoes.

My heart is a promising young basketball player who unexpectantly
collapses on the court--your love is the uh... the medical
machine, you know, the one with the paddles that people rub
together and yell "clear!" before using, you know, the one that
hums--your love is that thing--the thing that keeps me alive.

My heart is a character in a movie, it is a faux-nihilistic, burned out skater punk--
your love is yet another character in the same movie; it is a
wizened, patient old lady who after an adventurous, emotional
road trip together teaches my heart's character that there is, in
fact, truth, beauty, hope, and most importantly, love in the
world.

My heart is a nonundisinflated child's pool--your love is the air and lung power that
muscles through the hyperventilation to inflate my heart so that our joy, in
this case the kids that have been alternatingly crying for no determined
reason and spasmatically jumping and spinning with ecstasy, can use my
heart for non-structured play time.

My heart is--your love is

My heart--your love

My--your

M--y

--

So, you got an internist?

Went to Baylor's emergency room today for chest pains. It was not a heart attack, but it was "a warning shot." I'll be seeing an internist on Wednesday. Long story short: eat your oatmeal and pay attention to your blood pressure.

Rockin' the Bookshelf

Went to see the Rock Bottom Remainders this evening. Imagine Barnes & Noble invited authors to a reading, plied them with liquor, and gave them a karaoke machine.

http://www.rockbottomremainders.com/

This is the cover band fronted by Dave Barry that includes Amy Joy Luck Club Tan, Mitch Tuesdays with Morrie Albom, and Scott Presumed Innocent Turow. If you get a chance to see them, do so. They are not great, but they are highly entertaining, and they play almost exclusively (if not exclusively) for charity. They were playing to raise money for "Dallas Scores!"-- the Dallas branch of a national non-profit orgainization that promotes literacy through soccer.

Some highlights of the evening included:

• Amy Tan dressed like what an established fifty-something-year-old lady would consider a dominatrix outfit, and singing "These Boots Were Made for Walking" while she flogged the authors onstage with a cat-o'nine.
• Scott Turow shouting out David Bowie songs with a neon blue feather boa not so much with musical ability as with a sincerity that rivals Christopher Walken on any given SNL.
• Mitch Albom belting out Billy Joel and Elvis covers with equal enthusiasm.

The best musician, hands down, was Albom on keyboards. He could play exceptionally well. Dave Barry's musically talented brother was good on mouth harp, and Dave himself was okay on rhythm guitar. There were some other authors who were okay, and a couple of pro musicians to play the more technically difficult pieces. All in all it was highly enjoyable, and for a well worthy cause.

http://www.dallasscores.org/index.php?id=404

145th Manassas

Yay Me! I'm registered to take part in the 145th Anniversary Reenactment of Manassas (that's Bull Run to you Yanks). I will be falling in with the 37th North Carolina, Company B, 4th Regiment, Tudd Dean's fellows, and a fine lot of gentlemen if there ever were.

http://www.cedarcreekbattlefield.org/reenact/bullrun.php

Now to make plans for the 150th Gettysburg in seven years...

Shama Lama Ring Ding

If you are not already hip to "Jack's Big Music Show" on Noggin, you need to be.

http://www.noggin.com/shows/jacks.php

Yes, it's on Noggin, which means that it's for pre-schoolers in the same way that "The Muppet Show" was intended for kids; that is, it's intended for kids AND adults.

The puppeteers are Henson's Muppet Workshop alum, so Jack, Mary and Mel are amazingly well articulated for what are essentially sock puppets. The music videos they show have been made for Noggin especially for these episodes; yes, this is MTV for the Pre-K set. That having been said, the music simply rocks. In addition to regular video appearances by uber-MILF Laurie Berkner, there is a band called the Dirty Sock Funtime Band which is a Ska band. Yes, Ska for the Pre-K set.

Coolest Episode honors just got a lot more difficult. You see, I thought "Mel's Super Swell Dance Party" was fairly kick ass, especially with a character called Dancey Nancy bouncing up and down to the Mel Polka. My daughter, Hadley, is a big fan of doing the Mel Polka. I thought this one was in the bag because of Dancey Nancy and Laurie in the same episode, but now I've seen "The King of Swing" episode, with Buddy Guy as the King. Buddy freakin-Guy.

Yeah, this is "for kids."

Dept. of Scary Times for Teachers

So geography teacher Jay Bennish gets recorded by some kid in his class pointing out the eerie similarities between some of Hitler's policies, and Fearless Leader Geo. "Dubya" Bush.

http://www.denverpost.com/news/ci_3560566

I don't know what is scarier: the fact that, teaching in Dubya's backyard, I am about to compare the rhetorical elements of Bush's post 9-11 speech to the rhetorical elements of Bin Laden's post 9-11 speech; or the fact that if you type "bush hitler colorado teacher" in Google, the first seven web sites offered are conservative blogs that make the knee-jerk reaction to the Mohammed caricature look like well reasoned assertions.

Let's face a few facts here:

1. If you want to study propaganda in college and your course doesn't cover the well-oiled Nazi propaganda machine that was Hitler's Germany, you need to find a better course, or a better college. That is not to say that anyone, ANYONE, should buy into their crap; rather, through well-placed words and images, Hitler's people were able, essentially, to bend an otherwise rational nation of individuals to their evil will. That's the power of rhetoric, and why we should study it.
2. Yes, there is a time and a place for such comparisons as Mr. Bennish's remarks, and a high school geography class may not have been the best venue. And yes, Mr. Bennish is paid by the public's taxes and his contract falls under the school board's review. However, the responsible examination of issues is what makes for true teaching. I will continue to argue both sides in class, often taking the more reprehensible side, for the sake of education. If I can make my students think, I will make them think. Ultimately, that is what I'm paid to do.
3. There are some eerily similar rhetorical stances between the two regimes, specifically the "my way or the highway" attitude of this current administration. If I thought that Dubya might actually be able to learn something from the criticism, I might actually invite him to my class; my larger fear is that if I actually invited him here and he were to actually show up, I'd have to slow down the pace of my class so much that it would interfere with the eductional process.

So now I'm about to go continue with my Rhetoric of War unit, but I'm going to add the Denver Post's story to the lesson plan.

Like "Apocalypse Now" with a Musical Number

I spent way too much time in front of the television as a child; when I wasn't in front of the t.v., I was behind some book that no one else I knew wanted to read. The end result of this unholy combination is that I am long in the trivia department, but it took a foreign exchange student's reaction to an obscure reference to Nostradamus to make me go "hmm."

You see, amongst the apocalyptic quatrains, Nostradamus predicts that the next anti-Christ will be a man from greater Arabia wearing a blue turban, and he will rain down fire from the skies. Anti-Christ v1.0 was Napoleon, and v2.0 was Hitler; v3.0 may have been created this weekend with W's visit to South Asia.

I was talking about rhetorical strategies for justifying war in class, and used the example of Hussein's being likened to Hitler as a means of explaining how we demonize the enemy. I added, in my usual, offhand, no-one-is-going-to-get-this-allusion-either way that I love, that at least Hussein doesn't wear a blue turban, or the Nostradamus devotees would have had a field day. A couple of students pressed for more info, and I explained the reference; that's when Manu's jaw dropped and he pointed out that the Indian prime minister wears a blue turban. Ha ha, semi-nervous chuckles all around until I remembered an NPR story I heard this morning about Bush welcoming India into the Nuclear Club... dum dum DUMMMM.

So there you go: Nostradumbass was a little off. The next anti-Christ is actually the Indian prime minister, and he is going to rain down nuclear fire from the sky soon after visiting Europe. I wonder if Bollywood has done any films about this....

Is it just me...

...or does it make defense attorneys cringe when their clients dress like Boris Badenov?

Pro Evo Shenanigans? (WTFx10 to 10th power)

I recieved a shrink-wrapped book in the mail today called ProEvo: Pro Evolution--Guideline for an Age of Joy. It is a pseudo-mystical conglomeration of evolution and Eastern religion as far as I can tell.

Okay, two things about this really wig me out:

1. Out of the blue I received this book in the mail, and I have no idea why.
2. The only related web sites that I can find are in German or are reprints of salient portions of the book or both.

There is an "Ask MetaFilter" list-serv thing asking the Internet community-at-large if anyone has received this book, and why, but there isn't much out there. The main web-site is at www.proevo.ch (and you can apparently get it translated through Babelfish.altavista.com).

The back cover lists a number of endorsements; here are the names verbatim from the back of the book:

• Prof. Dr. L.K., world-famous scientist
• Dr. W.S., university professor
• P.H. Chinese scientist
• A large country's institution for press, books, films, television and radio
• Dr. J.H., university professor
• Dr. H.D.W., physics
• Dr. B.M.S., university professor

The intials are not mine, that's what is actually printed on the back cover. The endorsement lines themselves are pure fluff such as, "The book is great," but the last one by BMS says, "I will give the book to my friends, enemies and politicians."

Which one am I?

Welcome to iHeck

No, not iHell; iHell is as bad as it could get. I'm in iHeck: things could be worse.

I have mislaid my iPod earphones. Yes, I know that ANY earphones will work, but I found that I liked the ones it came with both of the times I used them.

And there is no simple replacement option for the ubiquitous white headphones. The cheapest set that the Apple store offers is $39.00 (yes, thirty-nine American dollars). They come with some kind of remote control adapter so that you can listen to the radio on your iPod. You know, because, like, they don't give away self-contained personal radios at the ballpark. (With all due respect, Mr. Jobs, I got the fucking iPod so I WOULDN'T HAVE TO LISTEN TO THE LOCAL RADIO FARE.)

The next replacement-head-phone option is a forty-nine dollar set of earspeakers. Ear speakers. Small, self-contained speakers that fit in your ear. And they come with three sets of form-fitting collars (small, medium, and large) so that they will fit properly in your ear.

The prices of the other "after-market" headphones ranged from $29 to $159.00 at the Apple store, so I figured that I could probably do better just to suck it up and buy a simple pair of fucking headphones locally. I went to http://www.bestbuy.com/ which was no better than the Apple store, really. Cheap ones are five bucks, decent ones are no less than ten. I did learn that one can purchase a $499.99 pair of earbuds. Four-hundred and ninety-nine dollars and ninety nine cents. Though I wouldn't expect filet mignon every time I listened to my iPod with five-hundred-dollar earphones, I better at least get a hand-job from a young woman I don't know well every goddamn time.

Thus, I continue my search for my original earbuds, ever hopeful that one of my students didn't swipe them, ever hopeful that maybe this time they will turn up in my coat pocket. If anyone has an extra unused set from, say, an extra iPod shuffle that Santa stuck in your stocking, please feel free to drop me a line. I'll pay for shipping.

And a steak.

Dept. of "Kick Them While They Are Down"

It wasn't enough for the University of Alabama (my alma mater) to narrowly defeat Texas Tech in the Cotton Bowl, now they done stole the best dang quarterback recruit in Texas.

http://footballrecruiting.rivals.com/

Greg McElroy is the quarterback phenom from Southlake-Carroll who WAS going to Lubbock, but is now going to Tuscaloosa.

Yeah, that's right. Get your guns in the air, then say, "Roll Tide," muthafuckaaaaa.

(That last little bit was for the inbred redneck ass-rapist that chucked a glass beer bottle in disgust from the upper deck at the Cotton Bowl and hit my dad in the shoulder.)

Some Phobias (not necessarily mine)

Some of these don't necessarily seem all that wrong, like algophobia: a fear of pain...

• maniaphobia: fear of insanity
• erythrophobia: fear of red lights or blushing
• erotophobia: fear of sexual love
• dystychiphobia: fear of accidents
• cynophobia: fear of dogs
• lyssophobia: fear of rabies
• hypengyophobia: fear of responsibility
• iophobia: fear of being poisoned
• macrophobia: fear of long waits
• lygophobia: fear of darkness
• maieusiophobia: fear of childbirth
• tocophobia: fear of pregnancy or childbirth
• mysophobia: fear of dirt or contamination; having a compulsion to wash one's hands
• nebulaphobia: fear of fog
• pantophobia: fear of everything; cowardice
• rhabdophobia: fear of being punished or severely criticized
• stygophobia: fear of Hell
• taphephobia: fear of being buried alive; fear of cemeteries (as opposed to taphophilia: a love of funerals)
• theophobia: fear of gods
• brontophobia: fear of thunderstorms
• tonitrophobia: fear of thunder
• verbophobia: fear of words
• xylophobia: fear of wooden objects; fear of forests
• climacophobia: fear of falling down stairs
• cherophobia: fear of gaiety
• anuptaphobia: fear of staying single
• amaxophobia: fear of riding in a car

...and my personal fave-rave of the moment:

• teutophobia: fear of Germans or German things

Monsters We Need to Resurrect

A good friend of mine, Captain Bill Pescena (aka Billbo of the Nine Fingers) gave me an interesting book today; it is a dictionary of rarely used and/or obscure words. In it I discovered two very interesting creatures that are sorely in need of resurrection:

• The Bicorne: a medieval monster grown fat by feeding on patient husbands.
• The Chichevache: an incredibly skinny medieval monster that feeds solely on patient wives.

Mrs. Bosch informs us that neither of these creatures feeds at our house, and I have to agree. No, really, I have to.

Byrne, Josefa Heifetz. Mrs. Byrne's Dictionary of Unusual, Obscure, and Preposterous Words. Secaucus: Citadel Press and University Books, 1974.