Hello Gibblers

Hello everyone, this is Ben, formerly of Brooklyn's Bond Street and currently on the road to Charlotte. TXB tells me many of you are Southeast Missouri State University alumni. Although I did not attend there myself, I did write the bulk of my master's thesis at a Drury Inn & Suites in Cape Girardeau one night in a fit of inspiration. As I recall, Cape Girardeau has more than one Drury Inn. I always get there in time for the free drink coupons and all-you-can-eat snacks. I like them so much, I became a member of their frequent visitor's club and tell all my friends I will be their celebrity spokesperson in the event I ever become a celebrity (and they agree to have me). I've also stayed at Drury Inns in Rolla and Joplin, MO; Marion and Mt. Vernon, IL; and Ridgeland, MS. Some of them feature free hot breakfasts, while others advertise a free Quickstart breakfast (which is code for continental). All Drury Inns feature stations where you can make your own waffles. I've discovered that while I like to make waffles, I don't actually like to eat them. I'd rather drink the liquid waffle stuff straight out of the cup. All Drurys also feature free popcorn and pop 24 hours a day. Outside of Drurys, I also like Jumers hotels, but they are even harder to find. But getting back on track for just a second, I got so much writing done the night I spent in Cape Girardeau I actually set one of my most well received short stories there. And I did go to an SMSU, but mine was in Southwest Minnesota and no Drury Inns to be found there; just Icelandic Americans.

Suicide is Cool

Or maybe, again, it's just T.V. or movie suicide that's cool. You decide. But I'm getting a little bit tired of a certain asshole named Kellerman still being alive on "Prison Break," and I thought he wuz gonna take the honorable way out last nite and finally put a bullet in his brain. He tried. I'll give him that. But the gun jammed. And then...he gave up? What the fuck?! Clean that gun and pull that trigger again, ya jerkoff. Meanwhile, in the annals of history and on the series finale of "Rome," they had an easy solution to the problem of guns jamming: Mark Antony shoved a sword in his chest and Cleopatra induced an extremely poisonous snake to bite her breast. Now that's what I'm talkin' about!

TXB's Movie Picks and Pans

Of course, violence--even cool violence--does not automatically make for a great film. Case in point: The Hills Have Eyes II. Sure, you've got your freaks. You've got your automatic weapons. You have the potential for social commentary when U.S. soldiers are fighting bad guys in caves in the middle of a desert. But then...that potential is never realized, so the whole exercise becomes a ripoff of Aliens, which is the ultimate badass movie about soldiers fighting monsters and losing badly for most of the movie. Also, movie soldiers--like movie teenagers--are basically just there to die, so is there any surprise or concern when the freaks get'em? Again, Wes Craven might have provided us with some kind of commentary on that, reminding us that real life soldiers are just as disposable...but no. This is a decent horror flick, but it's nowhere near as disturbing as the remake of the first film (and what's with Wes Craven writing remakes to his own movies? Is he going to reboot the Nightmare on Elm Street franchise with remakes of all those films, too?). Meanwhile, if it's comedy that yer into, Gerry and yers trooly rented a totally fucking hillarious movie called Idiocracy on Saturday. Less hillarious, but still poignant and thought provoking, wuz Stranger than Fiction, starring Will Ferrell...a film which proves my point that W.F. could be the next Tom Hanks and start winning Oscars if he did more films like this and less films like Talledega Nights and Blades of Glory. But whatever Will Ferrell does, he should never do a movie about fighting freaks in the desert. Leave that to the no name actors.

Violence is Cool

Well, movie violence is cool, anyway. Especially when it comes with whacked out painterly images created by CGI and crazy color filters. Maybe it's not so cool when a film like 300 could easily be used for military recruitment, but if anyone thinks that the kind of war being fought in this film is anything like modern war--well, then, such an individual would be classified in my book as too dumb to live, so they might as well go to Iraq. If anyone thinks George Bush is remotely like King Leonidas of Sparta in any way imaginable...well...just... never mind.

So let's assume that everyone knows that modern presidents and kings DON'T lead their men into battle personally. If that's noted, then what we have in 300 is kickass cool violence that is inspirational only in a comic book fantasy world, but inspirational nonetheless. We have awesome sword-and-spear-play, total freaks (including a humpback), an insane villain (Xerxes, king of the Persian empire) who must have died from infection after his 600th or 700th body piercing...and we have Leonidas, that badass Spartan king who has 299 warriors at his back.

And we have yet another impressive film made form a graphic novel.

Holy Crap

Ok guys - go to this website - as a parent, I find this so-called curriculum frightening - and it sounds just like something Francis Howell would do....
http://www.talk2action.org/story/2007/3/18/22817/0465

Bond Blows

"Check out my giant cock...I mean, 'gun'!"

********** If there's one thing me and the Attorney General agree on, it's that Bond blows. Yeah, this new movie with Daniel Craig as the badass Bond is the shit, right? Wrong. Don't believe the hype. Craig is okay--anyone's better than that ponce, Pierce Brosnan. And thank God someone finally got them to knock it off with the truly embarrassing grade school level double entendres. But come on...Bond has to bring down a mastermind financier of terrorism, and he does so...by playing Texas Hold'em poker with the dude?! So, basically...I could be Bond now. Or my bro could, anyway. He kicks ass at poker. Also, as my pal Ben Butler has said, it's heresy for Bond to say "Do I look like I give a damn?" when axed by the barkeep whether he'd like his martini shaken or stirred. Gee, Bond, maybe the barkeep thought you gave a damn since you took a fucking half hour to order a martini to your delicate specifications just twenty minutes earlier in the film!!!! (also: Bond orders a fruity martini, and suddenly the whole damn table orders martinis? What is this...the Ponce Poker Club?).

Student Essay Follies!

The Huntress requested mo' clazy student essay shenanigans, so here be two:

One of my students said he was at a Mexican restaurant with his aunt and uncle. They chatted with some drunk woman at the bar, and then this happened:

"The woman went up to my aunt and took her breasts out. She put a toothpick in one of her breasts and set it on fire."

The best part of that, of course, is that it sounds as if the aunt's breasts got pulled out. Actually, the drunk woman pulled out her own breasts.

Also, we have the dude who once said that the smell of pot in his neighborhood hit him like a "sludge hammer," but he went on to tell more entertaining tales from the STL 'hood:

"I remember when my momma busted my head. Now that shit's a life changing experience."

Oh, and his wife...

So far, the headlines I see, post John Edwards' conference today, are to the effect: Edwards to stay in the race.
Yeeahhhh...but, his wife has news of her own, don't she? Or is his campaign all we're interested in? ... Well? ... Well?...

Line of the Day

Anybody catch "The Daily Show" last night? They showed a couple of the incriminating emails from this U.S. Attorneys scandal, then they made up a great fake email:

"Hey, let's fire some U.S. attorneys for purely political reasons and then save all of our emails about it.

Also...I cheated on my wife with an underage boy.

Seriously, don't delete this."

Where's Win?

Win is the stud of witticisms, the raconteur of raconteurs, the ne plus ultra of Ultramen. At least that's what I recall from ... O-mi-effin'-God! ... twenty years ago on the SEMO campus. Readin' his Sartre and learning Japanese osmosis-ly through his roomie. So why no Win, I ask. Why no Win? ... I think I love him, besides...
Speaking of loving him: Huntress, go bust his azz on this, willya?

No. 100

This is the 100th posting in the Gibblers' blog. Yippee! Let's review the brilliant observations of college-educated, postmodern, Western thinkers:
Bush is bad. Boheme blows. Cardinals rule.
Great...wonderful...

Win a trip to hell!

OK, OK, I know, I'm failing on my wifely duties. My poor hubby creates this fab blog and I don't post crap. Before he seeks an annulment, I figure I should cough up something. So without further ado...

Perusing through our Sunday selections, The New York Times and the Austin-American Statesman (a rag, but we figured we should read our hometown paper since we pay taxes here), Rick spots this gem: Win A Trip With Nick Kristof (http://www.nytimes.com/marketing/winatrip). "WIN a trip with Nick Kristof?" Rick poses. "This is a prize?"

I can see it now: Some poor sap will arrive with a suitcase of swim trunks and trashy novels and wind up getting whisked away on a moped from the Russian Market in Phnom Penh while Nick tries to scrounge up the ransom demand of 1 million rand (which is like 2 cents in US dollars). Of course, he'll be able to break out his binoculars on site-seeing trips, like to Tuel Slang prison, where good old Pol Pot tortured his victims with scorpion boxes. The dude can mingle with the locals - you know, all the people missing limbs thanks to the landmines dropped by yours truly during the Vietnam War. Or they can hang with Nick's friends, the 11-year-old prostitues whose freedom Nick purchased only to have them return to the brothel to get their opium fix. It'll be just a yuck a minute with old Nicky.

The picture I've posted has nothing to do with this blog, but reading through past entries, I noticed the pressure to include fancy graphics and photos and interactive PowerPoint presentations and such. Unfortunately, since I have a Mac, I don't have that handy-dandy right-click feature available that allows me to copy photos from the Web. So this photo of our dog will have to suffice.

Thanx 4 Linx

I'm sure I speak for all the Gibblerians when I say "thanks" to Jenn for the Dawkins link. I hear his latest book is quite strident. But, I suppose, if he says there's no God, and he writes a book about it, it's gonna be pretty...certain of itself. No harm in that.
I've tuned into some of the vids from the link.

And on the question of "Well...is there a God? Huh? Huh? Tell me, quick! Before I die!", Sam Harris and Andrew Sullivan have been having a yak-fest on beliefnet.com. Harris' latest book is Letter to a Christian Nation. He's speaking "against faith," or for a secular nation, etc. Sullivan, a gay Catholic Republican, is a believer, and speaks "pro" for faith. A nutshell, and likely not wholly accurate, but that's the gist.

Also, Sam Harris did a debate with Reza Aslan on CSPAN. Very cool stuff.

TXB's Spring Break Thoughts

On Spring Break here, but I came into the office today to check my emails and offer a few musings. The war with Brush is over...but the hits just keep on coming in Washington:

Democrats? Here's my thing: vote to cut off funding for the war. Can't get the votes? I don't give a shit. Just put it up for a vote and let's get it on the record who has balls. I wouldn't blame the party if they can't get it passed. I don't expect everyone in the party to vote the same way. But if you can't even get the balls enough to put to a vote the only logical course of action for any sane human being when it comes to Iraq...well, then, choke on your own fried balls in hell for all I care.

But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe just letting the Republicans drive off that Iraq cliff and kill a bunch more of our brave l'il soldiers is the perfect strategy. If we have 5,000 dead soldiers and a kickass civil war still going in Iraq by the next presidential election: well, then I take back what I said...even Hillary could get elected. Shit...Dennis Kucinich could get elected after announcing that he wuz gonna leave his wife for his gay lover, Flamingo.

Oh, and Jen: the Dems found their subpoena power. Now we have "Da Alberto G., Da A.G. Show." Yes, our Attorney General--friend and fellow-smirker of Brush--sure did have the smirk slapped off his face and the taste slapped out of his mouth this week, didn't he? You know you are one of the most fucked up A.G.s ever when you end up sorta making John Ashcroft look good. This smug bastard cannot be horsewhipped enough for being a punk bitch to the White House during his entire term of service. His one claim to fame will be that he wuz the first gay Mexican to serve as A.G....which means that we will prolly never have a gay Mexican as Attorney General ever again.

Speaking of which: General Peter Pace, who went on the record saying that homosexuality is immoral, can choke on a piece of his own peter. Man, you gotta love assholes who get innocent civilians and our brave l'il soldiers killed and maimed on a daily basis having the balls to call other people's behavior immoral. What's next? Hannibal Lecter writes a "Book of Virtues"?

Great! But...only now gettin' around to it?

Seems some Christian churches are having that middle-of-the-night, epiphanetic, "Hey, waaaittt! Not 'posed to torture folks." But, didn't they know 'bout it lo these past few years? Then again, wasn't it just a few years ago that the Vatican said, "Hey, waaaittt! The Sun doesn't revolve around the Earth! Galileo was right." (Of course, the prospect of being tortured by the church was on G.'s mind when he renounced his science.)
Torture: kinda like those old Ronco kitchen tools. It doesn't only work on presumed Islamic terrorists; it works on funny Italian scientists.

A Force

Seems Jenn is a blog force to be reckoned with. Not only pictures posted (most of us can do that), but, little self-made captions added within pictures? An artist! But, but...how is this technology possible? It's like, magic!
So let's all step up our visuals and our wits--JR is here...

It is my duty to continue on with the Bush bashing. So the following will be more stuff from thismodernworld.com. It looks like our president had plans to kill everybody in at least five other nations. I love how a lot of the top secret leaks are about how this guy loves to kill...

Hey, Congressional Democrats? Now would be a good time to use that subpoena power of yours:
AMY GOODMAN: Do you see a replay in what happened in the lead-up to the war with Iraq — the allegations of the weapons of mass destruction, the media leaping onto the bandwagon?
GEN. WESLEY CLARK: Well, in a way. But, you know, history doesn’t repeat itself exactly twice. What I did warn about when I testified in front of Congress in 2002, I said if you want to worry about a state, it shouldn’t be Iraq, it should be Iran. But this government, our administration, wanted to worry about Iraq, not Iran.
I knew why, because I had been through the Pentagon right after 9/11. About ten days after 9/11, I went through the Pentagon and I saw Secretary Rumsfeld and Deputy Secretary Wolfowitz. I went downstairs just to say hello to some of the people on the Joint Staff who used to work for me, and one of the generals called me in. He said, “Sir, you’ve got to come in and talk to me a second.” I said, “Well, you’re too busy.” He said, “No, no.” He says, “We’ve made the decision we’re going to war with Iraq.” This was on or about the 20th of September. I said, “We’re going to war with Iraq? Why?” He said, “I don’t know.” He said, “I guess they don’t know what else to do.” So I said, “Well, did they find some information connecting Saddam to al-Qaeda?” He said, “No, no.” He says, “There’s nothing new that way. They just made the decision to go to war with Iraq.” He said, “I guess it’s like we don’t know what to do about terrorists, but we’ve got a good military and we can take down governments.” And he said, “I guess if the only tool you have is a hammer, every problem has to look like a nail.”
So I came back to see him a few weeks later, and by that time we were bombing in Afghanistan. I said, “Are we still going to war with Iraq?” And he said, “Oh, it’s worse than that.” He reached over on his desk. He picked up a piece of paper. And he said, “I just got this down from upstairs” — meaning the Secretary of Defense’s office — “today.” And he said, “This is a memo that describes how we’re going to take out seven countries in five years, starting with Iraq, and then Syria, Lebanon, Libya, Somalia, Sudan and, finishing off, Iran.” I said, “Is it classified?” He said, “Yes, sir.” I said, “Well, don’t show it to me.” And I saw him a year or so ago, and I said, “You remember that?” He said, “Sir, I didn’t show you that memo! I didn’t show it to you!”

The riff that shall save us all...

Ok, so I unapologetically stole the subject line from Win's email to me containing the link for this article. This is from the Onion - flipping hilarious.

The caption for the image to the left is: "Some speculate that this is the gate to the secret vault."

This article may also explain EVH's trip to "rehab" as well as DLR's recent behavior....as well as the reunion tour delay. Enjoy!
huntress

Satire: Unreleased Jimmy Page riff to be retrieved from secret vault

POSTED: 5:41 p.m. EST, March 8, 2007

Editor's note: This may look like a real news story, but it isn't. It is from The Onion, a humor publication that calls itself "America's finest news source." CNN may beg to differ, but we do enjoy a good laugh and hope you will enjoy a weekly selection of their satire.

GWYNEDD, Wales (The Onion) -- Calling it the planet's last, best hope for saving rock music, the Guardians of the Protectorate of Rock announced Monday that they would take the extraordinary step of unleashing a never-before-heard Jimmy Page riff, hidden for decades in a mythic, impenetrable vault.

"We who believe in the immortality of rock took a vow 30 years ago that we would never release this incredibly powerful force unless we faced a Day of Reckoning -- and that day has come," said Black Sabbath guitarist Tony Iommi, one of the chosen few who helped forge the Secret Vault to Save Rock and Roll, at a press conference in the Welsh highlands. "Just look at the pop charts, and you shall know I speak the truth."

"Let's give rock and roll its #%*@ing balls back," he added.

The Guardians said recent developments in the music world, such as the unaccountable popularity of the Dixie Chicks and Sufjan Stevens, have created a "perfect storm of lameness" from which rock might never recover. While Iommi refused to say when the vault would be opened, hard-rock sources believe it will take place just prior to next month's Fall Out Boy-Honda Civic tour, which many fear will suck the remaining lifeblood from all that still rocks.

"Citizens of Rock, we refuse to stand idly by any longer," ZZ Top founder and Protectorate High Elder Billy Gibbons said. "When a puss like James Blunt is allowed to rule the airwaves, we must respond by exposing this monster riff, and blowing minds into the stratosphere."

The Protectorate, devoted to the preservation of badass jams and blistering guitar solos, was reportedly formed in the 1970s during the rise of adult contemporary music. According to legend, the riff, played only once by Page and recorded on a special cobalt record, contains the raw power, mind-blowing skill, and unbridled passion of all the Guardians combined. Recently translated parchments from the era describe it as a soul-searing power-chord progression faintly resembling a cross between "Smoke On The Water" and "Living Loving Maid," but "basically defying all description."

It is believed that, upon the riff's release, even those who claim that the genre is dead will have no choice but to pump their fists, bang their heads, and bow down to the gods of rock for all eternity.

"May God have mercy on our souls for what we are about to set loose upon the world," proclaimed Queen guitarist Brian May, dressed in druidic robes and bathed in the rising blue smoke of a nearby fog machine. "Will it save rock or destroy mankind? We have no way of knowing -- yet we have no other choice."

Members of the Protectorate were each given only partial information about the location of the vault, which they were instructed to open in unison only in the event of a total Rockopalypse. While some believed the vault was buried in Boston, Chicago, Kansas, Europe, or Asia, others claimed it could be found in the Court of the Crimson King.

However, after piecing together clues hidden in Yes album covers and Pink Floyd liner notes, rock historians now believe the riff is locked away deep beneath the Welsh countryside house known as Bron-Yr-Aur, at rock-grid coordinates SH735026. British weather satellites have also photographed an enormous cloud, shaped like a hybrid of an upside-down question mark and cross, forming above these exact coordinates.

The vault's Key, regarded as too staggering a burden for any one man to bear, was divided in two parts, with half entrusted to Eddie Van Halen and half to David Lee Roth, shortly after Roth left the rock supergroup Van Halen. The two men, who have refused to work together for 20 years, recently announced plans for a historic reunion tour.

"Before we shake Heaven and Earth with the vicious power of this riff, we of the High Council of Elders of the Guardians of the Protectorate of Rock ask you: Are you about to rock?" AC/DC guitarist Angus Young said. "If so, we salute you."

When asked to comment on the possible dangers of using the riff, Sir Paul McCartney seemed surprised.

"There's a secret vault to save rock and roll?" McCartney said. "This is the first I've heard of it."

Coulter

Yes, a simple title to this blog entry. I couldv'e gone with Coultergeist. Or, Counter Coulter. Or, I'm Gonna Get You, Coulter, Dagnabbit! But Jenn has wondered at the dearth of Coulter raging here. I've been busy. Melissa loves her (only second on her list of "Potential Turners" to Soledad O'Brien). And, well, Boehme blows.

That Funny Lizard

I've oft told my mate Melissa of the amusing advertisement advocating Geico Insurance. It features Burt Bacharach interpreting a Geico customer's tale. So, here 'tis. And the scary thing is, the song and melody are better than much of the Billboard Top 40 stuff.

TXB Cuts and Runs From His War With Brush

I know I've said this once before, but I am really going to try and fulfill the vow this time: this is my last rant on Brush.

I feel like The Dude in "Lebowski" when I watch the cable news to which I am weirdly addicted: everyone's going on and on endlessly about Iraq and/or Iran and the neverending failures of Brush et al., just like Walter always yammers on about Vietnam--and, of course, none have yammered more fervently and feverishly than Yers Trooly in the last three or four years--but now I just wanna say what The Dude sez: "Walter...what's the fucking point?!"

As I see it, there is just no stopping Brush until his term ends. If you think the treasonous, cowardly, and in come cases outright evil Republicans and Democrats in power are ever going to clear the Brush, you are a poor deluded soul indeed. Either that, or you're just not paying attention.

To review: any CEO or other Captain of Industry would have been flat fuck fired for just one or two of the multitude of sins and fuckups that Brush has presided over. And this Building 18 bullshit at Walter Reed Hospital...look, I'm not even gonna pretend to care about our brave little soldiers anymore. My heart has become so black over the war and over the impotence and/or scumfuckedness of our politicians that, to me, if the rank and file soldiers aren't refusing to fight in Iraq--if they aren't standing up and saying, "Enough of this bullshit. We are not dying or getting maimed for a half retarded lunatic!"--well, then, I don't know what to do with them, and I say fuck'em.

But even an uncaring bastard like myself must still marvel at how disposable our nation's heroes are. For, you see, reality has once again been upended by Brush. It's like some completely obscene paradox that this fuckstick has been able to prop himself up over and over again with weak-ass "support the troops" bullshit rhetoric. We are still, in 2007, living in a bizarro world that follows no known rules of logic...where a mendacious tool that everyone knows damn good and well is a mendacious tool can still claim--without getting laughed out of the room or shot, mind you--that he is supporting the troops even as he tosses them day after day into the most meaningless of existential meat grinders.

And here's where reality really gets fucked in the ass. Not only does Brush toss the soldiers into the meat grinder...but if they happen to survive the meat grinder and need medical attention, the Commander and Chief has done nothing over the last few years to ensure that they won't be treated like total shit. Most likely this is because Fuckhead is so stupid and uninquisitive that he never even knew how horrible his brave little vote-getters were being treated in Building 18. Because when it comes to nearly everything important in the world...Brush has to hear about it from the newspapers...I mean from someone else who read it in the newspapers. Who knows? Maybe he gets his news from well-read hobos who shout it out to him when he gives speeches because--oh yeah, there is one good thing that Brush is good at: raising money for the Republican party by speaking. And again, reality is just fucked, because that's like me being able to make money as an underwear model. But why must Brush hear about anything important or real from the newspapers? Because no one that works for this man apparently ever speaks the truth to him unless it has already been widely publicized by the mainstream media...and thus everyone else BUT the President of the United States knows about it already. Even then, Brush and his crew still feel that they often don't have to admit to the same set of facts that everyone else knows.

So you just can't put it any more plainly: Brush fucks the troops in the ass overseas, and he fucks them in the ass here at home. Is he strung up for his actions? Is there ever even a hint that the series of suits, bad hair, empty rhetoric, and limp dicks that comprise the Democratic party will truly stand up to this maniac to save the country from being utterly destroyed? Not once. Not ever. You know...I wish that hell did exist so that God could send nearly every Democrat currently drawing breath to the level of the inferno where demons cut off your genitals, barbecue them with hellfire, and feed them to you. It would be the perfect punishment for complete assclowns who don't have the balls to speak up with anything resembling bold words...no, not even when a terrorist has taken over the White House and has made them look like the biggest joke in congressional history.

So I quit. I give up. Voting is for idiots. Getting "your guy" elected is for people who just want to pursue a meaningless hobby like the one I have pursued: blogging about Brush...words, words, words, signifying nothing because the worst fuckhole of a president ever will never be impeached...will never be removed from power. Will never be arrested, and will never be executed. All of which would happen, and that right quick, if we still lived in a world that had even the loosest connection with reality.

Here Comes the Hurdy Gurdy Man

The Donovan song is playing when the killer snuffs his first two victims in the new David Fincher film, Zodiac. Apparently, the Hurdy Gurdy Man sometimes likes to sing songs of love...and other times he likes to KILL PEOPLE. Unfortunately, this flick is never so compelling as when the sociopath is doing his thing. Perhaps that's the way of all serial killer movies. Even when there's no killing going on, Silence of the Lambs is always more interesting when Hannibal Lecter or Buffalo Bill is on screen. And although John Doe doesn't appear till very late in the game in Fincher's other serial killer movie (7even), clearly his "sermons" on the seven deadly sins drive the whole film from start to finish.

But Zodiac ain't 7even. It's more of a historical approach to the serial killer narrative--and also a strange grafting of the police procedural and the newspaper procedural--so Fincher can't just have the man with the gun appear and blow some poor schmuck's shit away when there's a lull in the film. Not that a few schmucks don't get their shit blown away...but in real life there were long stretches when "Z" (as Mark Ruffalo's detective calls him) apparently didn't do a damn thing except fire off the occasional fucked up letter to his local newspaper, and the film is determined to show us all those long stretches. I heard snickers from the audience at my local theater, in fact, when time designations such as "one year later," "four years later," and "seven years later" cropped up throughout the movie. And one does wonder, truly, why this story had to go from the 1960's all the way to...zzzzzzzzzzzzz...1991?

On the other hand, if you've got a brilliant director and great actors, why not hang with them for an extra forty-five minutes at the theater? What, you're gonna be late for fucking Desperate Housewives or some shit? And that pretty much sums up my feelings about Zodiac: it certainly doesn't offer many of the thrills and chills of 7even (and no "head in the box" scene), but it's an interesting story and time to inhabit. It may be that many viewers feel the letdown at the end that Jake Gyllenhaal's investigative cartoonist feels when he finally comes face to face with the Zodiac...a kind of "is this all there is?" disappointment.

But if you know the rules, then you know how the game will resolve itself: Fincher is going to read to you the last page of the history book--or let you read it for yourself. After the final image of the film is shown, you see, we're given some further info about how the characters ended up, as many historical films are wont to do. You know, stuff like, "Detecive Joe Blow retired in disgrace in 1980 and had a sex change shortly before he OD'ed on a heroin-laced penis" (which...by the way...wouldn't that be the most awesome beginning ever for a novel? Think I've got my summer project worked out...).

At any rate, long story shorter--which Zodiac prolly could have been--I recommend this film. And I recommend it more strongly than any other film I've seen so far this year. Just don't except the "head in the box" scene at the end. Or Brad Pitt.

Lost Jesus

Thus ends one debate. If I ever have a mid-life crisis and decide to quit teaching to start a rock band, the band WILL be called, "Lost Jesus." End of story. In other Jesus news, did anyone see the James Cameron special last nite? And in still other Jesus newz, I took Gerry's post below as an invitation to investigate further the connection between Jesus and dinosaurs. I found an amusing entry in the Urban Dictionary online related to that topic, but more importantly I learned that people who live in urban areas have created many brand new and exciting ways to take the Lord's name in vain. Here's my favorite entry...and hopefully there's a trend in all dictionaries towards using the word or phrase in a passage which involves Batman and Robin:

Jesus "Lumps-of-Fat-Fucking" Christ

(exclamation): An alternative form of the phrase "Jesus 'Titty-Fucking' Christ," often used in response to intense anger, surprise, or joy by those who are more scientifically-oriented. Also used by those who have made the observation that tits are no more than blobs of fat on a woman's chest, and there's really no reason why men should be attracted to them.

Example: "Jesus Lumps-of-Fat-Fucking Christ Batman!" Robin exclaimed in exalting joy. "I believe the phrase is 'Jesus Titty-Fucking Christ,' and there's no reason for you to be yelling random expletives in the batcave--you remember what I said about using the Lord's name in vain," Batman wryly replied, a small smirk slowly sliding up his weathered cheeks. "Oh please, Batman," Robin replied, "that's so vulgar of you--we both know that 'titty' is such a silly word. And besides, what purpose is there in having sex with two lumps of fat? Shouldn't we just be honest about it? It's absurd." Robin stated very matter-of-factly. "Alright," Batman replied, "just don't come crying to me with your tightpants pulled clear up your ass when you go asking some girl if you can touch her lumps of fat."

Very Stupid

So there is nothing like stealing from another blog so that I can give to ours...

The word dinosaur was coined in 1841 by creationist Richard Owen[1], from the Latin for “terrible lizard”. Dinosaurs were a group of large lizards that previously lived in abundance on Earth.
Darwinists believe that dinosaurs lived from 230 million until 65 million years ago and that they are all currently extinct (except for birds, which they consider to be descended from dinosaurs). They claim the fossil evidence supports their beliefs.
Creationists believe, based primarily on Biblical evidences, but also drawing on archeological and fossil evidence, that dinosaurs were created on the 6th day of the Creation Week[2], between 6,000 and 10,000 years ago; that they lived in the Garden of Eden in harmony with other animals, eating only plants[3]; that pairs of various dinosaur baramins were taken onto Noah’s Ark during the Great Flood and were preserved from drowning[4]; that fossilized dinosaur bones originated during the mass killing of the Flood[5]; and that some descendants of those dinosaurs taken aboard the Ark still roam the earth today[6].
Because the term only game into use in the 19th century, the Bible obviously does not use the word “dinosaur.” However, they are mentioned in numerous places throughout the Good Book. For example, the behemoth in Job[7] and the leviathan in Isaiah are almost certainly references to dinosaurs.
How did those huge dinosaurs fit on the Ark?
Although there are about 668 names of dinosaurs, there are perhaps only 55 different “kinds” of dinosaurs. Furthermore, not all dinosaurs were huge like the Brachiosaurus, and even those dinosaurs on the Ark were probably “teenagers” or young adults.
Creationist researcher John Woodmorappe has calculated that Noah had on board with him representatives from about 8,000 animal genera (including some now-extinct animals), or around 16,000 individual animals. When you realize that horses, zebras, and donkeys are probably descended from the horse-like “kind”, Noah did not have to carry two sets of each such animal. Also, dogs, wolves, and coyotes are probably from a single canine “kind”, so hundreds of different dogs were not needed.
According to Genesis 6:15, the Ark measured 300 x 50 x 30 cubits, which is about 460 x 75 x 44 feet, with a volume of about 1.52 million cubic feet. Researchers have shown that this is the equivalent volume of 522 standard railroad stock cars (US), each of which can hold 240 sheep. By the way, only 11% of all land animals are larger than a sheep.
Without getting into all the math, the 16,000-plus animals would have occupied much less than half the space in the Ark (even allowing them some moving-around space).Conclusion
The Bible is reliable in all areas, including its account of the Ark (and the worldwide catastrophic Flood). A Christian doesn’t have to have a blind faith to believe that there really was an Ark. What the Bible says about the Ark can even be measured and tested today.

Dave Murray Blows

So to keep up the tradition of listing people who blow. A typical report from this guy is...

"We will have three waves of rain followed by lots of flooding, power outages, and then the ground will freeze, and when the third wave hits, we will really need to poop our pants, because we will have high winds!"

The rain amounted to nothing, no power out, and we don't care about the wind either.