April 23, 2008
Don't Panic
The wise words of Douglas Adams are always worth keeping in mind, but especially so now, because the entire MediaJunkie family of blogs—which includes The Philter—will soon be going offline for a server upgrade. The outage will begin pretty much any time now and last for about a week. I know that many of you can’t begin your day without my invaluable guidance, but one of these mornings you’re going to wake up and find this site gone. When that happens, you’ll want to throw yourself off the roof of the nearest tall building, but please, I beg you, don’t. Just take a deep breath and remind yourself that this, too, shall pass. I’ll see you again in the brighter and bigger world of next week.
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April 21, 2008
Word of the day
I just randomly came across this word in the dictionary (Webster’s New World College Dictionary, Fourth Edition). I swear I am not making this up.
pinchcock: a clamp used on a flexible tube to control the flow of fluid through it
In a word: ouch.
Posted by bill at 11:50 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
April 18, 2008
Also, Your Holiness's ride is totally bitchin'
While we’re at it, can anyone tell me why they appear to be standing in front of a Confederate flag?
I really thought I was over being amazed at what a doofus our Commander-in-Chief is. I mean, it’s old news, right? But every once in a while, I see something that gets me shaking my head all over again.
For instance, a couple days ago, Pope Benedict was giving a speech at the White House. Not necessarily my favorite person, the Pope; but still, this is a very important figure on the world stage, the spiritual leader of hundreds of millions of people. When the speech is over, George W. walks up to him, and here’s what our beloved leader has to say: “Thank you, Your Holiness. Awesome speech.”
Awesome speech. I…ugh. Never mind. It’ll all be over with soon enough.
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April 13, 2008
Talking at cross-purposes
Overheard at Trader Joe’s:
Dad to approximately four-year-old son: We need to get some bananas. Want to help me pick out some bananas?
Boy: I’m an apatosaurus.
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April 9, 2008
And now for something completely...
According to news reports, John Cleese has offered to write jokes for Barack Obama if (when) he becomes the Democratic nominee for president.
Monty Python legend John Cleese is to offer his services as a speechwriter to Barack Obama if he wins the Democratic nomination to become US president, he told a British newspaper out Tuesday. The British comedian, who lives in California, told the Western Daily Press regional paper that his jokes could help the Illinois senator get into the White House.
Call me cynical, but it doesn’t take a genius to see this for what it really is: a shameless, transparent ploy for an appointment to head the Ministry of Silly Walks in an Obama administration.
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March 20, 2008
Another winter bites the dust
So, yes, here we are. The first day of spring, finally, no thanks to the goddamn groundhog. Also Purim and the first day of March Madness. I am reminded of the old rhyme:
The spring has sprung The grass has riz I wonder where The flowers is?
Although, actually, I know exactly where the flowers is: all over the back yard, thanks to the diligent Leila, who has also somehow found the time to take up blogging. Want to read some amusing anecdotes about Dear Abby, road signs, anxiety, and cheese? Then click here.
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March 3, 2008
Rock Star + Hell's Angels + Assassination Plot + Time = Slapstick
Getting a lot of play today is a report, via the BBC, that the Hell’s Angels plotted to kill Mick Jagger in 1969, I guess as revenge for his bad-mouthing them over Altamont. The relevant passage goes as follows:
Gang members hatched a plan to kill Jagger at his holiday home in Long Island, New York, the BBC claimed.
“The Hells Angels were so angered by Jagger’s treatment of them that they decided to kill him,” Tom Mangold, the presenter of the program, was quoted as telling Britain’s Sunday Telegraph newspaper.
He said the plan was disclosed during an interview with Mark Young, a former FBI officer, for the BBC’s “The FBI at 100” documentary.
Mangold said the men tried to reach Jagger by sea. “The boat was hit by a storm and all of the men were thrown overboard,” he was quoted as saying. They all survived but made no other attempt on his life, Mangold said.
As several comments I’ve read online have already noted, there’s a lovely slapstick element to this. Just picture a group of Angels, loaded to the gills on beer and speed, rowing a dinghy across Long Island Sound on their way to snuff Jagger. The boat springs a leak and a bearded 6-foot-5 biker named “Tiny” jams his thumb in the hole while dandling his old lady on his knee and chugging Jack Daniels with the other hand. But when the wind whips up they’re swamped by a wave and tossed into the surf, where they struggle and sputter for air, comically out of their element in full-dress leather. Were I an animator, I would make this into a short cartoon for your amusement. Instead, I’m going to have to ask you to close your eyes and imagine it for yourself. You may want to add Hunter Thompson looking on coolly from a nearby cigarette boat, as Jerry Garcia and Ken Kesey giggle hysterically on the deck of a Mississippi paddleboat painted psychedelic purple and green. Suddenly the Beatles surface in their yellow submarine, mercifully pull the Angels from the drink, and are gone again as quickly as they came. The last shot is of Yoko, clad in Nazi regalia á la The Rutles, swimming for shore with a knife clenched in her teeth. Or you can picture it however you want; it’s your head, after all.
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February 11, 2008
A Santa Cruz Moment
Spent some time in Santa Cruz this weekend. This is a place that’s near and dear to my heart because of the many fond memories, but it wasn’t quite the same this time. The afternoon was pleasant, featuring a lovely brunch and a nice beach interlude. Once it started to get cold, we made our way back to town and sat in a cafe to read as the sun went down. But as the daylight disappeared all the town’s charm seemed to go with it, replaced by loud, crazy-sounding voices and a vague sense of weirdness closing in. A mysterious figure dressed in orange from head to toe, including an orange surgical mask covering everything but his eyes, did a slow pimp-walk up and down Pacific Ave. The guy at the table next to us had started declaiming loudly about his penis, so it seemed like time to go. Out on the curb stood a friendly-looking fellow with a cup full of something, making an inquiry to every person who passed. It sounded like he was saying “Weed?”, which seemed very Santa Cruz, and whenever someone stopped he would hand them a bit of what was in his cup. On the way out of the cafe, we decided to stroll by just to see what would happen. Upon closer listening, though, what he was actually saying was “Bead?” and what he wanted to give us was not even a bead, but some small piece of plastic. We politely declined and headed for home.
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January 5, 2008
Question
You hear people talk about posterity all the time. What they’re gonna leave behind for posterity, how posterity will see them, etc. etc. How come you never hear anyone talk about anteriority? What are they, chopped liver?
Posted by bill at 12:29 AM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
January 4, 2008
Page 2
The front page news today was all about the weather—which still, after all these years, no one does anything about—and Iowa, where Democrats voted (sorry, “caucused”) for an African-American and Republicans voted (sorry, “caucused”) for a theocracy. On days like this I am drawn to page 2, where the odd and interesting items congregate. Today was particularly juicy:
• At Gettysburg Hospital in Pennsylvania, the same couple, Kyle and Becky Armstong, had the first baby born in the new year for the second year in a row. I can’t help but picture them sitting in bed with a stopwatch on March 31st, waiting for midnight before going at it like wild animals.
• In New York, a window washer who fell 47 stories is recovering surprisingly well, considering that “Both legs and his right arm and wrist wrist were broken in several places,” “He had severe injuries to his chest, his abdomen and his spinal column,” and “His brain was bleeding.” Bystanders were amazed when, shortly after hitting the pavement, the man told paramedics it was “only a flesh wound.”
• In Houma, Louisiana, police were called to calm a dispute between two, um, big eaters and an all-you-can-eat seafood restaurant. Apparently the two men became irate when they were charged extra for eating too much. The great quote from this story: “I was stunned, that somebody would say something like that. I ain’t that fat. I only weigh 277.”
• And the piece de resistance: In northern India, the government was criticized for proposing a program that would pay unemployed youths to sterilize monkeys. It seems that both unemployment and monkey overpopulation are big problems in that part of the world. According the the AP story, “In recent months, the deputy mayor of New Delhi was killed when he fell from his balcony during an attack by wild monkeys, and 25 others were hurt when a monkey rampaged in the city.”
I’ll say that again, in case you missed it: “The deputy mayor of New Delhi was killed when he fell from his balcony during an attack by wild monkeys.” There’s gotta be a story there, and maybe I’ll look that up later.
Anyway, it seems the state government of Himachal Pradesh came up with the idea of killing two birds with one stone by recruiting local youth into some kind of monkey-gelding army. This is to be done with “laser sterilization,” say officials, not with scissors. And doesn’t that sound marvelously entertaining, a bunch of kids with lasers chasing monkeys around the countryside? I mean, that’s got “animated movie” written all over it. What will it be called? Wll, duh: “Shock the Monkey.”
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January 3, 2008
What Doug wants
I have accidentally discovered an amusing new time-waster that will probably now sweep cubicles across the nation. Over the holiday I was on Amazon looking for my youngest stepbrother's wish list. When I typed in his name I got 11 results which I then had to sift through to figure out which one was him. It turned out none of them were, but in the meantime I got some fascinating insight into the desires of 11 random guys named Doug. (The last name will not be given here.)
For instance, Doug #1 wanted:
• The Cash Nexus: Money and Power in the Modern World, 1700-2000
• Empire: The Rise and Demise of the British World Order and the Lessons for Global Power
• Rutherford B. Hayes: Citizen, Soldier, President
• Biohazard: The Chilling True Story of the Largest Covert Biological Weapons Program in the World--Told from Inside by the Man Who Ran It
Clearly, a possible future despot.
Doug #5 wanted:
• No, Daddy, Don't!: A Father's Murderous Act of Revenge
• Murder So Cold: A Father's Deadly Rage, a Daughter's Tragic Legacy
• A Rip in Heaven: A Memoir of Murder And Its Aftermath
Something disturbing is going on here, something I maybe should be notifying the authorities about.
Doug #8 is into classic TV:
• The Bob Newhart Show - The Complete First Season
• Hogan's Heroes - The Complete First Season
• The Twilight Zone - Season 2 (The Definitive Edition)
• Green Acres - The Complete Second Season (1966-67)
• Magnum, P.I. - The Complete Second Season
• Have Gun Will Travel - The Complete Second Season
• Kojak - Season One
Meanwhile, Doug #9 wanted 24 books by Danielle Steel, including Passion's Promise, The Promise, Season of Passion, Loving, and To Love Again. Every single one of them can be had for one cent plus shipping. So if you have a few dollars of Christmas money left over, why not send them to me and I will make a random Doug very happy?
Posted by bill at 8:35 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
January 2, 2008
The Red and the Black
If you’re looking at the main page of this blog, at the top right you’ll see a calendar with numbers in black and red. A red number means there’s an entry for that date, a black number means there’s not. Ever since Crispy B. set this thing up for me almost three years ago, one of my great pleasures in life has been making the black numbers turn red. Some months I’ve done them all; some months only one or two. But so far in 2008, two for two! How long can I keep this up?
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January 1, 2008
Auld Lang Sine Wave
So this was pretty much what I consider to be the perfect New Year’s Eve. Watched Shall We Dance with Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers (that is, Fred and Ginger were in the movie, not in my living room, though that would have been cool). Drank some wine. Watched the ball drop in Times Square, a spectacle marred only slightly by the inane babbling of Kathy Griffin (how Anderson Cooper refrained from strangling her, I’ll never know). Played with the cats a little. Ran an episode from the first season of SNL—not one of the best, but musical guest Jimmy Cliff ripped it up. Took an hour for [redacted]. Then spent the last hour of 2007 and the first of 2008 in pursuit of my personal goal of watching The Big Lebowski more times than any living person.
In between we took a few minutes to pop open a bottle of champagne and ring in the New Year, but here was where the only two major missteps of the evening occurred. One was that due to a lack of motor control I blew the cork about ten seconds too early (go ahead and take your cheap shot here—I’m asking for it). The other was reflexively tuning in to “New Year’s Rockin’ Eve” for the countdown. As a result of this second bad decision my beloved and I were confronted with the twin horrors of Dick Clark—who (God love him) nowadays presents the aspect of a corpse freshly powdered and temporarily shocked back to life for the occasion—and Ryan Seacrest, who unsurprisingly was surrounded by good-looking young people with nothing interesting to say.
But then it was over and we were safely into the new year, watching John Turturro French kiss a purple bowling ball. I never cease to be amazed at what Turturro accomplishes in maybe three minutes of screen time as “The Jesus” Quintana. On a frame-per-frame basis, this may be this best performance in the history of cinema. It deserves some kind of special OscarRRR, as do the actors who play Jesus’s roly-poly bowling partner and D student Larry Sellers, both of whom make indelible impressions while speaking no lines whatsoever.
My New Year’s resolution? To abide, naturally.
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December 29, 2007
Year in Review
Using his mysterious meme powers, the redoubtable C.T.S. Crumlish has compelled me to publish here the first line of my first blog entry from every month in 2007. I am nothing if not compliant, so here they are, with comments.
January
“I don’t necessarily want to take credit for the miraculous resurrection of Jackie Earle Haley.”
(Actually, I did.)
February
“After deliberating for thirty-nine days, as required by law, I am ready to name my album of the year for 2006.”
(It was Game Theory by the Roots, and I have no regrets about that pick. Fucking fantastic album.)
March
“So, yes, it’s been a while. I missed you too, blog.”
(This was a particularly fallow blogging period. In fact this year as a whole was pretty spotty. I would feel bad about this, if it wasn’t due to having somewhat more of a life lately.)
April
“I feel violated.”
(The reference was to a TV ad starring Sheryl Crow, but it tends to happen anytime I am forced to watch commercials. Fortunately, thanks to the magic of DVR, this rarely happens anymore.)
May
“These are weird, wild times here in the city some call ‘Golden State.’ “
(This was written on the eve of Game 6 between the Warriors and the Dallas Mavericks, which the W’s went on to win to clinch the series. Greatest sports moment of my life since the Phillies won the World Series in 1980.)
June
“Since viewing last night’s penultimate episode of The Sopranos (and how often do you get to use the word “penultimate,” accurately anyway, in your daily discourse?), I have been mulling over a theory that is as yet half-formed, or maybe half-baked.”
(This is technically the second entry in June. The first was a blogiversary year-in-review type thing, and to cite it here would possibly lead into an infinite loop that I would never escape from. The mention of The Sopranos reminds me that I meant to write about the final episode and never did. For the record, I was in favor.)
July
“I stand here before you today to sing the praises of Television.”
(That’s Television the rock band, not to be confused with television the medium, the Televison Personalities, TV on the Radio, or the TV dinner.)
August
“So, yeah, I haven’t been writing much lately, but there’s a good reason for it: I am terribly worried about the Forths.”
(Because I am at heart a twisted bastard, I was somewhat disappointed that this Christmas didn’t find Ted Forth indiscriminately mowing down one victim after another at Sally’s office holiday party, then turning the gun on himself. Instead, he seems to have recovered some measure of self-esteem with a seasonal job at a toy store. Meanwhile, Brad finally kissed Toni Daytona, can you believe it? And don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.)
September
“Hey blood, you can’t be callin’ my phone hella times. I got minutes.”
(No further comment necessary.)
October
“All the music biz talk these days is about Radiohead, how they’ve broken free of the industry by selling their new album without the help (or is it, now, burden?) of a record company.”
(I finally heard this album on a drive to Kona, and was underwhelmed. I wish Radiohead would do something really revolutionary and cheer the hell up.)
November
“As has happened so often lately, I will not be writing today (except for this paragraph, and maybe one or two more).”
(Almost two months in, the writers’ strike is really starting to hurt. No more “The Office.” No more “30 Rock.” Oh, the humanity!)
December
“In our thirteenth day on the big island of Hawai’i, we seem to have fallen into a tropical stupor.”
(And let me take this opportunity to thank everybody who made this trip, this blog, and this year possible. The lovely Leila and family. Mom and Jim. Dad and Cindy. Jim and Colleen. Knox. Dan, Barbara, Susannah, and Sam. B and X. Aaron and Laura. Sergio and Tatia. Rod and Maya. Delano. Robert and Barbara. James and Dorothy. The TPA. The Warriors. And you, if I haven’t mentioned you already. Wishing you peace and love and a great 2008. End transmission.)
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December 13, 2007
Yet Another Way That the Mundane World of the 21st Century Falls Short of the Fondly Remembered Days of Yore
“Dr. Mumbai” just doesn’t have that same ring to it.
Posted by bill at 4:40 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
December 1, 2007
Half Asleep on the Big Island
In our thirteenth day on the big island of Hawai’i, we seem to have fallen into a tropical stupor. Ambitious sightseeing plans have been abandoned. Leisure activities seem less and less important. Even to stand up and go inside for a beverage has become a great effort. As I type these few words on the lanai at McLelland Estates near Kea’au, the gentle breeze wafting through is threatening to topple me back into a horizontal position. But I will resist, for the moment at least.
Some readers may find this news surprising. I didn’t talk much about this trip in advance, out of some superstitious fear that if I did it wouldn’t happen. Now that it’s almost over, I feel free to discuss it openly, but I’m not sure what to tell you. It’s all a blur of hard black lava rocks and sea turtles and warm rain and pastel skies. (There was one sort of near-death experience, but the less said about that the better.) There are pictures I could show you, but that would involve downloading and uploading and all those things I just can’t be bothered with right now. Instead I think I’ll return to my twilight consciousness and watch the grass stalks flutter in the wind. There’s plenty of time for the rest of that stuff later.
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November 6, 2007
This Space on Strike
As has happened so often lately, I will not be writing today (except for this paragraph, and maybe one or two more). But today’s non-writing will be different: It will be conducted in solidarity with the striking Writers Guild of America. I would also like to dedicate to the cause yesterday’s failure to write even a single word, as well as everything else I do not write for the duration of this dispute, which could be quite a bit. First, though, a quick question:
The proper name of the organization, as far as I can tell, is in fact “Writers Guild of America.” But shouldn’t that be “Writers’ Guild of America,” as in the guild belonging to the writers? A quick check of the AP Guide tells me that the “International Longshoremen’s Association” and the “Bricklayers, Masons and Plasterers’ Union” make appropriate uses of the apostrophe in their names; isn’t it a tad embarrassing that the blue-collar guys get it right and the writers blow it? Fish Sandwich, can you hear me?
Oh well, never mind. The Editors’ Guild should have fixed it for them anyway. Now: On with the non-writing!
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October 30, 2007
Ain't so smart
Marilyn v. Savant has the biggest brain on the planet and likes to sit on motorcycles.
It’s a happy day for me when I can catch Marilyn vos Savant, supposedly the world’s smartest woman, in an error. For those not familiar with the suspiciously named Ms. vos S., she—according to her Web site—“was listed in the Guinness Book of World Records for five years under ‘Highest IQ’ for both childhood and adult scores” and “has since been inducted into the Guinness Hall of Fame.” She also publishes a weekly column in Parade magazine, where she shares stimulating brain-teasers and smarty-pants opinions on all sorts of random subjects.
Well, I hate to gloat, but I’ve found a case where Marilyn got one wrong. In a recent column, she printed the following question (note the clever “Three’s Company” reference):
Jack, Janet and Chrissy meet at their corner coffeehouse and buy half a dozen doughnuts. Each friend always tells the truth or always lies. Jack says that he got one doughnut, but Janet says that Jack got two, and Chrissy says that Jack got more than three. On the other hand, all three friends agree that Janet got two. Assuming that each friend got at least one and that no doughnut was cut and divided, how many doughnuts did each friend get?
Marilyn’s answer was as follows:
Chrissy must be a liar because she said that Jack got four or more doughnuts and that Janet got two, which left none for herself. As Chrissy is a liar, Jack and Janet must be liars too, because all three friends agreed about Janet. As all three friends are liars, Jack must have gotten three doughnuts. (Jack lied when he said he got one; Janet lied when she said Jack got two; and Chrissy lied when she said Jack got more than three.) Janet must have gotten one doughnut. (All three friends lied when they said she got two. If she got three, none would be left for Chrissy.) Which means Chrissy got the two remaining doughnuts.
Can you spot the error? That’s right—the correct answer is:
Who gives a fuck?
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October 26, 2007
Seen on 2nd Avenue this morning
Outside Dewey Academy, where all the tough kids go:A gangsta-looking kid in dreadlocks, walking down the street, openly and flagrantly...flossing.
What?
Posted by bill at 10:12 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
September 25, 2007
Last blog entry ever
So…5 fat, juicy, real comments for the post where I talk about not blogging anymore. It just goes to show you what the rappers have already figured out: If you want the audience to pay attention to what you’re doing, threaten to retire. To keep this momentum up, from now on I’m going to retire after every post, then unretire when I have something new I want to say.
Today I am temporarily unretiring to suggest a visit to the following address:
http://www.optimismisaskill.com/
where my old homeboy Jim McLelland is offering a series of podcasts that I hesitate to describe to you, because any quick description I gave might sound like an insult. “Self-improvement,” “Chopra-esque spiritual uplift,” “human existence coaching”…all of these things would be technically accurate and yet beside the point.
To put it simply, Jim has spent a long time thinking about this life thing, and he’s figured some stuff out. Those of us who know him are proud and maybe a little surprised at the level of insight on display here. Do yourself a favor and check it out.
Now…back to the shuffleboard.
Posted by bill at 5:10 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
September 19, 2007
The Blogosphere Ecology Program
I don’t need to tell you that the blogosphere, once an exciting new frontier, has quickly grown out of control. It’s kind of like California went from the Gold Rush to the 21st century overnight. Everything’s all clogged up, nobody knows what’s what, and blogs are being used for any and every purpose, no matter how inappropriate.
And I don’t excuse myself from this. I’ve written blog entries about “Sally Forth,” anvils, and Tony Danza. I have transcribed words from the dictionary. I have posted pictures of a laundromat, and no one’s ever tried to stop me.
It’s time for that to change. In other areas of oversupply, the government has stepped in and used its resources to get things back in line. In this case such a program, which I have given the working title “Blogosphere Ecology Program,” would pay people not to blog. I, for one, would be willing to sign up; it’s always been a dream of mine to get paid not to do something.
The BEP would serve the dual purpose of providing income for underemployed English majors (is there any other kind?) and thinning out the blogosphere a bit, giving it some room to breathe. Won’t you write to your congressperson in support of this important legislation today?
Posted by bill at 10:37 AM | Comments (6) | TrackBack
September 11, 2007
Death of an Expression
This sapphire image lifted from Flickr denizen Orbital Joe.
Occasionally there is a moment when it becomes crystal-clear that a particular formerly hip word or phrase has outlived its usefulness. I experienced such a moment on the way to work this morning.
If you’ve spent any time listening to radio in the Bay Area you’re familiar with Tom Shane, who for many years has been blanketing the airwaves with advertisements for his jewelry concern, the Shane Company. Tom seems like a nice guy, but one thing we can say for sure about him is that he is—how to put this delicately?—extremely white. This did not, however, prevent him from uttering the following phrase bragging on his company’s wares:
“Our selection of sapphires is off the hook.”
End of story.
Posted by bill at 10:39 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
September 10, 2007
Lost Planes
There was something oddly compelling about this story from today’s Chronicle, which may have flown beneath the radar of my non-Bay Area readers (hi, Dad).
Apparently, the ongoing search for missing “millionaire aviator” Steve Fossett has turned up no fewer than eight other planes, all of which remain unidentified for the time being. Only after concluding the search for Fossett will the agencies involved go back and investigate the other discoveries, and isn’t that a great premise for a TV series?
Suggested soundtrack:
“Lost Planes” / the Fixx
“Burning Airlines” / Brian Eno
“Hit the Plane Down” / Pavement
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September 6, 2007
Burrito Tunnel
I never wanted to be one of those guys whose blog turns into a bunch of links to other blogs. But due to lack of time and general non-prolifitude, I may be turning into one of those guys.
Anyway, were you aware of the existence of a trans-continental burrito tunnel? Me neither, until today. This is truly one of the seven wonders of the modern world.
Posted by bill at 2:08 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
September 5, 2007
Overheard on the way to work this morning
“Hey blood, you can’t be callin’ my phone hella times. I got minutes.”
Posted by bill at 10:11 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
August 11, 2007
Jerkin' Back'n'Forth
Sally and Ted in happier times.
So, yeah, I haven’t been writing much lately, but there’s a good reason for it: I am terribly worried about the Forths.
You see, I must read all the comics in the newspaper every day. I am compelled to do so, even though much of the time I hate myself for it (never more so than when I find my eyes drifting down to “Luann” even before reading the strips above it).
Generally speaking, you can count on certain things every morning. “For Better or Worse” will be unspooling some long, drawn-out plotline with interludes of glossy sentimentality. “Garfield” will still not be funny. Dagwood will eat enormous sandwiches all day and night and never gain a pound. (Maybe he works it all off satisfying Blondie’s voracious sexual appetite? You’d like to think so.) “Dennis the Menace” will be recycling a strip from 1949, assuming, correctly, that no one will ever notice.
Used to be you could count on one other thing: the title character of “Sally Forth” and her husband, Ted, would be gliding through life unruffled. Although their lives were banal and not without the occasional bit of unpleasantness—such as Sally’s difficulties with her incompetent boss, Ralph—they were invariably depicted with self-satisfied smirks that let you know there was nothing to worry about.
Lately, though, things have gone weird. Not long after his 40th birthday, Ted lost his job, and subsequently he’s sunk into a downward spiral from which he shows no sign of emerging. He has stopped shaving, given up looking for work, and—after alienating his daughter’s softball team with obsessive overcoaching—ceased leaving the house altogether.
Lately, Sally and Ted have been spending their time engaging in heavy conversations, and smirking little if at all. The other day Ted appeared to have a minor breakdown, muttering “You want to leave me, you want to leave me” and (in my mind, anyway) rocking back and forth like an autistic.
Where will it all end? Is murder/suicide out of the question? If not, will the carnage be limited to family, or will the softball team get it too? Will I wake up on Monday morning and find a forensics team searching the attic for Hilary’s body? It seems unlikely, but I just don’t know anymore.
By the way, did you know that our current Sally Forth was predated by a blonder, sexier character with the same name created by one Wally Wood? I only found out in the course of looking for images to accompany this post. By way of a palette cleanser, here’s a picture:
Don’t we all feel better now?
Posted by bill at 10:26 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
June 17, 2007
Earth to Travolta: It's Over
Picked up the paper this morning and saw John Travolta on the cover of Parade magazine with this headline:
The longtime star wonders: “Am I hot? Am I over?”
Well, I hate to be the one to say it, but: Johnny, baby, you’re on the cover of Parade magazine. Ironing. It’s over.
Posted by bill at 3:30 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
June 3, 2007
The Year in Philtration
A young, bug-eyed Tom Poston
molests an also young, but
already crinkly-looking,
Bob Newhart
The Philter just turned 2, which means it’s time to review the last year’s posts and issue updates, corrections, and clarifications. So without further ado:
Abe Vigoda has defied the odds again by remaining alive for another year. Among those whom he’s recently outlived are Tom Poston of Mork and Mindy and Newhart fame. Only after Poston’s death did I learn he had been married to Suzanne Pleshette, who had co-starred in a different show with Bob Newhart—although Poston’s show turned out to be a dream contained entirely within Pleshette’s show. I don’t know what it all means, and I’ve already spent entirely too much time trying to figure it out.
Speaking of the dearly departed, I am sad to report that my favorite laundromat, Bud’s Suds, is no more. Bud’s—in 2005 the subject of a brief photoessay on the dangers of dryer abuse—is mourned by all who knew it.
The Wu-Tang graffiti that I photographed on College Ave. has of course been subsequently painted over, and don’t I feel clever for having captured it?
I did not win a Pulitzer for my pithy prose-poem “If I Had a Hammer….” But I should have.
No one has yet invented software that will let you hear any artist performing any song. Too bad, but I remain hopeful.
No aliens—be they Martians, Lectroids, Xists, Betelgeusians, or others—have contacted me yet this year. But the 60th anniversary of the Roswell Incident doesn’t roll around until July 8; so, again, I remain hopeful.
Hector Maze remains in limbo and is likely to remain there for the foreseeable future. But one thing I can finish is the dictionary top-of-the-page project, which I left off at piña colada.
pleasure dome to plethysmograph (1)
point blank to poker face
police dog to pollen tube
potlatch to pound sterling
prescription to presidency
pretty to prickly
promoter to propaganda
queer to quicksilver
radio telescope to ragweed
receptionist to recluse
regressive to reincarnation
reversed collar to revolution
ring finger to ripple effect
robber to rocket scientist
sabotage to sacrifice
Sasquatch to Saturday
scrap heap to screw conveyor
self-deception to self-motivation
senility to sensualism
sextodecimo to shadow cabinet
shiver to shoot
slow cooker to slush fund
spaceman to Spanish Armada
Spock to spoon
stroke to struggle for existence
Sugarloaf Mountain to sulfur
swagger to swastika
tepee to term insurance
terminus to terrorize
token payment to Tom, Dick and Harry
tome to tongue twister
transaxle to transformation
twaddle to twine
ulcerative to Ultrasuede
Uncle Tom to undefined
undergrad to understand
understandable to undressed
unquestionable to unscathed
uphill to upside-down cake
uttermost to Uzi
validity to Van Buren
velour to venial sin
Volgograd to voluptuous
warm-blooded to warship
waterworn to waxwing (2)
weaver to ween (3)
whiffet (4) to whirlwind
whithersoever (5) to whoops
wire agency to wish filfillment
woodwaxen to Wordsworth
wordy to workload
yin and yang to Yoshihito
zebra crossing to zeugma (6)
zygospore to ZZZ (7)
(1) n. a device for measuring and recording changes in the volume of the body or of a body part or organ
(2) “I was the shadow of the waxwing slain…” –J. Shade
(3) v. to think; suppose
(4) n. an insignificant person
(5) conj. Archaic to whatsoever place
(6) n. the use of a word to modify or govern two or more words when it is appropriate to only one of them or is appropriate to each in a different way, as in to wage war and peace or He caught a trout and a bad cold
(7) (used to represent the sound of a person snoring)
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May 15, 2007
So long, Jerry, we'll hardly miss ye
Jerry Falwell looking, as always, self-satisfied.
That's the mean, bitter, pinched, evil face of his wife at right.
An article about the death today of Rev. Jerry Falwell contained the following line:
The founder of the Moral Majority was discovered without a pulse at Liberty University.
To which the natural response is, this is news? Jerry Falwell was always a man without a heart. A truly despicable human being who presided over hypocritical moral witch hunts with a shit-eating grin plastered on his evil doughboy face. I am not a hateful person, but I will gladly dance upon his grave singing "Hallelujah," just as soon as they dig one.
So can I take the demise of this loathsome specimen as a good omen for my Golden State Warriors, who face elimination tonight in Utah? Sure I can. Nobody can stop me. But there'll be no cracks here about the state of Utah, which I honestly know very little about, or about the Jazz, who (despite what the Oakland Arena crowd would have you believe) do not suck. I won't try to rig the game by pleading for make-up calls or divine intercession; let's just have some high-quality, high-speed basketball and let the chips fall where they may. Right? Right.
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May 2, 2007
Shooting folksingers in a barrel
You will call this a cheap shot, and you’ll be right. But I can’t help myself. A line from today’s news:
WASHINGTON - Folk singer and anti-war activist Joan Baez says she doesn’t know why she was not allowed to perform for recovering soldiers recently at Walter Reed Army Medical Center as she planned.
Could it be…because they’ve suffered enough?
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April 12, 2007
R.I.P. KV
A picture of young Kurt Vonnegut that I stole from a German Web site.
Word reached the compound today of the passing of Kurt Vonnegut. While this can hardly be called a tragedy (Vonnegut lived 84 long, long years) or a surprise (he spoke often of committing suicide, both passively — by cigarette — and actively), still, it’s…something.
One might be tempted to ask how someone so severely depressed could create such beauty, humor, and humanity. Or conversely how someone capable of creating such beauty, humor, and humanity could be so severely depressed. But the two seem to go hand-in-hand so often that it doesn’t even surprise me anymore.
No time for any in-depth consideration of Vonnegut’s work and life today; others will be taking up that task (Cecil?). But I wanted to take just a moment to say goodbye, thanks, and God bless you, Mr. Vonnegut.
(P.S.: For memorial listening, might I recommend the song “Nice, Nice, Very Nice,” by Ambrosia? Look it up.)
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January 2, 2007
Aliens Buzz Chicago
In a suspiciously underreported story, it appears that extraterrestrials were up to some shenanigans at Chicago’s O’Hare Airport on November 7th. The following article from yesterday’s Chicago Tribune— which I am reproducing here in its entirety because I fear the Men in Black will make it disappear—describes a “mysterious elliptical-shaped craft” whose curious behavior was witnessed by numerous United Airlines employees.
Will 2007, the 60th anniversary of the Roswell Incident, be the year the aliens finally come out into the open? Probably not. But it’d be cooler if they did.
In the sky! A bird? A plane? A … UFO?
by Jon Hilkevitch
Published January 1, 2007
It sounds like a tired joke—but a group of airline employees insist they are in earnest, and they are upset that neither their bosses nor the government will take them seriously.
A flying saucerlike object hovered low over O’Hare International Airport for several minutes before bolting through thick clouds with such intense energy that it left an eerie hole in overcast skies, said some United Airlines employees who observed the phenomenon.
Was it an alien spaceship? A weather balloon lost in the airspace over the world’s second-busiest airport? A top-secret military craft? Or simply a reflection from lights that played a trick on the eyes?
Officials at United professed no knowledge of the Nov. 7 event—which was reported to the airline by as many as a dozen of its own workers—when the Tribune started asking questions recently. But the Federal Aviation Administration said its air traffic control tower at O’Hare did receive a call from a United supervisor asking if controllers had spotted a mysterious elliptical-shaped craft sitting motionless over Concourse C of the United terminal.
No controllers saw the object, and a preliminary check of radar found nothing out of the ordinary, FAA spokeswoman Elizabeth Isham Cory said.
The FAA is not conducting a further investigation, Cory said. The theory is the sighting was caused by a “weather phenomenon,” she said.
The UFO report has sparked some chuckles among controllers in O’Hare tower.
“To fly 7 million light years to O’Hare and then have to turn around and go home because your gate was occupied is simply unacceptable,” said O’Hare controller and union official Craig Burzych.
Some of the witnesses, interviewed by the Tribune, said they are upset that neither the government nor the airline is probing the incident.
Whatever the object was, it could have interfered with O’Hare’s radar and other equipment, and even created a collision risk, they said.
The Unidentified Aerial Phenomena (the term that extraterrestrial-watchers nowadays prefer over Unidentified Flying Object) was first seen by a United ramp worker who was directing back a United plane at Gate C17, according to an account the worker provided to the National UFO Reporting Center.
The sighting occurred during daylight, about 4:30 p.m., just before sunset.
All the witnesses said the object was dark gray and well defined in the overcast skies. They said the craft, estimated by different accounts to be 6 feet to 24 feet in diameter, did not display any lights.
Some said it looked like a rotating Frisbee, while others said it did not appear to be spinning. All agreed the object made no noise and it was at a fixed position in the sky, just below the 1,900-foot cloud deck, until shooting off into the clouds.
Witnesses shaken by sighting
“I tend to be scientific by nature, and I don’t understand why aliens would hover over a busy airport,” said a United mechanic who was in the cockpit of a Boeing 777 that he was taxiing to a maintenance hangar when he observed the metallic-looking object above Gate C17.
“But I know that what I saw and what a lot of other people saw stood out very clearly, and it definitely was not an [Earth] aircraft,” the mechanic said.
One United employee appeared emotionally shaken by the sighting and “experienced some religious issues” over it, one co-worker said.
A United manager said he ran outside his office in Concourse B after hearing the report about the sighting on an internal airline radio frequency.
“I stood outside in the gate area not knowing what to think, just trying to figure out what it was,” he said. “I knew no one would make a false call like that. But if somebody was bouncing a weather balloon or something else over O’Hare, we had to stop it because it was in very close proximity to our flight operations.”
Some joke, others research
The databases of various UFO-watching groups are full of accounts filed by pilots about sightings of unknown aircraft and anomalies that affected navigational equipment onboard planes.
Whether any of the UFO incidents are real or merely the result of individual perceptions, some experts say the events pose a potential safety risk to pilots and their passengers.
“There have been documented cases where safety appears to have been implicated, and more and more we are coming to the point of view that we are dealing with an intelligent phenomenon,” said Richard Haines, science director at the National Aviation Reporting Center on Anomalous Phenomena, a private agency.
“We must be proactive before an aircraft goes down,” said Haines, a former chief of the Space Human Factors Office at NASA’s Ames Research Center.
Haines is investigating the O’Hare incident. He said he has determined that no weather balloons were launched in the vicinity of O’Hare on Nov. 7.
“It’s absurd that the military would be conducting aerial test flights” near the airport, Haines said.
All the witnesses to the O’Hare event, who included at least several pilots, said they are certain based on the disc’s appearance and flight characteristics that it was not an airplane, helicopter, weather balloon or any other craft known to man.
United denies UFO report
They’re not sure what was hanging out for several minutes in the restricted airspace, but they are upset that no one in power has taken the matter seriously.
A United spokeswoman said there is no record of the UFO report. She said United officials do not recall discussion of any such incident.
“There’s nothing in the duty manager log, which is used to report unusual incidents,” said United spokeswoman Megan McCarthy. “I checked around. There’s no record of anything.”
The pilots of the United plane being directed back from Gate C17 also were notified by United personnel of the sighting, and one of the pilots reportedly opened a windscreen in the cockpit to get a better view of the object estimated to be hovering 1,500 feet above the ground.
The object was seen to suddenly accelerate straight up through the solid overcast skies, which the FAA reported had 1,900-foot cloud ceilings at the time.
“It was like somebody punched a hole in the sky,” said one United employee.
Witnesses said they had a hard time visually tracking the object as it streaked through the dense clouds.
It left behind an open hole of clear air in the cloud layer, the witnesses said, adding that the hole disappeared within a few minutes.
The United employees interviewed by the Tribune spoke on condition of anonymity.
Some said they were interviewed by United officials and instructed to write reports and draw pictures of what they observed, and that they were advised by United officials to refrain from speaking about what they saw.
Federal agency backtracks
Like United, the FAA originally told the Tribune that it had no information on the alleged UFO sighting. But the federal agency quickly reversed its position after the newspaper filed a Freedom of Information Act request.
An internal FAA review of air-traffic communications tapes, a step toward complying with the Tribune request, turned up the call by the United supervisor to an FAA manager in the airport tower, Cory said.
Cory said the weather might have factored into what the witnesses thought they saw.
“Our theory on this is that it was a weather phenomenon,” she said. “That night was a perfect atmospheric condition in terms of low [cloud] ceiling and a lot of airport lights. When the lights shine up into the clouds, sometimes you can see funny things. That’s our take on it.”
Copyright © 2006, Chicago Tribune
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December 16, 2006
Perfect for Five Seconds
"You were perfect for five seconds," she said.
I think in the far future, after everyone's famous for fifteen minutes, they will be perfect for five seconds. Which, if you think about it, is long enough. Because in those five seconds you will be a transcendent being, encompassing all possibilities and outside of time and space. So this is great news for everyone.
Everyone except me, of course. Cause I've already had mine. Dammit.
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December 5, 2006
You can't make this stuff up
I found this item from today’s paper simply priceless. It has a real Monty Python quality—absurd down to its last detail, including cameos by a Phil Collins and the Yoko Ono.
Prize goes to art that means nothing
LONDON — German-born abstract painter Tomma Abts on Monday became the first female painter to land the Turner Prize in the 22-year history of one of the art world’s most controversial awards.
Abts, 38, who has lived in London for 12 years, has said that she begins every piece — they all measure exactly 18.9 inches by 15 inches — with no idea what she is about to paint and that they symbolize nothing at all.
The $49,000 prize was presented by Yoko Ono during a ceremony at London’s Tate Britain gallery.
London artist Rebecca Warren had been the favorite to take the prize; she specializes in sculptures of large cartoon women with what the judges called “humongous knobbly breasts and enormous bobbly buttocks.”
Work by Glasgow video artist Phil Collins, another contender, includes a video of nine people who believe their lives have been ruined by reality TV.
Last year’s winner was Simon Starling, who turned a shed into a boat, then back into a shed.
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December 1, 2006
If I'd Done It
If O.J. had done it, he would have planted a bloody glove that was too small for him at the scene.
You won’t find many people willing to admit in public to being disappointed that O.J. Simpson’s book, If I Did It, will never see the light of day. But I am one of them. Think about it; now we will never know the answer to that most vexing of questions: If O.J. had killed his wife and her friend Ronald Goldman, how would he have done it? Certainly not the way the crime was actually done, with a knife, brutally, just outside Nicole Simpson’s apartment. No, O.J. is far too clever for that. An O.J.-devised murder plan would surely have involved international intrigue, multiple red herrings, Nazis, doppelgangers, and Polonium 210. And this is what we will be missing by never getting to read If I Did It: a work of imaginative fiction rivaling The DaVinci Code or Charlie and the Chocolate Factory for sheer creative breadth.
What’s more, I was looking forward to publisher Judith Regan using the success of O.J.’s book to launch a whole series of related titles. For instance, who wouldn’t want to read Bill Clinton’s If I’d Had Sex with That Woman, Here’s How I Would Have Done It. Or how about this one, dictated by the late Richard Nixon through a spirit medium: I Was Not a Crook, but If I Had Been, Here’s the Illegal Things I Would Have Done.
Still, I think that even without the book’s being published, O.J. has accomplished his real purpose, which had nothing to do with money, or with receiving belated credit for his crimes. What O.J. really wanted was for each one of us to take a long, hard look in the mirror and ask ourselves, if I had killed Nicole Simpson and Ronald Goldman, how would I have done it?
For me, the answer is easy: I would have done it with the Candlestick, in the Billiard Room. And I would have been Colonel Mustard at the time. How about you?
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November 21, 2006
Time Flies, and So Do I
Has it really been almost a week since I posted anything? Shocking. I apologize to my legions of readers, but I can give a few reasons why this has happened:
• I love that picture of Tony Danza so much that I wanted to keep it at the top of the page as long as possible.
• I spent yesterday in transit between Oakland and Kansas City, a jaunt which included a long stretch inside a 777 sitting on the ground while a maintenance crew replaced the plane’s starter. This led to a tight connection in Denver, which led to delayed luggage, which led to a basically very long day all around.
• The weekend was occupied with a) a preview of the upcoming hit multimedia property Mankind’s Last Hope and b) many hours on the set of a feature film called Homeworld. Among the things I’ve learned from this experience: The filmmaking, it is very tiring. One wakes up very early, moves around a lot, and spends extended periods of time straining to remain focused while nothing much is happening. Tomorrow I plan to write a bit about my movie adventure; but first, I think, another nap.
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November 13, 2006
Anvil Club
We’re all familiar with media depictions of someone—often an anthropomorphized animal, such as a coyote—having an anvil dropped on him. Yet how many of us have any real experience of having an anvil dropped on us, or contrariwise of being the one to drop an anvil on a fellow mammal?
Isn’t this really the problem with our modern world, that we are so detached from the reality of concrete things such as anvils?
This is why I think Anvil Club is such a great idea. I’m picturing a dingy basement room somewhere filled with anvils of all shapes and sizes. Once a week, we will gather there and take turns dropping anvils on each other. During the rest of the week, we will not speak of it, but you will be able to spot another Anvil Clubber from the way he walks—striding confidently, head held high, or at least as high as the inevitable back injuries will allow. We will be suffused with the inner glow that comes from having a heavy metallic object dropped on you, or from dropping such an object on another, and people will respond to this without knowing why. We will become more popular and successful than ever before.
You know I’m right, don’t you? Now who’s with me?
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November 8, 2006
Post-Election Hangover Blues
So, to pick up where I left off, which was: The Daily Show. I had some vague ideas floating around in my head about the big stories of the day, which were a) the Rumsfeld resignation, and b) the Britney/K-Fed split. And of course Jon Stewart and his lackeys got there first and got there better, drawing the (what now seem like) obvious parallels between two couples who swore they were in it for the long term. My schtick was much weaker, something about Rumsfeld—who always liked to ask and answer his own questions anyway—now being able to do it in the privacy of his own home. Believe me, somewhere down in the depths of my cerebellum, it was screamingly funny. Actually, more like mildly amusing. But never mind.
As for Britney and Kevin, my imaginary commentary referenced My Name Is Earl and went something like this:
Britney is now free to marry the guy who works down at the Crab Shak, while Kevin will use the divorce settlement to crisscross Middle America crossing people off his list, presumably starting with anyone who’s ever listened to his music.
I know, lame. Honestly, I am not feeling well. Now I must return to watching Stephen Colbert make like Charlie Chaplin. I love professional comedy.
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November 7, 2006
Let the Trials Begin
Hunter S. Thompson used this phrase back during the Reagan administration, and it seems quite apropos tonight, as we begin what I hope will be a lengthy series of investigations, trials, and possibly executions. Like the man says, certain ones will be smitten, and they know who they are. I look forward to seeing Republican turn on Republican, not just testifying against each other, but tearing each other limb from limb and perhaps resorting to cannibalism.
Does that make me sick? Is it wrong that I took a twisted joy in watching Rick Santorum’s children cry? I worry. It’s just that it’s been so long…the Democratic Party has been losing consistently almost as long as the Golden State Warriors, who blew another one tonight to the New Orleans/Oklahoma City Hornets. Now, can I neatly tie up this thread by connecting basketball back to politics via New Orleans and Hurricane Katrina? I probably could, if I wanted to. But I’d rather watch The Daily Show.
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November 6, 2006
The World Ends Tonight
The world ends tonight when you fall asleep. As you doze, a new world will be constructed around you. This new world will look identical, at first. Only upon closer examination will the differences start to show.
Your assignment: Note these differences, and make the most of them.
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November 5, 2006
Metronome to Piña Colada
Still more top-of-the-page juxtapositions taken from Webster’s College Dictionary.
metronome to miasma
miniaturist to Minor Prophet
mistaken to mitsvah
moneygrubber to monkey puzzle
motherboard to Motown
munster to musculature
National Socialism to naughty
obelisk to oblique
off-limits to oil
ownership to Ozark Mountains
party-colored to passage grave*
peanut to pectoral
penitentiary to pentagon
perceptual to perfect
phooey to phosphocreatine
pickled to pièce de résistance
pill to piña colada
*noun; a chamber tomb with a narrow entrance passage leading to the burial chamber
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November 2, 2006
Overheard in the Garden of Eden
So, uh, Adam, how are things going down there?
Good. Real good. I mean, great! What do I have to complain about? I lay around all day in the sun, eat of the fruit You’ve provided for me, smell the flowers, watch the moon and stars, talk to the animals…
And?
Well, it’s just, the animals never say anything back. Nothing ever does. I thought I heard a tree talking to me once, but that was just because I’d eaten some of that one plant. I mean, I hate to complain. Everything’s so beautiful. It’s just that sometimes it gets a little…
Boring.
No, no, I wouldn’t say that. Everything’s wonderful, really. Just once in a while, at night especially, it’s a little too quiet.
Funny you should say that.
Why?
I’ve come up with an idea. Something you’re going to like.
Go on.
I’m going to make another person. Like you, only different.
Different how?
A little smaller. Softer. Better-smelling. You’ll like her.
What does “her” mean?
It’s a word that refers to this other person. You’ll understand later.
So will he—
She.
Ooh, I like the sound of that. Will she be able to talk?
Oh, most definitely.
Wow, um, that’s…wait, what if she doesn’t like me?
Fortunately, you don’t have a lot of competition. You might want to take a bath. Maybe pick up after yourself a little bit. Stop sleeping on top of half-eaten apples and plums…you know what, never mind. Don’t worry about it. She’ll put you straight.
So when do I meet her?
Real soon. I’m going to make you go to sleep for a while, and I’m going to take out one of your ribs and put it in the new person.
Um…is that really necessary?
Not really. It’s just symbolism.
Oh. Well, I guess You know best.
Yeah, I do, I really do. I suppose we should get on with it. Hmmm…
What?
Well…
What? Is there something you’re not telling me?
Well, I’m afraid she may drive you a little crazy once in a while. But you need that. It’ll help you develop. You’re not going to lay around eating fruit for the rest of your life, are you?
What else is there?
You’ll find out. Oh, I forgot the coolest part! I’m fixing things so that the two of you can make new people together. Isn’t that wild?
Wait, this is all moving too fast….
[Sound of an unconscious body hitting the ground.]
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November 1, 2006
If I had a hammer...
To be honest, I probably wouldn’t hammer in the morning, because I am not awake then. I wouldn’t hammer in the evening, either; that would be gauche. I would hammer in the mid to late afternoon, if at all. It’s entirely possible that the hammer would just sit there gathering dust, and perhaps eventually be sold on eBay. With any luck, the hammer’s new owner would be more of a morning person.
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October 31, 2006
The Blog-Off Is Over
We said we were going to do it, and we did it. We have to love ourselves for that.
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October 26, 2006
A creepy development in medical science
Just in time for Halloween:
Hospital Panel OKs Face Transplants
The horror movie based on this pretty much writes itself: good person gets evil face, goes on a killing spree, ends up getting de-faced in some ironic way. The only question is, who do we cast in the lead? Christopher Walken and Dennis Hopper are getting too old for this sort of thing; who’s gonna represent for the next generation of movie psychos? I think Rainn Wilson, who plays Dwight on The Office, could do very well. He’s already pretty creepy as Dwight—all he needs to do is be a little less funny and, presto chango, it’s Tony Perkins time. Cillian Murphy proved himself extremely disturbing as the Scarecrow in Batman Begins. It might be fun to see Zach Braff take a shot at playing a villain. I dunno…your thoughts?
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October 24, 2006
Heresy to Megahertz
Herewith, more top-of-the-page juxtapositions lifted from Webster’s College Dictionary, c. 1991.
heresy to hero sandwich
hostage to hot tub
hot war to housekeeper
illuminati to imbecile
impregnable to impulse
jelly to jet engine
jihad to jockey
jumping bean to junkie
Kaposi’s sarcoma to katzenjammer*
kidney bean to kimono
kudos to kvetch
Labrador retriever to lactation
lay to L.D.S.
lonely to long-lasting
loon to Lord Chancellor
medieval to megahertz
*noun; 1. the unpleasant afteraffects of excessive drinking; hangover. 2. uneasiness; anguish; distress. 3. an uproar; clamor.
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October 18, 2006
Follow-up
About 10 minutes after posting that last entry, I opened up the paper and read a review of Bob Dylan’s show at the San Francisco Civic. If you can take Joel Selvin’s word for it—always an iffy proposition—Dylan opened with an obscure song called “Lenny Bruce.” This would help to explain my dream, if I’d been at the show or heard about it, which I wasn’t and didn’t. Still, I’m sure it’s all connected somehow.
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Paging Dr. Freud
One of my dreams last night involved