Why bother?

If you had something to say in the dark days before the World-Wide Web, you had few choices:

1. an overturned, empty soap box on a street corner
2. a visit to a bar to get good and oiled before holding forth
3. self-published pamphlets with oddly-place Captial letters decrying Tyranny of the Publick

Now, of course, all you have to do is stay in your little Hive, tippity-type away, and click a few times. Ta-da! Now your words are in the public forum for the nations of earth to see. You can even skip the drunk part, though it may help some.

The thing is, once you got up on that box, or that barstool, you had to pay a small price - people got to talk back. They could shout you down, or leave, or disagree, or what have you. The web (WORLD-WIDE, lest we forget) is the same thing. Sure, you can close the comments and put up screeching hissy fits about not liking the replies, but that doesn't stop anything. Anyone can say what they like on their own space, and they can link back to you to show the original, just as a person's words can be quoted from a pamphlet. Heck, if you litter the park with your little missives, someone could even take it home and write a reply. You can tell them not to, I suppose, but if you didn't want people to have them, why did you print them?

This post from the ISB demonstrates a fine example of this silliness, WWW style, in the form of a comic blogger named James Meeley. He was quoted from time to time, in various places, for things he'd written on his brand-new blog. Five posts, total, it was, and he was getting links, which is a nice little intro. Many bloggers work a lot longer for little or no notice. But he didn't like that people linked him without his permission and went about complaining about it everywhere.

Here's the thing - on his front page, he had a Technorati link labelled "Links to This Blog." If you really don't want them, why advertise them?

I'd show you, but, well - see for yourself. The gentleman in question took his blog and went home - sort of funny, since that's where a blog usually comes from in the first place. I couldn't even find a cache image for you.

Kids wear the darndest things

It's not too hard to find products marketed for children that make the parents' stomachs clench.

Abercrombie and Fitch have had their well-known travails in this area; one could make a case that a lot of their clothes were at least marketed to teenagers with their own income, although marketing clothes with unclothed models is not a strategy that readily occurs to an average shopper.

Still, they're hardly the only ones, and any trip to a mall or a tourist souvenir shop will furnish one with anecdotes to last until crotchety old age. Yes, yes, then of course I don't have to dress my kids like that, who am I to judge, etc. etc. [/lileksvoice]

This happens to be good advice - so good, in fact, that I don't feel in the least uncomfortable about offering it back - you don't have to dress your kids like that either. Should I have a child I plan to keep this excellent advice. I'll not see her wearing such things as "bitch," "sexy," "naughty," or "hot stuff" across her pre-teen rumpus. And if he's a boy, neither will he be sporting t-shirts such as I saw on a recent trip to Sears:

1. "Now Hiring - Person to do my homework and house chores. Must also sit in detention for me. Dial 555-LAZY."
2. "Do you mind? I'm trying to ignore you."
3. "Warning - Kid Has Attitude. Stay back 50 feet."

Yup, all wholesome ideals any kid should aspire to.

No one has to dress a kid in this stuff, but we have to put up with that kid seeing them on his peers and wondering why he isn't enough of a delinquent to be cool like them. Those pressures are great enough without the implied approval of sloth and incivility. Kids have always had attitude - but it's a lot harder to grow out of it when the parents are buying shirts that support staying the way they are. Warning? We shouldn't have to be warned about them - they need to be warned to knock it off. (Then again, one of the other slogans was: "Go ahead and send me to my room, I've got pizza and video games!")

So, young fogey that I am, I'm pretty sure that dressing kids like this is a bad idea. Clothes like this undercut a parent's authority - it's like a note to disregard whatever they say about manners, hard work, or discipline. Will it turn them into degenerate junkies or Klan bikers or something? No, and I'm not staking out that kind of territory. The changes are subtle. You don't get a long time at all to establish sound habits of mind and body in a child. Letting that foundation crack early robs a child of strength that he will need later. A t-shirt is a laughing matter; a kid who blows off unpleasant tasks is more serious. The kid may do it anyway, but he ought to at least know better while he's doing it - he shouldn't feel proud of it, nor scoff at anyone who's trying to help him become an adult someday.

Appreciating Dean Martin Appreciation Day

Click here and start scrolling. When Sheila gets a hold of a topic, it takes off - I confess that I couldn't take time to read it all, but I bookmarked the hell out of everything and tonight I will have reading material for a solid two hours, at least. This is all great, great work.

Besides, if there's anyone we can appreciate, it's Dean Martin.

Didn't want to have to do it

I didn't want to touch this story, in any way. But I can't get away from it - much the same way the Isles can't get away from Rick DiPietro now. Ever.

Charles Wang's idea was simple - keep the #1 goalie happy and fix costs at the same time. So, every year until he turns forty, DiPietro will collect an identical $4.5 million from the Islanders. It sounds so good, and so deceptively simple, and it's all just wrong.

Part of this, of course, is that the Isles are already crippled by Alexei Yashin's $7.6 million per year - a number which may be justifiable if Yashin were the best forward in the entire league, instead of maybe the fourth best on his own mediocre team. It's Yashin's contract that is really killing the Isles. That $7.6 million means that they couldn't even consider a run for Patrik Elias, or a trade-and-re-sign of Marian Gaborik. It's why they couldn't retain Roman Hamrlik or Adrian Aucoin, their two best defensemen from 2003-04. It's why they will be hard-pressed to keep Trent Hunter, Denis Grebeshkov, or Jeff Tambellini if they develop into top-flight talent.

But back to DiPietro. I'm not quite of the Scott Burnside opinion (or the Allan Muir opinion) that this is a hugely stupid move; it's more that the Isles outsmarted themselves. DiPietro is currently not worth $4.5 million, and especially not when that number is about 10% of the NHL salary cap. He may be later, but that's where the true anti-genius of this bad contract comes into play. The contract is too long, and thus too inflexible. If DiPietro regresses this season (as he did following the long lockout) he'll be overpaid and untradeable. If he suddenly emerges as a Vezina candidate, then he becomes underpaid, and wondering whether or not it may be in his best interests to hold out for more, or force a renegotiation. Somebody is going to be unhappy about this, no matter what.

Of course, as a fan I hope that DiPietro outperforms the contract, and I have more confidence than Burnside that it can happen. (Burnside even refuses to acknowledge his one lonely playoff win, against Tampa Bay in the first-round washout in 2004.) DiPietro improved as the year went on, behind a worse team defensively - a team that, in the end, had only one of their top six defenders from the previous season still in the lineup (Radek Martinek, not exactly the second coming of Denis Potvin). Check the numbers - he faced only 24.7 shots per game in '03-'04, but 28.5 per game last year. His team scored slightly fewer goals per game in front of him as well (2.9 to 2.8), and with the increased emphasis on offense producing higher scores league-wide, any decline was likely to be a disaster even if DiPietro had played better.

But still - between this, and Yashin, and the GM circus, the franchise is turning into a Ringling Brothers sideshow, and that's not the way to attract top talent on or off the ice. It's no way to keep a fan base. It's almost like a Slapshot/Major League scheme to move the team someplace.

The Ten Best Animated Movies

...as written in semi-English by a Disney intern. (w/t to Cullen)

So – OK, thanks for playing, but no.

I’m going to give this a shot. My guidelines are: any animated film, including stop-animation such as Wallace and Gromit, but limited to what I’ve seen. I’m sure they’re wonderful, but I can’t list stuff like “Akira” and “Ghost in the Shell” based strictly on their reputation. Live action movies with animated sequences are ineligible – no Mary Poppins (which I love, btw), no Mr. Limpet, no Roger Rabbit (thank Heaven).* These are listed in no particular order:

The Incredibles – impeccably voiced, wonderful characters, and a terrific balance between drama, action, and humor. You really invest in the characters and care about what happens to them. It doesn’t hurt that Metroville is utterly gorgeous. The topper is the soundtrack, which is a perfect match to the movie.

The Iron Giant – this one flies under the radar a little bit. Hogarth’s joy in finding his very own six-story robot is infectious. You see him grow as a person as he begins to teach the Giant and works to outwit Agent Manley. Bonus points for a strong supporting cast and one of the finest moments in any movie I’ve ever seen. (You know the one. It’s getting misty in here.)

Spirited Away – if you’re not greedy, you will go far. This lovingly-rendered tale of generosity and compassion is my favorite of Miyazaki’s movies.*

The Adventures of Mark Twain – a bit of an unusual choice, as this marked a dark time for full-length stop-motion. The Claymation process was time-consuming and quite expensive for a feature film, so Will Vinton eventually returned to shorts and ads (the California Raisins are probably his most famous creation); he also branched out into different animation styles and formats, creating (among other things) the spokescandies for M&Ms. This is such a great-looking movie, and the set pieces of Twain’s works are wonderful, albeit oddly plotted.

(I picked this over “Chicken Run” for three reasons: this came first (1985), I’m a huge Twain fan, and despite enjoying “Chicken Run” I can’t for the life of me remember more than a couple of scenes. I realize that this goes against the 31 Movies lists I did. If I had to do it over, I’d go this way.)

The Nightmare Before Christmas – Tim Burton may hate to hear something like this, but for all the dark goth trappings, he’s really a sentimental guy at heart, and in a good way. This movie is a great example of the interior sentiment showing through the exterior.

Animalympics – really nothing more than an elaborate excuse for riffs on big-time sports and famous celebrity impersonations, but it’s done very well. (In one segment, Billy Crystal, as Howard Cosell and Muhammad Ali, essentially interviews himself – only Ali is a kangaroo.) They hit the nordic events, fencing, track and field, hockey, and basketball along the way. One of my absolute favorites when I was a boy.

Monsters, Inc. – I love all the Pixar films; at this point they could animate the want ads and I’d pay ten bucks to see it. If anyone wants to pick their other films, you get no argument here. I went with this one because of the Chuck Jones homage, the amazing animating work (especially on Sully), the cast, and because the last scene always hits me right where I live.

An American Tail – this movie has such heart it has to go over "The Secret of NIMH," even if that is technically the “better” picture. It also does a wonderful job of showing both the great promise of the American Dream and the great struggles immigrants actually have – it’s a more balanced look at the topic than most documentaries.

Dumbo – only 65 minutes long, and yet it gave us classic sequences: “Pink Elephants on Parade,” “When I See an Elephant Fly,” the disaster under the big top, and Dumbo’s visit to his mom; and such wonderful, vivid characters. When Dumbo finally takes off at the finish I'm so happy for him I always feel like I'm zooming around the big top with him. Lots of early Disney is great, but this stands out for me.

Lady and the Tramp – it was a toss-up between this and “Pinocchio.” I couldn’t really say why I went this way instead of the other, but I had to pick one. None of this “10-a and 10-b” stuff. Maybe it’s the great songs, and the idea of seeing the world from the dogs’ point of view; maybe it’s Jock and Trusty (one of the great friendships of animation)*, or the sequence in the zoo. Most likely it’s the idea of Tramp’s redemption, and the way the other characters are noble without being the snobs he assumes they are, and come to his aid at the end.

*Strictly speaking, this also means no Fantasia, which breaks my heart. It has long been a favorite of mine; my father took me to see this in a theatrical re-release, in the dark days before VHS, on the expectation that it would be the only time we could see it for years. Others I enjoyed but which couldn’t break into the top ten – Beauty and the Beast, Shrek (1 & 2), Rock and Rule, and Starchaser: the Legend of Orin, which is such a shameless Star Wars ripoff that it should have a surgeon general’s warning.

*Sometimes, I get grief from people who think I’m not a real fan of anime because I haven’t gone out to learn Japanese or rent all sorts of hyper-obscure shows and movies. Believe me, I know there’s more out there. I’m a casual enthusiast, if you will, but I don’t have to own a damned giant robot to be a “real fan,” and I certainly don’t have to register a certain grade on whatever test someone else hands out. If you want to enjoy being harder-core than me, knock yourself out; I’d rather enjoy the actual show.

*Now there’s an idea for some follow-ups: Great Friends of Animation, Best Heroes, Best Villains, etc. This blog will turn into nothing but running items if I’m not careful.

Musical Monday

Again, not really Monday, but there was a little something else going on that day. My inspiration is every story told me by friends with rampaging nephews.

Your story's sad to tell
A preschool ne'er-do-well
Most juvenile delinquent in the school
You're barely turning four now
You should have learned before now
No babysitter wants to be your fool

Nursery school dropout
No more arts and crafts for you
Nursery school dropout
Broke all the crayons and ate the glue
Well you could at least take potty breaks
Without all that complaining
After all the trouble your folks had
To get you toilet training!

Better get moving
Why throw a tantrum on the floor
What are you proving?
You're not a toddler anymore!
You have to learn to take your turn, it's better to play fair
Clean out your cubby hole and go back to day care

Nursery school dropout
Wiping your nose on teacher's shirt
Nursery school dropout
Playing with food and eating dirt
Well they try to teach the alphabet
But you laugh and rip the pages
And you pick on all your classmates
But at least they act their ages!

We can forgive it
If you just get yourself in line
Better get with it
It's almost kindergarten time
Your lips are curled, your bangs are twirled
But still your teachers stare
Wipe off that angel face and go back to day care

Baby, don't blow it
This misbehavior is a shame
Baby, you know it
Even Doc Dobson would say the same!
Now I've called your dad, quit being bad, you'd better toe the line
Or you'll be going into Time Out 'til bedtime

Nursery school dropout...
Go back to day care!
Nursery school dropout...
Go back to day care!

A tribute to Angela Houtz

update and bump - everyone's tributes are up, as far as I can tell. Also, ESPN.com's Kieran Darcy wrote his column today for his father, Dwight Darcy, who was killed in the attack.




This entry will remain on top for the next 36 hours. The regular Musical Monday will be pushed to Tuesday as a result.

This is the main page for the 2996 Project. Many of the Pantheon are also doing tributes. Please take the time to visit them; the link will take you to the direct post, or to the main page if the post isn't ready yet:

Michael J Pascuma at the Sheila Variations
Tom Burnett and Michael J Simon at It Comes In Pints?
Sylvia and John Resta at Coalition of the Swilling
Thomas W Kelly, FNDY at Trunk Full O Junk
Benito Valentine at Half a Pica
Jason Michael Cefalu at This Life
James M Roux at Grizzly Mama
Andrea Della Bella and others at A Wandering Confluence
And this general memorial from the Judge Report

On September 7, 2001, Angela Houtz joined her family in Ocean City, MD, to make holiday. She had turned 27 the previous day, but work had prevented her from arriving sooner. Angela worked as a senior analyst for the Office of Naval Intelligence. On her birthday she had still been aboard the USS DeWert; the next day she made her way back north from Florida and arrived in time for the celebration.

Her uncle, Sheriff Frederick Davis, was taking office as President of the Maryland Sheriff's Association that weekend, so there was a lot to celebrate. The family spent the weekend; at her birthday, Angela, as was traditional, wore the family Birthday Hat while she opened her gifts.

Come Monday, she was back at work at the Pentagon. Intelligent and dedicated, in nine short years she had progressed from salutatorian of Maurice McDonough High School, to an English degree from the University of Maryland-Baltimore County, to her civilian work in the Navy. Like thousands of others on the morning of Tuesday, September 11th, she was at work when the word came through: first one, and then the other of the towers of the World Trade Center had been struck with airliners.

At the Pentagon, everything changed. Angela joined a meeting in the C-ring with several officials, other analysts, and military officers. They were still there when American Airlines flight 77 skimmed across the lawn and into their wing of the building. She joined many others - financiers, insurers, staff, the cooks and busboys of Windows on the World, the airline crews, firefighters and police and military - suddenly killed while simply about their business; but her business consisted of understanding the nature of the attack and helping to organize a response. Angela Houtz was among the very first to fall in defense of the United States in the current conflict.

She received full honors: a military funeral, the Distinguished Civilian Award of Merit, and a letter of condolence from President Bush; more importantly, an outpouring of the great respect and love from everyone who had known her. In an article for VOA News, Commander David Radi spoke about this respect:

“It’s a bond that approaches a brother or sister and although Angie was a civilian, she was a shipmate to us. I was proud to call her that. The way she shined. I put her eventually in a position where we had never had a civilian. It was because the trust I had in her; but more importantly, the more senior people in the Navy had in her. She would stand a watch in the off hours in particular. She would be the eyes and ears of the Navy in our command center. And there could be no better forerunner for that in the civilian world of Naval Intelligence than Angela Houtz.”

The service took six hours. If that had been all that there was to the affair, it would certainly be enough, but her father, Robert Houtz, speaking to the Boothbay Register, told of more: "Angie had had two full-time jobs, one for humanity and one for her country."

Many remember her now for her life for the country, but those who love her remember her other life: an active young woman, working with her own church and the Salvation Army for homeless relief; a lover of puns, a tutor of children; a joy to her family and friends. She was equally at home taking classes in dance or organizing food drives. And her finest tribute comes directly from Mrs. Julie Shontere, her mother:

“Most important in her life, above all else, was her faith in God. ... She gave so much to us all. She continues to teach me through her journals and spirit. ... I feel blessed beyond words to have had the honor to be her mom.”

Cmdr. Radi made a point to mention her faith in connection with the position of trust she had earned among the Naval staff; even people who had barely known her were dearly touched by Angela. Amy Moffitt of Washington DC met Angela only twice, and said: “She lived really vividly in everything. She was very present, she was very alive. ... There was not a person she met who didn’t go, ‘Wow,’ that was awakened by her presence, because she was so awake, so alive, so there.” All of the quotes about Angela in the sources below reveal the same compassion and the same vitality.

It is just and right to remember and to memorialize the loss that so many shared that day; but it is incomplete unless we can also celebrate the lives that were left behind. Angela Houtz gave joy and dedication that long outlive the events of one September afternoon. Her service to country did not end at the doors of the Pentagon. It is an honor to be recogized at your funeral by a president for your work; it is also honor to be recognized on a concert line by a passing homeless man for your generosity and mercy. Many hunger after the one sort of honor, but the other can only be given to those who pour themselves out in service, who give cheerfully of whatever they have, be it time, money, toil, or just a smile for a sad friend.

In celebrating Angela's life, we celebrate a woman who knew that joy only grows when you give it away. The lasting image to recall is of her happy family, laughing and snapping pictures of Angela in the Birthday Hat, unwrapping gifts - it is of they that she would be thinking of, and it is altogether fitting to respect her wishes and think of them as well. Today is but the anniversary of one moment; the full life of Angela Houtz endures beyond it, and defeats it. That life is real and lasting, and it abides through the many people she loved to the full.

Her friends and family have established a scholarship fund in Angela's name; more information is here. The comments section is open for anyone else who has a story or a memory of Angela, or a link to a tribute not mentioned above.

My deepest thanks to Mrs. Julie Shontere, who was kind enough to provide much of the above information first-hand; and also to the following sources:

The Chicago Tribune, for this remembrance
The UMBC Alumni Newsletter, Summer 2002, for this profile
The Boothbay Register, October 4, 2001, for this article by Duey Graham
The VOA News, October 22, 2001, for this article by Betty van Etten
The Maryland State Archives
The Defend America Network
The September 11 Victim's Memorial

Virginia is for lovers

...not for spammers.

“Thus, the statute does not prevent anonymous speech, as appellant argues, but prohibits trespassing on private computer networks through intentional misrepresentation, an activity that merits no First Amendment protection,” [Judge James W] Haley wrote.

Hot diggity! Not that the appellant, Jeremy Jaynes (aka "Gavin Stubberfield"), isn't trying. His attorney argued that one needed to stay anonymous to "prevent retaliation" if sending mass e-mails:

“You purchase an e-mail address list, alter the transmission information in the header of your e-mail to avoid retaliation, and on Easter morning send out a three-word email to thousands of people: 'Christ is risen!' You have committed a felony in Virginia,” he said.

Clever trick, that, trying to equate penny stock adverts with evangelization - but you'll notice that, anonymous or not, nobody in fact spams people with "Christ is Risen!" messages. They know perfectly well that the rudeness of the method tends to undercut the wholesome message - even believers would be angry about it.

The amazing thing to me is that, for all its unpopularity, the spam thing was working for this guy. Prosecutors claimed that he was pulling in nine million bucks a year.

Tribute to Greatness

Amen.

And to Mrs. Conroy, fourth grade, 1981, BOCES program back on Long Island - thanks for being the first teacher who believed.

Hiding in plain view

You've heard of breakout stars, right? In any walk of life, it's easy to define - a previous unknown who suddenly leaps from obscurity to stardom; or else an undervalued supporting talent suddenly turning in the work of a lifetime. For example, Ewan McGregor was a breakout star thanks to Trainspotting; Windows was even a breakout once upon a time, with version 3.x (leading to the unendurable release hype for '95, '98, etc.).

It would be dumb, however, to call Ewan McGregor a breakout star for The Island, or to say that Windows is a hot new product just because XP doesn't crash every seventeen minutes. So why, then, does SI.com's Jon Heyman have a bunch of 30-year old ballplayers on his breakout star lists?

I'd say it's because he started with 25 and worked to fill the number, but I can't, since his preposterous NL list has 28 names. (He pulled the 7 A-D bit, the way Peter King does to stretch his "Ten Things" lists out to thirty or so.) But let's start in the AL, where one of his names is Jermaine Dye.

Dye is 32. He is having a great year for the White Sox, true; it's probably his best ever, but it's not exactly a thunderbolt from the blue. From 1999-2001 he averaged .299, 39 doubles, 29 hr, 114 rbi, and 98 runs a year. This led the Sox to eventually acquire him, and he has repaid them:

2004 - .265, 23 hr, 80 bi
2005 - .274, 31 hr, 86 bi and the World Series MVP.

This is hardly an under-the-radar guy; neither can this be a surprise since Heyman says "It's not like the World Series MVP was obscure going into the season." And while I do note that he's well above his career marks, he's been well above them before, most notably as an All-Star with the Royals in 2000. (Yes, he hit that well in Kansas City.)

On to the NL, where his breakout list includes three guys who, as of this moment, average 33 years old and over 1230 games of Major League service.

The first questionable guy from Heyman's list is Jose Valentin - surprising, yes, but a 36 year old really can't have a breakout, can he? Resurgence is the better word, I think. The first surge is five consecutive years of 25 or more homers for the White Sox - all the way back at the beginning of this century, 2000-2004.* Huh, looks a lot more like 2005 was an aberration.

Second guy is another Met, Carlos Beltran. This is just bananas. Let's see, he's driven in 100+ runs in six of his nine seasons, was a highly-prized free agent two years ago, and in 1999 he was only the American League Rookie of the Year (.293 avg, 22 hr, 108 rbi, 27 sb in KC.**). Sure, really un-noticed fellow there.***

The third guy is a little-heard-of former Yankee who led the whole American League in extra-base hits, stolen bases, and runs scored in 2002; a guy toiling in anonymity in the past five seasons (average numbers: .282 avg, 32 hr, 92 rbi, 100 runs, 33 steals), some left-fielder named Alfonso Soriano.

Soriano and Beltran have combined for 8 All-Star games in 17 years, by the way. "Breakout" is apparently a term lost on the vast numbers of fans who vote for players. (You're supposed to be keeping these guys secret!) And Heyman isn't exactly hitting the non-player stuff hard, either -

In today's stadiums, which run from a half-billion dollars on up, why do they still use chain-link fences in some parks, like Philadelphia and Houston? Since the only apparent reason for the chain-link fences is to allow players in the bullpen to watch the game, they should use plexiglass. Until then, more outfielders are going to get hurt. Aaron Rowand and Carlos Beltran already have.

Follow that. In order to prevent injuries, ballparks ought to replace a relatively-soft surface with a thick, ungiving surface, commonly used to contain the heavy, frequent high-speed collisions of hockey players and wayward, 90+ mph pucks. Does anyone think that Rowand would have been happier to face-plant a plexiglass panel rather than chain-link? He may never have played again.

It seems to be catching, since the usually-reliable Frank Deford spent today's column complaining about hitters taking too many pitches. It's ruining the game, he says. You know, because all those batters waiting for a good pitch and putting it into play makes it slow and boring. Too many foul balls, he says.

Well, if you were constantly facing new pitchers, you'd be wise to take a few to see what kind of stuff he has, right? And there's no real solution, anyway, to patient batting. Throw more first strikes, force them to be aggressive earlier in the counts - in other words, force them to foul off more pitches. Nor is it merely a matter of blaming stronger hitters, since pitchers are stronger too. "Whippier bats," heh.

To leave you with something less negative, here's an article I found that investigates the drop in the complete game and apparent rise in pitches per game per team (difficult to quantify since pitch counts weren't compiled until recently). It's very interesting stuff.

* I'm aware the new century didn't start until 1/1/2001, but his string encompasses that date, so my statement is correct.
** KC had him, Dye, and Mike Sweeney all smacking the ball around at the same time, and still managed to screw it up. Yikes.
*** Odd trivia: Beltran and Valentin were both born in Manati, Puerto Rico. Nifty little confluence there.

Oh, OK

If Emily won't wait until Friday, then neither will I.

Yesterday at lunchtime, WCBS-NY spent four full minutes of their midday news broadcast on Katie Couric's impending first broadcast as the evening news anchor. Luckily I was still cooking my soup, or I would have hurled.

It's bad times when you mistake your news team for the actual news. Since the term for a better job is "promotion," that's what you should be doing - in ads, which is where such things belong. It's bush league to interview your own anchor and run excerpts on your news program. In a city of eight million people, you couldn't find any plucky animal rescues or community activists making a difference?

It's been a many a long, cold, lonely day since Ed Murrow and Walt Cronkite sat in that chair. Since then we got three new broadcast networks, several 24/7 news stations on cable, that Internet thing your boy Algore invented, and about 1.21 jigablogs. Nobody cares.

Thank you, and good night.

Muscial Wednes Mon day

...wherein I combine my need to post with my need to do some housekeeping.

Oh, the wash will come out tomorrow
Bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow
There'll be suds
Just washing my clothes tomorrow
Pouring laundry soap and fabric soft'ner
On my duds
Tomorrow, tomorrow, I'll launder tomorrow
'cause all of my whites are grey

...

It's a drip-dry life for us,
It's a drip-dry life for us
Only wear this in a pinch
'Cause the hems must be re-stitched
It's a drip-dry life!

...

Some gals are sleeping in satin,
Some gals are sleeping in silk -
Lucky me, lucky me, what am I sleeping in?
Flannel twill!

...

And while all that is going on, I should have a couple of more things to say - though the Katie Couric bit ought to wait until Friday...

A roundup

...First - my apologies to the Swillers. I bollixed a link to a Futurama quote, accidentally chaining directly to a sound file instead of the page in question. (Such things are usually frowned upon for good reason.) I put "warning, links to sound" because when you get to the page and THEN click, you hear what I was referring to.

Long story short, I should have previewed, because then I would have been able to test the link and correct my error, rather than get an angry "You're not allowed to do this, we're telling on you" message. I don't want to get anyone in trouble. PLEASE scrap the original link!

...in college, if you had a holiday your class schedule would be rearranged - Tuesday would turn into Thursday, for example - and so, I've decided to use that as flimsy cover to run Musical Monday tomorrow. Next week I'll get back on track.

...one side effect of a lot of physical activity is the sudden exposure of all one's shortcomings. My wind is OK, but I'm getting a little doughy, and criminy was I ever sore the next day. I'm open to a little advice on the topic. (Step one: no more hubcap-sized bagels.)

Undistinguished weeked

Well, we went 0-3 in the Lancaster tournament. Got shutout in the last game. Quite depressing, especially since we've won twice out here. None of us seemed really in synch. We had a great second period in the first game, and a great first period in the last game, and that's just not enough. These teams were pretty stacked.

The funny thing is, one of the other teams from our house league sent a squad out here, and there were a couple of guys who used to live in Jersey who were also on other teams. I saw more people from Inman Ave than I do on a typical league night at Inman Ave.

Next tournament is November; league should start up in a couple of weeks, which is very good news. I need the practice.

Enough already

I've had it.

In the days before the Hive was running, I was living a few towns over, submitting to the indignities of boarding house life in order to pay down old debts. The landlord was entirely disinterested in his obligations to the tenants. This became a huge problem once Crazy Guy came to stay.

When I first mentioned Crazy Guy to my friends, they laughed, taking some of my stories for comic exagerration. He could consume prodigious amounts of food and drink, and under their influence became moody and irrational. He was also 350 pounds, which made crossing him a hazardous proposition. So when he ate our food as well as his own, I broke out the old dorm cube (still good!) and set up there, and converted a bookshelf or two into a mini-pantry.

Things got worse, however, and reached the point where I finally had to call the cops on him. (The upstairs guys just loved coming home to see the bubbletops in our driveway.) So began a bizarre saga of drunken and erratic behavior, punctuated by sudden bouts of remorse from Crazy Guy - which were, if anything, worse. He would get overhelpful. For example, since he'd eaten all our stuff, he'd make up for it by cooking us all of his - all at once. "Here, guys, I made fourteen entrees for you, come on and help yourself!" This was after we'd all eaten at the diner after work because we didn't have any food at home. (My friends were no longer laughing at this point.)

The big blowout was a near-assault on one of the upstairs guys, followed by my coming home after a late hockey game to discover my room broken into and tons of stuff emptied out, seemingly with no further plan than to sort it out later. CD's, computer supplies (but not the computer, thankfully), even my clothes, as if C.G. had a prayer of fitting into any of my shirts). Worst, he took three blank checks, requiring me to switch banks.

Though I got most of the stuff back, it was the last straw. I left. Understand that I was and still remain a normal, working-class bug. I like meals with friends, sports (and especially the Lord's Own hockey), a good movie, and long loud conversations - but I'm more at home with a book, or a blog, or a chess game. I write, and to do that well, I prefer a certain lack of distractions. When I go on vacation I don't go to see five attractions, three shows, and a guided tour. In psych terms I'm an introvert, recharging my mental batteries in private as compared to an extrovert, who feeds off crowds and fun and the-more-the-merrier. I do well enough at that, but it empties me out.

So, for my next situation I took time to find a spot that would afford me some quiet, and the landlord at my current place assured me that this was the case; he lived on the first floor himself so none of that went on here. But now, I rather long for the days when I never clapped eyes on the landlord.

This, apparently, is what two years of "none of that" looks like:

> my food's been eaten, once by another tenant (again) and once by a guest of the landlord;
> the LL has kicked out three other tenants, twice in scenes that can only be called disgraceful;
> he's currently in the process of quarelling with a fourth tenant;
> the police have made three visits to the building;
> I've been nickel-and-dimed over household chores, storage space, and every last erg and drop of water I consume.

Case in point - even though we pay utilities separately, he won't run the heat all the time because he doesn't like to pay even his share of it, so it's two-hour cycles maximum. And, since I can't do that during the night, the heat stays off. Folks, my room regularly dipped below 50 degrees by morning in winter, until I got a space heater. Guess what - he surcharges for its use. (Because it's only heating my room and not everyone else's, it's unfair to split the cost of the power to run it. We have to clock the time such devices are in operation.) This is, shall we say, not exactly the soothing home environment I hoped for.

Last night was IT. The landlord has a point about some of the things this fourth guy does, though I've personally never argued with the guy - but it's a little extreme to try to have him forcibly committed to a psych ward at 1:30 am. The police came, questions were asked; I couldn't say much, because I try not to be home, even after work is over. (Why should I hang out there more than absolutely necessary?) Neither do I appreciate, after they have left, being called on my phone by the LL (who is two rooms away) to be scolded for "not backing me up," even though I answered all the questions truthfully. Nor do I really like to wake up to an argument outside my door between the two, in which the LL uses phrases such as:

You're evil
You're a dirty pig
You're not even human
Everything you say is a lie

...spiced with enough f-bombs to embarrass Quentin Tarantino.

This wangs chung, kids. I'd rather live in the Discount Chariot.

Living the meme

Something remarkably similar to this meme kicked off the Musical Monday series here in the Hive. Since this one is much shorter I can kick it out during lunch break. If any of the answers are different than ones you've seen before, remember that I'm full of MSG and Snapple right now. Also, I'm going to try to give additional correct answers and not just crib myself.

Four songs that you could listen to over and over:
> "Classical Gas," Mason Williams
> "Archie's Theme," the Anderson Council. This is a great, fun song. If I ever get that talk show, they are going to be the very first musical guests.
> "Sign in Stranger," Steely Dan (Sorry Sharon.)
> Anything Seatbelts

Four songs that drive you up the friggin' wall:
> "In the Year 2525," Zager and Evans. I think they thought they were going to be "just like those Nights in White Satin guys," but it just sucks.
> "In the Air Tonight," Phil Collins. Mostly from overuse in sporting events. For fun, I once decided to start singing the lyrics to the tune of "Kashmir." It worked pretty well, actually.
> "To All the Girls I've Loved Before," Willie Nelson and Julio Iglesias - You Were Always on My Mind has already been amply covered, so I decided to go with option number two from the Tax-Dodgin' Cowpoke.

> "Wildfire," Michael Murphy whatshisface - let's recap, here: this is a nice song about a girl and her horsie, and girls love horsies! Except that the second verse starts thus:
They say she died one winter
When there came a killing frost

Uh - er - say again?
And the pony she named Wildfire
Busted DOOOOOWWWWWN his stall
In a blizzard he was lost

And if that's not enough, the third verse ends like this:
They're coming for MEEEEEE, I know
And on Wildfire we're both gonna go...

So, to recap - happy song about girl and horsie in which everyone dies and the narrator is possessed and carried off by the vengeful spirit of the departed, perhaps to drive the devil's herd in other, better songs... all in three and a half minutes.

What the flippin' hell?!?

> Bonus - anything by Michael Bolton (thanks for the reminder, Tracey). He sucks so bad that his own perm tried to kill him on stage in front of 12,000 horrified Rotarian's Auxiliaries - the real reason he now wears his hair so short.

Four songs that you're embarrassed (or should be) to admit you like:
> "Veteran Cosmic Rocker," the Moody Blues - it's on the Long Distance Voyager album, if you must know.
> "Focus," Hocus Pocus - it's a bitching instrumental until the lead singer decides to start yodeling. You read that right. I almost hit a telephone pole with my car the first time I heard it. AND during the bridge he starts scatting, only in a Popeye voice. The whole thing is utterly ridiculous and fantastic.
> "Can't Smile Without You," Barry Manilow - just because the lyrics are at total variance with the music. The guy's supposedly miserable but the song is relentlessly cheery, from the opening whistle, building up to the happy group singalong at the end. Everyone claps along.
> "99 Luftaballon," Nina (or Lena or something) - it's the end of the world, let's go clubbing! Bonus points: listen close enough to the lyrics, and it's obvious that the narrator herself started the whole thing - it's her 99 ballons that people are shooting at. (And you're not supposed to just let balloons float off anyway, since they choke whales and seagulls and crap like that. This chick is just evil.)

Four best driving songs:
> "Radar Love," Golden Earring
> "Ride on Shooting Star," the Pillows - even in Japanese this song kicks. I just sing English lyrics I made up.
> "Summer in the City," Lovin' Spoonful
> "Right Back Where We Started From," Maxine Nightingale - I can't hear this song without seeing the Johnstown Chiefs team bus pulling out onto the road.

Four songs that make you cry:
> "Blue," Seatbelts
> "If," David Gates & Bread - I explained it before. Even talking about it kinda makes the room go a little dusty.
> "Three is a Magic Number," Bob Dorough - a man and a woman had a little baby... and Nightfly got the sniffles.
> "Cat's in the Cradle," Harry Chapin - a lot like "If" in that, besides being tough in and of itself, it also has a lot of personal effect on me.

Four best risqué songs:
> "Good Golly Miss Molly," Little Richard - holy cats.
> "Mickey," Tony Basil - they really didn't need the whole cheerleader routine video.
> "Let's Get it On," Marvin Gaye - it's a little subtler than the obvious choice.
> "Cruisin'," Smokey Robinson - if you can't score to this song, just give up. Turn in your man card and excuse yourself. A eunuch could score to this song.

Four best kid songs:
> Schoolhouse Rock in general, but to pick a few examples - Lolly Lolly Lolly, Conjunction Junction, I'm Just a Bill, Ready or Not (five ten fifteen twenty!...)
> "Where is My Hairbrush?" the VeggieTales - I was so happy to see this pop up in the comments! (Thanks Shannon!)
> "Cats on Mars," Seatbelts - it's bubbly and cute, and you don't need actual words - but again, I decided to provide them.
> "Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious," Mary Poppins - the biggest word you've ever heard, and I spelled it from memory. (Quite precocious.)

Four songs (hell, pick your own category and fill it in):
My category is Great Gag Songs:
> "The Bureaucrat Song," Futurama - they don't get as much credit as the Simpsons but they come up big in a big situation.
> "The Amendment Song," the Simpsons - they got Jack Sheldon to "reprise" his role for this spot-on parody of "I'm Just a Bill."
> "Beverly Hillbillies," Weird Al Yankovic - he had to show up somewhere here. Others may prefer "Yoda," but when you get Mark Knopfler to duplicate his Money for Nothing guitar solo and sing lines like "That little Clampett got his own cement pond; That little Clampett, he's a millionaire!" you get my vote.
> "Blame Canada," South Park - for itself and as representative for all the fantastic work they do.

I may have annoyed some people by leaving out Family Guy, since they do a lot of musical gags, but these just seem best to me. The meme's in your court, friends...

Movie Tuesday

I don't think that this will be a regular feature - I was just thinking about Great Bad Movies, and have just recently re-seen one that should go onto the list.

Let's just take a moment to recall the groundrules - all categories are 5 points max except for the ten-point X-factor:

1. inane concept
2. ridiculous twists (either plot or character)
3. the Excuse Factor - in other words, was the whole project a thinly-veiled excuse to smuggle in lots of nudity/explosions/special effects?
4. good actors slumming or not yet discovered
5. cheesy music
6. clichéd dialogue/too much exposition
7. unintentional comedy
8. the X-factor: a catchall based on the timing of the movie, becoming a cultural phenomenon, and other less-defined criteria.

And with that, here's the movie - The Transformers.

Lordie, but did this ever fail to hold up. Let's take it point-by-point.

1. I can think of nothing better than the description offered by Orson Welles on the IMDB trivia page: "a big toy that attacks a bunch of smaller toys." In other words, a 90-minute commercial. Considering that the animation is no better than the actual TV show, it's not well-hidden, either. 4

2. Actually, not too many twists, except for the utter stupidity of all the characters concerned. Case in point - the very opening scene is the revered leader of the Autobots, Optimus Prime, issuing mission orders and casually dropping classified intel in a room with a huge window that any old spy could just look into while flying past. (More on this later.) This room is located on a moon orbiting the Decepticons' current home, so it's not like they should have been, you know, on their guard or anything. And hey, he's also a great tactician. He realizes he doesn't have the power reserves to launch an attack on the Decepticons, but apparently he has more than enough to load half of his forces into a freakin' shuttle and send them wandering to Earth - in the exact opposite direction (and thousands of light-years further off) from the bad guys who want to kill them. Luckily, the equally-great tactician Megatron decides to launch his own attack on THOSE GUYS instead of the now almost-defenseless base that's RIGHT IN HIS BACK YARD. This requires Optimus to launch ANOTHER SHUTTLE with everyone else in it all the way to Earth to rescue them, even though THEY'RE ALL DEAD. Not bad for a group of sentient robots WITH COMPUTERS (and power supply problems). 3

3. Being an animated movie about robots, special effects and nudity are nil, but we get to see a lot of stuff blow up, including the characters. Minus one point because it wasn't really that well-animated. 2

4. This is where we start making hay. Both Orson Welles and Scatman Crothers had their final movie credit on this film. We also have Judd Nelson (fresh off Breakfast Club and St Elmo's Fire) shooting his career in the foot, and Leonard Nimoy and Robert Stack. But the capper is the fellow who (believe it!) got top billing on the opening credits. If you want to guess who, here he is in spoiler-vision: Eric Idle. Best of all, none of them are mailing it in. 5

5. Oh my, yes. A synthematic craptacular from the same fellow who brought us Rocky IV's soundtrack, sprinkled with pointless big hair rock numbers. Bonus point - the Scotti Brothers owned the soundtrack rights, which means an appearance from their big artist, Weird Al Yankovic. 5

6. It's a cartoon, so clichéd dialogue is a must. Read the quotes, though, and it becomes obvious that this movie reads a lot better than it sounds. Nimoy's bad guy, Galvatron, has a couple of solid putdowns, and Stack manages a hell of a lot of diginity for a guy whose voice is coming from a cartoon robot truck. 4

7. It's a great segue, since a lot of the dialogue adds to the comedy. Case in point:
Megatron: "It's over, Prime..."
Optimus: "NEVER!"
Upon which Optimus (genius, great tactician, revered leader, etc), who has spent the last five minutes getting holes shot in him, gives Megatron the two-handed Kirk Hammer, sending him plummeting a hundred feet. Covering a guy with a ray gun doesn't count for much in the future (which, in this case, is 2005). This must explain why everyone forgets that they have them, choosing to grapple or punch instead. This includes Galvatron trying to choke Hot Rod to death.

Speaking of which - they use the song "Dare to Be Stupid" and fail to see the irony. Worse, it's the background for a ridiculous sequence which starts as a chase scene/fight and ends up with all the characters happy-dancing together like freakin' Ewoks.

We also have the sum total of two humans in the entire movie, and they're both hugely useless - except that the older of them drops a four-letter word just before the planet-eating planet (heheheheh) eats them. EXCEPT that he's not really eaten, and his hugely useless son gets to save his life, but only after a six-second long cliffhanger. (Really. That's it, six seconds. I timed it.) But that's nothing compared to Ultra Magnus (Stack's character) getting blown into hunks, only to be put back together with no ill effects. Yup - everyone else who's been shot up actually dies, but U.M. gets "misbemembered" and lives on. *

And, I hate to revisit this in a cartoon movie, but I went mad about twenty minutes ago, so here it is: in the first five minutes, we see Optimus Prime, GGTRL having his secret plans secretly overheard in what we've just been told is "a secret base." To do this, Lazerbeak uses a camera on him - the only Autobot who actually has NO MOUTH.

One may as well lip-read a Muppet. But then again, when we see the playback at Megatron's headquarters, we HEAR everything that's said, even though Lazerbeak was sitting in the cold vacuum of space. We also see the shuttle launch - so how does Megatron's strike force catch up to them? We never see them take a shuttle of their own, they just show up and blow a hole in the side of the shuttle. This, incidentally, is the very first warning of trouble on board the shuttle - the actual hole the bad guys make in the shuttle flown by sentient robots using computers.

Nimoy's character says it best, actually: "This is bad comedy." 4

8. This is big, because, again, characters die. OK - robot characters, granted, but still characters who were pretty real to a lot of kids. I was a little too old to feel it the way I did when Obi-Wan took the fall, but Prime buys it, as do most of the forces under his genius tactical revered leadership. This was big in the world of GI Joe and the A-Team, where you'd see a plane consumed by a huge explosion, which faded to reveal a guy in a parachute floating gently to Earth. These were actual consequences. 7

Your final score - 34 of 45, a pretty decent count. Transform, and roll out!

*Thanks to Ken for the term, and the Opie Research Group for the picture. I don't know where they snitched it from, exactly...

Unsurprise

Watching the replay of today's Mets/Phillies game - bottom third inning, Mets already up 3-0 with runners on the corners. David Wright yanks a Jamie Moyer pitch down the line, where it takes a squib bounce and shoots into foul territory.

Randy Marsh immediately calls it foul, and the Mets hassle him for a bit. Finally, Marsh starts to walk away from the line to hobnob with the crew. And immediately, the home ump looks horribly familiar.

Yup - our man Angel Hernandez; and as the saying goes, "Wackiness ensues." The ruling becomes "fair ball," but here's the kicker: Wright is awarded first base, not second.

The rulebook is silent on such a thing, except to note that all runners (including the batter) are awarded two bases for a fair ball going into the stands; this ball never actually left the field of play, but I can't think of any reason to call it a ground-rule single - it seems most logical to call it either a foul, or a double, to keep consistent with other rules.

PS - Pat the Bat strikes again in the top of the fourth. This is ridiculous. If he played with Chipper Jones the Mets would have to switch leagues.

Wow

ESPN just reported that the Oakland Raiders have signed Jeff George to a contract. The real punchline is that he may just be better than any other QB on the roster.

And just think, they could have drafted Matt Leinert OR Jay Cutler. Heheheheheh.

Musical Monday - album review

Today’s Musical Monday is an album review – “The Fall Parade,” by the Anderson Council.


The Fall Parade is the Anderson Council’s first full album, or their second, or their fourth overall release, depending on who’s doing the counting. They say “two,” so we’ll go with that; but “Coloursound” is out of print so if you want to start your collection, this is the place, and it’s a good place to begin.

With the first track, “Beautiful,” two things stand out at once – the retro sound (think 60’s pop crossed with a little new wave) and the working-class English inflection to Peter Horvath’s vocals. The band claims that the songs just sound better that way – they’re actually from New Jersey: Horvath (lead vocals, guitars, and keyboard), Jimmy Charles (guitars and keyboard), Robert Farrell (bass), and Joe Chyb (drums). Given the style of the music they may have a point, though the Anglicized spellings may strike you as a little affected, and a whole album’s worth of twanging gives moments where you wish they’d sing it straight.

That feeling comes and goes, however. What stands out after repeat listening is that the Anderson Council has a taste for a good hook: the circular guitar lines on “Partridge,” the excellent backup vocals and harmonies, and the trumpet on “Pretty People” (handled by guest musician Spiff Wiegand). Even the handclaps in “Meghan Allison” are spot-on. It’s also fun to trace the influences in the sound, even when the lyrics aren’t dropping obvious nods such as in “Pinkerton’s Assorted Colours” and “What Do You Know.” For example, the opening of “Mind Elevator” carries a whiff of the Stones, and the harmonies on “Partridge” make it sound like a lost Joe Jackson song.

Highlights are everywhere. “Meghan Allison,” “Archie’s Theme,” “Pinkerton,” and “Strawberry Smell” are great, bouncy pop songs, and the band just sounds like they had fun laying down the tracks – they don’t suffer from overproduction or excessive sweetening. You also get a sense of depth in the sound without it being overly intricate. The only real disappointment if you’re a fan is the absence of “Night and Day,” an excellent song from “the Debt EP” that didn’t get into the lineup. (Next time, guys.) There are only a few moments (such as “Partridge”) where they demonstrate a slower sound, so hopefully there will be some of that variety in the next.

*** (of four)