The Aquabats!
Yesterday! Yesterday! Yesterday! Hurray! I have a severely stuffed nose, and not being able to breath always puts a damper on my spirits; so, I shan't enumerate for you right now the many ways in which last night was one of the greatest shows I've ever seen. But fear not, dear reader, I shall enumerate in time.

The Motor City
(As you read this, please note that it has nothing to do with the impending triumph of the Detroit Pistons over the Los Angeles Lakers.) I love the City of Detroit. I am not from Detroit, I do not claim to be from Detroit; hell, I'm not even from Flint. I am from an affluent suburb, the name of which translates into English as "big white." But whenever I am in Detroit, as I was for baseball games today and on Friday and for The Aquabats! last night, I feel a great swell, not of pride, but of love. I love Detroit. I don't think Detroit requires saving anymore (thank you, Dennis Archer, from the bottom of my heart), but I want to help Detroit. I want to see Detroit recapture some of her lost glory. I want Detroit to have something to brag about, not just things to apologize for. I want Detroit to swagger.

Places to go: St. Andrew's Hall, The Shelter, the State Theatre, the Majestic Theatre; the Detroit Opera House, Orchestra Hall; Joe Louis Arena, Comerica Park, Ford Field (damn it, I will see a Lions game this Fall).

Crap
Aerosmith

H-A-D
Have an infinite day.

The Aquabats!
Today! Today! Today! Hurray! And instead of the show, Sardine's going to her brother's high school graduation. Boo.

FUN! with NATO Alpha-Phonetic Code
Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta, Echo, Foxtrot, Gulf, Hotel, India, Juliet, Kilo, Lima, Mike, November, Oscar, Papa, Quebec, Romeo, Sierra, Tango, Uniform, Victor, Whiskey, X-Ray, Yankee, Zulu

Your Humble Narrator - Mike Papa Whiskey
The Mountain of Love - Delta Alpha Whiskey
Skeeter - Juliet Sierra Sierra
Zach Nie! - Zulu Juliet November
The Shrub - Golf Whiskey Bravo

Crap
Sting

H-A-D
Have a schizophrenic day.

The Aquabats!
Tomorrow! Tomorrow! Tomorrow! Hurray! This time tomorrow, Zach Nie!, Neutral Man, and your humble narrator, Captain Thumbs-Up, will have rocked out to the melodious goodness of America's wackiest ska band, The Aquabats! Oh, man!

Worked a game at Comerica Park tonight. I can't believe that by the end of the summer, I will have attended more baseball games than Zach Nie!...

Crap
Creed (Obvious, but it had to be said.)

H-A-D
Have a sloppy day.

Dirk Hopeless (a.k.a. David Sterling)
Nikki Savage
Rat Bastard Hopeless-Savage (boy)
Arsenal Fierce Hopeless-Savage (girl)
Twitch Strummer Hopeless-Savage (boy)
Skank Zero Hopeless-Savage (girl)

Dirk loves Nikki
Arsenal loves Claude Shi
Twitch loves Henry Shi
Zero loves Ginger Kincaid
poor Rat...

Hopeless Savages
Hopeless Savages: Ground Zero
Too Much Hopeless Savages

I want to hurt my brother so much right now. And I could, he's sitting right there. And now... I pounce! Yaaaaa!

"Where are you going, son?"
"Oh... you know..."
"To save the world?"
"... yes."
"My poor, insane son."

Everything Old is New Again
DC Comics is going to hell in a handbag and in one hell of a hurry. To wit, there is a new limited series called Justice League: Elite. Welcome back to the mid-'90s and the craptacular days of Justice League Extreme, everybody.

Crap
Coldplay

H-A-D
Have a hypnotic day.

Continued Next Issue
Superman
Superman II
Superman III
Superman IV: The Quest for Peace

Batman
Batman Returns
Batman Forever
Batman & Robin
Batman Begins (2005)

X-Men
X2

Spider-Man
Spider-Man 2

You really have to hand it to those Marvel folks for some wickedly original titles.

Planet Express Delivery Service
Phillip J. Fry
Bender Bending Rodriquez
Turanga Leela*
Prof. Hubert Farnsworth
Amy Wong
Dr. John Zoidberg
Hermes Conrad

*Captain, starship Planet Express Delivery Ship

Holy balls, I just received a new short story from Orin Kennedy, author of "The Noah Serum," the centerpiece of the first two "Summer Reading" issues of The Newsletter! Everything's coming up Milhouse!

Zooey Deschanel Appreciation Day
Here's the problem: how in the hell do you pronounce Ms. Deschanel's first name? Logic would suggest "Zoo-ee." My reading of Franny and Zooey leads me to believe "Zoo-ee." An interview I read said "Zoo-ee." But now - now! - I have encountered a couple articles which say Zoe. Damn it! Make no mistake, I am a big fan of the name Zoe, I love the name Zoe, I just want to know if it's Zoe or "Zoo-ee"! Zoeeeeeeeeeeyyyyyyyyyy!

Yeah, I watched both parts of "The Real Folk Blues." By Lucifer's beard, why did Bebop have to end!

I love my country, I just hate most of the people in it. I think my deep contempt for the Congress is grounded in the sorry fact that it is such a devastatingly accurate reflection of the American people. I would fear for the Republic, except we have managed thus far to succeed inspite of ourselves, and I see no reason why this inexplicable and fortuitous trend should change.

Vote For Kodos
Watching the service for President Reagan in the Rotunda (my word, the Capitol is beautiful), I got to thinking and asked my mom how she could have possibly not voted for Reagan in '84. '80 I can understand (at least she had the good sense to vote for Anderson instead of Jimmy again), but who voted for Fritz Mondale? He's Fritz Mondale, such a loser that he was second-banana to Jimmy! Anywho, so I got to thinking about win-loss records, and here they are, oldest to youngest:

Dad 5-3
1972 Nixon - W
1976 Ford - L
1980 Reagan - W
1984 Reagan - W
1988 Bush - W
1992 Bush - L
1996 Dole - L
2000 Bush - W

Mom 3-5
1972 McGovern - L
1976 Jimmy - W
1980 Anderson - L
1984 Mondale - L
1988 Dukakis - L
1992 Clinton - W
1996 Clinton - W
2000 Gore - L

The LAW 1-1
1996 Clinton - W
2000 Gore - L

The Last Angry Man 1-0
2000 Bush - W

the Mountain of Love 1-0
2000 Bush - W

Crap
The Grateful Dead

H-A-D
Have a plaid day.

I'm having trouble coming up with alien races. I've known for years what the Tehl Larians are like, but I'll be damned if I've ever been able to figure out what they look like. I've never been able to nail down what the Erixish are like, nor what they look like. I know who the Otrosi are, but their appearance has gone through many changes. Hmmm, maybe I should just make everybody more alien....

I really need to watch "The Real Folk Blues, Parts 1 and 2." I'm familiar with "Ballad of Fallen Angels" and both parts of "Jupiter Jazz," but I think I've only ever seen the Bebop finale once. I shall have to rectify that.

A short skirt,
A Gimmes shirt,
A Jones Soda,
Ain't life grand?

If I ever meet a girl wearing a short skirt and a Me First and the Gimme Gimmes T-shirt, drinking a Jones Soda, I might very well ask her to marry me before I even introduce myself.

"Blernsball Fever - Contract It!"

Sports Sports Sports Sports
Not to say that the Lakers are not a formidable team, because they are, but the problem I think they are having and will continue to have with Detroit is that the Pistons play all 48 minutes. The Pistons don't have the talent to win any other way; so, they fight and fight and fight the whole night. I just don't know if Los Angeles has an answer to that. Then again, they are ridiculously talented....

Fight Club
Well, it's been about two days now, and Kid Hugh still hasn't thumped me in a dark alley yet. Perhaps this is a good sign and he has recognized that violence is hardly the best way to settle a disagreement over his crappy taste in music. Or maybe he realized he was backing himself into "a nightmarish world from which there is no escape" (to borrow a phrase from Gaz). I'm a Flounder, and that's a bond not even death can rend asunder. I'd hurt you bad, son, I fight tooth-and-nail with 300-pound naked men for fun. I'm the only one who can take on both WAP (power) and Bill (speed). "I hope you like nightmare world."

Smith and Winkler
Smith and Winkler
[Short film.] Smith and Winkler kill Hartmut (why?) and battle some random drug-dealers.

Smith and Winkler: The Final Hoe-Down
The U.R.B.A.N. Commandos versus Scavenger Face and his Jihad All-Stars (pre-9/11 project, new enemy needed). Introduce Captain Dick, Norman Dick, Scavenger Face, Gus Worchestershire, and the Mailman; first mention Foreman and the "French Poodle Caper"; first see Smith's ESP powers.

Smith and Winkler Save Christmas
The U.R.B.A.N. Commandos stop Santa Claus's mind-controlled murderous rampage and gun-down Mrs. Claus, having been tricked into thinking she was responsible. Santa kills Helmut (why?) and Adam Griffin, among others. Introduce David and Wilco, the Two Loser Cops.

Smith and Winkler: The French Poodle Caper (proposed)
[Prequel.] Smith and Winkler are rookies training under Dick and Foreman, under the overall command of Captain Planet. "Winkler," it turns out, is actually an undercover operative of the Isle of Man intelligence service, Captain Llewelyn Lloyd Llalament. Meet young Norman Dick (still a child), Gus Worchestershire, and Scavenger Face (and possibly Mark Hamill); Foremen loses his left nut and Llalament gets amnesia so he thinks he really is Winkler.

(untitled Smith and Winkler project[s])
At some point, Smith and Winkler have to battle Smythe and Winkelman, the R.U.R.A.L. Commandos; we have to meet Captain Dick's younger brother and boss, Major Dick; and there must eventually be a showdown with Mark Hamill and his Hurt 'Em Bad All-Stars. I've always felt that perhaps Smythe and Winkelman and Mark Hamill shouldn't be in the same movie.

Crap
Phish

H-A-D
Have an ALL KNOWING day.

I tell you, the more I listen to It's Time For The Peacocks, the better it is. This is the best new punk album I've heard in a while.

Sports Sports Sports Sports
Thank Bog, Tampa Bay won the Cup! Not that I give half a damn about the Lightning (on some level, it is wrong for a team from Florida to hoist Lord Stanley's Cup), but I just could not stand to see the bastard Flames win it all. Take that, you upstart bottomfeeders! Between that and Detroit's convincing win over LA in Game 1, this is surprising satisfying week in the middle of what are supposed to be the doldrums. Actually, I suppose the doldrums didn't start until today, because there's no more hockey until... well, who knows. Maybe not until the Fall of 2005. In any event, "Kudos!" to the Lighting, "Ha ha!" to the Flames, and "keep on keepin' on" to the Pistons.

(Item deleted: inferior quality, not up to Secret Base standards.)

Super Rad
As we speak, I'm trying to convince Sardine to go see The Aquabats! with me on Saturday. The Aquabats! This could be a very strange show: the Mountain will be in Detroit, but stuck at the Opera House only a few frustrating blocks from the Majestic; I'm still not sure if either Guy Zach Nie! or Neutral Man (and maybe the Flying Dutchman) can go; and if Sardine goes, this will be her first good show (she has absolutely horrible taste in music). But come Hell or high water, I'll be there in full Aqua-Cadet regalia (including the Mountain's Anti-Negativity Helmet!), ready to do my best to support those noble exiles from the island of Aquabania, The Aquabats! Aqua-Cadet No. 0003432, Captain Thumbs-Up, ready and willing to rock.

"Just remember - it's not the size of the battle... it's the fury."

Crap
Beck

H-A-D
Make a friend today.

The Simpsons
People always say that you should give things, people, shows, et cetera, a chance. So, I gave The Simpsons a chance and watched tonight's episode. Before I go on, it should be noted that for many years The Simpsons was my favorite show; my beloved The Newsletter is named after a quote from the show, a quote also used as the publication's motto, "Your ideas are intriguing to me and I wish to subscribe to your newsletter." However, it is because of my deep love for the show that I have been unwilling to watch it this millennium. It is better to burn out than fade away (Barry Sanders's exit versus Michael Jordan's) and for years now The Simpsons has been fading away. It's sad, really. What I saw tonight confirmed my worst fears: Principal Skinner and Mrs. Krabappel almost got married, they slandered the good name of the Bi-Mon-Sci-Fi-Con, and Homer and Marge got married again... in a Klingon wedding. If Matt Groening won't put a stop to this voluntarily, violence may be the only viable recourse.

Fight Club
So, over on Smutty McGee's blog, there is some kid named Hugh who thinks he could "thump [me] if we ever met in some dark alley." His confidence is based upon the fact that he creams his shorts when listening to Guns N' Roses and that I watch too much Star Trek and read too many comic books. He took offense to that fact that he's twenty-six and I called him a "kid." Bwa ha ha! This kid is priceless; next he's going to get mad at me for insulting Slash's honor. Oh, no, some kid named Hugh's going to jump me in a dark alley! "Run away! Run away!" Oh dear Bog, no, some kid named Hugh's coming to get me! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

The Gipper
Prior to President Reagan's death yesterday, the only presidential passing I had experienced was President Nixon's death in 1994. From a policy standpoint - pulling us out of Vietnam and giving the South Vietnamese a fighting chance, opening relations with China, creating Earth Day - I am a huge fan of Nixon, but obviously even in death he remained a controversial and unfortunate figure. President Reagan has a very different legacy. Old Man Gipper called a spade a spade, he said the Soviet Union was an "evil empire," which it was. He made the American armed forces the worldbeaters they are today: occupations are another matter, but we can easily carry out two or three Iraq-style takedowns a year; if the Chinese move on Taiwan, they will find themselves in a world of hurt. He carried himself with the confidence to overcome our hangover from the '70s. He was the President of the Unites States when I was a kid; to me, he defined everything a president should be. My greatest regret is that The Newsletter's production schedule won't allow me to devote a column to the great man's death until late September at the earliest. Curses.

Overlord
Back in the day, they knew how to name military operations. Ops used to have cool names, or at least random codewordy sounding names; now, they are the height of lame. The liberation of Iraq? Operation IRAQI FREEDOM. The Hunt for bin Ladin? Operation ULTIMATE JUSTICE. Please. On a smaller scale, some modern ops still have decent names, like Operation Anaconda, the assault on Tora Bora. Operation DESERT SHIELD and Operation DESERT STORM get props because they were a pair; once you had Desert Shield, you had to follow through with Desert Storm. 1998's Operation DESERT FOX, a cruise missle campaign against Hussein, worked because it continued the theme.

Now, a good name, unfortunately, does not guarantee success. President Johnson's insane bombing campaign that forbade overflights of North Vietnam was colled Operation ROLLING THUNDER; great name for a bombing campaign, bad idea for a bombing campaign. President Nixon brought the North Vietnamese to the peace table and got us out of Vietname, though the November Victors later broke the terms of the treaty, with Operation LINEBACKER and Operation LINEBACKER II; everybody loves a sequel. As far as I am aware, for American forces the current manner of operational naming goes back to the Second World War:

Operation TORCH - invasion of North Africa
Operation HUSKY - invasion of Sicily
Operation WATCHTOWER - invasion of Guadalcanal
Operation DRAGOON - invasion of sourthern France
Operation FORAGER - invasion of the Marianas
Operation MARKET GARDEN - attempt to cross the Rhine
Operation DETACHMENT - invasion of Iwo Jima
Operation DOWNFALL - invasion of Okinawa
Operation CORONET - planned invasion of Japan

And of course, the best name for any operation anywhere anytime, was for the D-Day landings in Normandy. The name for every phase, the landings on Omaha Beach, Utah Beach, Gold Beach, Sword Beach, Juno Beach, the shore bombardment, and the paratrooper drops, was:

Operation OVERLORD

There are few things I can imagine that are worse ideas than jumping out of a landing craft into waist-high water and running up a beach toward a hardened pillbox, but at the same time I can't think of a better way to breach "Fortress Europe" and begin the process of defeating the Nazis. My thanks to those young men who charged up the beach on June 6, 1944, to those young men who followed them to the hedgerows, to the Hurtgen Forest, to Bastonne, and finally to Berlin. My thanks to the young men who died in the godforsaken swamps of Guadalcanal, the ash beaches of Iwo Jima, and the endless war on Luzon. On this day especially, we remember with thanks those who fought in General Eisenhower's great crusade: OVERLORD.

Be a Mindless Conformist!
It is a curious phenomenon that today's punk music is all about, well, conformity. The punk philosphy - not to imply that there is a coherent set of beliefs - was founded on bucking tradition and convention. Nowadays, you are only allowed to buck those tradtions and conventions the majority sez you can buck. The rebels have become the Man. I say this because I am a Republican; in very broad terms, I believe in a smaller domestic government and an interventionalist foreign policy. In my order from Asian Man Records, I received several stickers for an upcoming album titled Rock Against Bush Vol. 1. You see, when I voice by grudging support for President Bush, I am not congratulated for not doing what other people tell me to do, I am chastised and denounced. As the best punk I have ever known, the Plate, has asked many times, "When did punk become about doing what everyone else tells you to do?" If you think about it, in a world were I am told that I have to oppose Bush, the punk thing to do is to support him.

Hmmm, since almost all of my friends, the "cool" people, hate Avril Lavigne, I suppose the punk thing to do would be to buy her albums.

Crap
Eve 6

H-A-D
Have a pioneering day.

Say a prayer for Ronald Wilson Reagan, fortieth President of the United States, "the Great Communicator," a great man, and a great American. Thank you, sir.

I'm Confused
Now, perhaps I'm confused because I read the news at the BBC site, or perhaps it is not I who am confused, but those about whom I read. The article in question addresses the rift in Franco-American relations over Iraq in light of the sixtieth anniversary of D-Day. While I realize it may just be one man's opinion, it is presented as representative; so, that's how I shall treat it: here's the quote that has me confused, "We are grateful to them for what the did, make no mistake, but when I look at what is happening in Iraq today, I wonder about America." So, it would seem that it was a good idea to liberate the French people from Nazi oppression and impose a democratic government in Germany, but it was a bad idea to liberate the Iraqi people from Ba'athist oppression and impose a democratic government in Iraq? Perhaps you see now why I am confused.

I see two explanations: 1) The French don't actually oppose our actions in Iraq, they are just peeved that we were able to do it both without them and over their objections. They are whining because France is not the power she used to be. I can understand that. If I was French, and the last thing I had to be proud of was Louis XIV, I'd be in a pissy mood, too. 2) The French believe that it was okay to impose democracy in Germany because the Germans are white. The Iraqis don't deserve democracy because they are brown. It might seem a little much to accuse an entire nation of racism, but perhaps not after you look at how successfully France has assimilated its massive Muslim immigrant population.

Of course, later in the article it cites the Abu Ghraib abuse as a cause of the Franco-American rift (which is a bit of circular reasoning, since the rift existed before the actual invasion, which puts it months before the abuse and a year before the abuse became public knowledge), which I find odd. Make no mistake, my personal feelings are that the soldiers in the photographs should be stripped of their citizenship and exiled to Gitmo, but I find the unique outrage over Abu Ghraib disconcertingly ignorant. At Abu Ghraib, a few rogue Americans humiliated some detainees; this was a crime and they will be punished. During the Second World War (the "good war"), in February 1945, we firebombed the city of Dresden in oblivion. Mostly, because we could. Why do I highlight the firebombing of Dresden and not the repeated firebombings of Tokyo (on the night or March 9-10, 1945, the deathtoll was over 100,000), almost every other major city in Japan*, or Hamburg? Because horrific as they were, all of the other firebombings had legitimate military reasons for being carried out. Dresden? Not so much. And unlike Abu Ghraib, Dresden was firebombed on purpose. The Abu Ghraib MPs were committing criminal acts because they felt like it, the Dresden bomber crews were following legal orders. In the litany of horrors America has committed in the pursuit of a greater good, Abu Ghraib doesn't even make the list.

For more of my thoughts on the current state of the Franco-American friendship, try this.

*By the time the Enola Gay dropped "Fat Man" on Hiroshima and the Boch's Car dropped "Little Boy" on Nagasaki, they were the two largest cities in Japan left standing. They had been intentionally not firebombed to provide a more devastating and thus effective demonstration of the power of atomic weaponry.

Hello, Kitty
Here's a tip, if you want me to pet you, which seems to be what you want since you stop whining when I do pet you, maybe you shouldn't be so bitey.

New Music!
Hooray, seven of my eight CDs arrived from Asian Man Records today! Right now I'm listening to The Peacocks' It's Time For The Peacocks. Finally, something good has come out of Switzerland. Something other than the Swiss Guard, that is; don't mess with Vatican City, man, they'll fuck you up!

Crap
311

H-A-D
Have a rainy day.

The House That Young Built
Well, I finally made my way out to Genesys* to see my dad. Actually, I had no intention of doing any such thing, but he called and requested some books and I could find neither hide nor hair of my mum; so, out I went. She was there in his room, as she has been every night this week, which is strange, because when he's healthy she does pretty much whatever she has to to avoid him. I dropped off the books, inscribed "Brooks Was Here" and "So Was Red" on his room's dry erase board, and was on my way. I hate hospitals. It's not that I'm afraid of them, nor is it that I find them depressing, I find them offensive.

(*For those of you not from around here... you poor bastards... Genesys is a local health care provider, a hybrid word of Genesee - Grand Blanc is in lovely Genesee County, Michigan - and system, Genesys.)

Obviously, I am glad we have hospitals and I marvel at the collective genius that has allowed Homo sapiens sapiens to conquer so many diseases. Child mortality is down, life expectancy is up, and we laugh in the face of explodin' appendices. Nevertheless, I cannot think of anything more horrible than dying in a hospital. Wearing a cheap paper robe? Tubes running into and out of the body? Surrounded by doctors who spend half their day worrying about lawyers and their predatory malpractice suits? Or worse yet, surrounded by your family and friends? For Bog's sake, I don't want them to see that! The last thing I want my family to see is my body, limp and all but lifeless, my ribs broken in order to pry them open. Better for their to be no body and bury a weighted coffin than for my mother or my wife or my daughters to see me like that.

People say that if Man was meant to fly, he would have been born with wings. That's rubbish, it is the nature of Man to challenge the unknown, to scale new heights, to follow the lead of bicycle builders from dayton, Ohio in the application of Bernoulli's Princlpe. Why climb Everest? "Because it's there," the words made all the more powerful because the man who uttered them died fulfilling them. But there are things Man was and was not meant to do. A man is meant to love one woman, or one man, whatever he desires, but to have one great love of his life. A man should live according to principles he is willing to die for, and if necessary, to kill for. A man should not die in a hospital, machines doing the work on this organs after the latter have failed. A man's children should not see him die. A man should die under the Sun, in the dirt, in a godforsaken country that is not his own. A man should die thinking of his wife, not looking at her.

"The ports ye shall not enter,
The roads ye shall not tread,
Go make them with your living,
And mark them with your dead."

It's been fifteen years. We must never forget.

Hello, Kitty
Apparently, Sam got into a fight last weekend while I was away. Sam is old, partially blind, trembly, and despite being fed twice a day and never finishing all his food, incredibly skinny. In his youth, Sam was the terror of the neighborhood; in addition to biting most visitors to the house, he also fought every cat possible and harassed dogs for sport. He was so aggressive that we had him completely declawed at the youngest possible age, but he still never lost a fight, despite almost always being significantly outweighed. But those were the good old days, and we shall never see their like again. Fighting any other cat, but especially one younger and more spry, and his oponent almost certainly was, is a terrible idea. All this week, he's been moving even more slowingly and cautious than usual, and whining much more. Nevertheless, no matter how ill-advised his behavior may be, I'm proud of him; it's nice to know the foul-tempered, mean son of a bitch I grew up loving is still in there somewhere.

Crap
Blink-182 (including Boxcar Racer)

H-A-D
Have a Siamese day.

Because you demanded it, the next issue of The Newsletter is going out in tomorrow's mail! The exciting conclusion to Orin Kennedy's "The Noah Serum" and much more! If you aren't yet a subscriber, simply email sonofthenewsletter@yahoo.com and all the Xeroxy goodness can be yours! Don't be a loser, subscibe today! Now with 30% more exclamation points!

Beck is a Four Letter Word
I'm going to do it this time, I'm going to actually finish the Beck episode of Futurama. I have tried to watch this piece of garbage twice or thrice before, but each time I have been overwhelmed by the sheer Bogawfulness of it and turned it off. I mean, this single episode is worse than all the less-than-ideal moments of the rest of the show combined. I mean, the Beck episode is so bad, it cancels out the greatness of the Beck episode of Space Ghost: Coast to Coast; thus, Beck is judged solely by the "quality" of his music... which means big trouble for him come the Revolution. How bad is the Beck episode of Futurama? It's Family Guy bad. Harsh, but true.

Crap
Sum 41

H-A-D
Have an artistic day.

The Triumph of Joe D.
So, the Pistons versus the Lakers, eh? The Beast of the East against the Best of the West. As stated before, I do not like the NBA and I hate what it has done to the great game of basketball; however, I do want the Pistons to triumph. For this desire, I have two reasons: a) any victory by a Detroit team is good for Detroit, and though things are now better than they once were, Detroit can still use all the help she can get, and b) the Los Angeles Lakers are like the New York Yankees, it does not matter against whom they are playing, I always want them to lose.

Moms and Dads
Sad, but true: I almost always prefer spending time with my father to time with my mother. She is my mother and I love her, but I am hardly fond of her as a person. There is an old song which contains the lyrics, "I want a girl just the girl who married dear old dad"; tee hee, nothing could be further from the truth. My father is a facist hatemonger and the worst person I've ever known, but we share many common interests.

The World
A pretty girl in terribly unflattering clothes came by the house this evening selling Bibles. (Not really Bibles, but Bible study guides, after a fashion.) One of her principle pitches was that we needed the Bible now more than ever because the world is bad and getting worse. This, I utterly fail to understand. Yes, people are starving and people are committing unspeakable evils toward one another, but at the same time more people have more wealth and more health and more convenience and more food than at any other point in human history. Slavery still exists, but for the first time in history it is looked down upon and active efforts are being made to stamp it out. How can you say we are in moral decline when slavery is unacceptable? Whole diseases have been eradicated and, were our resources properly focused, we have the power to eliminate poverty. We are being fruitful and multiplying. Even for those wacky Evangelicals, the types who view a high divorce rate as a greater evil than slavery, things should be looking up: there are more Christians alive today than at any other time; one third of the human race are Christians, a higher percentage than in any other era. Atheistic Communism has been defeated! The Holy Inquisition's unholy efforts have been suspended! How can the world possibly be worse now than it used the be?

Elliott Spitzer must be stopped.

Zooey Deschanel Appreciation Day
The Mountain of Love and I were talking about The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy on Monday, and how it will be an intergral part of 2005 being one of the best movie years ever. Let's think about this: not only is it a fabulous story, but the cast is absolutely outstanding. Ms. Deschanel's Trillian will be far more engaging then the dull blonde from the BBC production and Martin Freeman was born to play Arthur Dent.

Crap
The Hives

H-A-D
Have an infested day.

Well, my father's in the hospital right now. He has blood clots in his left leg. Fantastic, my parents are now old enough that from time to time they will spend a few days in hospital. This is no way to run a civilization.

Also, this post is long and I'm tired; so, there's a high probability I won't bother to proofread.

Memorial Day Weekend
I spent the better part of the long Memorial Day weekend camping with Zach Nie!'s Lansing friends near Traverse City. Because I am so inclined, I shall divide the weekend's experiences into several catagories.

The Conditions
I hate camping. Hate. Not half-joking hate, like "You already have that CD? I hate you," but real honest-to-Bog hate, like "I hate fucking Nazis." I like having everyone grouped together (instead of setting a time of day to meet, you start hanging out with people as soon as they feel like emerging from their tent), but why is it necessary to sleep on the ground to achieve this? Couldn't we all chip in and rent some kind of cabin? Sleeping on a hardwood floor is so much better sleeping than the ground. I hate camping. Thank Bog it wasn't really camping: there was a bathroom with toilets and showers less than a five minutes walk from the campsite. Being an extremely self-righteous, highly-selective purist, I did not shower, but it was nice to have the ability to brush my teeth. The weather was, on the whole, fairly cooperative, though we did have an overnight frost warning for Saturday morning. Rain did not fall until Sunday afternoon, and even then it was a drizzle compared to May's monsoons. The temperature was generally highest around eleven a.m., rising to shorts weather, but you would need to put on pants and a sweatshirt by three p.m. Very strange.

The City
These people know how to camp. The tents were arranged around "the cul-de-sac"; my little pup tent behind Zach and Sarah's tent (cue "Zak and Sara"), generously provided by Sarah, was charmingly referred to as the "slave quarters." A large hexagonal tent housed the legion of coolers as well as the camp stove. Two other large, open tents housed picnic tables and functioned as counters. Almost everyone has an air matress, which I'm sure would have mitigated my hatred for camping. Most of the tents belonged to couples - Zach and Sarah, Laura and John, Josh and Patrick, Angie and Damon, Erin and Paul, Katie and Steve - and the only other singles were Dave and M.J., both gents, though M.J. only stayed one night.

The Company
I have two opposing lines of thought here. On the one hand, I had a wonderful time. Despite the wretched sleeping conditions, it was a ball. I laughed, I enjoyed the gossip about strangers as best I could, and I was made to feel very welcome. On the other hand, these are not my people. During Sunday's rain, when we all sought shelter in the food tent complex, there was a discussion about who "should have" won the latest installment of Survivor. I only wish I was talking about the Chuck Palahniuk novel. The only reading materials I saw all weekend, aside from my own, were People and Entertainment Weekly magazines and Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. ("I'm reading it for, like, the tenth time to get ready for the movie.") Also, they made repeated reference to Troy as if it had been a horrible movie, as if the accepted wisdom of the group is that it was a stinker. I was beset upon all sides by idiots. On the gripping hand, I was invited to join the group as the new fat guy, since apparently I am far less whiny than the current fat guy. But really and truly, I did have a lovely time.

The Pasttimes
Seriously, what's more fun than a game of fourteen-player volleyball? Well, maybe the six- to eight-player drunken volleyball that followed the "water" (beer!) break. That was Sunday, antedownpour. Friday night was consumed by arriving, going out to dinner, and then trying to start a fire with wet, cold kindling. More on that in "The Fire." Saturday... the March of Death. Everybody has been to the Sleeping Bear Dunes, but how many of you have hiked all the way to the beach? It's only a mile and a half as the crow flies, but quite a bit longer as the tired, out of shape human crawls. It was awful, but the kind of awful where you really enjoy it. I look forward to doing it again; March of Death, I mock thee! I took a rock from the shore, upon which I have festively inscribed "M.O.D. '04". We played Risk, and as has become commonplace in the "Who Dares Wins" era, all eventually bowed before the terrible might of the Black Raj.

The Fire
Fire pretty. There really is nothing like sitting around a camp fire. We had problems getting the fire started each day, but it wasn't really our fault. We had newspaper and we had dry firewood, but all the local sticks for kindling were soaked from a solid month of rain, exacerbated by the nighttime's cold temperatures. Surprisingly enough, wood doesn't burn very well when cholk full of ice crystals.

The Drive
Prior to this weekend, I had never driven more than, say, an hour and a half by myself. The trip from lovely Grand Blanc to scenic Empire, Michigan requires a solid four hours. I had to say thought at the end of both Friday's drive to Empire and Sunday's drive to Grand Blanc: I wish this was longer. I have no explanation as to why, but both times I felt myself in a very comfortable groove which I wish could have continued. Hmmm, maybe instead of flying to visit Skeeter, I should drive.... The Mousemobile in the Big Apple, I can see it now. On the way up, I listened to one of my recent purchases, the two-disc collection Lies, Sissies, and Fiascoes: The Best of This American Life. Ira Glass, you're a beautiful man. On the way back, having loaned Zach the two discs, I listened to two CDs he felt obligated to loan me as collateral. Sweet fancy Moses, even the mix CD was awful. (Though the second half, everything after Edna's Goldfish, was much improved.) Still, long drives are fun and I look forward to more of them in my future.

Crap
Coheed and Cambria

H-A-D
Have an industrial day.

Justice
Let me just say this. I'm not terribly fond of some of the quasi-authoritarian things that are going on in Vladimir Putin's Russia, but as long as he limits his attacks to the oligarchs, that's fine with me. The oligarchs raped and looted their own country during the turbulent privitization (or piratization) of the Soviet Union's old assest. These guys are not Andrew Carnagie, they are legitimate robber barons, emphasis on "robber."

Swagger
Rasheed Wallace is the man. I have denounced the NBA for years; so, I cannot become a supporter now that my "hometown" team is doing well. But I watch enough ESPN to have heard his guarantee of vitory in Game 2. (The Pistons did indeed win, and also triumphed in Game 3.) And I love it. Look at the footage of the guarantee, look at his face. This was no boastful, arrogant guarantee, this was a guarantee from a proud man who was pissed off. This wasn't a "those chumps got nothin'" guarantee, this was a "I will not lose to these bastards" guarantee. And best of all, he backed it up.

Arrogance is a bad thing; swagger is a priceless good.

And I hope the Pistons do triumph over the Pacers, for the same reason I hope the Tigers finish above .500, because it would be good for Detroit. God bless Detroit.

Crap
The Strokes

H-A-D
Have a targeted day.

I saw a toad in the backyard yesterday! We haven't had toads for years. Neat! I touched it because I love touching toads. It was tiny, clearly still a juvenile. I hope Sammy doesn't kill it. Then again, these days he's more likely to eat grass than catch a toad. What is his fascination with eating grass, anyway? You aren't a cow, you daft bastard!

Crap
Moby

H-A-D
Have an incomplete day.

Zooey Deschanel Appreciation Day
Before I go back and revise, I always, and I mean actually always, as in without fail, type "Zooey deschanel Appreciation Day." Why can I not properly capitalize the D in Deschanel? Beats me. And no, I did not forget to do ZDAD on Wednesday (by my reckoning, it is still Wednesday night), I just didn't get to the HAL (or rather, over the Blogger.com) until after midnight. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy is filming right now! Forty-twooooooooooooooooooo!

One day late, I finalized and sent out my birthday list (I like to give my family two solid months to shop; after all, I'm worth taking the time to get it right). Oh boy! I love possessions. I love being given possessions. You acquire more possessions... without parting with your money! I love possessions! Woot!

"No, GIR, these piggies are for science. Science!"

Things People Say
Let's say a girl really likes going out to the bar and getting blitzed. When getting blitzed at the bar, she likes to make out with, well, just about everybody. Nothing beyond making out, but a whole hell of a lot of spit swapping. Some jerk who knows the girl decides to label her a slut. The girl has never called herself a slut. Is she a slut? Certainly not, yet someone has said that about her. Now let's say a girl puts out an album that sells like hot cakes. While promoting this album, the girl wears weird clothes and skateboards. Some jerk who has seen these images decides that she thinks she is a punk. This girl never called herself a punk. Is she a punk? Certainly not, yet because someone said that about her, many people assume it is true. If we assume the girl who sez she is not a punk is a punk, must we not also assume the girl who sez she is not a slut is a slut? (I do not mean to insult anyone, I'm just conducting an exercise in logical reasoning.)

MTV stooge, "You're too punk rock for that."
Avril Lavigne, "I'm not punk rock."

Honey
By nature, I'm a monster. In the first era of The Newsletter, as deadlines loomed and apathy reigned, my manner was often unfortunately heavyhanded. (But I tell you, trying to wring a column out of Alber is maddening, I don't care who you are.) I believe that my conduct may have in some small way contributed to the demise of The Newsletter halfway through Vol. IV; it was my efforts alone that were propping it up, but I also did nothing to encourage others to help shoulder the load. But, I do not possess the ability to travel through time; so, what's done is done. What I can do is what I have been doing, in the second life of The Newsletter I have tried to take as much pressure off the columnists and contributors as possible. Deadlines are still strictly enforced, but meeting them is less compulsary; I used to nag and nag to get a column from almost everyone, now I tell the boys to submit something if they have something they want to write about, but not to force themselves.

Tied in with this is the word limit and page limit. Strict (and by "strict" I mean 807 is fine, 842 needs to be trimmed) enforcement of the word limit helps in mocking up each issue. I know how much space an 800-word column takes up, including picture(s). Knowing that, and knowing that I have only four pages to fill, helps me more accurately assess where each issue is as it comes togather, how short we are (necessitating more pictures or supplemental material like "Breaking Legs") or if I need to bump someone to the next issue. With the four-page limit written in stone, I alwys know how much material will be needed for each issue, and it also affords me the luxury only publishing the best. Like Steeze's "excellent" guest column, "The Avid Fan." Because of proper space budgeting, I was able to thank him for all his hard work by putting it on the front page, rather than burying in on page 5 of a six-page issue 2. Six pages is the sirens' song.

So, with less pressure on me (both because I have decided that I can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar and because there is not the stress of more than four pages), I am - or at least I think I am - steering the ship with a much lighter touch. Sometimes this leads to a drop off in production (I think Neutral Man might be dead), but on the whole I think it has made everyone more eager to contribute, more eager to help this incarnation of The Newsletter not just endure, but thrive. Everything's going gangbusters. Let the hubris begin!

Crap
Radiohead

H-A-D
Don't have a day.

The Empire of Pictus
Her Supreme Imperial Majesty Tieryn, Lord Prinzlo
Empire of Pictus
Commonwealth of Phythria
Shogunate of Enkariworld
Aepyrian Kingdom
Hsi Church
Republic of Jurai
Kingdom of Erix
Rynlander Presidium
Tehl Larian Union (protectorate)

Allied Powers
Otrosi League
Sovereignty of Nabulia
Royal Akari Confederation
Rynoran Republic
Aeloosian Federation

Adversarial Powers
Xero Hegemony
Sur'ka Dominion
Supremacy of the Chosen

I Feel Like Mold
It's not something I particularly like about myself, but weather affects my moods. When it is hot and humid for days on end, I become lathargic and irritable. During the height of winter's fury, when the wind cuts through your parka like it isn't even there, I am borderline giddy. It has been raining for the entire month of May and I am blue. I do not mind overcast skies, but the constant downpours, the perpetual puddles, the constant peety odor, these things are killing me by increments. I love getting caught in the occasional bonechilling November rain, but this merry old England impression is intolerable. This isn't a single crushing blow, no, that could be withstood and survived; this is a pernicious malaise, a rotting from the inside out.

Avril
On the other hand, upon first listen Under My Skin is awesome, much more rock and far less pop than Let Go. If she could get past her rabid hatred, The Watergirl would like "Don't Tell Me," especially in light of last weekend's unpleasantness. My favorite song to this point is "He Wasn't." It's a very Margaret Eastman song.

"And now to unleash screaming temporal doom!"

And I suppose their names aren't just Dib and Gaz, but Dib Membrane and Gaz Membrane, assuming Membrane is actually Profesor Membrane's last name and not just a stage name. "And now, the man without whom our world falls into chaos, and the inventor of Super Toast, Professor Membrane!"

Crap
The Vines

H-A-D
Have an abstract day.

Hello, Kitty
We've been over this before, and I'm sure we'll go over this again, but Sam, I cannot pet you from across the room. I am not Elongated Man. (By the way, I love the character, but that name... yeesh!)

ZIM
GIR
Dib
Gaz
Professor Membrane
Miss Bitters
Almighty Tallest (Red)
Almighty Tallest (Purple)
... Invader ZIM!

"I never agreed to this 'parent-teacher night'. "
"Yes, you did."
"Nooo. You lie! You LIIIEEE!"
*zzzt*"ZIM, will you be at parent-teacher night?"*zzzt*
*zzzt*(balancing pencil on upper lip) "Yeah. Sure. Whatever."*zzzt*
"Why would you tape that?"

Beauty
I had occasion this afternoon to stop by the Kessel (technically Kroger, but it'll always be Kessel to me... "We're with you!") in Grand Blanc to return some bottles and cans. How people in other states live, I don't know. No $0.10 bottle deposit? You savages! While in Kessel, I saw the most beautiful girl in the world. She was a young mother - thin, blonde, and stylish - made all the more beautiful by her two young, two-headed sons.

This suburban Venus got me thinking about something Skeeter said several months ago. She sort of retracted it and said she didn't mean it, but I think there's some truth in her original premise. I am a fat tub of lard; at this point, I am as fat as I have ever been in my whole life. At the same time, I continually have crushes on and infatuations with physically beautiful girls. Skeeter's premise is that this in unfair of me. I expect to form some kind of relationship with these girls (not the mother in kessel, but the girls I've known), yet I am unwilling to put in the same work they do. No one is just perfect. it takes discipline to eat properly and exercise regularly. They have invested time and effort to look good, and more than that they give a damn enough to look good. I do not. I do not put in the time, I do not practice the discipline, I don't care enough to get rid of my substantial potbelly, nor to wear presentable clothing.

Simply put, I hold those I desire to a higher standard than I do myself. At the very least, that makes me a hypocrite and a bastard.

On an only tangentally related note, let me quote Michael Rappaport from the film Beautiful Girls, "A beautiful girl is the promise of a better tomorrow."

Crap
Led Zeppelin

A Note about "Crap." I will never put a band in "Crap" simply because someone mentions them to me. But, if a band is already crappy and you try to tell me this is not so, you're pretty much guaranteeing that band will be featured in a day or so. Ye be fairly warned.

H-A-D
Have a typographical day

Wit and wisdom from my Uncle Jim:
"April showers bring May flowers."
"Yes, Jim, but it's May now and it's raining like Washington State."
"What do May flowers bring? Pilgrims!"

Trekkin'
Not to toot my own horn, but my Star Trek: Odyssey would have been awesome. The last few episodes of Star Trek: Enterprise have been taut and thrilling, leading me to hope the season finale will be a satisfactory conclusion to the year-long Xindi arc. The current third season started off rough, the overwhelming feeling I gathered was of a cheap publicity stunt, but as the year has progressed a good overall story has been told: sacrifice, both of life and of conscience; lies, betrayal, and cowardice. The renaissance has been very different than either The Next Generation or Deep Space Nine experienced during their third seasons, but there has been the predictable Star Trek third season jump in quality/hitting the show's stride. I'm quite pleased. In yet another marker of Voyager's futility, there was no third season rise in quality; Odyssey would have been the cat's meow from the get go, so imagine how great it would have been after the third season.

finals ranks...
Captain Elisabeth Rose McKenna - Commanding Officer
Commander Benincio Torres - Executive Officer (Maquis)
Lieutenant Commander Sovok - Tactical Officer/Chief of Security
Lieutanant Commander K'rena Singh - Chief Engineering Officer (Maquis)
Lieutenant Nick Locarno - Conn Officer
Lieutenant Daniel Kim - Operations Officer
Emergency Medical Hologram "Doc" - Chief Medical Officer
Chief Petty Officer Neelix - Security Officer
Doctor Kes - Medical Officer
Ensign Liz Locarno - Engineer's Mate

I hope you're wearing gray today because it's...

NARWHAL DAY!
There are three elements to celebrating Narwhal Day: wearing at least one article of gray clothing, taking the Oath of Narwhal Day, and listening to DJ Seaghost's "Sympathy For the Narwhal" from Rice Capades: Music Sampler Vol. 1.

Gray "Narwhal" T-shirt? Check. "Sympathy For the Narwhal"? Check, playing as I type. Oath?

The Oath of Narwhal Day
The narwhal is a noble, pitiable creature,
A magnificent, monstrous visage.
An asymetrical tooth for a horn,
Or sometimes two, or sometimes none,
Half again as long as the beast.

I swear my sympathy for the narwhal.
I will not lie and convince it all is well,
But I will be a friend to the narwhal.
The mocking dolphins and snobby manates
Will get their well-earned comeuppance,
And the narwhal will frolic all day.

I dream this dream of the narwhal
And celebrate it in all its impossible, oddball glory,
On this the fourth Narwhal Day.

May 23, 2004

Elf
The movie Elf is fantastic. It is hilarious and stars Zooey Deschanel. Even the annoying kid is balanced out by all the Jimmy Caan goodness. But what few people realize is that the true secret of Elf is the claymation narwhal early in the movie, which sez goodbye to Buddy as he leaves the North Pole. Narwhal!

Alternative spelling of narwhal include narwhale and narwal, but those in the know us the proper narwhal spelling. Happy Narwhal Day, everybody! I hope you enjoy it as much as I do, and beware the scourge of that most dread pirate starship the Scarlet Narwhal!

Crap
Matchbox Twenty

H-A-D
Have a cold day. Very apropos as the narwhal inhabits Arctic waters!

By popular decree, the single best post I've ever made is the famous "Braylon Edwards sez I'm a Prick" post. So, here it is. Enjoy the wit and wisdom of Braylon Edwards, whom I sincerely wish had departed for the NFL. Curse him for coming back for his senior year.

Sleeping Bear
It's been decided, I'm going camping with Zach Nie!'s crew over Memorial Day weekend. Yes, I'm normally not terribly fond of spending extended periods of time with peope I barely know, but if there is one lesson I have had to be taught over and over and over again before it finally sunk it, it is that I rarely regret trying new things. Also, I have regretted staying in more often than I have regretted going out. Obviously, there are nights that ended in debacle (usually coordinated by Captain Obvious), but on a whole, I should be more extroverted than I naturally tend to be. And worse come to worst? I do my best Achilles imitation and sulk in my tent. Best case scenario: the fools cower before the power of the Black Raj.

Whack-A-Mole - A Vote For Kodos Special
Well, it seems that no one wants to try and convince me to vote for Senator Kerry instead of President Bush. Apparently, not a single one of my lefty friends has the courage to argue his or her own political beliefs. Congratulations, you're all my mother. And just so you know, there are plenty of good reasons not to vote for President Bush, but at this point I cannot think of a single good reason to vote for Senator Kerry.

Vote For Kodos
Would anybody else support a constitutional amendment to do away with the Congress? Man, I bet that one would get lots of popular support. A first draft of my proposed 28th Amendment:

Section 1: Article I of the Constitution of the United States is hereby repealed.

Section 2: Members of the United States Senate and United States House of Representatives may use their offices and staff to help find a new job until the first day that Congress would have been seated after this amendment was ratified.

Section 3: The United States Capitol will become the new headquarters of the organization known as Blue Tree Whacking and be renamed the Blue Tree Whacking House.

Section 4: A council of learned citizens (the cast of Scrubs) shall be appointed to oversee the repeal of Article I of the Constitution of the United States. Zach Braff will have the authority to enforce this amendment by appropriate legislation.

Crap
Evanescence

H-A-D
Have a day dream.

The Week That Was
One problem I've been having recently is time. Getting up early for work is killing me, plus I have numerous creative projects vying for my attention: of late I've been putting a ton of work into strengthening the foundation of The Newsletter; catching up with comics (and culling the herd); trying to do solid work on the Space Pirates Project, Margaret Eastman & Co., SPQR, and the Empire of Pictus; and listening to my new music, my first new tunes since Christmas (and tons more on the way!).

Also, between Skeeter being back, Danny Boy leaving, and seeing the Squirrel King and Saturday Night for the first time in ages, there's been a good deal of rumination/introspection about the follies and clusterfucks that brought me to this point, and where I go from here.

On the other hand...

"We're here, so clear,
Turn up your radio,
'Til your speakers both explode,
Turn up your radio."
--The Hippos, "We're Here" from The Hippos

Profound, no; but catchy as all get out.

It's a damn shame The Hippos are gone, but at the same time one has to marvel at the glory of a band that cares enough about their fans to put together an album specifically as a farewell. What's wrong with American music is not that The Hippos broke up, but that there is no one to succeed them.

I like the new star on the Mountain's blog. Stars are pretty.

Some people are criticizing "Crap," but that's mostly because they like crapy music. Take the Squirrel King for example, he virtually creams his pants when he thinks about Dave Matthews Band.

Crap
Dave Matthews Band

H-A-D
14-15-23 25-15-21 13-21-19-20 4-9-5!

Snapshot in Time
In my CD player as I type this:
The Hippos - The Hippos (new!)
Reel Big Fish - Cheer Up!
New Found Glory - Catalyst (new!)
Green Day - Warning
Avril Lavigne - Let Go

Yesterday, I bought a short plastic samurai sword at a dollar store while I was trolling for stickers. (When you run a high brow, crappy Xeroxed periodical like The Newsletter, you have to find new and interesting stickers to place on the envelopes. Trade secret of the self-publishing world; consider yourselves enlightened.) Man, my new short plastic samurai sword is awesome!

And no, I am under no pretenses that I am an adult. I'm an infantile boob with delusions of Peter Panism... but my samurai sword is awesome nonetheless.

Even with The Incredibles being released in November, I think the movie I am most looking forward to is Zach Braff's Garden State. Once again, woot!

The Gripping Hand
I am not pleased. I am in the midst of an exceedingly rainy May. There has been very little walking through the park one day in the merry, merry month of May. Where do I live, godforsaken Florida? It's hot every day, and then it rains every evening. What in Bog's name is going on? Bring on the droughtesque heat of July, I'm ready for it.

On the other hand, I ran into Danny Boy this afternoon, shortly to depart for his new life and job (career?) in Chicago. Godspeed, old friend. (I have known Dan since we were both two years old. He is exactly two weeks older than me.)

On the gripping hand, I am still getting acclimated to the new New Found Glory album, Catalyst. At this point, my favorite song is "This Disaster." Just this afternoon, I received the third and final album by The Hippos - The Hippos - but I have not yet had a chance to listen to my copy. Next week, Avril Lavigne's Under My Skin will be released. Woot!

Crap
David Gray

H-A-D
Have a cheshire day.

It's amazing how operating on three hours sleep affects one's entire day.

Zooey Deschanel Appreciation Day
A feature from the latest issue of Esquire magazine, June 2004, Vol. 141, No. 6: "What's in Your Netflix Queue? Zooey Deschanel, actress 1) The 400 Blows, 2) This is Spinal Tap, 3) Roman Holiday, 4) The Umbrellas of Cherbourg, 5) The Wizard of Oz, 6) Rushmore, 7) Being There, 8) The Third Man, 9) Singin' in the Rain, 10) Gigi."

The Most Extraordinary Peope Are From Grand Blanc
Last night, after we'd closed Galaxy, but before we closed the GBI and went to Angelo's, Skeeter, the Squirrel King, Saturday Night, and I were diligently working on our second round, when suddenly "Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)" came on over the speakers. The moment could not have been more perfect.

I think that says everything that needs to be said about the glory of last night.

Crap
The White Stripes

H-A-D
Have a caffeinated day.

Do you think it would be possible to obtain an injunction to keep my father from watching television news/opinion programs? I swear, hearing Hardball while I'm doing the dishes every night is appreciably lowering my IQ.

Sarin
Let me say three things about sarin gas:
a) Thank God only two American soldiers had sarin-related symptoms and neither of them was killed.

b) Gee, if there weren't any illicit chemical weapons in Iraq, those the Hussein regime was compelled to give up under any number of UN resolutions, I wonder where the sarin gas came from? And why was it in a Iraqi artillery shell? Way to jump the gun, Hans Blix. Boy, I'm sure glad there weren't any weapons of mass destruction in Iraq after all.

c) The 1995 sarin attack on the Tokyo subway was an act of unspeakable evil. But I give Aum Shinrikyo credit; they were a doomsday cult that actually did something about doomsday instead of just preaching doom and gloom.

Crap
Hoobastank

H-A-D
Have a hanky-panky day.

I don't know about you guys, nor, if we're to be completely honest, do I care, but I really enjoy "Have A Day" (H-A-D). I enjoy it so much that as soon as I've exhausted the Have A Day poster, I'm going to proceed directly to the companion Have A Night poster. The point, though, is that I really like having a daily mini-feature and thus I'm going to add another. "Crap" will chronicle how many terrible bands there are in the world. "Crap" will be very simple. Each day, I'll name a group or "artist" who blows chunks. (I abhor the term artist when applied to a pop musician.) And thus, today's (Monday's) crap-o-matic musical group or individual:

Crap
Alicia Keys

Yikes
I had a unique experience this afternoon, or at least I pray to the Almighty that it remains unique: I entered a freeway at fifteen miles per hour. Traffic was moving at sixty-five/seventy, I was moving at fifteen. A fifty mile sper hour collision is not a good thing! And why did I find myself in this potentially deadly situation? Because the nice lady in front of me was driving fifteen miles per hour. What in Bog's name she could have been thinking is beyond me. Great Caesar's ghost, woman, if you wish to do away with yourself, more power to you, but please leave me out of it; I am quite dedicatedly fond of my life. But survive I did, and at least the Mousemobile's horn got a nice workout. Every day's a new adventure.

H-A-D
Have a quadratic day.

Every worth a damn has a -mobile. Batman has the Batmobile. The Pope has the Popemobile. I have the Mousemobile.

No, you're not mistaken, I did just compare myself to the Pope.

Hello, Kitty
There's nothing more sad than when a cat, that most nimble of God's creatures, stumbles. Oh, Sammy, you're so old.

"What just happened?
She just happened,
She just happened to cross my mind,
Without warning she crossed my mind
What just happened to me?"
--The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, "She Just Happened" from Pay Attention

The Greatest Story Ever Told
I saw Wolfgang Petersen's Troy on Freitag. It was interesting to note that in almost every instance where the movie deviated from Homer's The Iliad, it did so in a manner with modern Judeo-Christian morality: Achilles, though a monster, also has a sensitive side; Agamemnon gets his comeuppance directly; the Trojans are on the side of the angels, leaving very little moral ambiguity. But, those are relatively nitpicky items. It is a fabulous movie and I strongly recommend all who read this go see it. Being an epic poem, the Homeric verses are difficult to access and enjoy, but the story of the Trojan War is an amazing tale of all that is good and bad about Man, and this film presents it in an entertaining and faithful (enough) manner. Brad Pitt is good as Achilles, but Eric Bana as Hector, Sean Bean as Odysseus, and Brian Cox as Agamemnon are absolutely outstanding; Orlando Bloom is perfectly cast as the original little bitch, Paris.

No Guts, and Thus No Glory
Yesterday was a fun day at the ballpark. I met and hung out with Zach Nie!'s East Lansing friends, a perfectly welcoming group. The only part of the day I did not enjoy was our dinner at Fishbone, a New Orleans-styled eatery in league with the Greektown Casino. The food was delicious and the atmosphere friendly, but we as a group were quite rude. Our waitress was overwhelmed with customers, and in coming to Fishbone we had expressed a common desire to sit down and take our time, yet once seated we were short-tempered and impatient. A couple of the girls were obnoxiously and unnecessarily catty, even going so far as to complain to the manager, but I am equally at fault since I did not raise any verbal objections to their inappropriate behavior. Blast my timidity. (Some would call it appropriate decorum within a group of people I have just met, but nuts to that; rude behavior is rude behavior and I should have had the fortitude to object to it at the time.) I have been invited to join this group, in an expanded form, for a camping trip over Memorial Day weekend. I am undecided about going, and must confess this incident is weighing heavily on my decision.

S.P.Q.R.
a.k.a. F.K.A.E.C.*
The world of The Cloak is full of "science heroes," a term I am borrowing from Micah Ian Wright's unbelievably excellent series Stormwatch: Team Achilles, superheroes with no superhuman powers, just super science. Well known examples of this type of champion include DC's Steel (Natasha Irons) and Mr. Terrific (Michael Holt) and Marvel's Iron Man (Tony Stark). In SPQR, the universe *formerly known as Empire City, science heroes (and villains) include:

The Futurist
Archimedes
M.O.S., Man of Science
Dr. Device
Lightning Rod
Mecha Man
The Judge
Cold Fusion
The Gladiator (science provided by Zero Hour)
Dr. Infernal
Omni
R.E.A.C.T.O.R.
Doktor Fantazmo
Powerhouse

Of course, one way or another, almost all the heroes in SPQR have science-derived powers. Let me be frank: I. Hate. Magic. Magic is lame. Magic is weak. Magic is a device used by piss-poor writers. "Wait, what happened? That didn't make any sense." "Magic." The magic ghost army in The Return of the King is the perfect example. They can cut you, but can't be cut by you. Why? Magic. That's lame. That's weak. That's piss-poor writing. Now, there is a little bit of magic in SPQR, but it is all derived from Christian supernaturalism: the divine power of angels and demons.

Sebastian Adair
The Fiend
Pyromancer (Pyromaniac)
The Mandarin
Faust
The Lycian
Der Konig

H-A-D
Have a toxic day.

Good luck to Skeeter as she takes the final examination of her 1L year.

"Summer Reading" is going to be so great. I think you guys are going to be as blown away by the material as I have been; there are some extraordinary people working on The Newsletter, and their short fiction makes that obvious. Six different people (five of whom aren't me) submitted short short stories for "500 Words to Glory." I mean no offense to the centerpiece of the first two "Summer Reading" issues, the excellent sci fi fable/cautionary tale "The Noah Serum," but I've had access to it for months, whereas the shorties are new. Both elements are fantastic, and I really think people are going to be mightily impressed.

H-A-D
Have a tattooed day. Check.

I know this won't mean anything to most of you, it is without context and you are unfamiliar with the parties involved, but I swear upon my honor - a man is only worth as much as his word - that I will never read another comic written by Devin Grayson as long as I draw breath. The only other time I have gone to this extreme a measure is when I swore an oath to never see Titanic.

Vote For Kodos
Here's the truly great tragedy of the presidency of George W. Bush: he is a terribly flawed vessel for a truly just cause. My thoughts on this are many in number and complex in realization. Now is not the time. Definitely a "The Last Angry Man" on this in the Fall.

"What makes you think you're a man? You're an overgrown jackrabbit, an elf with a hyperactive thyroid." Nobody makes with the insults quite as well as Jim Kirk. Now that's captaining!

H-A-D
Have a hit by a bus day.

Today Was the Only Day in the Entire History of the World That It Was Ever Going To Be May 12, A.D. 2004... and I Blew It

Today (Wednesday) was not at all as I'd hoped. On my day off, my plan was to loaf about the house and finalize the playlist for the mixtape - "tape" - I've promised to Skeeter; if things went well, I might have even gotten it burned. Not an ambitious plan for an entire day, I admit, but it seemed a good way to pass the time. Instead, Darth Vater woke me up at 6:30; so, I could drive Woody over to Mr. Front End, a local repair shop. We do this so ungodly early because he needs to be at work around 7ish; we drive over separately, drop Woody, and then he drives me back home before heading to another day of wage slavery. I go back to sleep for forty minutes, warm up the Mousemobile, and drive to the shop to give them the keys and his instructions as soon as they open at 8:00. I get back home around 8:20-8:30 and go back to sleep; it would be tempting to stay awake, but last night I fell asleep around 3 o'clock and would have been for shit all day without more ZZZs.

It is nigh impossible for me to wake up after an hour of sleep; so, I crawl out of bed around 10:30. Feeling like somewhat less than a million bucks, I grab a quick shower (just to wake up) and get breakfast, and then set about mowing the lawn before the beginning of the day's threatened rain. Originally, I had planned to mow on Thursday, but I was assured there would be wall-to-wall rain from Wednesday afternoon through at least Saturday. (It's about 1 o'clock on, technically, Thursday morning and there hasn't yet been a single drop of rain.) We had a dry April, but so far May has been soggy. The real problem is that the rain we're getting is in intense burts; so, the ground it having trouble absorbing the sudden multiple influxes of water. Much of the backyard was squishy; I would never have mowed, but it I didn't I wouldn't be able to for a week and by then the grass would be unconquerably long. Mowing took a solid four hours, easily twice as long as it will in the dry days of high July. It wasn't difficult, just time consuming, and you all know how I do so love being in the sun. Oh, well, at least I got a nice burn on my face, neck, and forearms. It is important to lay down a solid solar foundation. Another two burns and I'll have a solid tan until Labor Day.

I began around noon and was done mowing and weed-whacking about 4:30; the added half-hour was for the interlude where I took the Mousmobile back to the shop to pay for the work on Woody and get back the keys. After Dad got home, we'd go over in the Impala and I'd drive Woody back to the ranch. It's a full life. The yard work done, the clippings out on the curb for pick-up, the certain rain not yet arrived, I took a cold shower (I feel I need to take more cold showers to toughen myself up) and went online. Not long after I signed on, Darth Vater got home and said, "Anytime you're ready we can go pick up the Caprice (Woody)." When my father sez "anytime you're ready," that means right now. I dawdled for a brief few minutes and then we were off. By this point, I'm just weary. Lack of sleep plus the relentless pounding of the sun... I was done. Mostly, though, I'm sick of picking up Woody at Mr. Front End. (In the last two weeks, we have done this routine at least three times. I seriously don't understand what he's having them do over and over and over again.)

After that, I sit down to enjoy Around the Horn, but find it preempted by baseball coverage. I do not like baseball, but I understand that many people do; so, it is a good idea for ESPN to televise the games. What I don't understand is preempting scheduled programming for a May baseball game. The playoffs I could understand, but this is May. There are, let's say, thirty major league teams. Each plays 162 games a year. That means four thousand eight hundred sixty games each summer. 4,860. (That's 9 1/2 NFL seasons, an entire decade of football.) Plus playoffs, there are approximately 5,000 MLB games a year. FIVE. THOUSAND. Why preempt regular programing? If people miss this one game, there at 4,999 others they could eventually watch. Fucking hell, I cannot wait for the end of baseball in 2042.

Mom gets home around 7:00. She's had a bad day; so, I tell her a few jokes and listen to what went wrong and help her prepare dinner. (No big deal, we had tacos and all I did was brown the meat. But with my mon, it's the thought that counts.) Then Star Trek: Enterprise - tonight's episode, "The Council," was excellent - and The West Wing. I do the dishes and watch the bulk of the second season of The Office. Thank Bog, I needed that. And now here we are and I'm still tired.

It was not going to be an extraordinary day. Today was not going to be the day that I woke up out of this pathetic existence and moved out of my parents' house. Today was not going to be the day I left my beloved country to bind myself to exile to serve my captives' need. Today was not to be the day I changed anyone's life for the better. Today was just going to be a good day. I was going to listen to a lot of music that I love. I was going to pick out songs for a mix that I am going to give to someone I deeply care about. I was going to enjoy today. And it came to naught. And "the best laid plans of mice and men..." is a nice cliche, and true through and through, but it hardly makes me feel better. Today, I came one day closer to the end of my days and I have nothing to show for it other than a neatly mown lawn and $25. That's something, but it's not what I wanted for today.

I know my tenses are all over the place throughout, but I'm going to leave it all as it is. I like something about the way it all doesn't fit togother as a cohesive whole.

DOOP - Democratic Order of Planets United Against Welcomes the Omicronian Menace

Zooey Deschanel Appreciation Day
We have a new movie to add to the list of Ms. Deschanel's films that I have seen: Manic. Boy howdy, does she convincingly portray a girl with severe mental and emotional problems. I have now seen seven of Ms. Deschanel's movies (in reverse order of viewing): Manic, The Good Girl, Abandon, Mumford, Elf, The New Guy, and Big Trouble. 5 good and 2 bad. None too shabby. Anyway, Manic was, to employ a cliche, powerful; a "there, but for the grace of God, go I" experience.

I'm Awesome!
The best thing I've said all day, in an IM conversation with Steeze: "Hey, I don't make the rules, I just make people feel bad."

H-A-D
Have an anachronistic day.

Honestly, I don't think I could ever be friends with anyone named "Shawn" (or "Shaun"). I mean, those aren't even names, they're just made-up words. I couldn't be friends with anyone named Habooor, and likewise I couldn't be friends with a Shawn.

Get a real name, you douche.

Have I mentioned that I hate it when one or the other of my parents sleeps downstaris? We have three bedrooms in this house! And another room with an almost comfy futon! You bastards. Is it really that hard to drag your arse off the couch and slouch towards Babylon... er, up the stairs?

Everything's Coming Up Milhouse for The Newsletter
With the first volume of the revival concluded and the second volume chugging along like a well-oiled machine, I think it's time to get drunk on a trumped up sense of accomplishment. Those whom gods destroy they first make proud, which means it's time to enjoy the pride before the inevitable destruction. We all get our comeuppance; so, until then you might as well try to enjoy yourself.

The Line-Up:
"The Hot Plate" by Jim Platte (For the revival, Jimmy was thinking about renaming his column "Plattetudes," but fortunately I was able to talk him out of it.)

"The Last Angry Man" by Mike Wilson a.k.a. Mr. Hubris

"The Neutral Zone" by Brad Dupay (Brad's column for Vols. I-IV was called "The Raised Eyebrow," but neither he nor I was particularly fond of the name. For the revival, he was going to go with the new title "School of Thought," but again, I was fortunately able to browbeat him out of it and install a new Star Trek-inspired title. Woot!)

"Is It Too Much To Ask?" by David Wilson

"Verbal Herpes" by Zach Nie

"Rockopolis" by Kiel Phegley (Kiel submitted a guest column to the old Newsletter, but this is his first volume as a staff writer. I could not be more pleased with how things have worked out. I am exceedingly proud to have Kiel onboard.)

"Best Damn D.P. in Hollywood" by Kevin Stermer (He's a cinematographer... who's blind. Bwa ha! Oh, man, that's funny no matter how many times I see it.)

Vote For Kodos
I just brought in the mail and there is a new issue of Esquire for me. Yay! On the cover, not the central thrust of the cover, but on the cover nonetheless, is a picture of Senator Kerry and the caption "John Kerry, Political Badass." Now, I have not yet read the article, and I'm sure when I do it will be highly entertaining (Charlie Pierce, the article's author, is hands down the magazine's best writer). But just on the surface, I must agree. John Kerry is, indeed, a political badass. After all, it is so incredibly hard to get elected as a Democratic senator in Massachusetts. I mean, that's as hard as a Democrat being elected mayor of Detroit, or a Mormon being elected governor of Utah. And John Kerry has done it. Wow. Yes, I'm sure he's quite the badass.

Whack-A-Mole: If At First You Don't Succeed...
Okay, so the first round of Whack-A-Mole was a disaster. So, I shall try again. Surely, one of you lefties must be willing to rise to the challenge. I admit, I have a pretty dim view of Senator Kerry, but I am not in love with President Bush either: I didn't support either tax cut, I support gay marriage, John Ashcroft gives me the willies. I can be turned here, people! I am willing to vote for Kerry... if one of you can convince me. I know many of my readers have center-left to left political leanings, and I know at least The Watergirl and Saturday Night are flaming pinko Commies. Surely, one of you true believers has the mettle to convert me. If you would like to try, please send a brief statement of why you think you're the right man for the job (yes, women can also be the right man for the job... sheesh, get over yourself, you PC thug) to rebelblackdot@gmail.com.

While Rome Burned...
I spent the morning listening to the Armed Services Committee hearings on NPR and then watching them on CNN. Let me say two things: a) Senator Lindsey Graham is going to go far in the Republican Party. b) I find it highly amusing whenever Congress tries "to get to the bottom" of something. The abuses at Abu Ghraib are, as Rummy said, un-American and those responsible need to be drawn-and-quartered, but does it really instill confidence in anyone to have Congress conducting an investigation? This is Congress we're talking about! And do not think me a partisan; after ten years in power, the GOP majority is little better than the old stagnant Democrat majority. 9/11 was an unavertable tragedy because domestic law enforcement and external intelligence services were legally prohibited from sharing information with each other. Who prohibited that sharing? Congress. The Central Intelligence Agency has been villified for having inadequate human intelligence resources. Who placed restictions on how the CIA could conduct human intelligence gathering and spent three decades slashing the CIA's budget and proverbially tying the Agency's hands? Congress. Congress likes to blame agencies and department for their screw-ups, and Congress is especially fond of saying that those at the top must be held accountable. Hmmm, since Congress has oversight authority over each and every single agency, department,a nd cubicle of the federal government, wouldn't that make Congress ultimately responsible for any and all failures? Now, how many Representatives or Senators have resigned over any government foul up? To paraphrase Chuck Lane talking about Stephen Glass, if a Congression report told me that the sky was blue, I'd not only look up, but independently verify it with three other sources. What is amazing to me is that the Republic continues to be as strong as it is, despite governance by a vain and baboonish legislature.

You remember in Mars Attacks!, after the Martian ambassador disintegrates a joint session of Congress, the President (Jack Nicholson) addresses the nation and sez, "You still have two out of three branches of government... and that ain't bad"? Yeah, I always really liked that part.

H-A-D
Have a dreamy day.

I just sent this comment in to the cuntrags at Google who run Blogger:

I have been using your fine service for over two years now, and I would like to thank you guys for finally making Blogger more difficult to use. All of the other revisions and refinements made over the duration of my usage have generally improved Blogger, but now with Dashboard, you have taken a giant step backwards. What was once quick and easy to use is now slow and frustrating. Things that made Blogger superior are now gone. It takes real imagination and effort to take a good thing and completely foul it up. Kudos!

If Blogger was a product and I were a paying customer, well, you'd have seen the last of my money. As it is, though, Blogger is free; so what do you care if you've inconvenienced your users? I applaud your blatant disrespect for your audience. Good show.

Also, the word is spelled googol, you douchebags.

"Hell hath no fury like the vast robot armies of a woman scorned."

Up until early evening, today was an amazingly beautiful day. 80 degrees, sunny, light breeze. Wow. Then, it started intermittently monsooning and the day went south in a hurry. Pounding rain plus stiffling heat: the worst possible weather. After a dry April, we've had over six inches of rain in the last couple days. The plants are so green they are almost glowing; it looks like freakin' England around here. I hate rain, but it happens. Rain on a hot day? That's fucking bullshit, man.

Good news, everyone, the guys at Pyra Labs have set new standards for fucking up. I mean, I've seen inbred incompetence before, but those baboons have set a new standard for suckery with this new Blogger interface. Good job, you worthless cuntrags.

H-A-D
Have a James Dean day.

Her Majesty
I'm kind of worried about Skeeter. I think her first year of law school was even worse than she'd anticipated. Fear not, though, loyal chum, after the first year, law school is a bed of scented roses. You only need to hang on for a few days more, and then you can kill vast numbers of braincells in an orgy of drinking, boozing, and imbibing, followed by yet more drinking.

"Let's drink, drink, this town is so great,
Drink, drink, 'cause it's never too late,
To drink, drink, it's no big surprise,
What words rhyme with 'buried alive'?
What words rhyme with 'buried alive'?"
--They Might Be Giants, "Drink" from Mink Car

In Other News...
Okay, the new Blogger.com look kinda crappy, kinda real crappy. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.

Well, now I've been to Greektown. We saw The Pirates of Penzance at the Detroit Opera House this afternoon; unlike horrible, horrible opera, Gilbert and Sullivan's operettas are actually, you know, entertaining. Woot! (My thanks to Skeeter for repopularizing "woot!") Pirates! Victorian puns! The Mountain of Love as first a pirate and then a constable! What's not to love?

Humidity has come to Michigan. Words cannot accurately describe my joy.

"If I promise to go to church on Sunday,
Will you go with me on Friday night?
If you live with me, I'll die for you,
And let's compromise."
--Green Day, "Church on Sunday" from Warning

H-A-D
Have a Doris Day. I love that one. ^_^

Yesterday, I ran into Alber, had dinner at Red Hot Lovers, and saw Hellboy. None of those things was on the day's itinerary. Wicked. Tomorrow, breakfast-in-bed for Mom, The Pirates of Penzance, and dinner in Detroit. Today, I read away the afternoon and it was everything I thought it could be.

Internet commerce is fantastic; so, of course I've already ordered Invader ZIM. Doooooooooooom!

H-A-D
Have a silent day.

Prepare, foolish humans! for your DOOOOOOOOM!

Thank You, Mike Park!
I've got a brazillion CDs (okay, eight) coming from Asian Man Records, and I couldn't be happier about it. New music! Woo hoo!

What's bigger than a trillion? What's bigger than a googol? What's bigger even than the mythical bajillion? A brazillion! Man, I wish I was a Brazillionaire.

As a young Monty Burns said, "We'll be rich! Rich as Nazis!"

Dead Wings
Everything is relative. As I said to my mom last night, I'd give my right arm for the Lions to lose in the second round of the playoffs two years after winning their third Super Bowl. We Red Wings fans have, as a group, become quite spoiled, your humble narrator most certainly included.

H-A-D
Have a magnetic day.

Suffice it to say, Thursday was, as a day, kind of weird.

"In his favorite bar,
In his favorite seat,
I saw the Devil,
Wingtip shoes on his feet,
Porkpie hat on his head,
He was digging the beat,
And the band ripped like demons when he screamed,
'Turn up the heat!' "
--The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, "Devil's Night Out" from Devil's Night Out

I own a porkpie hat.

Well, I think that's enough Internet for tonight. I'm going to go read comic books. I say the following with absolutely no irony: dear Bog, I love my life. I should be a ride; everybody should get to spend one day as Mike Wilson. It would blow you away.

Cinco de Mayo
The latest issue of The Newsletter is all about Mexico! My column is titled "Cinco de Mayo, or How Mexico Told the French Where to Shove It." I love Cinco de Mayo, but I've got to tell you, after researching and writing my column and putting together the issue, I think I'm all Cinco de Mayoed out. So, congratulations to our Mexican brothers for successfully thwarting naked French aggression. Sorry about taking away half your country in the Mexican War... except not really. We used it for all kinds of useful things, like California (movies) and Texas (we all need someone to hate), the Grand Canyon and Devil's Tower. Anyway, Cinco de Mayo. Woo hoo!

Zooey Deschanel Appreciation Day
You know what I'd like to see? Ms. Deschanel in a sombrero. Hee hee hee.

Danger!
I mowed the lawn this afternoon. Exciting stuff. But once I'd finished, I decided to have a little fun. I decided to run the lawnmower back to the shed; after all, why walk when you can run? Running is fun! I was off! Of course, I was about halfway through the yard when the bag fell off the mower. I saw it plain as day, but there was not sufficient time to react. At a dead run, I plowed into the bag, banging the living fuck out of my left shin on the rigid opening and getting my feet knocked out from under my after gettint tangled in the fabric. One moment, I'm running with idiotic abandon behind a lawnmower; the next, I'm airborne. It's a funny sensation, travelling parallel to the gound. Of course, then I landed on my face. Except for the fact that my shin still hurts like a motherfucker, it was awesome! I ran, I tripped, I flew, I fell down. What's not to love? I think that's a fundamental difference between boys and girls: for boys, falling flat on your face can make your whole day.

Hello, Kitty
I love you, Sammy, and I appreciate that you are old and needy, but I really can't have you standing on the keyboard. Of course, now he's sleeping in one of those positions that freaks me out, because sometimes I need to look very carefully before I can tell whether or not he's breathing. It is a terrible thing to grow old.

Hello, City
I'm going to visit Skeeter in NYC in July. I find that I have much greater incentive to follow through on things once I make my intentions public. The Last Angry Man in Gotham City. Angels and saints preserve us.

Speaking of "Hello City," it seems impossible that it's been eight years since Rock Spectacle. Why in the name of all that is dark and profane was "Another Postcard" the flagship single for Everything to Everyone? That song is AWFUL! "Maybe Katie," "Shopping," or "Celebrity" all would have been perfectly acceptable, and three minutes of silence would have bene better. Ye gods, did you guys want the album to fail commercially?

It's Cinco de Mayo and Zooey Deschanel Appreciation Day, so much to celebrate....

Here's what happens: I read SNL's blog, but after a short period he will stop blogging. So, there not being anything new to read, I eventually stop visiting the blog. Then, of course, he starts blogging again. Gah!

"In your face, space coyote!"
"Space coyote?"

The Newsletter
Vol. VI, No. 1 went out in yesterday's mail, the first issue since early March to go out on time! Woo hoo! Wow, Vol. VI. We're already done with Vol. V, the first volume back. Man, why in the hell did I ever let The Newsletter die? I don't know if anybody even reads the issues, but on some level, it doesn't matter; I enjoy writing my columns and assembling the submissions so much as to be self-rewarding. Heh, you're just jealous that you don't have your own self-serving, crappy Xeroxed newsletter.

That said, to fill the void in your life left by not publishing your own crappy Xeroxed newsletter, I invite you to subscribe to my crappy Xeroxed newsletter, The Newsletter. To subscribe, or make a submission (submit, damn you!), email sonofthenewsletter@yahoo.com.

H-A-D
Have a remote day.

Hi, I'm Mike Wilson, and I'm the most pathetic man in the world.

Dead Wings
The Detroit Red Wings are still my team, but we just got outworked by the No. 6 seed. We got shut out in two consecutive games. We didn't look old, we didn't look injured, we just looked like we didn't care enough to try. We got beaten to loose pucks, we made bad passes, we didn't bring our A game. I want us to remember this embarrassment; I want this to hurt. Pain is a wonderful teacher. I want our most hated enemy, the dreaded Avalanche, to prevail over San Jose, destroy Calgary, and the annihilate Tampa Bay. Then they will have three cups in eight years, just like us. I can think of no more fitting penatly for our lackluster performance.

Oh, well, at least with John Navarre gone, I can once again be optimistic about Michigan football. Drat, it's a long time until the fall.

H-A-D
Have an electrical day.

Dead Wings
My real question is: how in blazes did the Flames only win 42 games in the regular season? Or maybe they aren't that good, and we really are a bunch of overpaid, lazy prima donnas. Hull? Shanny? I thank you guys for all you've done over the years, but where were you? Jiri Fischer will never wear a Red Wings uniform again; worthless hack.

By Lucifer's beard, why can't we just score a goal?! This can't go to overtime. Overtime will kill me.

H-A-D
Have a Cylon day.

The original Battlestar Galactica was terrible. Even for the 1970s, it was bad. However, the Sci Fi Channel's recent Battlestar Galactica miniseries was really quite good. Based on the strength of the miniseries (both ratings and dramatic), half a season of television episodes have been ordered. I am quite optimistic about their potential quality; this optimism is based upon the participation of miniseries writer and executive producer Ronald D. Moore. For over ten years, Ron Moore was one of the best writers on Star Trek: The Next Generation and Star Trek: Deep Space Nine; he was particularly responsible for the development of the Klingons beyond their original series status as stereotypical Soviet-clones to the honor-obsessed warrior race we know today. (The single biggest problem with Star Trek: Enterprise may be that guys like Ron Moore, the veterans of the golden age of the '90s, aren't on the writing staff.) So, I have high hopes for Moore's Battlestar Galactica, based both on his proven track record and the dramatic strength of his miniseries.

Plus, the new Cylons are way better than the original toastermen.

Vote For Kodos
My politics, in a nutshell...

Skeeter: You are a really fucking terrible Republican, btw. ;)
TLAM: I know, but I'd be a worse Democrat.

Holy balls. All for the love of Nicole Bonner.

I can scarcely believe the great Ricardo Montalban was ever this young.

The Villainy of Helmut Stern
At the Mountain's graduation yesterday, one of the recipients of an honoary doctorate was an elderly gentleman named Helmut Stern. The now Dr. Stern received the honorary degree Doctor of Laws. From the program for the commencement exercises, "Helmut Stern is an extraordinary industrialist, entrepeneur, art collector, supporter of the arts and sciences, philanthropist, counselor, and humanitarian. He has long been a remarkable friend and supporter of the University of Michigan, extremely generous with his time, energy, advice, and financial contributions." The program also tells us Mr Stern was the co-founder and president for forty years of a company named Industrial Tectonics, and today is the president of Arcanum Corporation. May God have mercy on us all.

Don't you see? Industrial Tectonics. This can only mean one thing: Helmut Stern founded and then for forty years ran a company dedicated to the secret invention and manufacture of an earthquake machine. An earthquake machine! People, there are no innocent applications for a machine that can cause earthquakes and direct them with pinpoint accuracy. This is a purely nefarious device. And now, Helmut Stern is in charge of the Arcanum Corporation. Come on, people, Arcanum. If that isn't the name of an international cabal of industrialists and deposed European princes bent on world domination, I don't know what is. And it is only a matter of time before Arcanum puts the fruits of Industrial Tectonics's research to use, no doubt as the means to achieve some diabolical end. Unless Helmut Stern is stopped, he will soon hold the entire world hostage. His "Sterntroopers" will spread out through the capitals of the earth. It will be the end of democracy as we know it. Centuries of toil and sacrifice will come to naught, crushed beneath the mad ambitions of Helmut Stern and his terrible earthquake machine.

But there is yet one slim hope, one man who may yet deliver us from the fearsome clutches of Helmut Stern. That man is Brick Malloy. Funded by a mysterious benefactor and aided by a ragtag team of weird assistants, Brick Malloy is the world's greatest adventurer... and our only hope. Can Brick locate Stern's secret island fortress in time to thwart the madman's latest plan? For the sake of all human freedom, let us hope so. Godspeed, Brick Malloy!

I'm sure Mr. Stern is a kind and decent man, but with items like Industrial Tectonics and Arcanum Corporation on his c.v., I couldn't resist. But Brick Malloy is real.

H-A-D
Have a radiating day.

Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense
Hellboy, a.k.a. Anung Un Rama
Abraham Sapien
Elizabeth Sherman
Roger the Homunculus
Johann Kraus
Dr. Tom Manning
Dr. Kate Corrigan
(Dr. Trevor Bruttenholm - deceased)

May Day Mayday
It's May Day; so, if you're a Communist leader (how are you handling that inherent contradiction in terms?), today's the perfect day to strike fear into the hearts of your imperialist capitalist enemies with a display of your military prowess and technical expertise. Invariably, this display will take the form of a parade.

The Mountain's graduation was this morning. I am so proud him, I could burst. Of course, his graduation is a little anitclimatic, since next year as a grad student he'll be singing in the same building, with the same voice coach, with many of the same fellow students. Basically, grad school for him will be what the Star Trek: The Next Generation movies should have been, the same as before only bigger and better. "Same thing, only better." Congratulations, David.

This American Life
Last week's This American Life was the worst I've ever heard; it was the same godawful story for the whole hour and after forty minutes I just couldn't take it anymore and turned it off. It angered me to a ridiculous degree. This week's show, however, which is winding down as I type, was awesome! It was all about the wild, weird, and wacky effects of testosterone. "T." Hilarious, touching, everything you hope from from This American Life. Woo and hoo.

H-A-D
Have a vacant day.