Babble

Your Sister made baked salmon and mangos last night. It’s the second time she’s made it for us, and it really is a good dish. I still haven’t made any real advances in eating seafood. I like stir-fry shrimp, but mostly I taste the lemon juice. The she-crab soup at Jason’s (which catered our wedding) is pretty good, but you mostly taste the cream of potato. I’ve had a curiosity about lobster lately, but I don’t see us running to a local fish camp for that.

The local paper is a shameful fishwrapper. Not only do they misspell “tobacco” in a headline on the front page (not two lines removed from the article’s use of the word), but they stated that, when seeing a wild turkey run “amuck” in downtown, “laughter erodded [sic] from cars.” What third-grader is writing this junk? Your Sister saw an article about an Irish group playing next Friday in Asheville and asked me to get tickets. She’s gone performance crazy. This will be her fourth show since last month and the second in April. In March we saw Nine Inch Nails, she caught A Doll’s House a week later, we’re seeing the Irish group and, two weeks after that, They Might Be Giants. She has left hibernation behind. The fishwrapper also announced a program to help the library move into a new building. Citizens are asked to check out 2 boxes of books and keep them at home until late May. Instead of returning them to the old library, you turn them in to the new one. We’ll be able to house four boxes of books. We’re such nerds; we think this will be fun, like taking care of pets.

Valerie, the French guest, emailed us late last night. She writes English better than I speak French, but I think we’ll be able to communicate alright once she gets here.

The NFL released the season schedule. The Panthers have the typically division-heavy program against Atlanta, New Orleans, and Tampa Bay, but also play Dallas, Pittsburgh, Philly, the Giants, Minnesota, Baltimore, both Ohio teams, Washington, and St. Louis. No Green Bay or Arizona this year. I think they have a good chance at making the playoffs again this year.

Picture of the Day
A gathering of Ultramen, the Japanese live-action monster fighting robot dude. I used to watch this through static on a rabbit-ear TV.

In the news
The New York Sun, a recent startup publication, reports that former Cheney aide Scooter Libby testified that his boss gave him classified (and bogus) pre-war WMD intelligence to release to the media. The permission to release the packet is alleged to have come from Bush. But Cheney said late last year that both of them have the right to declassify any information they deem fit. It remains to be seen if there’s a legal basis for that claim or the ability. Libby says he gave the info to former NY Times reporter Judith Miller. Her notes of the meeting state this was when Libby told her Valerie Plame’s name, who at the time was an undercover CIA agent. The outing of Plame is seen as retribution for her husband (Joe Wilson) writing a report denouncing the Nigeria-Iraq nuclear material theory. What this means in the short term is that, if true, the White House has lied like a rug about the administration’s knowledge and dissemination of the Plame identity all along.

Will anything come of this? Hard to say with a GOP majority in Congress, but there has been pressure from Republicans to distance themselves from the administration over bad policies. Democrats (notably Russ Feingold of Wisconsin) seek a bureaucratic hand-slap over the Iraq war hard-sell.

Oh, a new poll finds Bush’s approval rating at 36%. That’s little more than a third of the country. A third.

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Yet another mosque attack in Iraq. There was also one yesterday.

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Hamas might recognize Israel after all.

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When speaking to a House judiciary committee, Alberto Gonzalez said the president might expand the warrantless wiretapping program to include calls that take place solely in the United States. Currently (depending on who you ask), the program only can be used if one half of the call originates from another country.

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ABC’s Bob Woodruff, the anchor injured in Iraq, has left the hospital.

Insurance is Fun

One of The Big Talks spouses have concerns how much medical insurance they want to pay for. Such a conversation happened last night, and it didn’t go so well. Your Sistr is offered what’s called supplemental insurance through the state; this isn’t medical insurance, but a kind of “income insurance.” If you can’t work, this supplies you with money for living expenses. Medical is supposed to cover just the costs associated with getting healed up right proper.

Aflac, for instance, sells supplemental insurance. You pay a certain amount of money out of each paycheck, and they promise to pay you back a certain amount plus some. But many consider it a kind of injury lottery. If you’re lucky enough to have an accident, you make a profit. Your Sister was asking me what I thought of such deals from a philosophical perspective while at the same time not tipping her hand about how she regarded them. But her questions pointed to the same focus: What do you want me to do with this? I didn’t want to tell her how to spend her money. This lead to raised voices. And a bit of consternation. Here’s an example of how I got frustrated:

Her: (cute, sincere, inquisitive) What do you think of these kinds of deals?

Me: (loving a soapbox, smart as a whip) It’s a crap shoot. How likely is it for you to either stub your toe or lose all your limbs? How much do you want to pay for the likelihood of either? How much can you afford to pay in hopes of winning an injury lottery?

Her: (playing her cards close to the vest) I don’t know what you mean.

Me: (baffled, confounded, mind exploding) … I can’t be more clear.

Us: (transforming into Godzilla and Rodan) RAWR! GRR! YOU IS THE DUMB!

We hammered out our plan on dealing with it finally after we had to calm down enough to clarify our positions in the most formal words possible. This is how we fight. Then it we inevitably discover we’re saying the same thing in different ways. Always happens. We have the exact same stands couched in distinct terms. So we’re not getting the state’s insurance plan. While it can help pay for everything from cough drops to crutches, that’s all coming out of your money. It doesn’t give you any more group money for those items. The insurance acts as a savings plan with no interest. When you run out of your money, there is no more to draw from. The kicker is that at the end of the year, you don’t get back the remainder of what you didn’t spend. That goes to a state account to spend as it wishes. So, no, North Carolina, screw that noise. We’ll handle our money, spend it as we need to and not lose any if we manage to stay healthy. That’s what the plan is: A self-regulated health tax.

All is well at Stately Geek Manor. I made honey-glaze chicken alfredo (mixing up Dijon mustard and honey myself) and watched “Lost.” Without spoiling anything, one of the actors from the last third of “Sex and the City” debuted in a new role and had a major role last night.

I started the third Harry Potter book last night, and it feels twice as long as the second book. (I just checked Amazon, it actually has more pages, but less than 100 of them).

Picture of the Day
The stuff you find online…

In the news
Giving nuclear technology to Eastern nations is bad. Unless it’s India. Which of course gets along with everyone and wouldn’t possibly make weapons.

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The jury in the Moussaoui sentencing phase will hear the cockpit recordings from Flight 93. I’m not sure how that can possibly prove whether he killed anyone directly. It’s going to be highly emotional material to hear, yes, but how does this prove anything? Does someone in the cockpit shout “thanks Moussaoui?” Also, the producers of the Flight 93 film have to love this kind of free publicity. Former mayor Giuliani is set to testify in another move made to play off the emotions of the jury. Moussaoui deserves to die. I’ll argue for that any day. But this parade of claptrap is more than a little disturbing. It’s an attempt by the prosecutors to get mainstream press exposure and make people forget they nearly botched this case. Speaking of 9/11, NY construction workers are still finding body parts.

Inadvertent Second Consecutive Star Wars-Related Video Link of the Week
A 1979 drunk-driving PSA based on the cantina scene.

Goodbye, Carrie

Last night, after about a year of running the entire series, TBS broadcast the last episode of HBO’s “Sex and the City.” I assume they’ll start all over next week, but we won’t follow it as closely as we did this run-through. Portraying a writer is generally considered one of the hardest things to do for an actor; all the great activity is perceived to be mental. Her columns are compiled into a book that sells poorly in America, but makes great business in France. (All of this based somewhat on Candice Bushell, who wrote such a column and turned it into a book.) The show didn’t convince us that Carrie Bradshaw was a wrier as much as she was a diarist. She just happened to publish her diary in print once a week.

For example, in the last episodes of the show, she moves to Paris with her new artist boyfriend. Her paper decides not to run her column anymore, so she lands in Europe with no job. For the weeks we see her struggle through what amounts to an awkward French vacation, at no time does she write down her thoughts. She documents nothing. For someone who spent the past six years writing once a week, this lack of journalism is baffling. Here’s a great idea for a new book: A sex essayist moves to the City of Romance to keep her man. What does she do with her time instead? Shops, smokes, pines for her busy honey. Very disappointing for us. We thought she was more independent than that.

Otherwise, the show ended great. The supporting cast had their moments to shine, and one feels as if there was true progress made with them. Sara Jessica Parker (Carrie) in many ways reminds me of Your Sister in a Bizarro-world, chain-smoking emotionally distorted way.

With “S&TC” gone, our Tuesday couch-time threatened to loom like a giant void. That is until Your Sister realized we had missed FOX’s “House” all this time. The series was programmed into our TiFaux as soon as we got off the phone with you last night.

Picture of the Day
Told ya he looked like Your Brother. Chris Masters, WWE muscle guy, has improved in the ring almost every week. He’s very young (maybe 22), and he’s got the bad-guy attitude down pat. He also sells the opponent’s offense well, taking slams and hits broadly enough to convince the crowd he’s taking a beating. He’s fun to watch.

In the news
One of the sure signs of a second presidential term is the eruption of scandals. The newest one came yesterday as Brian Doyle, deputy press secretary for Homeland Security, was busted for soliciting who he thought was a 14-year-old girl online. It was a cop. He had sent “her” porn video clips and photos of himself, some taken in his office. One reports states,” Doyle was so obsessed he gave her his DHS office and cell phone numbers, and his instant messaging address.”

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A funny, short video: Japanese police vs. Darth Vader. Place bets now!

Comics

Now, I’m starting to feel the effects of switching the clocks. I drag a little bit. But it’s nice to see the sun at 7:30 p.m. again.

I got my monthly haul of comics yesterday, and I mention this only because DC Comics (the Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman folks) are rebooting their comics once again to make it easier for new readers to jump aboard. Superman, for one, has within the space of two issues, become my favorite comic again. The talent strata of comics is clearly defined, and until recently, DC has been content to give their most prominent titles to b-list creators. The reboot signals a renewed commitment to make the most popular heroes also the most enjoyable to read. Marvel Comics (X-Men, Spider-man, Hulk) already do this, but they hand over so many title to such a small group of writers. I don’t think it’s far off to say three guys write a dozen Marvel titles. It stretches their skills thin. This makes DC’s reboot also well-timed; they offer stronger, fresher takes on established characters right as the Marvel gang seems stale.

Here -- sit you down, and let me ramble:

Since I moved to Mayberry, my comics have been shipped to me from my old comic store, The Tangled Web. I shopped from that store since I was in college (my math is bad, but that’s at least three weeks ago). The owner has always taken care of me as a customer, and I don’t think there’s ever been an item he hasn’t been able to get for me once I requested it. Great customer service all around.

Because comic distribution is essentially a monopoly, the store owners are often over a barrel when it comes to ordering comics. They can’t send back leftover issues, and if they short-order a hot title, they’ll run into problems getting any later on. Worse, they might get copies from subsequent printings, and those are less valued by collectors. They have to guess what the demand for comics will be so to minimize overstock and wasted money. To take some of the guesswork out, comic stores often give discounts if customers provide a list of what they want. I’ve had a pull list with this location going back to when it was owned by someone else and operated under a different name.

The current owner, Daniel, came in and made a smooth transition for the customers. If you never bothered to look the employees in the eye – a possibility with some comic fans – you’d never know there was a change. But Daniel has since turned a simple comic store into a significant hub for pop-culture lovers. He caters to fans of card games, Japanese products, videos, and collectors of models and various licensed memorabilia. It’s clean, well-lit, and organized for easy access to everything. I love the place. I miss being in there. It was a weekly highlight to walk to the store, take in the ambience, talk shop with Daniel, and trade reviews with other readers. There are a lot of comic stores out there that are gloomy, dirty and generally unwelcoming. I’ve been in stores in Michigan, Charlotte, and Columbia, S.C. where I wasn’t even addressed by an employee. Not that comic stores only have crappy service, but given that they are generally mom-and-pop (or rather nerd-and-geek) businesses, they literally can’t afford to drive off new customers. Compare that to stores in Tennessee, Boston and Greenville, N.C. where the owners have bent over backward to help me find something without crossing the line into creepy, space-intruding pests.

When I moved, we set up a deal where I get my comics shipped to me once a month and then I mail a check. I could shop at the local store in Asheville, but it’s unimpressive. You’ve seen it, I think. It’s leaning toward the gaming crowd, but it does boast a nice variety of comics and trades. It’s not a bad store, and the owner remembers my name even as his never sticks in my head. But it’s not home cooking. It’s not Tangled Web. Daniel’s earned my loyalty as a customer, and I think we’re friends. As a friend, I’m supporting his business. Just so happens my friend offers the best option. Win-win for all.

Anyhow, I wanted to give you an overview of what kind of stuff I read and hopefully display the variety available to readers. Your Sister is still reading all the Elektra material I have, and I hand her random comics that are accessible for casual comic readers. One has to beware of excess reliance on backstory -- a tenet publishers still don’t remember.

She-Hulk: What started as a straight-forward character spin-off of the Incredible Hulk – Bruce Banner gives blood transfusion to wounded lawyer cousin; she makes with the green and angry – has morphed into a cheesecake wink at comic conventions. Her original by-the-numbers title gave way to another heavily influenced by the “Moonlighting” TV series; she often talked directly to readers as she struggled to make sense of pig-costumed space truckers and villains with bells for heads. The character realized she could become tall, green, and strong without being a giant angerball and for a long time stayed in that form instead of her original mousy persona. Her current title sees her as a defense lawyer for supervillains in a comic that revels in comic absurdity while providing genuinely funny and touching stories. Marvel Comics likes to compare it “Ally McBeal.” As if anyone remembers that show.

New Avengers: Marvel established a superhero group to compare to DC Comics’ Justice League, more popularly known as the Super Friends. The Avengers now includes Wolverine, Captain America, Spider-Man, Iron Man, and others. A new creative team jumpstarted a new series run and changed up the membership. This is simple superhero comics. No innovations of storytelling in art or writing. But it’s bright, kinetic, and witty.

Solo: DC Comics is printing this title which lets an artist have an entire comic to draw whatever he wants. The initial run has been stellar in variety and quality. It’s a textbook in techniques and storytelling. Of course, it’s going to be canceled soon.

JLA Classified: The DC version of Avengers, except this title hands the team over to different writer/artists teams to tell one story and then pass it on. It’s the classic membership: Superman, Wonder Woman, Batman, etc.

Astonishing X-Men: Marvel gave the writer of “Angel,” “Buffy,” and “Firefly” his own title to write Marvel’s mutant franchise. He’s knocking it out of the park, referring back to decades-old continuity and introducing new angles. He’s made this the best of the many mutant titles, by far.

Fantastic Four: This is Marvel’s flagship title, the one that started their superhero universe and the touchstone for the Marvel elements of cosmic weirdness, internal conflict, arrogant villains, and big ole monsters. I drop the title and pick it up every few years as creative teams arrive and run out of steam. The recent film got virtually nothing right about the comic except for its flavor.

Uncanny X-Men: The first title of the mutant franchise, and this is by the writer who made the X-Men the comic book for years and years. X-Men was the Harry Potter of comics in the ‘80s and remains my touchstone for involving comic book drama. He’s lost a step in the last few years, and his clichés have become crutches. But it still sparks the same emotional chord it plucked when I was barely a teen.

Ultimates: Here’s a prime example of how comics get confusing. Marvel wanted to make its properties more accessible to new readers coming in, hopefully, from the many recent movies. But Marvel will enrage their loyal customers if they just drop all stories and reboot. Instead, they keep the current titles and continuity and start a new line of comics with their own shared universe. New costumes, new personalities and stories. They keep the names and costume themes. Ultimates is the newer, alternate version of the Avengers, not to be confused with the old-continuity title called New Avengers. I told you it’s confusing. Whereas New Avengers feels like a well-done superhero comic, Ultimates feels like a well-done action movie.

Nextwave: This is a comic that doesn’t take itself seriously yet provides all the big comic action and attitude. It’s written by an often-drunk Scottish misanthrope who loves cutting edge technology. A group of minor heroes fights a terrorist group using monsters to attack America. A recent story featured the team fighting Fin Fang Foom, a giant lizard who wears purple underwear.

Hellboy: Here’s a horror action comic reliant on world myth, Edger Allan Poe, and H.P. Lovecraft. I mean, come on, this is right up my alley. The movie got a lot right but shoehorned in a needless love story. Hellboy is not about love; it’s about fighting predestination. The hero is a demon who is crucial to a prophesied Armageddon, but he fights for the good guys and stomps the nasty monsters.

Ex Machina: In this alternate history title, a former NY superhero becomes mayor. It’s very mundane, dealing with political and bureaucratic policies much like ”West Wing,” but the mayor uses his weird super power to smooth things along. Most notably, his presence alters 9/11 and the city’s reaction to it.

Tom Strong: A science-based superhero in the style of Buck Rogers and Doc Savage protects Millennium City from a host of cartoonish threats. This is a comic book unafraid to be a comic book. It doesn’t try to lure readers with trendy angst and headline-ripped subplots. It’s just good comics.

Planetary: In this world, the Fantastic Four are bad guys and control the dissemination of technology and super powers. A secret group investigating global weird archaeology decides the bad guys have controlled the world long enough. It’s both a world-spanning adventure and a personal story of redemption and vengeance. It’s cool and smart, written by the aforementioned drunk creating Nextwave.

Superman: As DC readies for the new movie, they are reviving a character that gets surprisingly dull every few years. The obvious point here is that he’s been around forever and can do anything. Given that attitude, yeah, it might be hard to write Superman comics. But all one has to do is look at the unique properties of the comic – superhero lives undercover married to a fellow newspaper reporter in a city economically dominated by his archenemy, fights threats from bank robbers to cosmic invaders, vulnerable to rocks from home planet and magic, is seen as the lynchpin of the superhero community, dotes on adopted farmer parents – and I can give you two years’ worth of stories in an hour. That’s a fundamentally ripe orchard for comic stories.

That’s what I read, apart from random miniseries and independent-publisher graphic novels.

Picture of the Day
Joy of joys. My current favorite wrestling gimmick, the evil male cheerleader Spirit Squad, won the WWE tag team belts last night. Even typing that makes me smile like an idiot. Did I mention they cheat with help of a mini-trampoline? And they really can’t cheer worth a damn?

In the news
Tom DeLay won’t seek re-election. It’s not that surprising. He’s been a non-factor since stepping down as Majority leader, but he did just win the GOP primary for the Congressional seat. His departure separates his tarnished image from the party before the November elections. He hurts them in a few ways:
a) his top aide just plead guilty to charges stemming from the Abramoff lobbying scandal;
b) he’s fighting the campaign corruption charges in Texas over gerrymandering and laundering;
c) he reminds people that the GOP is willing to chuck aside the party platforms of state sovereignty and individual privacy, as it did over the Schaivo case.

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Saddam is being indicted under additional genocide charges, including gassing Kurds.

Hot Damn.

WrestleMania, despite its so-so build-up, was a [Arnold voice] FUHNTAZTIC show [/Arnold voice]. Chicago delivered a hot crowd that turned on the good-guy champ like he shot their dog, and he still won. We got back from the grocery store with ten minutes before the show started, and we had a ball watching it. Well worth the $50. Get the replay if you have even the slightest interest. DirecTV did their best to give me the Hulk Tantrum by giving me the run around Sunday. I used the remote to order the PPV Saturday night and called them Sunday to confirm. The customer-service operator says her computer is frozen, and she can’t confirm my order. She sends me to the website. I go there, set up an account, and check my PPV order status … and it tells me to call customer service. I do but use the automated system to put in another order, and it tells me I already have. Confirmation. Huzzah. And I don’t have to kill anyone.

The weekend was fun. Your Sister didn’t do squat and spent most of Saturday reading. I finished up the second Harry Potter book (so much better than the film) and sketched a bit. We ate that night at Juan’s and I enjoyed a grande Dos Equis. We flip around the TV channels and find Monty Python on BBCAmerica. And Your Sister finally got the see the Spanish Inquisition and Spam sketches. Now she is truly a woman.

Sunday, after turning our clocks ahead, we grabbed some KFC and ate on rocks in the Pisgah Forest streams. The weather was just great for it.

I had three coffee drinks this weekend, including two yesterday. There was concern that it would drop me over in a coma before the PPV, but I seemed fine. Slept OK and woke up this morning even with the end of daylight savings.

The flu bug may be gone, but now it seems we are beset by pollen allergies. Suddenly, all the valves in my head stop up at once, and I can’t breathe. It’s very disturbing. I tried some of Your Sister’s antihistamine and DayQuil.

Sketch Day
OK, we’re gonna get the Star Wars picture done. I’ll start off this week posting the more polished versions of the pose thumbnails, and each week I’ll post the progress.

In the news
The Supremes passed on a chance to rule on the indefinite detention of terrorism suspects. I listened to some of the oral arguments on the case involving Osama’s driver, and the judges were giving the government lawyer a hard time for his interpretation of war powers.

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Studios will being selling online versions of theatrical films this week. They can be burned to a DVD but only for play on a PC authorized by your sales contract, much like you can only authorize five copies of iTunes under your user name.

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Wal-Mart lost its standing as the top Fortune 500 Company to Exxon. Since the list began, there have only been three companies to head the list. GM is the other one.

Immigration Stupidity

I’m doing much better. I got back at your sister by stir-frying meat that had marinated in my spicy concoctions since Monday. Oh, yes, I cook with napalm. We have yet to hear back from the French guest. I emailed her Tuesday to encourage her to ask us anything she might want to know about Mayberry and the States.

The debate over reforming immigration laws has brought out the ugly in people. I’m all for enforcing the law, but this debate isn’t about law. It’s not about cheap labor. It’s about class warfare, something that allows a vocal chunk of morons to launch some bigotry under the guise of defending security.

I listen to talk radio because I like to hear conversation. I tune into to NPR, Air America, Neal Boortz, Limbaugh, and various syndicated folks. This was how I found the Boston station, by the way. I don’t espouse everything they do. I don’t believe they mean everything they say; radio is about entertainment, and the hosts adopt on-air personalities to draw an audience. But the listeners don’t always know that, and the rabidly loyal listeners can’t make a distinction between dramatic exaggeration and sincere ravings. Unfortunately, that leads them to say things out of the context of performance and parroting it as gospel. Now, radio didn’t invent simple-minded bigotry obviously, but it has allowed it to become fashionable and even politically convenient. The shit I’ve heard this week from callers disturbs and enrages me.

In standing up to illegal immigrants, I’ve heard people from the area and across the country regard the majority Mexican illegal population as vermin, accusing them of “overrunning” schools and hospitals, devouring economic and social resources, and bringing disease to the country. The leader of the Minuteman effort, for one, said this weekend that we are being “invaded” and illegal immigration threatens our national sovereignty. I’ve heard claims for over a year that Al-Qaeda are sneaking across the border from disguised as Mexicans in order to work in construction, pile up cheap explosives, and detonate a coordinated large-scale truck bombing in major cities across the country. And this is from Limbaugh and Hannity, not local crackpots. I don’t begrudge their anger at law-breaking, no matter what I might think of the intent and execution of those laws. But there’s no justification for this kind of discourse or for the hosts allowing it to air. Worse, it only encourages some dumbass to kill hisself some fer’iners.

The conservative hosts are in a pickle over immigration debate; they commonly preach self-determination to the small businessman, but they risk losing that core audience when they rail against the workforce on which many of them rely. Senator Feinstein of California stated yesterday that California’s landscaping business (the largest in that state) is made up of 86% illegal workers. That’s astounding.

The conservatives run a big risk by taking a strong stand against an open border. They need minority votes to hold onto the Congress, they risk support of even greater federalism (the antithesis of conservatism), and they inch closer to the stereotype that they care only about white folks. Democrats, likewise, want to appear string on national security without spooking the downtrodden, their poster children.

There’s a smart way to handle this problem, and it requires maturity and consideration. Unlike foreign policy, this is right up Bush’s alley. He lived and governed in Texas. And he is talking to Mexico’s Vicente Fox this week. He can make some headway as a leader if he handles this well. I’d like to see that. I don’t think it’s likely, mind you, but I’d like to see it. His success could maintain the GOP majority in Congress this fall. But so many republicans have distanced themselves from him over foreign policy that any achievement he might herald may not pay off politically.

Picture of the Day
Why wait to get on a reality TV show and have editors pixelate the logos on your clothing? Buy clothing with pre-pixelated logos! Genius.

In the news
New York City publicly releases 911 calls from Sept. 11. I’m not ready to hear this. There’s also a new film about Flight 93 coming out soon. I’ll skip that too. Last year, I listened to the released scanner communication for the NY police and fire departments. That’s gonna stick with me for a while.

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Condi Rice on the war on terror: "I know we've made tactical errors, thousands of them I'm sure. But when you look back in history, what will be judged will be, did you make the right strategic decisions."

Sniff. Glug. Ack.

“Lost” again brings the awesome week in and week out. Besides the mind games the writers foist on us each week, we get to see some quality acting and directing. Everyone gets a chance to shine.

I still got the bug, and I’m pretty sick and tired of being sick and tired. It’s been almost two weeks of sleeping in separate beds. I don’t want to get used to the bachelor life again. Your Sister made a curry and eggplant dish last night that did nothing to open up my head, but it did everything within its satanic power to sear my mouth. I had to eat some ice cream in defiance of the Lent abstention just to dull the pain. That’s right. I didn’t enjoy it one bit.

I’m halfway through the second Harry Potter book, and it shames the film.

Late last night, while recovering from the curry, I fiddled with the AM dial and discovered that I can hear Boston’s WBZ 1030 AM. That’s more than 900 miles away from us. I’ve previously picked up St. Louis, Cincinnati, and Pittsburgh.

Picture of the Day
A coloring effort I did a while back. The original art by comics pro Alan Davis is black and white.

In the news
Lobbyist Jack Abramoff got almost 6 years in prison for fraud.

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Jill Carroll was released by her Iraqi captors yesterday.

The Hard Sell: WrestleMania

The big one. The first one. The granddaddy of them all. In 1984, when the WWF announced WrestleMania, it was to be the first national wrestling showcase in North American wrestling. Before, companies would build to a big show to end a feud or change character allegiances, but you had to be there to see it. And you would only know about it by watching the syndicated small-market weekly TV show or reading and ad in a wrestling magazine. WrestleMania was different. It was national, not regional, and that was the WWF’s big idea: combine talent from the nation’s wrestling territories and go coast-to-coast as one big company. Compared to this, you could watch regional territories like Texas wrestling, Mid-Atlantic, Memphis, Northwestern, Minnesota, etc.

The NWA already used a similar system to trade talent across the country, but they had no national TV deal; the WWF did, locking in with the USA Network to broadcast taped shows. Those taped shows, however, were filled with the lower-level talent and sparse appearances by the main-eventers. The big stars also rarely fought each other. It happened maybe once every four months. Compared to the current weekly match-ups between main-eventers 52 times a year, this was like jet airliners to stagecoaches. WrestleMania was bringing everyone together for one big show, and finally the hated rivals would get their hands on each other. And you could watch it at home or a local bar, and you could see the whole thing live. No week-long delays between the show and airtime.

It’s hard to believe wrestling at one time was a national pastime. You got dressed up for the show. It was as legit an escapism as going to the movies. But it lost luster and became a carnival attraction, marginalized as a fringe genre when folks started playing smart and dismissing the obviously scripted events. Of course it was scripted. Of course it was choreographed. But the athleticism was rejected as well. And people ignored the showmanship, storytelling, and sheer spectacle of it.

The WWF reached for a mainstream audience on the shoulders of Hulk Hogan, the cartoonishly sized and energetic patriotic warrior. He was known to the outside world through Rocky III, playing Thunderlips the Ultimate Male. He was a charismatic guy, very little like the stereotypical wrestler: thuggish, swarthy, stupid, brutish. No, Hogan brought wild-eyed energy and a million-dollar smile. He was the most popular wrestler since Gorgeous George, known and marketed to kids and adults as a good role model, and wrestling could be family fare again.

I grew up with wrestling. It was a constant presence in my entertainment world. Posters for local shows were always displayed at the corner gas station, and the local NBC affiliate aired wrestling every Saturday morning. When you dropped off the trash at the junkyard, the attendant had it on TV. When you went to the flea market, the folks selling their fresh veggies had it playing in their booths. And my older friends in the neighborhood watched it. So I did. It was a currency you exchanged to debate who was more entertaining, why the bad guy was bad, and why the good guy was so gullible. It was a preteen soap opera. And here was WrestleMania, dropping down from the heavens like the first Super Bowl. Of course, we all watched it. Of course we loved it. It was action and simple drama.

So, flash forward to now. I’ve missed maybe five of thee shows. Most live up to the hype as the biggest, hottest show of the year. Some have outright sucked. But it’s fine show for the money. I’m definitely watching it this year. Here’s the card, just in case you want to watch on Sunday. Be warned: It's four hours long.

WWE Champion John Cena vs. Triple H
Cena has held the title for a year, winning it at last year’s WM show. He’s a young, powerful kid playing a white hip-hop character. Triple H is a ten-time WWE world champ, a thug, an inveterate cheat, and he looks just like Boromir. This show marks his sixth title match at a WM and his fifth consecutive. That’s a bit much. It’s unusual for a good guy to take the belt into a WM. Normally the previous months] of weekly shows build up the challenger against the bad guy champ. This feud has been marred by low momentum. Triple H wants the belt; there is no personal angle to this, and Cena is outclassed as a performer. That’s why I’m rooting for Triple H to win despite his constant presence in the title picture. This should be a classic-style pro wrestling match.

What to watch for: The crowd will be evenly split if not outright rooting for Cena to lose. Cena’s gimmick has polarized the audiences into those for him (the young ones and gals) and those against him (every guy over 15).

World Heavyweight Champion Kurt Angle vs. Randy Orton vs. Rey Mysterio
The two championships are confusing. The WWF (now WWE) split into two rosters: Raw and SmackDown. There are two main titles so WM now has two Big Championship matches. Champion Kurt Angle is the hero of the Atlanta Olympics and currently playing the no-nonsense technical wrestling machine. Randy Orton is a third-generation performer and an arrogant punk. Mysterio is the wildcard: a tiny masked lucadore, pound-for-pound the best in the business. Many are rooting for Rey as he would be the smallest champ ever in a company that loves to push big muscleheads. This match will involve some nice choreography and could steal the entire show. These three are gold in the ring.

What to watch for: Rey will magically fly all over the place.

Mr. McMahon vs. Shawn Michaels (No Holds Barred Match)
Vince McMahon is the real-life owner of the company, and he plays a caricature of himself onscreen as a dirty old man who likes to flex his corporate control over the performers. Currently, he’s targeted Michaels, a guy who’s been with the company for about 15 years. Vince is a bodybuilding freak at 60 years old. Shawn is getting along in years but is as reliable as showman as you can ever hope to see. Because Vince is involved, this feud has been given larger focus than any other. This will be a garbage match with no rules. Expect some fancy stunts and blood. There is also growing consensus that retired performer Bret Hart will be involved, and here’s why that’s important: Shawn, Vince, and a referee conspired to fix a match against then-champ Bret before he could end his contract and take the belt to a competitor company. Bret lost his title and ended his long WWF career on a major PPV against his greatest rival in his native Canada (where he is Babe Ruth and Michael Jordan), and he wasn’t in on it. This was 1997. If Bret comes out at this show to get involved in a Shawn/Vince match, the roof will quite possibly shatter from the sonic explosion. This would be a nine-year payoff to the most infamous event in pro wrestling history.

What to watch for: If Bret comes out, you will never ever hear a louder crowd in your life. If he doesn’t, you will never ever hear an angrier crowd in your life.

Money in the Bank Ladder Match
Here’s the premise: Six guys try to use ladders to grab a suitcase dangled over the ring. The guy who grabs it gets a guaranteed shot at the world title of their choosing whenever they want it. The participants this year include 60-year-old Ric Flair, a cheating hotshot, a stoner martial artist, an inhumanly big bodybuilder, a goth rocker, and an Irish thug. Again, some good stunts are expected, but Flair is the sentimental favorite.

What to watch for: People falling from great heights in lots of ways.

Undertaker vs. Mark Henry (Casket Match)
Undertaker is the most consistent of the 1980s cartoon characters (he thinks he’s a zombie biker), and he’s never lost at WM. Mark Henry is the reigning world’s strongest man. The loser is the guy shut inside a casket at ringside. Don’t hope for more than punching, kicking, and bearhugs. This might be your best chance to go pee and grab nachos.

What to watch for: Taker’s entrance. Dry fog, druids, pipe organs, and purple lights. It’s as if Spinal Tap were playing church music.

Edge vs. Cactus Jack (Hardcore Match)
Edge is the Rated R Superstar, a lanky skater dude who never gets enough respect. Cactus Jack is wrestling’s hardcore freakshow, a man with one ear, missing teeth, and shaggy hair who will crash through flaming tables, bleed, and plummet from atop cages for your amusement. There are no rules. This might steal the show, depending on how much they can take. Expect blood by the buckets.

What to watch for: Cactus Jack will DIE for you.

United States Champion Chris Benoit vs. JBL
Champ Benoit is a small, angry Canadian. JBL is a huge, bully Texan. They will beat the crap out of each other. This is all you need to know.

What to watch for: Benoit’s intensity and comically short arms.

World Tag Team Champions Kane & Big Show vs. Chris Masters & Carlito
Kane and Big Show are giant guys. Towering men. Masters is a bodybuilder who looks facially just like Your Brother. Carlito is the classic weasel bad guy. He’s funny and can throw some good moves in the ring. This one should see the smaller guys win.

What to watch for: Seriously, that’s Your Brother in the ring.

Women's Champion Trish Stratus vs. Mickie James
A common story in women’s wrestling sees the challenger develop an obsession with the champ. Mickie has been Trish’s cheerleader for months on end and has finally turned the corner to go full-on nutso. Trish started out as a fashion model brought into the WWF to be simple T&A. But she trained to become a wrestler and has since become the best female wrestler I’ve ever seen. So many gals slap and pull hair and clumsily throw what can only charitably be called punches or kicks. They don’t bother to learn wrestling because they could get hurt and ruin their faces or figures. Not Trish. She’s in there to work. Trish has held the belt for more than a year, mainly because there are no other wrestling women left in the company. Virtually everyone else is T&A the company tries to sell to Playboy. Trish has to lose the belt so we can watch her chase the belt for a few months until the big summer PPV.

What to watch for: Can Mickie work a match without falling on her ass? I say no.

Torrie Wilson vs. Candice Michelle (Playboy Pillow Fight)
And here’s the T&A in action. These gals (both have been in Playboy) will have an honest-to-God pillow fight in a ring made to look like a satin-covered bedroom. They will wear lingerie. It will be horrible for all except those male fans who have yet to turn 21.

What to watch for: How many ways can two women stick their asses in the air?

Boogeyman vs. Booker T
Boogeyman is a throwback cartoon freak character. This isn't a KC and the Sunshine Band type of Booogieman. This is the "ooh, I'm gonna getcha" type. He’s a garish, spooky guy who chews on worms and smashes a giant Flavor Flav clock on his head. Booker, accompanied by wife Sharmell, is playing the cowardly bad guy. This will be played for laughs until Boogeyman hits his big move: a face-first body slam.

What to watch for: Booker T’s genius comedy work.

Sick

Yeah, I got hit hard by whatever Heidi is recovering from. I felt the throat tingles and awoke Saturday to find myself in misery. I dragged myself to the pub for lunch with Travis, Kathy, and Tonia. I lent them my copy of “V for Vendetta” as they were going to see it that night. Then I went home to shamble about the house in a drug-induced fog. Your Sister went out with a teacher pal for a girls’ night out. Sunday, I was still sick and couldn’t join her to see “A Doll’s House” in Greenville. Again, stayed at home, took medicine, listened to myself blink. I stayed home from work yesterday to gather my strength while she had a teacher workday. We met up for lunch and I ventured out into the blasting sunlight for a quick meal and then scurried back to the cold, dark embrace of the couch.

While I was couch-ridden, I watched some of March Madness. The end of regulation in the LSU/Texas game was insane, and GMU was throwing down three-pointers on UConn like they were playing on an undersized court. I also re-watched Constantine, another film based on an Alan Moore creation, but drawing from stories written by other writers. It’s a fine little horror movie. Much better than one might expect. We both watched “West Wing” Sunday, and the series is definitely changing the status quo as it fades away. I still say a series with Smits and Alda as a combined administration would make for fine TV. I also watched some James Bond on AMC.

Your Sister and I are going to host a woman from France for a few days in May. A group of French folks are traveling through North Carolina to speak to local rotary groups. Our schedule guest is named Valerie and majored in fine arts, giving us something to talk about if we can understand each other.

Holy crap, we move the clocks ahead this weekend. Oh, the agony.

Sketch Day
Wonder Woman. Still the top heroine in comics and one of the few female secular icons recognizable worldwide.

In the news
When is a law not a law? When it only passes one house of Congress. Bush signed it and claims it’s a law anyway.

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And just like that, the chief of staff resigns.

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Boy, the rhetoric over immigration and naturalization is getting ugly. The head of the Minuteman Movement called illegal immigrants “maggots” this weekend on a conservative radio show, and hundreds of thousands are protesting the bills moving through the House and Senate.

Useless Snow

It’s no good unless it gets me at of work. It’s flying around like mad outside my office window, but it won’t stick.

Your Sister’s cold has now settled in her chest, giving her a most reptilian voice. We watched some “Jeopardy” and “Mythbusters” before she went to bed early. I organized some old paper files and drew a bit before calling it a night. She’s going to be gone most of tomorrow helping another teacher get reading for her wedding, and I find myself with no clue how to have a bachelor night in Mayberry.

UPDATE: Looks like I'll do nothing. I'm getting the rough throat that signals the onset of sickness. Joy. Rapture.

Picture of the Day
The view outside my window. If our office was a few thousand feet higher, I’d be home right now.

In the news
With both UNC and Duke out off March Madness, I no longer care who wins.

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Rumors again swirl that Rumsfeld will step aside to give the GOP a scapegoat going into the mid-term elections.

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The Supremes ruled this week that police cannot make a warrantless search of a house if both occupants do not agree. There’s debate on whether this will hamper investigations of domestic abuse.

Love Me With Glaze

One of the boons of being Publications Manager is that local printers bring you doughnuts to win your business. I’ve had this one guy calling us once a week for more than a month, and today he brings a bakery bribe. There are no plain glazed, and thus he does not win my affections. Fie upon him.

We ate Mexican last night and watched a new “Lost.” The season is close to wrapping up, and it appears the season will end with some shake-ups possibly as seismic as what happened this time last year.

Picture of the Day
Undeniably, the funniest ad campaign in many a moon.

In the news
You know all the rhetoric that there was no warning about 9/11? Turns out, um, not so much. The sentencing phase of the Moussaoui trial hinges on the argument that the FBI and FAA could only have prevented 9/11 if the “20^th hijacker” had told authorities what he was up to when he was arrested the month before the attack. But FBI agents and others are testifying that they tried to warn superiors that something was up at flight schools concerning the hijackers-to-be. This means a) the feds knew about these guys; b) they didn’t heed field agents’ concerns about their plans; and c) they are trying to shift all blame to the one guy they did capture. I think the guy deserves to burn. If he was involved, yeah, he’s got to go. But let’s be clear: Those who shrugged off the alarms deserve some public flogging as well.

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Snakes on a Plane just got awesomer.

Do Not Go On With The Show

The school hosted a Theatre and Dessert event last night, offering coffee, cake, and short performances by the drama kids. This is the same group whose teacher asked me to give notes to after watching their one-act play last year. What I didn’t know until after I had taken the notes was that they were leaving the very next day to perform. My notes would have been meaningless as they had no time to rehearse after hearing them. Mostly, I gave them basic stage advice: speak up, turn to the audience, know what your character means even if you don’t understand all the words. Very basic stuff. This event was to show off what these kids were readying for a statewide competition on April 1. I was in competitive drama in my senior year of high school so this was right up my ally. But I wouldn’t be taking notes this time (wasn’t asked), and I could just watch the kids show their stuff.

Their stuff, however, is weak. It all began OK. The school office lobby was strung with lights and filled with fancy table settings. It was a small gathering of parents, the kids, Heidi, and me. We sat with Ms. D’Onofrio, the sister of Vincent, the guy from “Law & Order: Criminal Intent.” Heidi knows her son well, having taught him at least one year. Great kid. Handsome as hell and seems genuinely nice, at least around us old folks. Heidi, her, and another mom talked up school and kids while I counted the strewn coffee beans on the table cloth. This is normal. There’s very little I can offer for school talk except to say what I remembered from days as a student in another school district in another state. The dessert was great, and the kids were the wait staff. It’s a nice touch and, as Ms. D’Onofrio said, prepares them for a life as actors holding real jobs. I recognized one of the girls from her article in the town paper; she’s going to be in a movie produced and filmed locally. I got bad vibes from the article as the filmmakers wouldn’t say what the film was about -- as if someone else in this town would rush out to make the same film. Seeing this girl in person and later watching her act, the bad vibes grew; she doesn’t convey real skill or charisma, and I question the motives of people who cast her. She’s very attractive and young, and small movies like this one tend to get that type naked so they can sell the movie to distributors. She probably sees this as her way out of Mayberry. She might be right.

After the food, we went into the auditorium – maybe 30 people at most – and watched the kids onstage. The show began with short scenes from Romeo & Juliet and Midsummer Night’s Dream. Very easy stuff for this age group. Very few props, no costumes. This is exactly what I did in competitive drama, minus The Bard. I was in two scenes, one from The Foreigner and one from Neil Simon’s Hotel Suite. The latter featured my first and only completely blank; I simply forgot everything, and we improved the rest. I got overconfident and thought I knew it. I never let it happen to me since.

But back to this night. When the first scene started, Your Sister whispered to me, “I owe you one,” meaning she thought I was mortified for watching this. I shrugged it off. Hey, they’re high school kids. You can’t expect them to learn everything so early. After the scenes, they took turns performing two monologues each. D’Onforio did the “to be” speech in Hamlet and had trouble with the lines. He then followed up with one of the cliché melodramatic monologues offered to kids for drama classes. Horrible stuff. Because the kids at this age aren’t expected to show subtlety and range, the monologues give them a chance to display Big Acting Emotions. They just have to hit those spots. One girl worked two different accents, one as Eliza Doolittle. She was good, one of the better performers.

The worst was saved for last as a gal performed a song from South Pacific. At least, she was supposed to. She completely and totally blew it, singing maybe a third of the words. She had a nice voice from what I could hear, but she was painfully soft. Was she freaked for performing in front of her parents (the single worst scenario for a kid that age) or did freak because she hadn’t learned the song? Can’t tell. But as bad as that was, the last bit, a duet of “All That Jazz,” was just embarrassing. The two girls were performing the very last song from Chicago, except they weren’t singing, and they technically weren’t dancing. They were walking their half-forgotten, half-hearted choreography while a CD played the song from the movie soundtrack. They didn’t know it, and yet this got the loudest applause. One can only assume it sprang from gratitude that there was no more to follow. This is when I turned to Your Sister and whispered, “Now you owe me.”

I don’t blame the kids. I blame the director. She has not prepared them for a state competition. They didn’t project, they ran through their lines, they shuffled their feet, they didn’t know fundamentally what the material was about, and some simply didn’t know their lines.

Now let’s assume there were mitigating factors. As I said, performing in front of your parents is hell. You are reminded instantly of standing on stages in elementary school, and that feeling of being cherished but wholly off-key and clueless clashes with teen expectations of leaving home and being your own capable person. What makes it worse is performing in front of such a small group. It’s much easier to put on a show for a large crowd; with a smaller one, you are aware of each person, and you don’t develop a sense of the communal mind and reactions.

Then again, I don’t know that these kids were ever prepared to perform onstage. Some have in earlier productions, but competition scenes are rehearsed in classrooms and might be ultimately performed in classrooms. Or you might perform them onstage in front of all the other competitors. If those kids weren’t prepared to do this stuff onstage, it’s no wonder they were so soft and shy. And if they do perform onstage at the state event, they are gonna get hammered by the judges. It’ll be a slaughter, and the kids from stronger programs are gonna chuckle all the way through.

Your Sister suggests that their teacher comes from a musical background and doesn’t know how to direct acting. That may be. I know from experience that plays and musicals are directed differently. Acting in a musical is a distant second to the singing. It’s possible the kids are inadvertently hung out to dry. If so, I feel for them and wish I could have a week to work with them. I’ve been there. I can get them ready. But it’s not my call and offering my help would be like Angry Dad armchair coaching from the stands when Your Sister coached the team.

When we got home, I showed her some of my mementos from high school drama: pictures, programs, small plastic awards. Then we watched “Sex and the City” to cleanse the palate. She’s gonna go out with a teacher gal pal on Saturday and is encouraging me to have a bachelor’s night with guys or throw a small party. It sounds fun, but I don’t know how well I can entertain her teacher friends alone. Teachers talk shop. It’s what they do. I can’t offer that. Unless they only talk to each other, and I get enough of that teacher parties.

Picture of the Day
Mr. Yuk turns 35 this week.

In the news
Don’t tell Your Sister. Adam Vinatieri signed with the Colts. They just took one of the most clutch players in NFL history away from their biggest rivals.

So Far, Spring Is Lacking

Sleet and snow welcome you to the first day of Spring. Your Sister is still sick, but she was able to enjoy the Monday ritual of Wings ‘n’ Rasslin. She’s a trooper. We’re just two weeks away from WrestleMania, the giant PPV of the year, and I’ll offer you a run down of the card later to entice you and your Boston pals to hunker down for four hours to watch it.

I hope to go back to the gym today, depending on what the weather does. I may just do some exercise at home instead.

Picture of the Day
I tweaked the cover, and I like this version better. Can I convince the boss to use it? Stay tuned.

In the news
Bush signed a bill yesterday raising the debt limit. It’s the fourth time in his presidency that he’s done so. This means he doesn’t have to raise taxes or cut domestic programs, but it means we are running at a higher debt than before. This is conservatism?

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The Whitewater investigation of the Clintons may have finally ended as the Supremes refused to hear an appeal of a related case.

The Wachowski Weekend

Got home on Friday and helped Your Sister polish off some essay rough drafts. We went through a stack if about 25 since Tuesday, and my life is brighter for having them all behind me. We ate dinner at a new steakhouse owned by Juan, the guy who owns Cielito Lindo. It was much better than we expected. I mean, Juan has a great Mexican restaurant but a steakhouse is a whole other kettle of fish. And now, I have found my new favorite steakhouse in the area. Our waitress was a former student of Your Sister’s, and this happens virtually everywhere we go.

Saturday, we saw V for Vendetta. You know I’m a fan of the author, Alan Moore. I’ve got a copy of almost everything he’s written. And you know I was afraid of what this adaptation would become; the previous Moore-based films – From Hell and League of Extraordinary Gentlemen – went laughably off the rails. Moore never lets his name be used to sell a film because of his blood feud with DC Comics and by extension its owner, Time-Warner. The lead-up buzz for Vendetta has been worrisome because the source material is so incendiary: Fascist future-set Britain is beset by an anarchist who kills bad bosses and blows up buildings. There’s an obvious worry over analogies to terrorism and the possibility that the story might glorify it. But that’s just dumb. Robin Hood and the Dukes of Hazzard could be called terrorists if one merely considers a rascal running about, frustrating and flouting the authorities. The book was made to warn against the spread of frenzied Margaret Thatcher policies in the early 1980s. The Wachowski Brothers, the guys who made The Matrix, have been working on this project for years; some say it even predates The Matrix. They updated it to reflect current technologies and concepts, but left whole the theme of combating government corruption and cruelty.

And it’s fabulous. There was a lot good about the Moore comic, and a lot that weakened the story. The Wachowskis judiciously kept the good and culled the bad, refining the story’s focus. It packs a wallop. Several times last week, I said that I couldn’t believe they made a movie out of this. Of all the comics to adapt to film, this was the least likely. It’s political, dark, intelligent, and complicated. Now, I can’t think of anyone who could have done it better, and I really think Moore might have been be proud to have his name on it. You still have to keep up, and you have to listen carefully, and consider what the imagery of the film really means in places, but it makes for an evocative, surprisingly emotional experience. I was moved to tears twice (but I’m a self-admitted sap). As with The Matrix, there are layers to the story and symbols, and as with The Matrix, I’m having a ball dissecting them. I was surprised to find the film is rated R; it doesn’t strike me as a particularly violent or gruff film. But it is a powerful one, and one I’d like to see again as soon as possible.

Many have tried to make political hay out of Vendetta as a Hollywood attack against the Bush administration. There are new bits of detail to connect the spread of fascism to modern troubles, but anyone saying the film explicitly attacks Bush is looking to be offended. Then again, there is a guy who sounds like Bill O’Reilly and the torture of political prisoners. If story elements hit close to home, doesn’t that suggest bothersome events are afoot?

But this is ultimately not liberal vs. conservatism; this is nobility vs. inhumanity. Vendetta is about principles and will to power. It’s about waking up and acting. It’s a great film.Not to say it’s perfect; the first time we meet V, you want to clobber him. He comes across as a dandy fop. But the Wachowskis have a history of weak beginnings to their films. The first five minutes of Matrix are the worst in that film.

We caught their first film, Bound, this weekend, and its first 15 minutes are wince-inducing. It’s ostensibly about two women who fall for each other and team up to screw over a low-ranking Mob thug for $2 million. It eventually becomes an interesting movie, but initially it’s just another soft-core Cinemax time-killer. Bound is an odd duck of a film because we follow the two women through their scheme, and then the movie smoothly switches over to the guy’s point of view as he acts differently then they expected. We’re supposed to watch this twerp squirm and fumble, but he summons up his courage and becomes a shocking capable guy. Unfortunately, the end of the movie switches back to us rooting for the gals, leaving the audience with no sense of stability. Bound reminds me a lot of the early Cohen Brothers films like Blood Simple, and while you can see touches that suggest what the Wachowskis would do later with Matrix, it’s still a giant, colossal leap between this tiny, cheap noir film to the Gnostic epic sci-fi, martial arts trilogy. Anyway, if you watch Vendetta, give it a few minutes to get its sea legs and then enjoy it.

Sunday, Your Sister got sick and stayed running at minimal function all day. I top-toed around the house, watching some March Madness and playing some games. I finished up Harry Potter. It’s such a small story that I’m surprised it became a sensation. But it is well-written, charming, and quick. I’m curious enough to try the next books.

Last night, we watched "West Wing," a show that has drastically shifted focus from the administration to the candidates for office. It's been a standout year of television writing and acting. Alan Alda is knocking it out of the park very week. I wish they could continue the show with the two candidates teaming up to create one ticket and winning the White House. A Smits/Alda White House show would get my hour of TV every week.

Sketch Day
I worked on a cover of the magazine last week. We didn’t have any decent color pictures for the front so I cobbled together brass instrument parts from online pictures and drew them on the computer. This probably isn't the finished product.

In the news
The Prime Minister of Iraq says Iraq is in a civil war. People living in other countries with political vested interest in success disagree. Because, hey, what does he know?

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Rumsefeld made the clichéd Nazi reference when defending the Iraq policy. Godwin’s Law states, “As an online discussion grows longer, the probability of a comparison involving Nazis or Hitler approaches 1.” This is also the desperate resort of those who argue hysterically no matter their political stance.

I Have Been Exploded

We left Mayberry around 4:30 and made it to Greenville by about 5:30, plenty of time before the show. Because that town offers so many more eating options than Brevard, we were flush with choices. We picked Barley’s Taproom and used the parking garage just one street behind the restaurant. We had beaten the dinner rush, but remembered that Barley’s can be slow to serve and we grabbed a copy of The Beat (formerly MetroBEAT, my paper) and Link, the Gannett weekly allegedly designed to put MetroBEAT out of business. There’s a whole conspiracy theory behind daily papers squashing alt-weeklies by stealing the advertisers at a virtual revenue-loss rate. Even if true, my old paper slit its own throat.

Inside The Beat, Your Sister finds an ad for a new production of A Doll’s House and is keenly interested. We’re gonna try to get tickets for a show next weekend. In Link, I find many ads for St. Patrick’s Day parties, including an ad using a drawing I did for a local bar. It was technically a commission piece: a partying leprechaun for March party. I got two t-shirts out of it with my design on them. Still, I figured they would have found another piece of art to use by now. It was a bit of a shock to flip the page and see my guy there. He has to be three years old by now.

After eating, we sashayed down to the venue and ran into a collegiate running buddy of Your Sister. They went on foreign study together. He was strolling with two kids and his wife who also went to Furman. It was a fun little chat until I mentioned we were going to a concert. What concert? Nine Inch Nails. And shock swept over them as if I said “and then we’re going to tattoo our eyeballs.” But they wished us well and we parted ways.

Got to the venue a little after 7. My God, the youngsters. We skewed the age curve hard and became so conscious of it that we spent a good half hour guessing the age of passersby, hoping to see people nearer and above our age. We had great seats, elevated off the floor and right in front of a wall. No one was sitting behind us. We immediately noticed that the floor area was general admission; there’s no way I would risk that mob during this show with a wife in tow. The opening act hit right at 7:30, a rapper named Saul Williams. More of a street poet, really. The kind of act that spends so much time railing against hip-hop clichés and society’s ills that he forgets to bring the party like a good MC. I can’t say I enjoyed it, but I liked it. We used this time to test our earplugs, making sure they felt right. It was a very noticeable difference. Everything was crystal clear, just turned down several notches on the speaker dial. I could hear every word Saul spoke. He played for about thirty minutes.

Unfortunately, NIN didn’t hit the stage for another 45 minutes, an interminable wait spent watching the stage crew and drunken audience members. But when they did hit the stage, it was like a bomb went off. For two hours.

I am utterly wiped out. I hurt, I ache, my voice is shot, and I’m blinking too much. I’ve had workouts that weren’t that intense. But am I complaining? Oh, no. I stepped into a Wind Tunnel of Awesome. A raucous, hard-rock party filled with an audience and band losing their collective minds to stomping, screaming rock and roll. They played stuff from all over their career, which I realized last night stretches through half my lifetime. I was in complete glee. Your Sister was hearing much of this stuff for the first time, and she seemed to dig it too. Part of the reason I’m so shot is that the arena was smothered in smoke. Once the audience realized the band was going to launch dry-ice fog for the entire show, they all lit up, and the air was like we were walking through a forest fire. Compound that with me screaming lyrics for so long, and yes, my voice is hammered.

Once, and only once, did I take out an earplug to test the noise, and holy crap. Imagine standing behind a jet airplane as it ramps the engines before takeoff. That’s what it sounded like. We looked like goobs with our plugs, but we’re able to hear today. The show ended with their first single “Head Like A Hole,” and the band thanked us and destroyed some instruments. They did this not in a “we’re so very angry” attitude, but one of “this means there is no encore” style of communication. They left the stage, the lights came up and the roadies started dismantling the stage. Nine Inch Nails hit the stage, never stopped playing, and left. There were a few nice moments like when lead singer Trent Reznor tossed water bottles into the crowd to hydrate the moshers or when he chucked a microphone into the crowd so they would sing while he played guitar. It was a fantastic show, and I’d see it again today if I could.

We drove out of town and found a Walgreens to buy drinks. I needed carbonation to soothe my throat and bought a big enough Pepsi to burp my way merrily back up the mountain. We got home at about midnight. I used my cellphone to record bits of the concert, and as I listen to them today, the clips sound like they recorded an exorcism.

Picture of the Day
I tried to find something to convey the full elation and glory of the show. The best visual representation is Hulk Hogan playing guitar in front of Old Glory. Feel the rock!

Bonus: A picture from the show taken from the band’s website. We’re in the picture, just tiny. We’re just next to the top edge of the guitarist’s left shoulder.

In the news
The news is that my ass has been rocked off.

Deafness Is Imminent

I’m leaving work early to catch Nine Inch Nails in Greenville. I’ve listened to this band since my senior year of high school 16 years ago. I’m one of the diehards buying every CD, including the remixes and live concert recordings. Whereas most folks I knew back then leaned toward Nirvana, Guns N Roses, and Pearl Jam, I went for NIN. Your Sister is going too. I corrupted her with NIN CDs about two years ago. Turns out, she originally liked NIN’s first song, “Head Like A Hole,” without knowing who sung it. This will be the first concert we’ve seen since Sting and Annie Lennox played Charlotte in 2004. It will also be the first hard rock show I think she’s ever been to. Loverboy doesn’t count, I don’t care who says otherwise. I picked up hunter-quality earplugs at Wal-Mart this weekend. I don’t expect to have a voice when I go back to work Friday.

Gas prices are going whacky again. Since the beginning of March, prices have gone up 33 cents including a 12-cent jump overnight.

The alt-weekly website came back, which makes me think it was an administrative foul-up.

I again stunned Your Sister with a "Jeopardy" answer. The last question asked us to name a native Hawaiian mammal of the order Chiroptera. Once again, comic books told me the answer: bats. Thank you, Batman, Batgirl, Man-Bat, Bat-Mite, and Ace the Bathound.

Picture of the Day
In order to garner a larger audience, the Weinstein Company is packaging their Transamerca DVD with a lenticular cover photo. It changes as you turn the case in your hands. But the original photo of Oscar-nominee Felicity Huffman shows her all dolled up to the nines. She never looks this way in the film. She always appears as she does on the right of the photo, in character as a transsexual. At best, this polarizes the audience into two camps: 1) the gang that says “wow, look at her hag it up for the role;” and 2) the gang that says “wait, where’s the hot blonde? REFUND!”

In the news
Iraq has a new parliament. They were all sworn in, and then they promptly went back home.

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Bush reaffirmed his first-strike policy against enemy nations, and one has to think this was meant for Iran’s ears.

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Star Wars producer Rick McCallum says the upcoming “Star Wars” TV series would run at least 100 episodes. Given modern network scheduling, that would take about five years. The series would allegedly cover the years between Sith and New Hope.

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The University of Alaska-Fairbanks won the NCAA rifle championship. This is their seventh win in eight years. But the real story is that the Army and Navy teams came in third and fourth. The armed forces are getting trounced by hunters.

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An Ozarks family lost a home to a tornado on Sunday night. One hundred Amish neighbors rebuilt the whole thing within 15 hours.

Happy Julius Caesar Murder Day

The alt-weekly I escaped right before its collapse rebooted as a smaller paper a few months later. Just yesterday, however, the domain name lapsed. I don’t know if the company is still operating anymore. It’s possible they plan on moving to a new domain. Now that I think of it, this isn’t the first time such a thing happened. When I still worked there, the domain lapsed. Turns out the publisher paid a lawyer to nab the URL we wanted, but he held onto the rights to the site name. And because he was the contact for the domain company, we never got the notices that the domain was about to close. The new publisher may have gotten the website from the last publisher, but he may not have gotten the rights to the domain. The lesson for the day is this: That paper was cursed with mismanagement, and the inability for the higher-ups to get their act together is still frustrating to me. I hope my production officemate is doing OK. He’s not with them anymore either.

Something I forgot to mention yesterday is that I affirmed my long-held suspicion that caffeine makes me sleep. I ate some chocolate-covered espresso beans and downed a half-glass of Pepsi and was out cold within a half hour. Some say this proves I have ADD. I don’t quite buy that because it’s the hot go-to diagnosis.

Last night’s “Sex and the City” featured some Russian lingo. My “Jeopardy” answers would not have been impressive at all had we seen this episode first.

I tried a new recipe using asparagus last night and learned that, unless you blend it into a dish, asparagus tastes a lot like weeds. I also overcooked the steaks to the point that they became sausage.

I don’t know if this is getting much play up in Boston, but the sports world is abuzz that superstar kicker Adam Vinatieri might leave the Patriots. I don’t have the heart to tell Your Sister yet. The team homepage doesn’t list him as a player.

Picture of the Day
A closer look at Enceladus, the Saturn moon that might have liquid water. Or not.

In the news

Israel and Palestine continue their war of occupation.

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The judge overseeing the Saddam trial closed the court to the public and media. Hussein used his testimony time to deliver a speech claiming to still preside over Iraq.

Shock The Wife

There’s nothing more satisfying than correctly answering “Jeopardy” questions so seemingly obscure that one’s wife pauses the TiFaux, turns with mouth agape, gasps “how the FUCK do you know that?” and then compares your rinky-dink, party school education with the one she got from her expensive, hoity-toity, high-falutin’ university. The topper, however, is when you tell her you gleaned the info from comic books. It can’t happen often but that makes the occasion that much sweeter.

So I know some Russian. Big deal. You’d think she just discovered I was ex-KGB.

On the way home yesterday, I pulled over and called her on the cell phone as a test. One large reason we bought them was so I could call her at work. Her classroom phone doesn’t ring, and the message light doesn’t work. She has to pick up the receiver and listen for a distinctive message signal. There have been many a night when 8:00 has arrived and I had no way of reaching her besides going to the school and banging on the lobby windows. We had definite conversations about her turning on the phone after school hours so I could call her. And because I’m writing this, you can guess what happened. I called. She didn’t answer. But, it turns out, the phone was on; she had however gone back home and gone to sleep. She didn’t hear the phone ring as it was on the other side of the house. I love it when a plan comes together. Mainly because my plans rarely come together.

I can't get Blogger.com to upload images today.

In the news
Baghdad police have found more than 80 bodies in 24 hours. Again, the crime rate comparison for Iraq and the States doesn’t convey the intensity of violence.

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The government managed to successfully prosecute Zacarius Moussaoui as the “20^th hijacker,” but it has twice crossed the judge during the sentencing phase. The most recent allegation is that a TSA representative sent transcripts to witnesses with tips on how to testify. At stake is the pursued death penalty.