Must Hate Dogs

Pam and I went to a so-called sneak preview last night. I say “so-called” in order to distinguish this screening from a true sneak, where there might still be a chance of changing anything about the film. This is one of those wide-release marketing sneaks, which usually mean one of two things.

One, the marketing department really isn’t sure how to position the film, and honestly wants to gauge mainstream American reaction. Or two, they’re pretty sure the critics will blast the thing to pieces, and want to generate some less-discriminating word of mouth to counter the anticipated lambasting.

This film — the new John Cusack/Diane Lane vehicle Must Love Dogs — is most assuredly not a case of the former.

Don’t get me wrong — I love a good romantic comedy. I’m a huge John Cusack fan to boot. But alas, this offered none of the benefits of either. The dialogue was stilted, the delivery was flat across the board, every encounter was precisely orchestrated and on-the-nose, and not a single character in the piece had any credible motivation other than “because this is what the script says I should do.” The comic timing was atrocious (save for a few signature Cusack moments), what laughs the picture elicited were completely forced, and — perhaps most damningly — there was absolutely nothing resembling a story (I haven’t read the book, so I don’t know how much of that lack can be attributed to the source material).

The script read like a formulaic, by-the-book first-year writing student’s homework assignment, the directing was functionally nonexistent, and everyone involved seemed to be just going by the numbers, waiting for the resulting paycheck. As Family Ties and Spin City creator Gary David “Sit, Ubu, Sit” Goldberg’s big-screen directorial debut (well, except for the 1989 flop Dad), I suppose I shouldn’t be all that surprised — this was clearly a case of a television producer’s ill-advised attempt to make the leap to the big screen.

Sorry, David, but what might be forgivable in the sitcom arena (and even there I’m not so sure this qualifies) just doesn’t cut it here.

Oh, and one more thing — if ever there were a textbook example of how not to handle product placement, this movie would most definitely be it. I lost count of how many times they beat you over the head with the name “————.com”; if I had been inclined to consider the site before seeing this movie, I’d run fleeing from it now (I can’t even bring myself to enter its name now).

Naturally, the audience seemed to enjoy it (which may tell you something about the taste of your average audience, but I digress). I sat numbly, checking my watch and shaking my head in utter disbelief. (But even given the audience’s apparent amusement, it’s ridiculously clear that almost all of the “user comments” at the IMDb are studio plants — it’s like they’re not even trying to sound credible.)

Pam, who was far more forgiving than I (she seemed most upset about the film’s painfully deliberate refusal to utter the dreaded “F-word”: forty), had an explanation for its acceptance, which I’ll get to in a moment.

The only saving grace, as far as I was concerned, was the fact that our attendance allowed us to stay for the second feature, Batman Begins. I’d already seen it, but I was more than happy to watch it again on the big screen. The two pictures were like night and day, not only in terms of filmic capability, but in tone as well. I can’t imagine two pictures less suited to share a double-bill (there’s a challenge for you — look at your paper’s local listings and see if you can come up with a less appropriate pairing). The logistical constraints were understandable, though (how many pictures does Warner Bros. have out at the moment?), and may have actually served a practical purpose — after all, given the lack of audience crossover, the theater could easily resell tickets to the second feature alone (as they did).

Pam hated it. So from a date standpoint, the evening was pretty much a wash.

But Pam did have an interesting interpretation for our differing viewpoints: The movies were both, in a sense, comic-book movies. It’s just that each used a different archetype as its model. Batman used the male-oriented heroic fantasy, while Dogs adopted the female-directed romantic ideal. Boys grow up wanting to save the day, while girls grow up wanting to find the perfect prince to sweep them off their feet. Where boys are more willing to suspend disbelief so long as the core heroic theme remains, girls are more willing to allow shortcomings if the romantic story thread dominates. It’s an overgeneralization, to be sure, but a defensible one.

Or, at least it would be if she had been able to use anything other than this stinker as her romantic-movie example. Still, I understand what she’s going through: I liked Daredevil.

(Well, the Director’s Cut, anyway, which should not be confused with the infinitely inferior theatrical release.)

A Critical Distinction

Republicans are not fascists. They’re just being run by fascists.

And in case that weren’t clear enough, the senior fascist in the Bush regime has just come out again to remind us of the G.O.P. leadership’s true agenda. Tricky Dick Cheney is making the rounds, spouting the fascist line that the Tsar must have absolute power to wage war — including torturing prisoners — however he sees fit, without all that pesky Congressional oversight.

In other words — and I can’t imagine the intent could be any more explicit — we need the president to function as an absolute dictator.

The twist this time is that he’s not coming out in opposition to those irritating liberals, who just don’t know when to roll over and die, but to fellow Republicans. Republicans who, apparently, aren’t getting with the program that the party has decided to wield power à la Saddam Hussein. Republicans like John McCain, John Warner, and Lindsey Graham, who (how dare they?) are entertaining the notion that the United States of America really should establish some limits to just how much we can torture prisoners, hide them secretly, and otherwise completely evade the provisions of the (already-ratified) U.N. Convention Against Torture.

Duh-bya, of course, is saying flat out that he’ll veto any defense bill that includes such restrictions against his dictatorial authority. But preliminary indications are that defense amendments being proposed by McCain already have some serious Republican support; Democratic support (though not yet solicited) is probably a given.

I can’t believe anyone can still swallow the story that America has a duty to “spread democracy” when our executive branch is so determined to squash it here at home. But we, as a nation, finally have an opportunity to say that — whatever our differences as to the right course for the nation — we will absolutely not allow ourselves to be represented by a power-mad dictator. We may not be able to get rid of him just yet, but at least we can keep him from asserting overt dictatorial authority.

I’m not at all convinced that most Americans are willing to make that assertion. After all, it’s not like this fascistic bent is anything new, and this nation voted him in anyway. But I’d certainly like to be shown that my lack of faith may be unwarranted.

Beamed Up

Alas, Star Trek’s beloved chief engineer, James Doohan, has passed away. He died at about 5:30 this morning from pneumonia comlicated by Alzheimer’s.

As someone who’s seen all of his Trek appearances — yes, even the execrable Star Trek V — I will surely miss him.

Shows You What the Rumor Mill Knows

Okay, so Clement is out, and Roberts is in.

Certainly further to the right than Clement, but still likely out of the “extraordinary circumstances” range. There are still a lot of questions to be answered (particularly with regard to his explicitly anti-Roe v. Wade, pro-school prayer, and outlawing flag-burning arguments), but it’s still looking like the Dems — while opposing the nomination — will stop short of filibustering it.

The one big caveat out there is the outright celebration on the part of the wingnuts. What do they know that the rest of us don’t?

But barring any sudden revelations, I think we’re left at a point where I won’t be praising the regime for this choice, but probably not heaping condemnation either (that I’ll leave to the real activists).

Joel Achenbach’s got a fun little analysis of the nomination, but if you want a real laugh, check out the comments, in which none-too-bright folks — on both sides of the aisle — completely fail to grasp that Achenbach’s a satirist.

And no, I wasn’t glued to my television last night. On the one hand, I make it a point to avoid anything the Tsar says, and on the other, I was out with the family (along with a party of coworkers) at the kids’ first baseball game. A much better way to spend an evening.

Cautious Optimism

No, I’m not about to forgo my inherent cynicism, but the rumor mill has it that Judge Edith Clement is the frontrunner for tonight’s scheduled Supreme Court nomination.

Clement is most assuredly a “conservative.” She’s a member of the explicitly conservative Federalist Society. She’s got a lot of experience representing oil and insurance companies. Hell, she hails from the reliably extreme-right “kill-’em-all” Fifth Circuit. But simply being conservative has never been a point of objection. The truth in this case is that — at least judging by her (admittedly slim) record — there’s no indication that she’s a judicial activist.

See, here’s the thing: As much as the wingnuts rail against so-called “judicial activism,” they’re not even remotely opposed to it. They desperately want judicial activists on the bench. What they oppose is liberal judicial activism.

If Clement is selected, it would actually mean nominating someone who is (or appears to be) neither a liberal nor a conservative judicial activist. And that strikes me as something that both liberals and conservatives can (or at least should) support. Now, it’s always possible that those more dedicated than I will dig up something in her record that’ll rise to the level of “extraordinary circumstances.” (It’s also quite possible that Clement will turn out to be a judicial activist once she reaches the high court.) But barring that (and given her unopposed Senate approval for her current position), such a choice would go a long way toward averting an all-out war. The “nuclear option” may not even come up.

Now, I’m not naïve enough to forget that the whole reason for announcing today is to draw attention away from the White House’s continued harboring of traitors within its walls. So no matter who ends up being named tonight, rest assured that I’m not about to let up one iota on that front; I can only trust that the mainstream media won’t either.

But I’d happily give credit to the Tsar (well, to his handlers anyway) for actually thinking of the needs of the country ahead of vitriolic political extremism for a change.

Entering the Modern Age

Finally got the new Verizon Fios Internet service installed this morning. Quick, painless, no installation hitches...

And damn, this thing is fast.

Now all I have to do is get my home wireless network extended so I can surf from the hammock in the back yard...

The Latest From Our Criminal-in-Chief

“Oh, hey there... ’member how’s I promised I’d fire anyone involved in these here leaks? Well, I sure as hell didn’t think y’all would actually be able to find out the truth. Hell, I thought we had you press bastards pretty much cowed. So tell ya what... What say we all pretend that what I really said was that I’d fire someone who committed a crime, yessireebob. An’ we all know that means a conviction, yessir, a conviction.

“Hey, how we comin’ on that there Supreme Court nomination, Turd Blossom? Any way we can speed that up? Gotta get us a ringer in there now...”

Grieving in the Information Age

It’s funny. When I heard the news about Freda Wright-Sorce’s death, I posted just a brief comment here, along with what could, at best, be described as a half-formed thought as to my personal impressions on meeting her. I certainly didn’t write it with any ulterior motive, but out of an honest sense of grief at the passing of someone who — however peripherally — had made my life a bit happier.

In the few days since that posting, my average daily visitor count has more than doubled. Hell, it’s more than quintupled. Part of that is no doubt due to the serendipity of Internet search engines; perhaps because of timing, perhaps through random selection, this site came up fairly early on the lists of those searching for information about Freda.

(I suspect that the site isn’t what most searchers were expecting, but I certainly offer my sincerest welcome.)

But, convenient placement aside, I think a lot of it has to do with how desperately people wanted to find information about her, to make some sense out of this seemingly senseless loss, to share in this collective sense of powerlessness in the face of arbitrary catastrophe. While events like the London bombings are clearly more significant in terms of true loss, it’s the losses that strike closer to home that resonate more keenly. That’s why newscasters focus on individual stories in larger catastrophes, why (good) filmmakers bring out personal tales rather than merely retelling the larger sweep of epic events.

Of course, the sheer number of searchers also says something about the suprising degree to which Freda affected people’s lives. She was always a peripheral player on the Don and Mike Show, never seeking the limelight, never drawing attention away from the show’s stars. But at the same time, she was the voice of reason, a counterpoint to the off-the-wall antics of the show’s regulars. While Don was the unbridled id, giving voice to those thoughts each of us has on first impulse, Freda was the superego, the moderating influence, the little bit of reason that keeps us able to function in society. (I suppose in this analogy, Mike serves as the ego, balancing the needs of the id with the influence of the superego. Okay, so it’s a little stretched, but it’s just a metaphor.)

I’m afraid I don’t have much to offer, either in terms of specific information (despite her minor-celebrity status, Freda wasn’t exactly one to seek special attention) or insight into the larger meaning to be gleaned from this tragedy. But perhaps by merely acknowledging my own sadness, I can allow those who share in it the chance to find such meaning for themselves.

Another OD

Time for a break.

As happened once before, I find myself positively overdosing on vitriol. Not that it isn’t warranted, but last night I just lost it. The catalyst was a traffic ticket for something over which I had no control — while turning onto Connecticut Avenue from Dupont Circle, a taxi cut me off and started unloading passengers in the Metro bus zone. The bus came up right behind me, but I couldn’t get out of the way, particularly when the bus driver pulled forward to my left and started dropping off passengers, meaning I couldn’t even back up to get out of the way.

And sure enough, who comes up right at that moment? You guessed it: DC’s finest. She didn’t write the ticket right away, of course; she waited until the taxi — my only defense — had pulled away, then decided to put on her lights.

I’ll fight it, sure, but it’s not like I’ve got any supporting evidence. The officer said flat out she didn’t care what my story was, so I can’t imagine she’s going to paint anything remotely resembling a sympathetic picture.

All of that background to point out that my reaction (after the fact — I’m not stupid enough to curse out a cop to her face) was out of proportion to the offense. Fifty bucks is fifty bucks, true, but my revenge plots bordered on the insane. And I basically spent the entire evening fuming, my blood pressure no doubt going through the roof. It took some serious time playing with the kids to get me back to normal.

I’m not going to swear off the political discussion, but for today at least, I’m going to give it a rest. Give me a chance to calm down. Instead, I’d like to posit a movie-related question. Feel free to add your comments, as this time I’d honestly like some discussion.

We all know actors who’ve never been in a good movie, but can you think of anyone who’s never been in a bad movie? Some coworkers and I were talking it over this morning, and couldn’t think of anyone (living, anyway) who fit the mold. For example, Jeremy Irons was thrown out, but one mention of Dungeons & Dragons put that notion to rest.

Let me know what you think, and I’ll (hopefully) be back to my pre-Karlgate self soon.

What Kind of Criminal Are You?

It’s getting so hard to keep track of the Bush regime’s criminal offenses.

Karl Rove is a traitor (as is at least one yet-to-be-identified “senior administration official”). But Donald Rumsfeld is a war criminal.

Sure, they both deserve life in prison, but it’s important to remember the distinction.

Harboring Traitors

Little George is still dodging questions as to exactly why he is providing traitors (and remember, Turd Blossom is only one of them — we know there are at least two) safe harbor within the walls of the White House.

Everyone keeps bringing up the various statements Duh-bya made (either personally or through designated liar Scott McClellan) promising to fire anyone involved in this. But I think one of his other quotes is more illustrative. I’ll paraphrase it here, changing just one word to fit the current situation:

“We will make no distinction between the [traitors] who committed these acts and those who harbor them.”

As I said before, offer your support to a traitor, and we will treat you as one. You’re treading awfully close to that line, Georgie...

(And yes, before everyone jumps down my throat, I realize that — this time — I am engaging in a little editorial hyperbole. But what the hell, if the gangsters in the White House can bring up 9/11 every time they want to push their psychotic agenda, I think a little turnabout is — as Turd Blossom would put it — “fair game.”)

Don’t Let the Door Hit You on the Way In

Na na na na... na na na na... hey hey hey... goodbye.

Aww... you mean Bernie Ebbers will die in prison? Gee, that’s too bad. Here’s the world’s smallest violin.

I originally hoped this would be an example for the upcoming trial of Ken Lay, but then again, I forgot that thanks to Lay’s writing of the tsar’s energy policy, the fix is pretty much in on that one. If there’s one thing this whole Turd Blossom situation is illustrating, it’s that this regime is pretty damed good at protecting criminals. Hell, they’re a regular organized crime family.

Of course, Fredo’s in charge...

The Company You Keep

The G.O.P. hard-liners (led by Rove “protegé” Ken “Is-He-Or-Isn’t-He?” Mehlman) are all rallying to Turd Blossom’s defense.

Hey, whatever you guys want to do. But when you come out in support of another Aldrich Ames, you can be damned sure I’m going to conclude that you’re cut from the same cloth.

Freda Wright-Sorce, 1955–2005

Just heard that Freda Wright-Sorce, wife of D.C.-based syndicated radio personality Don Geronimo, was killed in a head-on collision on Sunday.

I’ve been a listener (off and on) for almost two decades now (since back in the old WAVA days). I’ve spoken with Freda (briefly) at a few live appearances, and she was just as friendly and open as she seemed in her appearances on the Don and Mike radio show.

Goodbye, Freda. We’ll miss you.

Change for the Worse

Anyone else think the new Daily Show set sucks?

I guess they’re trying to make it look more “cable news program” than “talk show,” but they’ve pretty much missed on all counts. Sure, no couch means it doesn’t resemble Leno or Letterman — which may be fine for your “newsmaker” guests, but will seriously undermine your celebrity interviews. Sure, those cool video screens are nice (Stewart can finally get his hands in front of the on-screen graphics), but the need to constantly have something on those screens becomes a nausea-inducing distraction (they have got to lose that annoying “Daily Show” text continually expanding right behind his head). And sure, you’ve got a spiffy new desk, but the irritatingly symmetrical layout cuts your visual composition options to... well, pretty much nothing.

I know that things get old after a while, but somebody should have called Thom Filicia before they moved into their new space.

(On the plus side, note that the little globe to the left of the new “lower third” graphics spins vertically; now that’s amusing.)

Speaking of The Daily Show, I was recently surfing for critiques to determine whether or not I should pick up the Indecision 2004 disc set. (Yeah, yeah, I know I probably will anyway, but it doesn’t hurt to have some critical justification for my purchase.) I found this story particularly illuminating. Not because of the meat of the story, but because of a little throwaway line down toward the bottom of the article.

Apparently, Comedy Central is working on a Patton Oswalt DVD. Now that one I’ll be preordering as soon as it’s announced.

The Fourth Estate Rises From the Dead

Joseph Finn over at In Apprehension just posted a transcript (in turn taken from The Raw Story), in which the White House press corps is uncharacteristically direct in demanding that designated liar Scott McClellan answer for his past — and on-the-record — defense of Turd Blossom.

The video is even more inspiring. God, I love watching that greasy weasel squirm!

No way in hell you’re getting away with this one, folks.

Silencio!

Apparently, a small Canadian bookseller started selling copies of the new Harry Potter book a few days early. Scandalous! But here’s the kicker — Canadian authorities have issued a gag order barring any of those buyers from discussing the plot of the book.

I suppose it’s a Canadian thing, but the very idea that you could get a gag order issued barring people from discussing the plot of a damned novel is absolutely insane. Hell, it’s inconceivable to me that anyone subject to such an order wouldn’t immediately go out and blow every damned twist in the book. I know I sure as hell would.

Don’t get me wrong — I hate plot spoilers, and I like the Harry Potter books. But mess with my right to speak, and you’ve got a war on your hands. So with that in mind, if any of those buyers want to spill their secrets here, I’ll gladly propagate them. In the United States, we’ve still got this “freedom of speech” thing going.

For the moment, anyway. After all, here’s a case where corporate interests are pitted against basic Constitutional rights. And as far as the current G.O.P. leadership is concerned, there’d be absolutely no question as to which would win out.

An Apt Comparison

Joel Achenbach has rather accurately described Turd Blossom’s defense (“Okay, so I leaked the fact that ‘Ambassador Wilson’s wife’ was an undercover CIA agent, but I didn’t technically say her actual name...”) as “the Rove version of ‘I didn’t inhale.’”

Well, except for the fact that Bubba’s little evasion wasn’t an attempt to cover up potentially treasonous behavior...

Wingnut Lunacy Exposed... or Rather Not

Caught a hilarious Al Franken interview (via the new iTunes Podcasting capability) with slander-sheet “author” Ed Klein, in which the dirt-peddlar was left positively dumbfounded at the factual inaccuracies in his new darling-of-the-wingnuts tirade against Hillary Clinton.

You know you’re in bad shape when even the author can’t begin to defend his work, let alone the usual parade of right-wing mouthpieces. Can anybody really be surprised that none of the major media are giving this wack-job the time of day?

Desecration

A little rant I didn’t have a chance to make before, between my own hectic schedule across the past couple of weeks, and then last week’s events in London. And at this point, this particular issue will probably only remain top-of-mind until Duh-bya announces whether he wants to actually unite the nation (HAH!) or start another civil war — an announcement expected any time now (assuming Turd Blossom’s increasingly transparent excuses don’t get him indicted for treason in the meantime). So the timing here may still be a bit awkward, but what the hell, I’ll go ahead anyway. (I’ve long since thrown tact out the window here.)

A bunch of moronic demagogues in the House of Representatives (yes, I know that’s redundant), led by the patently un-American (not to mention crooked as a three-dollar bill) Randy “Duke” Cunningham, have tried once again to piss on the United States of America by passing yet another attempt at a flag-burning amendment. The Senate — which, believe it or not, has 65 equally idiotic supporters at last count — could take up the issue as early as this month.

A lot of people have already pointed out how unbelieveably stupid this is (and devised some rather creative ways to get around any such amendment), so I won’t go into any more detail here. Everybody with a brain in their head recognizes that this is a thinly-veiled (hell, not really veiled at all) excuse to attack “dirty liberals” again. The amendment’s G.O.P. architects really don’t care whether it passes or not — if anything, they’d like to see it fail. Then they’ve got a tailor-made rationale for turning around and bashing those liberals as America-haters.

The truth is, of course, exactly the opposite. It’s the supporters of this amendment who are making the statement flat out: “I hate America.” And goddammit, it’s about time somebody pointed it out.

Yes, that is a direct accusation. Don’t hold your breath waiting for a retraction.

I just want to state something for the record: I have no desire to burn the American flag. But if you want to attack my own “patriotism,” go right ahead. In fact, let me take the wind out of that accusation right now: I don’t even pretend to be a so-called “patriot.” As I’ve mentioned before, I have lost all faith in the idea that America is capable of being saved from the right-wing freaks who’ve staged their not-so-bloodless coup. I no longer fly or display an American flag of my own. I flat-out refuse to recite the pledge of allegiance — less because of the insipid “under God” reference than for the fact that I pledge no such allegiance, either to the nation or to its representative symbol. This is not the Soviet Union. I live here by choice, I remain here as a voluntary resident, and I obey the laws such residency requires. But I hold no abstract “allegiance”; I will leave the moment an alternative option becomes more attractive. Basic supply and demand.

But I sure as hell don’t hate America. Regular readers will easily see how much of a fan I am of the principles on which this nation was founded, moribund though they may be today. Not to mention the fact that flag-burning — here, anyway — is about as counter-productive a protest method as you could imagine. Not exactly gonna win a lot of converts over to your side there, buddy.

But if this amendment passes, the first thing I will do is go out and burn a flag. And not one of those convenient, almost-but-not-quite-a-flag versions designed to get around such legislation, but the actual flag.

Why? Because if this amendment passes, such a protest may be not desirable, nor effective, but it will be necessary. Not a protest against America, its government, or its people, but against the draconian notion that freedom of speech should be limited to that which the government finds comfortably within the bounds of the unthreatening. The last nail will truly have been placed in the coffin of the very principles the Constitution stands for. Not only will America be beyond saving, but it will truly not be worthy of saving.

Am I out of the mainstream? Probably. But I guarantee you one thing: Passage of this amendment will see a rash of people doing exactly the same thing (a notion that a number of admittedly nonscientific polls has confirmed). A “problem” that doesn’t exist will suddenly become an epidemic.

In days past, it was easy enough to make my rant and move on. After all, the likelihood of such a ridiculously asinine amendment passing was effectively nil. But now, with that no longer being the case, I’m coming out guns blazing, no matter what the result. I will neither let these anti-American crusaders desecrate everything this nation stands for, nor stand idly by while they attempt to redirect their obvious disdain for it toward those who would defend it.

The gloves are off.

Turd Blossom Traitor?

It’s probably easy to miss amid all the brouhaha over Judith Miller’s incarceration, but it’s looking more and more like Karl “Turd Blossom” Rove may be guilty of treason (not to mention perjury and obstruction of justice, but those sort of pale in comparison). Kind of hard to imagine he’ll actually be convicted, but I can hope.

So what is the punishment for treason anyway?

“War President”

I had another entry planned for today, but with the breaking news coming out of London, I figured it can wait a day or so.

I’ll likely be accused of hypocrisy, no matter what disclaimers I may offer in advance, and I welcome the feedback. But at least let me get one thing out of the way right off the bat — the blame for this attack lies with those who planned and carried it out. A lot of the reactionaries and protesters will start pulling Jerry Falwell/Pat Robertson-type insanity, claiming that this is all really the responsibility of whatever completely unrelated group they happen to oppose, using whatever half-assed rationale they can to justify their lunacy.

However...

I am not going to pretend that everyone else is completely without blame. It is a gross oversimplification to pretend that this attack — or others like it — would definitely have been prevented if, say, we hadn’t effectively abandoned our efforts to apprehend those responsible for the September 11 attacks, including most significantly Osama bin Laden. But the fact remains that that’s exactly what George Bush did, replacing a well-supported effort to stop those who had actually attacked the United States with a not-so-clearly-supported effort to wage a war of choice against a completely unrelated target.

Remember, I’m no dove; you’ll never find me out with the peace protesters. I understand the (real) rationale for invading Iraq. I was never convinced of either its necessity or its likelihood of success, and it sure as hell looks like reality’s bearing me out. As I’ve made clear, what I can never forgive is the deliberate attempt to deceive the American people into supporting the invasion of Iraq by both grossly overstating the threat posed by Saddam Hussein and blurring the line between al Qaeda and Iraq. Presented on its merits, the toppling of Saddam Hussein was, in theory, a noble undertaking. But no doubt most Americans, if actually presented with the choice, would have agreed with me in saying not until we catch Osama bin Laden and stop al Qaeda.

And now al Qaeda is still active and claiming responsibility for this attack, Osama bin Laden — a significant figurehead if not personally directing operations — remains at large, and the United States is bogged down in a war the Tsar’s regime chose to undertake while we had an actual enemy still unconquered.

I found the attached picture while surfing around yesterday. It’s old news, now, but — sadly — still just as relevant (if not more so). It’s a photo mosaic composed of the faces of 960 of the (now more than 1,750) soldiers killed thanks to “Bush’s Folly.”

The image was originally created by American Leftist; it’s been updated several times as the body count has risen. The version I’ve got linked here (clicking on the photo will bring you to a much larger copy) originally appeared at the Ronald Feldman Gallery in New York.

No, Mr. Bush, you don’t truly have to answer for the deaths in London, save for the (comparatively) minor role of your policy decisions in bringing them about. But you sure as hell have to answer for every one of these.

Ernest Lehman, 1915–2005

Just heard that screenwriter Ernest Lehman has passed away at the age of 89.

Lehman was, of course, the writer of one of my all-time favorite films — and inspiration for the Tohubohu team names “Kaplan” and “Thornhill” — North by Northwest (I still remember his insightful commentary on the DVD edition of the movie). Sure, the movie’s more often remembered as a Hitchcock picture, or maybe a Cary Grant vehicle, but next time you see it, pay careful attention to the dialogue — this is some of the wittiest stuff Hollywood ever produced. I actually used a scene from the picture in an acting class back in college. Never honored with an Oscar win, Lehman was nominated six times (four times as a writer, twice as a producer), and in 2001 was awarded an honorary statue.

Good-bye, Professor. Thanks for helping us make sense of this whole alphabet soup.

Hollywood’s Bitch, Part 2: Die Bitchier

Some commentary on Tom’s original post lamented the fact that these “top grossers” lists always use unadjusted dollars in their compilations. Conveniently enough, Box Office Mojo has gone to the trouble of assembling (and, what’s more, maintaining) a list in “ticket price inflation”-adjusted dollars. No, that’s not quite the same as inflation-adjusted, but it’s at least fair to argue that by focusing on the specific inflation of movie ticket prices, Box Office Mojo’s list is more accurate than a simpler adjustment.

As before, I won’t reprint the full list here (I’ll assume you’re capable of linking there yourself), but I will add the changes from the previous list. I won’t bother with rankings, though it’s worth remarking how different the two lists are; not only are the films that remain on the list often in radically different places, but fully 49 out of 100 films differ. Do check it out the list for yourself.

Added to the previous list (in descending order of adjusted gross dollars) are:

• The Sound of Music (1965)
  
• The Ten Commandments (1956)
  
• Doctor Zhivago (1965)
  
• 101 Dalmatians (1961)
  
• Ben-Hur (1959)
  
• The Sting (1973)
  
• The Graduate (1967)
  
• Fantasia (1941)
  
• The Godfather (1972)
  
• Mary Poppins (1964)
  
• Thunderball (1965)
  
• The Jungle Book (1967)
  
• Sleeping Beauty (1959)
  
• Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969)
  
• Love Story (1970)
  
• Pinocchio (1940)
  
• Cleopatra (1963)
  
• Goldfinger (1964)
  
• Airport (1970)
  
• American Graffiti (1973)
  
• The Robe (1953)
  
• Around the World in 80 Days (1956)
  
• Bambi (1942)
  
• Blazing Saddles (1974)
  
• The Bells of St. Mary’s (1945)
  
• The Towering Inferno (1974)
  
• My Fair Lady (1964)
  
• The Greatest Show on Earth (1952)
  
• National Lampoon’s Animal House (1978)
  
• Superman (1978)
  
• Smokey and the Bandit (1977)
  
• West Side Story (1961)
  
• Lady and the Tramp (1955)
  
• Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977)
  
• Lawrence of Arabia (1962)
  
• The Rocky Horror Picture Show* (1975)
  
• Rocky (1976)
  
• The Best Years of Our Lives (1946)
  
• The Poseidon Adventure (1972)
  
• The Bridge on the River Kwai (1957)
  
• It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World (1963)
  
• Swiss Family Robinson (1960)
  
• One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest (1975)
  
• M.A.S.H. (1970)
  
• Duel in the Sun (1946)
  
• House of Wax (1953)
  
• Rear Window (1954)
  
• Sergeant York (1941)
  
• The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse (1921)

Dropping off the list are:

• Meet the Fockers (2004)
  
• Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (2002)
  
• The Incredibles (2004)
  
• Monsters, Inc. (2001)
  
• Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (2004)
  
• Bruce Almighty (2003)
  
• My Big Fat Greek Wedding (2002)
  
• Cast Away (2000)
  
• Signs (2002)
  
• Rush Hour 2 (2001)
  
• Mission: Impossible II* (2000)
  
• X2: X-Men United (2003)
  
• Austin Powers in Goldmember (2002)
  
• Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me* (1999)
  
• The Mummy Returns (2001)
  
• Armageddon (1998)
  
• Pearl Harbor (2001)
  
• Toy Story (1995)
  
• Men in Black II (2002)
  
• Gladiator (2000)
  
• The Day After Tomorrow (2004)
  
• Dances With Wolves (1990)
  
• Batman Forever (1995)
  
• The Fugitive (1993)
  
• Ocean’s Eleven (2001)
  
• What Women Want (2000)
  
• The Perfect Storm (2000)
  
• Liar Liar (1997)
  
• Jurassic Park III (2001)
  
• Mission: Impossible (1996)
  
• Planet of the Apes (2001)
  
• Hitch (2005)
  
• Pretty Woman* (1990)
  
• There’s Something About Mary (1998)
  
• Ice Age (2002)
  
• The Bourne Supremacy (2004)
  
• Apollo 13 (1995)
  
• Home Alone 2: Lost in New York (1992)
  
• Elf (2003)
  
• National Treasure (2004)
  
• Air Force One (1997)
  
• Rain Man (1988)
  
• Madagascar (2005)
  
• The Matrix (1999)
  
• Beauty and the Beast (1991)
  
• Tarzan (1999)
  
• A Beautiful Mind (2001)
  
• Chicago (2002)
  
• Three Men and a Baby* (1987)

In the end, I’m down a total of 14 films seen, down three liked, and down another three that I originally liked. So given the differences in this list, and my substantially smaller viewing percentage, it might appear that I’m not as much of a Hollywood hanger-on as it might have originally seemed.

Of course, that conclusion is plain wrong. If anything, this list — which deemphasizes the formulaic dreck of modern Hollywood — demonstrates the opposite. Here, where there’s a substantially larger proportion of real quality films, I’m falling short.

Time to start hitting TCM.

I Am Hollywood’s Bitch, Part 1

Okay, another movie list meme. This one courtesy of Tom Bridge. Here, we’re looking at the 100 top-grossing films of all time (domestic grosses, that is). As per meme instructions, I am putting films I’ve seen in italics, films I liked in boldface (an admittedly vague designation), and attaching an asterisk to films I liked on original viewing, but which no longer have quite the same appeal (basically, movies I probably wouldn’t watch again, or at least not repeatedly).

Since the list appeared on Tom’s site, I’ve adjusted the rankings to keep them up-to-date (as of today), and omitted the actual dollar figures (I’m just too lazy to keep typing them in). For an up-to-date (and complete) list, check out the regularly maintained list at Box Office Mojo.

So here we go:

1. Titanic (1997)
   
2. Star Wars: Episode IV - A New Hope (1977)
   
3. Shrek 2 (2004)
   
4. E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial (1982)
   
5. Star Wars: Episode I - The Phantom Menace* (1999)
   
6. Spider-Man (2002)
   
7. The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King (2003)
   
8. Spider-Man 2 (2004)
   
9. The Passion of the Christ (2004)
   
10. Star Wars: Episode III - Revenge of the Sith (2005)
    
11. Jurassic Park (1993)
    
12. The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers (2002)
    
13. Finding Nemo (2003)
    
14. Forrest Gump (1994)
    
15. The Lion King (1994)
    
16. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone (2001)
    
17. The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring (2001)
    
18. Star Wars: Episode II - Attack of the Clones (2002)
    
19. Star Wars: Episode VI - Return of the Jedi (1983)
    
20. Independence Day* (1996)
    
21. Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl (2003)
    
22. The Sixth Sense (1999)
    
23. Star Wars: Episode V - The Empire Strikes Back (1980)
    
24. Home Alone* (1990)
    
25. The Matrix Reloaded* (2003)
    
26. Meet the Fockers (2004)
    
27. Shrek (2001)
    
28. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (2002)
    
29. The Incredibles (2004)
    
30. How the Grinch Stole Christmas (2000)
    
31. Jaws (1975)
    
32. Monsters, Inc. (2001)
    
33. Batman (1989)
    
34. Men in Black (1997)
    
35. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (2004)
    
36. Toy Story 2 (1999)
    
37. Bruce Almighty (2003)
    
38. Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981)
    
39. Twister (1996)
    
40. My Big Fat Greek Wedding (2002)
    
41. Ghostbusters (1984)
    
42. Beverly Hills Cop (1984)
    
43. Cast Away (2000)
    
44. The Exorcist (1973)
    
45. The Lost World: Jurassic Park (1997)
    
46. Signs (2002)
    
47. Rush Hour 2 (2001)
    
48. Mrs. Doubtfire* (1993)
    
49. Ghost* (1990)
    
50. Aladdin (1992)
    
51. Saving Private Ryan (1998)
    
52. Mission: Impossible II* (2000)
    
53. X2: X-Men United (2003)
    
54. Austin Powers in Goldmember (2002)
    
55. Back to the Future (1985)
    
56. Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me* (1999)
    
57. Terminator 2: Judgment Day (1991)
    
58. The Mummy Returns (2001)
    
59. Armageddon (1998)
    
60. Gone with the Wind (1939)
    
61. Pearl Harbor (2001)
    
62. Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (1989)
    
63. Toy Story (1995)
    
64. Men in Black II (2002)
    
65. Grease (1978)
    
66. Gladiator (2000)
    
67. The Day After Tomorrow (2004)
    
68. Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937)
    
69. Dances With Wolves (1990)
    
70. Batman Forever (1995)
    
71. The Fugitive (1993)
    
72. Ocean’s Eleven (2001)
    
73. What Women Want (2000)
    
74. The Perfect Storm (2000)
    
75. Liar Liar (1997)
    
76. Jurassic Park III (2001)
    
77. Mission: Impossible (1996)
    
78. Planet of the Apes (2001)
    
79. Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom* (1984)
    
80. Hitch (2005)
    
81. Pretty Woman* (1990)
    
82. Tootsie (1982)
    
83. Top Gun (1986)
    
84. There’s Something About Mary (1998)
    
85. Ice Age (2002)
    
86. The Bourne Supremacy (2004)
    
87. Crocodile Dundee (1986)
    
88. Apollo 13 (1995)
    
89. Home Alone 2: Lost in New York (1992)
    
90. Elf (2003)
    
91. National Treasure (2004)
    
92. Air Force One (1997)
    
93. Rain Man (1988)
    
94. Madagascar (2005)
    
95. The Matrix (1999)
    
96. Beauty and the Beast (1991)
    
97. Tarzan (1999)
    
98. A Beautiful Mind (2001)
    
99. Chicago (2002)
    
100. Three Men and a Baby* (1987)

So what’s the big lesson? One, I see a lot of movies — 90 out of 100 on this list. Furthermore, I’m easily pleased — 65 out of those 90; add in the ones I liked when I originally saw them and we’re up to 76. And we’re talking about mainstream movies here, prime Hollywood product, so any illusions about my being primarily an indie fan are out the window.

I think I’ll look at it this way: This just goes to show that discriminating taste and mainstream sensibilities are not mutually exclusive.

Now pass me another Budweiser.

Time for Another Glass of Funny

I thought I should mention that Patton’s show Friday night kicked ass — just the right combination of classic bits, new material, and topical references (yeah, I’m sure he customizes his routines for audiences in general, but as a Northern Virginia expatriate, his local color rings a little truer here). Pam and I were going to go originally, but she and the girls had to go down to Virginia Beach for a week to help care for my ailing mother-in-law (perhaps one reason why I’ve been so cranky lately).

So Adam and I went instead. The theater was already pretty packed when we got there more than an hour ahead of time, but we were able to get a couple of great seats: off to the side, but with a great view of the stage and — most importantly — right next to the bar. Want another drink? Just turn around and get it. Not too shabby. (We tipped accordingly.)

Of course, there was at least one person who’d obviously taken a bit more advantage of the bars than we did. And he was sitting right in front of us. You know things are going to go badly when someone starts shouting back at the stage in agreement with just about every line the comic says (and besetting the poor older woman sitting next to him with incessant high-five requests). Fortunately, he used up most of his energy during the opening act, though he was no less intoxicated for Patton’s set. He was obviously enjoying himself, and while obnoxious, he certainly wasn’t hurting anyone. But eventually, security did have to come and escort him out (and thankfully, he went peaceably).

There was also a bit of a problem with hecklers, but they were an unusual variety. They weren’t berating Patton at all, but were chanting out in unison with some of his more memorable “punch lines.” Okay, so even I couldn’t help but mutter under my breath the immortal “...and mediocrity held sway!” line from his Apocalypse story (okay, and “Squibbly-flabbily-doo!”), but these guys were hitting ’em all at full volume. It wasn’t until later that I learned the truth — they were a bunch of Marines stationed in Iraq, who had taken Patton’s CDs and pretty much memorized them, recreating his bits for their comrades.

Kind of hard to stay mad at ’em.

Oh, and how did I learn that truth, you ask? Well, I had brought along my Feelin’ Kinda Patton and (the now lamentably out-of-print) 222 CD covers for Patton to sign, along with my copy of the Patton-scripted comic book JLA: Welcome to the Working Week; I kept meaning to send them via mail (he had offered to sign them for me and send them back), but never got around to it. But on seeing the size of the crowd — this was no Madison Square Garden, but neither was it a small comedy-club venue — I figured it wasn’t to be; he wasn’t likely to be just hanging around chatting with he audience. But what the hell, Adam and I didn’t have anywhere pressing to be, so we decided to hang around outside for a while afterward, just on the off chance we might be able to grab a moment when he came out.

Sure enough, he eventually emerged, along with a small retinue of compatriots. I stepped up, and he immediately recognized me (frankly a bit of a surprise, as we hadn’t seen each other but once in the past fourteen years). I thanked him for the show, and offered up my swag, but his immediate reaction was, “Hell, we’re all going over to the Four P’s — come on and have a drink.”

So basically, we spent the next two hours hanging out with Patton and company (a surprisingly fun and friendly bunch of people, including Wes Johnson of A Dirty Shame), just chatting away and basically geeking out. Didn’t get home until two a.m., but it was more than worth it. Sure, we found out a few minor Hollywood-gossip details — some stuff about the upcoming season of Reno 911! (though Patton was careful to avoid any true “spoilers”), and at least one personal geek tidbit that, while almost unspeakably cool (well, cool in a geek way), might be a little too personally revealing to retell in this forum. Maybe not revealing for Patton, whose geek credentials are firmly established, but for one of the other parties involved, whose core fan base might be a tad less understanding. But mostly, we just hung out, drank Guinness and Balvenie (222 has a phenomenal Guinness sketch, and Patton’s a single-malt aficionado), argued Batman movies (he’s buddies with Batman Begins screenwriter David S. Goyer), talked comics, and otherwise just had a kick-ass time.

And Patton — proudly proclaiming, “I’m on basic cable!” — picked up the tab for everyone. Sure, I’d have remained a loyal fan regardless, but now it’s guaranteed.

When Is a Hat More Than a Hat?

Finally, acknowledgement that other people are dealing with the same dilemma that faced me.

I really wanted a souvenir from my Diamond Club experience with the Nationals. And as I am by no means a baseball-jersey kind of person, the only real souvenir would pretty much have to be a ball cap (not that I wear a lot of those either, but I’m sure as hell more likely to do so than sport a jersey).

The problem? Not only are the caps red (at least the home caps), but they sport a big ol’ “W” right out there on the forehead. Makes sense, of course — that’s the team’s logo, designed to recall the old Senators’s logo — but picture me wearing a red W cap, and you begin to see the problem. Add to that the question of whether I should buy souvenir caps for the girls, and my dilemma is compounded.

I agonized about this pretty much the entire game. How could I possibly bring myself to buy (and presumably wear) something that even implied that I had anything but utter contempt for the scumbag occupying the oval office?

Sure, I could at least get a blue road cap. But I hadn’t attended a road game, and it seemed silly to have a “souvenir” (literally French for “to remember”) for an experience I hadn’t had. I could have gotten a DC logo cap or one of the other alternative-logo versions, but the same argument applied; they’re great if you’re a ball-cap-wearing guy, but if not, and you’re going to get just one souvenir cap, it should really be an authentic cap. And the players wear the red W.

Finally, in about the seventh inning, I thought screw it. I wasn’t about to let that cornpone son of a bitch coopt not only the color red, but the letter W as well. Hell, it was the first letter of my own first name. So I bought myself a cap — and two for the kids. Not in support of Duh-bya, but in open defiance.

He may have stolen my country, but he’s not getting my color palette and alphabet as well.

The Last Straw

On November 2, 2004, the United States of America officially died.

On July 1, 2005, with the start of the handover of the last branch of government to the fascist party, the process to officially convert the new nation to Jesusland commenced.

U.S.A. R.I.P.

I’m Not Dead Yet!

I know it seems like I’ve dropped off the face of the Earth, but I assure you I am alive and well. In fact, tonight, I’ll be going out to catch Patton Oswalt’s show at the State Theatre, which would be particularly difficult had I shuffled off this mortal coil.

It just seems like I’ve been positively swamped. Between bizarrely scheduled focus groups, to early-morning taping sessions, to NTSC-to-PAL DVD transcoding, to cutting together a trailer for Bystander, to working on the updated video for the Tohubohu site, to trying to finish up some long-overdue writing projects, it just seems like I haven’t been able to get a free moment.

I did read an especially interesting book last week — On Bullshit, by Harry G. Frankfurt. I had seen the book profiled on The Daily Show (and since I caught the 11:00 p.m. show, they actually read the title aloud), and was curious about it. It’s actually a pretty good read — though Pam’s thought was that writing a book about bullshit is pretty much an exercise in bullshit in the first place.

I suppose my big takeaway was that the main difference between a bullshitter and a liar is that a liar actually does care about the truth, as he is deliberately trying to obscure it. A bullshitter really doesn’t care about the truth — the truth or falsehood of his statement is entirely incidental. A bullshitter is interested solely in creating a particular perception about himself rather than actually conveying (or not conveying) the state of reality.

An intersting observation. I couldn’t help but draw the obvious comparisons with the Tsar’s regime. People (myself included) have often said that they don’t know what’s scarier — the notion that Bush is lying, or the possibility that he actually believes the inanity he spouts. And to a degree, that may be oversimplifying things. Whereas someone like Dick Cheney is clearly a liar, going out of his way to deny a truth of which he is completely cognizant, Bush is really a lot more like the kid who didn’t study for his essay test and is just filling pages with material, hoping that it’ll baffle people just enough that they don’t realize he has no idea what he’s talking about.