I'll miss The Boardwalk for one reason: The Surf Buffet.
The Surf Buffet used Butterbean as a pitchman in its commercials. The best line I've ever heard is this:
"The Bean don't eat no snooty food!"
Brillant. The Bean speaks in third person. The Bean uses double negatives. The Bean is a man of the masses.
I may have to follow suit:
"The Shan don't use no exclamation points in her copy!"
Hm. The Shan may have to rethink that.
5.10.2006
Hell-Ay, Revisited
On Monday and Tuesday, we were shooting the spot we cast for last week. This is my short recap:
1) Talent was great, not a single Lip Bite in sight
2) Client was happy
3) Craft service (catering) was fabulous
4) Dinner Monday night was at The Lodge steakhouse in Beverly Hills, where we saw Keanu Reeves and Jack Nicholson (or a vagrant that stole Jack Nicholson's glasses)
5) Soundstages are hot, sticky miserable places
5a) I spent at least eight hours of each ten-hour day stuck (because of the humidity) to a leather couch
6) Dinner Tuesday night was at Frida in Beverly Hills, where we saw a lot of tequila
That's the nutshell version. That, and I'm glad to be home.
1) Talent was great, not a single Lip Bite in sight
2) Client was happy
3) Craft service (catering) was fabulous
4) Dinner Monday night was at The Lodge steakhouse in Beverly Hills, where we saw Keanu Reeves and Jack Nicholson (or a vagrant that stole Jack Nicholson's glasses)
5) Soundstages are hot, sticky miserable places
5a) I spent at least eight hours of each ten-hour day stuck (because of the humidity) to a leather couch
6) Dinner Tuesday night was at Frida in Beverly Hills, where we saw a lot of tequila
That's the nutshell version. That, and I'm glad to be home.
5.05.2006
Crazy-ass bastard
Yeah, this guy:
Daredevil thrills crowd, hurdles Caesars' fountain
108 feet, complete with a backflip. Good for him, considering the history of the jump.
My uncle was at the end of the ramp for this one:
December 31, 1967. This was probably the last thing Evel remembered before the crash. While Evel himself ended up across Flamingo Road in the Dunes parking lot, the motorcycle headed for the crowd. My uncle, 13 at the time, jumped onto the back of a fireman to avoid being run over.
Somewhere, there's footage of this. I hope to someday find it.
Daredevil thrills crowd, hurdles Caesars' fountain
108 feet, complete with a backflip. Good for him, considering the history of the jump.
My uncle was at the end of the ramp for this one:
December 31, 1967. This was probably the last thing Evel remembered before the crash. While Evel himself ended up across Flamingo Road in the Dunes parking lot, the motorcycle headed for the crowd. My uncle, 13 at the time, jumped onto the back of a fireman to avoid being run over.
Somewhere, there's footage of this. I hope to someday find it.
5.04.2006
Hell-Ay
I've been in Hollywood the last two days, casting for a TV spot I'm shooting next week. This is, believe it or not, one of the toughest parts of my job.
Two days, morning to night, sitting in a dark room watching non-union actors audition. There is so much pain involved in the process: the pain of hearing, for the first time, the lines that clunk in my script. Then there's the pain of watching actors that clunk, period. There's a pain in my ass from the couch I've been on too long.
I've been on the lookout, especially, for Actors' Tics. These are the things used by a bad actor to convey emotion. The most popular is The Squint, resulting in Actor's Forehead. Try it. Say something profound and squint at the same time. Your forehead will furrow, giving the impression of Deep Thought.
Another good one is The Lip Bite. This conveys conflict, mostly of the inner variety. Try it. Say something about illicit love, then bite your lip. Instant Conflicted Emotion.
If you can do both The Squint and The Lip Bite at once? Audition gold, baby. The job is yours. You're our "MAN 1," and you'll enjoy a full five seconds of screen time during the morning news commercial breaks in Las Vegas. Congratulations.
Two days, morning to night, sitting in a dark room watching non-union actors audition. There is so much pain involved in the process: the pain of hearing, for the first time, the lines that clunk in my script. Then there's the pain of watching actors that clunk, period. There's a pain in my ass from the couch I've been on too long.
I've been on the lookout, especially, for Actors' Tics. These are the things used by a bad actor to convey emotion. The most popular is The Squint, resulting in Actor's Forehead. Try it. Say something profound and squint at the same time. Your forehead will furrow, giving the impression of Deep Thought.
Another good one is The Lip Bite. This conveys conflict, mostly of the inner variety. Try it. Say something about illicit love, then bite your lip. Instant Conflicted Emotion.
If you can do both The Squint and The Lip Bite at once? Audition gold, baby. The job is yours. You're our "MAN 1," and you'll enjoy a full five seconds of screen time during the morning news commercial breaks in Las Vegas. Congratulations.
5.01.2006
. . .
I just couldn't title it. I'm a couple of days late on this, because I didn't know until right this minute:
Steve Howe killed in truck accident
It's odd: As long as a long-troubled addict is alive, you can make jokes. You can laugh at the person's stupidity. You can shake your head at the wasted chances and shrug off the pictures snapped in front of the courthouse.
(Need examples? How about Darryl Strawberry or Dwight Gooden?)
Sometimes, you can get angry. You get angry for all the same reasons: waste, stupidity, etc.
And then, this. It's not funny at all. Not anymore. And there really isn't any anger there, either. I just feel sad. That's the thing about addiction: You watch the person toss his life away. You deal with it the only way you know how – either with anger or humor or a combo of both. You watch, helplessly, through the nods and the methodone and the rehab and the relapses. You watch, sometimes, as he trades one addiction for another (alcohol, gambling). Through it all, you wait. You wait for the phone call that says he finally did himself in, whether from an overdose, a bad deal, or an accident. Sometimes, you get so damned tired of the waiting that you push him out of your head.
So you're not waiting anymore, not really. Not consciously. You hear through friends that he's gotten his act together. You have a distant, cautious hope, but you've heard that all before. You can say, "oh, that's nice," and mean it. Then, you go for months, maybe even years, without hearing anything else.
And then you get the news. Sometimes it comes in a hysterical phone call. Sometimes it's a headline. You're not surprised. If you're angry, it's usually directed inward . . . you feel stupid for letting that hope creep in and take hold. If you were close to the person, you feel guilty for letting him go.
For him, you're just deeply sad. At the funeral, you're deeply sad for the family. It isn't until later, days, months later, that the anger comes again to be directed at him again. For all the familiar reasons: waste, stupidity, etc.
If you've read this, you probably guessed that someone close to me was an addict. He, too, died in a car accident. The toxicology came back clean, though. It was, in the end, just a freak thing – maybe he was switching the radio station or reaching for his Dr. Pepper in the cup holder. The wrong place - right into a telephone pole - at just the wrong time.
Steve Howe . . . I want to feel the familiar anger. He could have been so much, and he threw it away with both hands. His pitches were junky, dirty batters' nightmares. He had a gift. And he wasted it. I don't want to feel sorry for him.
And then I remember: sadness first. There's plenty of time for the anger later.
Steve Howe killed in truck accident
It's odd: As long as a long-troubled addict is alive, you can make jokes. You can laugh at the person's stupidity. You can shake your head at the wasted chances and shrug off the pictures snapped in front of the courthouse.
(Need examples? How about Darryl Strawberry or Dwight Gooden?)
Sometimes, you can get angry. You get angry for all the same reasons: waste, stupidity, etc.
And then, this. It's not funny at all. Not anymore. And there really isn't any anger there, either. I just feel sad. That's the thing about addiction: You watch the person toss his life away. You deal with it the only way you know how – either with anger or humor or a combo of both. You watch, helplessly, through the nods and the methodone and the rehab and the relapses. You watch, sometimes, as he trades one addiction for another (alcohol, gambling). Through it all, you wait. You wait for the phone call that says he finally did himself in, whether from an overdose, a bad deal, or an accident. Sometimes, you get so damned tired of the waiting that you push him out of your head.
So you're not waiting anymore, not really. Not consciously. You hear through friends that he's gotten his act together. You have a distant, cautious hope, but you've heard that all before. You can say, "oh, that's nice," and mean it. Then, you go for months, maybe even years, without hearing anything else.
And then you get the news. Sometimes it comes in a hysterical phone call. Sometimes it's a headline. You're not surprised. If you're angry, it's usually directed inward . . . you feel stupid for letting that hope creep in and take hold. If you were close to the person, you feel guilty for letting him go.
For him, you're just deeply sad. At the funeral, you're deeply sad for the family. It isn't until later, days, months later, that the anger comes again to be directed at him again. For all the familiar reasons: waste, stupidity, etc.
If you've read this, you probably guessed that someone close to me was an addict. He, too, died in a car accident. The toxicology came back clean, though. It was, in the end, just a freak thing – maybe he was switching the radio station or reaching for his Dr. Pepper in the cup holder. The wrong place - right into a telephone pole - at just the wrong time.
Steve Howe . . . I want to feel the familiar anger. He could have been so much, and he threw it away with both hands. His pitches were junky, dirty batters' nightmares. He had a gift. And he wasted it. I don't want to feel sorry for him.
And then I remember: sadness first. There's plenty of time for the anger later.
Fear Me . . .
. . . for I am CloverFooFoo, the Mariachi Larcenist!
When I'm not writing cheesy ad copy or producing cheesy TV spots, I am adventuring in The Kingdom of Loathing!
I've already killed 17 fuzzy white bunnies in the Dire Warren and I've only lost one hit point. Oh, the Moxie of me!
. . .
I don't know what I like about the Kingdom. Maybe its simplicity. Its absurdity. Or maybe it's just that it has nothing to do with advertising.
Thanks for this, Sobek.
When I'm not writing cheesy ad copy or producing cheesy TV spots, I am adventuring in The Kingdom of Loathing!
I've already killed 17 fuzzy white bunnies in the Dire Warren and I've only lost one hit point. Oh, the Moxie of me!
. . .
I don't know what I like about the Kingdom. Maybe its simplicity. Its absurdity. Or maybe it's just that it has nothing to do with advertising.
Thanks for this, Sobek.
4.26.2006
Bulls**t
This caught my eye because this man was the LOML's (Love Of My Life's) high school classmate:
Terror attack has scuttled Nevadan's Navy career
Well, if he cruised into that port ignoring all the warnings . . . oh, wait.
How does the Commander of one of our ships in that area miss out on this kind of information?
How about a breakdown of communication, the kind that's bit us in the ass before?
Lippold's adherence to security procedures was questioned, but the report was dismissed by his entire chain of command, "finding that he could not prevent the bombing." Unfortunately, the taint still hangs on his career.
I can appreciate the idea of constant vigilance. If you're heading into a foreign port and you have your pipes exposed (so to speak), you probably have to keep an eye on the locals. But if Lippold had seen that briefing, it stands to reason that a routine refueling would have been treated as less of a routine.
What's the capper, though?
Scapegoating. What a lot of crap.
Terror attack has scuttled Nevadan's Navy career
The Navy gave Cmdr. Kirk Lippold a medal for saving the USS Cole and preventing further loss of life after al-Qaida operatives blew a huge hole into the guided-missile destroyer in the Yemen port of Aden on Oct. 12, 2000. Little did Lippold know then that his fast-track career might be over.
Lippold, a 1977 Carson High School graduate, apparently is the first commissioned military officer or civilian official since George W. Bush became president to be held liable for failing to prevent an act of terrorism against the United States, according to the Sacramento Bee.
Well, if he cruised into that port ignoring all the warnings . . . oh, wait.
But there are questions why Lippold didn't know, before his refueling stop in Yemen, that two separate intelligence programs had found signs of a possible attack on U.S. interests in the Middle East in the days before the Cole bombing.
One of them, a secret Pentagon program now known as Able Danger, had identified Yemen as one of five "hot spots" of al-Qaida activity believed to be targeting U.S. interests. Two days before the Cole attack, Able Danger analysts briefed Gen. Peter Schoomaker, then head of U.S. Special Operations Command, on their findings.
Nothing about the briefing reached Lippold. Nor was he told that U.S. embassies in Yemen and elsewhere in the Middle East had been closed for fear of violence.
How does the Commander of one of our ships in that area miss out on this kind of information?
How about a breakdown of communication, the kind that's bit us in the ass before?
Lippold's adherence to security procedures was questioned, but the report was dismissed by his entire chain of command, "finding that he could not prevent the bombing." Unfortunately, the taint still hangs on his career.
I can appreciate the idea of constant vigilance. If you're heading into a foreign port and you have your pipes exposed (so to speak), you probably have to keep an eye on the locals. But if Lippold had seen that briefing, it stands to reason that a routine refueling would have been treated as less of a routine.
What's the capper, though?
Meanwhile, promotions and honors have flowed to higher-echelon figures such as Gen. Peter Schoomaker, who did not act on the intelligence briefing he received two days before the Cole attack. Schoomaker has been promoted to Army chief of staff.
Scapegoating. What a lot of crap.
Hai-Poo
Yesterday, I decided to write a little poetry. Haiku, with one singular subject. I also encouraged my co-workers to contribute. You see, Creative Departments are composed mostly of people who, in some way, refuse to grow up. I myself may be on my fifth childhood by now. So here are my sophomoric verses in all their inglory:
my eyes, they water
love cannot support this pain
I curse cheap diapers
three o'clock, and haze
a noxious noose 'round our throats
Qdoba no more
Are you inspired? Drop one of your own.
my eyes, they water
love cannot support this pain
I curse cheap diapers
three o'clock, and haze
a noxious noose 'round our throats
Qdoba no more
Are you inspired? Drop one of your own.
4.25.2006
Words a Copywriter Hates to Hear
"So what else you got?"
(That, in a nutshell, is how work is going.)
(That, in a nutshell, is how work is going.)
4.14.2006
Zero hour is coming
Hang in there, Shannon.
Tax Day is only one day away.
Oh, crud. That means I should do my taxes before tomorrow, eh?
Tax Day is only one day away.
Oh, crud. That means I should do my taxes before tomorrow, eh?
Roll Addition
I've added Dodger Blues.com thanks to my cousin Tim.
Tim lives in Claremont (a suburb of L.A.) and goes to as many games as possible. If anyone knows the scuttlebutt on Da Bums, it's him. So thank you, Timmy. The site is absolutely irresistible.
Be sure to skim the section called "Asshole of the Moment." It's great stuff . . . insightful and snarky.
Tim lives in Claremont (a suburb of L.A.) and goes to as many games as possible. If anyone knows the scuttlebutt on Da Bums, it's him. So thank you, Timmy. The site is absolutely irresistible.
Be sure to skim the section called "Asshole of the Moment." It's great stuff . . . insightful and snarky.
4.11.2006
How low can they go?
Nobody outside of Las Vegas has been watching this particular bit of homegrown nastiness, so I've sat back with my proverbial bowl of popcorn and watched the show, refusing to air it out so people in other cities can see how awful our local politicians really are.
After all, the kind of political corruption trial we got was the exact kind you'd expect: County Commissioners took bribes from a strip club owner in exchange for favorable votes.
When this first broke, I shrugged. The Commissioners that got tagged were absolutely no surprise. You'd heard, "under the radar" of course, of all types of shady dealings. So Federal charges were just the inevitable stop in their illustrious political careers.
Daily, as the trial wore on, I'd read the juicy headlines. My favorite so far was "Dario Never Paid," in reference to the comped drinks, lap dances and who knows what else he got on his frequent visits to Galardi clubs.
Until now. What I thought couldn't get any crappier just did.
My sentiments exactly, lady. Ew. Just ew.
It's disgusting enough that Galardi shelled out hundreds of thousands of dollars to public officials (whether in cash bribes or "services rendered"). But this, somehow, made the whole horrid affair just a little shittier.
Just to let you know, Kenny is a government witness. She got in a room with the FBI and started singing.
But now, I'm thinking of a local political cartoon I saw when Erin Kenny's deal first made the papers. In it, she was seen in silhouette behind a glass "FBI" door. And she was on her knees.
I'm sure the artist knew even then what she was all about.
Nevada politics is a dirty little business, made even dirtier by those who have the cash and the power. When those who deal in vice are the ones lobbying the officials, it's only a matter of time before our public buildings become cesspools.
I'm not surprised. Not at all. But I do feel a little dirtier.
Ew. Just frickin' ew.
After all, the kind of political corruption trial we got was the exact kind you'd expect: County Commissioners took bribes from a strip club owner in exchange for favorable votes.
When this first broke, I shrugged. The Commissioners that got tagged were absolutely no surprise. You'd heard, "under the radar" of course, of all types of shady dealings. So Federal charges were just the inevitable stop in their illustrious political careers.
Daily, as the trial wore on, I'd read the juicy headlines. My favorite so far was "Dario Never Paid," in reference to the comped drinks, lap dances and who knows what else he got on his frequent visits to Galardi clubs.
Until now. What I thought couldn't get any crappier just did.
PUBLIC CORRUPTION CASE: Galardi names more officials
Ex-strip club owner says former commissioner provided sex
Former strip club owner Michael Galardi rattled off a list of public officials Monday to whom he said he made cash payments and confirmed that he had several sexual encounters with former Clark County Commissioner Erin Kenny.
Galardi stunned the courtroom when he testified that Kenny performed oral sex on him about six times during the time she served on the County Commission and took cash bribes to lobby for legislation beneficial to his topless club empire.
"Oh, for heaven's sake," a woman in the federal courtroom audience muttered after Galardi's admission.
My sentiments exactly, lady. Ew. Just ew.
It's disgusting enough that Galardi shelled out hundreds of thousands of dollars to public officials (whether in cash bribes or "services rendered"). But this, somehow, made the whole horrid affair just a little shittier.
Just to let you know, Kenny is a government witness. She got in a room with the FBI and started singing.
But now, I'm thinking of a local political cartoon I saw when Erin Kenny's deal first made the papers. In it, she was seen in silhouette behind a glass "FBI" door. And she was on her knees.
I'm sure the artist knew even then what she was all about.
Nevada politics is a dirty little business, made even dirtier by those who have the cash and the power. When those who deal in vice are the ones lobbying the officials, it's only a matter of time before our public buildings become cesspools.
I'm not surprised. Not at all. But I do feel a little dirtier.
Ew. Just frickin' ew.
4.10.2006
The Birthday was successful
I'm still alive.
This week, I'm home with the boy, who's on Spring Break.
But work is already calling, so I suppose I'm NOT on break.
Bleah.
This week, I'm home with the boy, who's on Spring Break.
But work is already calling, so I suppose I'm NOT on break.
Bleah.
3.31.2006
Just when I was missing the old Vegas
Ah, the halcyon days of above-ground nuclear testing. I used to sit at Grandpa's feet and listen to the tales of mushroom clouds and viewing parties on Fremont Street. He'd smoke his Chesterfield Kings and absentmindedly scratch the spot on his neck where they'd removed the tumor.
"You saw it before you felt it," he'd say.
Oh, to be alive then. I was only around for below-ground tests. They'd shake the windows in my house and the light fixture above the kitchen table would swing. The news would tell people to stay away from windows in tall buildings, and if the wind changed you'd better stay indoors. It was so exciting.
So you can imagine the thrill I felt when this graced the paper:
'MUSHROOM CLOUD OVER LAS VEGAS': Comment causes a chain reaction
Mushroom cloud? Coooooool.
So they voted for the cloud before they voted against it?
Well I'm glad the Russians know. At least someone isn't surprised.
Pristine? Go to Google Earth, search for Mercury, NV and scan a little bit northeast. It looks like a few hundred square miles of desert came down with a case of leprosy.
So we go from a mushroom cloud over town the leadership didn't know about to a mushroom cloud over town they DID know about to a mushroom-ish (maybe an oyster mushroom instead of a portabella?) cloud that none of us will see accompanied by a blast none of us will feel.
What a letdown.
In other words, calm the hell down. They do haz-mat training out there. They do other blasting out there. They store lower-level radioactive waste and high-level medical waste out there. I know. I've been out there and that's just the stuff they tell you about on the tour.
I will agree with one thing: If it's not going to cause a "mushroom cloud over Vegas," then clamp down on the hyperbole. People don't understand. You say "mushroom cloud" and people automatically think "nuclear." Unless you want Martin Sheen and a bunch of other anti-nuke types making things at the NTS gate messier than normal, tell the frickin' truth.
And to our "leadership:" Stop being a bunch of grandstanding, inane asshats. You just end up looking more vacuous than you normally do.
One more thing, O Defense Threat Reduction Agency [when did THIS agency come about?]: next time you say we're gonna see a mushroom cloud, you'd better deliver.
"You saw it before you felt it," he'd say.
Oh, to be alive then. I was only around for below-ground tests. They'd shake the windows in my house and the light fixture above the kitchen table would swing. The news would tell people to stay away from windows in tall buildings, and if the wind changed you'd better stay indoors. It was so exciting.
So you can imagine the thrill I felt when this graced the paper:
'MUSHROOM CLOUD OVER LAS VEGAS': Comment causes a chain reaction
Mushroom cloud? Coooooool.
A government official's comment that a 700-ton blast scheduled June 2 at the Nevada Test Site would send a "mushroom cloud over Las Vegas" set off a firestorm on Thursday even though state officials signed off on the experiment in January.
Talking to reporters at the Pentagon, James Tegnelia, chief of the Defense Threat Reduction Agency, said, "I don't want to sound glib here but it is the first time in Nevada that you'll see a mushroom cloud over Las Vegas since we stopped testing nuclear weapons."
Tegnelia said the test, called "Divine Strake," [Strake? Is that a typo?]is part of an effort to develop weapons that can destroy underground bunkers storing nuclear, chemical or biological weapons.
. . .
The mushroom cloud image disturbed Rep. Shelley Berkley, D-Nev. She took to the House floor to sharply criticize Tegnelia for his comments.
"It's bad enough that we didn't get prior notice and ... obviously, the congressional delegation wasn't briefed, but the people of the state of Nevada haven't been briefed either," Berkley said.
As it turned out, Berkley and the other four members of the congressional delegation were notified about the planned explosion in a Dec. 19, 2005, letter from the National Nuclear Security Administration.
In addition, Nevada Department of Administration official Zosia Targosz said in a Jan. 9 letter to the NNSA's office in Las Vegas that "your proposal is not in conflict with state plans, goals or objectives."
Berkley spokesman David Cherry acknowledged Berkley was notified last year about the blast.
"But the notification did not include phrases like 'mushroom cloud over Las Vegas,' " Cherry said.
Sen. Harry Reid, D-Nev., issued a statement calling Tegnelia's comments "irresponsible and inflammatory." Reid said he would press for a briefing from military officials.
So they voted for the cloud before they voted against it?
Sen. John Ensign, R-Nev., was traveling and could not be reached for comment. His spokesman, Jack Finn, said Ensign's staff have contacted officials at the test site and the Defense Threat Reduction Agency.
Reps. Jim Gibbons and Jon Porter, both R-Nev., issued statements saying a report in November indicated there would not be a safety risk or adverse environmental impact from the test. They added they will continue to monitor the situation but raised no objection to the proposed explosion.
Tegnelia said the Russians have been told about the test.
Well I'm glad the Russians know. At least someone isn't surprised.
Darwin Morgan, an NNSA spokesman at the test site, said the detonation will occur in a pristine area about 90 miles northwest of Las Vegas.
Pristine? Go to Google Earth, search for Mercury, NV and scan a little bit northeast. It looks like a few hundred square miles of desert came down with a case of leprosy.
The 700 tons of ammonium nitrate fuel oil will be poured into a 30-foot pit that will be dug above one of the test site's tunnels, Morgan said.
Berkley said Tegnelia told her the mushroom cloud that results from the blast will be visible from Las Vegas.
But while he acknowledged there will be a mushroom cloud, Morgan said surrounding mountains are likely to block the view from Las Vegas.
Morgan also said it is "highly unlikely" the blast will be felt in Las Vegas.
"The most likely scenario is that someone in Indian Springs might hear something that sounds like distant thunder," Morgan said.
Morgan described the blast as "an open-air experiment."
So we go from a mushroom cloud over town the leadership didn't know about to a mushroom cloud over town they DID know about to a mushroom-ish (maybe an oyster mushroom instead of a portabella?) cloud that none of us will see accompanied by a blast none of us will feel.
What a letdown.
"The test site is a user facility for the national labs and the Defense Department and the Defense Threat Reduction Agency. This is what we do -- high hazard operations."
In other words, calm the hell down. They do haz-mat training out there. They do other blasting out there. They store lower-level radioactive waste and high-level medical waste out there. I know. I've been out there and that's just the stuff they tell you about on the tour.
I will agree with one thing: If it's not going to cause a "mushroom cloud over Vegas," then clamp down on the hyperbole. People don't understand. You say "mushroom cloud" and people automatically think "nuclear." Unless you want Martin Sheen and a bunch of other anti-nuke types making things at the NTS gate messier than normal, tell the frickin' truth.
And to our "leadership:" Stop being a bunch of grandstanding, inane asshats. You just end up looking more vacuous than you normally do.
One more thing, O Defense Threat Reduction Agency [when did THIS agency come about?]: next time you say we're gonna see a mushroom cloud, you'd better deliver.
3.29.2006
Spring doesn't start . . .
. . . until Saturday.
Saturday at 7:30 am (!) my boy will play his first rookie league baseball game. It's machine pitch, so it'll be interesting.
After that, we'll be here. Cubs v. Padres, at our gorgeous AAA baseball stadium. Blankets on the right field berm and friends all around.
I can't wait.
Saturday at 7:30 am (!) my boy will play his first rookie league baseball game. It's machine pitch, so it'll be interesting.
After that, we'll be here. Cubs v. Padres, at our gorgeous AAA baseball stadium. Blankets on the right field berm and friends all around.
I can't wait.
3.28.2006
Breaking emissions standards . . .
. . . for the sake of advertising:
World's Largest Buffet coming to Vegas
And then, the combination of thousands of humans' worth of methane gas plus Kathy Griffin's incessant chatter (which is composed mostly of heated carbon monoxide) will be released into the atmosphere over Southern Nevada, opening a 4-mile-wide hole in the ozone, raising our average summer temperature to 112 degrees Fahrenheit.
Thanks a lot, assholes.
World's Largest Buffet coming to Vegas
Where else would you expect to find the world's largest buffet, but right here in the buffet capital of the world! In honor of its 75th birthday, the antacid company Alka-Seltzer is attempting to make the record books by creating the world's largest buffet.
The attempt will be made at the Las Vegas Hilton Tuesday. The hotel's buffet will set out 500 items for the event being kicked off with the first bite taken by comedian Kathy Griffin.
And then, the combination of thousands of humans' worth of methane gas plus Kathy Griffin's incessant chatter (which is composed mostly of heated carbon monoxide) will be released into the atmosphere over Southern Nevada, opening a 4-mile-wide hole in the ozone, raising our average summer temperature to 112 degrees Fahrenheit.
Thanks a lot, assholes.
Las Vegas Events
Forget the overpriced concerts at MGM Grand Garden and House of Blues.
I'm doing THIS:
The 3rd Annual Modern Drunkard Convention
Panel discussion? Karaoke? AND debauchery?
Goodness, I love living here.
I'm doing THIS:
The 3rd Annual Modern Drunkard Convention
When: Friday June 23rd through Sunday, June 25th.
Where: The Celebrity Ballroom, Las Vegas, NV.
What to Expect: Three solid days of heavy drinking and full-bore entertainment Emceed by Titsa Galore, including:
Bands
To be announced shortly.
Burlesque Troupes
Ooh-La-La!
Oracle Dance Troupe
More to be announced.
Plus
• Liquor Olympics
• Clash of the Tightest Drinking Contest
• Soused seminars
• Films
• Karaoke
• Panel Discussion
• Booze tastings
• Heavy drinking
• Debauchery
• And much more
How much: Convention passes are $49. In addition to three days of gala entertainment, the pass also entitles you to free gear, including:
• Limited Edition Modern Drunkard Convention T-Shirt
• 17"X24" Convention Poster
Panel discussion? Karaoke? AND debauchery?
Goodness, I love living here.
Gorgeous photo site
While I'm chasing down my myriad job duties, enjoy this.
I've always been fascinated by mental hospitals, and look at most rundown places as fabulous locations for something.
This photographer, using natural light, has taken mostly beautiful but sometimes disturbing pictures in abandoned institutions.
hat tip to my buddy, Dunny Bunny
I've always been fascinated by mental hospitals, and look at most rundown places as fabulous locations for something.
This photographer, using natural light, has taken mostly beautiful but sometimes disturbing pictures in abandoned institutions.
hat tip to my buddy, Dunny Bunny
3.23.2006
Puppy Blogging
Well, everyone's doing it.
So this is Cassie, two Fridays ago. And I swear, I don't abuse her. She gets that long-suffering look whenever I take the camera out.
So this is Cassie, two Fridays ago. And I swear, I don't abuse her. She gets that long-suffering look whenever I take the camera out.
A woman of many hats
And all of them are too tight.
Blogging will dwindle the next few weeks while I wade into television commercial production. I'm not doing one spot, or even two. Right now, I'm trying to coordinatefive six.
All this while I continue my main job, which is advertising copywriter.
This involves switching gears between Flighty Creative and Bean Counter so often, I fear I'm going to burn out my transmission.
Does anyone know how to clone oneself?
And if so, can I leave the "fat" gene out of the new one?
Blogging will dwindle the next few weeks while I wade into television commercial production. I'm not doing one spot, or even two. Right now, I'm trying to coordinate
All this while I continue my main job, which is advertising copywriter.
This involves switching gears between Flighty Creative and Bean Counter so often, I fear I'm going to burn out my transmission.
Does anyone know how to clone oneself?
And if so, can I leave the "fat" gene out of the new one?
3.20.2006
As I approach 37
Reality check #22
I was coloring my hair yesterday and had to leave the stuff on an extra 10 minutes "to cover resistant grays."
I was coloring my hair yesterday and had to leave the stuff on an extra 10 minutes "to cover resistant grays."
3.18.2006
3.16.2006
A Tribute
A good family friend has died, and while he was a giant in this town and more well-known figures will weigh in on his passing, I want to contribute in my own small way.
First, the story on the street:
My grandmother worked for Mr T. as a seamstress at the resurrected City Furniture on Main Street when she came to town in the mid-sixties. My uncle, not even old enough to drive, would ride shotgun with Lightning. They'd go around town in a truck, picking up discarded furniture so they could refurbish it at the store and sell it.
My mother has worked for Mr. Tobman for 33 years. First as an upholsterer and later as the manager of his cab company.
When I was thirteen, I started working there in the summers or after school, helping out in the office or washing cabs. The year he ran for governor I helped hand-paint his campaign signs.
But none of these were just work relationships. The thing about Mr. T is that once you fell in under his wing, you were part of his family, and my family always felt that way. His daughters are my mother's friends. His wife is a graceful, compassionate, strong woman who we've always admired.
And none of this gets closer to the truth of how much this man was loved by us.
How can I possibly explain the hundreds of times over the years where a little conversation always got right to the root of what mattered to him most: "how are you? Really? Is there anything you need from me?"
Yet he had known tragedies no man should have to endure. He'd buried parents, siblings, friends, his only son and a grandson. But none of this hardened him. His only response was to become more tender, and more giving.
Mr. T. took in strays – not stray animals, stray people. Some would have said he was being taken advantage of, but he never saw it that way. Where he thought he could help, he would. Some did take advantage, but that never hardened his heart, either.
Over the years, the papers would report his quiet donations to homeless dinners or destitute families. And for every report that trickled out, there were at least ten instances where nobody noticed. Nobody but those he touched. If a family lost everything in a fire, he was there. If a patriarch died, he made sure the children would be okay. There are other instances that shine in my mind, but to write about them would violate those private, silent agreements: "take this, just between us."
It was his way, which was also the Old Vegas way. He is Old Vegas to me, with all the ways it used to be here – all the old places, the old signs, the roads and homes that have been plowed over to make room for what we are now. He is intertwined with all the sights and sounds of my childhood.
This city has lost something we can never get back. His spirit, his no-nonsense approach, his straight talk. And his heart.
Maybe this very personal story can explain better. My grandmother died with a terrifying suddenness January 9, 2004. Within two days, Las Vegas native (and giant) Judge Myron Leavitt died. Their funerals were on the same day, at the same time. Mr. Tobman was chosen to be a pallbearer at the Judge's funeral, so we understood that he wouldn't be at my grandmother's much smaller goodbye.
I stood at the door of the chapel, greeting people, when he walked up with his wife Jean. Nothing that day had made me cry. Until then. I remember saying "I thought you'd be at Judge Leavitt's." He replied, "I wouldn't miss my chance to say goodbye to my friend Mae." I don't think truly understood his heart before that day.
I keep coming back to that, because his heart was larger than life. And in the end, it finally gave out.
Tomorrow, Mr. T., I won't miss my chance to say goodbye to you.
First, the story on the street:
Entrepreneur, civic leader Tobman dies at 81
Herb Tobman, sporting an ever-beaming smile and offering a lighthearted joke on almost any subject, would hold court daily in the early 1990s at his Mr. T's Diner at 2129 Industrial Road.
Tobman, president of the Stardust hotel in the 1970s and owner of Western Cab Co. since 1968, would regale customers with his stories about working as a teenage bellhop in the Catskill Mountain resorts or of his early days in 1950s Las Vegas when he was a gas station attendant and star softball player.
"Herb Tobman was the king of Damon Runyun characters in a town of thousands of Damon Runyun characters," said Bill Shranko, director of operations of Yellow Checker Star Cab Co., and a friend for more than 25 years.
Tobman, who served on the Las Vegas Convention and Visitors Authority board in the 1980s and became a multimillionaire by buying and selling Las Vegas real estate for half a century, died Tuesday in Las Vegas of a heart attack, his family said. He was 81.
Services for the Las Vegas resident of 54 years will be 1 p.m. Friday at Palm Mortuary-Main Street, followed by a graveside service at Woodlawn Cemetery.
Tobman served a term on the Clark County Planning Commission and was appointed to the Las Vegas City Recreation Advisory Board after it was created, serving one year as chairman.
"Herb had a sense of humor for every situation - lighthearted or serious," Shranko said. "With a joke he'd make something serious seem lighthearted."
Former Clark County Commissioner Manny Cortez, a longtime president of the LVCVA, said Tobman "was one of the better thinkers" on the LVCVA board.
"Herb understood the big picture - he cut to the chase and got to what was important," Cortez said. "In the early 1980s, there were a lot of differences of opinion about the value of conventions. A lot of casino operators were mostly interested in visitors but not necessarily conventioneers. Herb understood the significance of convention business.
Sen. Harry Reid, D-Nev., said he was a youngster when he first met Tobman at the old downtown Squires Park ballfield where Tobman was a shortstop/catcher on the nationally respected Horseshoe Club fast-pitch softball team. The team featured Reid's brother, the late Dale Reid.
"Herb has been my friend just about all of my life," Reid said. "His personality was so strong. He was like a ballplayer who always kept up the chatter during the game. He was always talking it up for Las Vegas."
Tobman's son-in-law, prominent Las Vegas attorney John Moran Jr., said: "Men like Herb Tobman don't come along every day, and that's sad."
In 1974 Tobman was appointed president of the Stardust hotel. In the late 1970s, Tobman and his friend, the late Al Sachs, formed Trans-Sterling Inc., and continued to run that Strip resort as well as the downtown Fremont and Sundance hotels. They sold their interests in those properties in 1984.
Two years later, Tobman ran for governor on a ticket that included establishing a state lottery and toughening drug laws to include life in prison without the possibility of parole for those convicted of selling narcotics to minors.
Tobman raised $90,000 for that campaign, limiting donations to no more than $10 per contributor.
Born Dec. 20, 1924, in the Bronx, N.Y., Tobman joined the Navy in 1942 and served aboard the destroyer U.S.S. MacKenzie during World War II.
After the war, Tobman played semi-professional basketball with the New York Gothams and, after obtaining an $1,800 loan under the G.I. Bill, bought a New Jersey service station and a Long Island, N.Y., dry cleaners.
In 1952 Tobman sold those businesses and moved to Las Vegas, where he initially lived in an 8th Street boarding house while working as a service station attendant.
Soon after, he took out a $1,200 bank loan to open City Furniture Exchange. In 1955, after that store burned down, Tobman became general manager of the Moulin Rouge on Bonanza Road, the city's first integrated casino. Tobman also rebuilt his furniture store, which served Las Vegas for 20 years.
In 1971 Tobman was hired as general manager of the Aladdin Hotel, where he instituted a champagne dinner buffet.
Tobman was a licensed pilot. He owned at various times different models of Cherokee airplanes and recently bought a Beech King Air. However, when he turned 78, Tobman hired a co-pilot to fly with him.
Tobman also served as a chief deputy coroner and as a trustee for the Culinary Workers and Bartenders Pension Fund. He served 12 years with the Southern Nevada Officials Association, refereeing high school and college basketball games in the 1960s and '70s.
Tobman's civic deeds included serving as chairman of the Clark County Heart Fund, a member of the Elks and breakfast Optimists clubs, commander of the local Jewish War Veterans chapter and as a member of Temple Beth Sholom. He also was a co-founder of WestCare, a Las Vegas drug rehabilitation center.
An accomplished handball player in New York, Tobman took up racquetball in Las Vegas and won numerous tournaments, including the 1984 West Coast senior doubles championship.
Tobman is survived by his wife of 58 years, Jean Tobman; three daughters, Janie Moore, Marilyn Moran and Helen Martin; nine grandchildren; and a great-grandson, all of Las Vegas.
The family said donations can be made to WestCare Foundation, 900 Grier Drive, Las Vegas, NV 89119.
My grandmother worked for Mr T. as a seamstress at the resurrected City Furniture on Main Street when she came to town in the mid-sixties. My uncle, not even old enough to drive, would ride shotgun with Lightning. They'd go around town in a truck, picking up discarded furniture so they could refurbish it at the store and sell it.
My mother has worked for Mr. Tobman for 33 years. First as an upholsterer and later as the manager of his cab company.
When I was thirteen, I started working there in the summers or after school, helping out in the office or washing cabs. The year he ran for governor I helped hand-paint his campaign signs.
But none of these were just work relationships. The thing about Mr. T is that once you fell in under his wing, you were part of his family, and my family always felt that way. His daughters are my mother's friends. His wife is a graceful, compassionate, strong woman who we've always admired.
And none of this gets closer to the truth of how much this man was loved by us.
How can I possibly explain the hundreds of times over the years where a little conversation always got right to the root of what mattered to him most: "how are you? Really? Is there anything you need from me?"
Yet he had known tragedies no man should have to endure. He'd buried parents, siblings, friends, his only son and a grandson. But none of this hardened him. His only response was to become more tender, and more giving.
Mr. T. took in strays – not stray animals, stray people. Some would have said he was being taken advantage of, but he never saw it that way. Where he thought he could help, he would. Some did take advantage, but that never hardened his heart, either.
Over the years, the papers would report his quiet donations to homeless dinners or destitute families. And for every report that trickled out, there were at least ten instances where nobody noticed. Nobody but those he touched. If a family lost everything in a fire, he was there. If a patriarch died, he made sure the children would be okay. There are other instances that shine in my mind, but to write about them would violate those private, silent agreements: "take this, just between us."
It was his way, which was also the Old Vegas way. He is Old Vegas to me, with all the ways it used to be here – all the old places, the old signs, the roads and homes that have been plowed over to make room for what we are now. He is intertwined with all the sights and sounds of my childhood.
This city has lost something we can never get back. His spirit, his no-nonsense approach, his straight talk. And his heart.
Maybe this very personal story can explain better. My grandmother died with a terrifying suddenness January 9, 2004. Within two days, Las Vegas native (and giant) Judge Myron Leavitt died. Their funerals were on the same day, at the same time. Mr. Tobman was chosen to be a pallbearer at the Judge's funeral, so we understood that he wouldn't be at my grandmother's much smaller goodbye.
I stood at the door of the chapel, greeting people, when he walked up with his wife Jean. Nothing that day had made me cry. Until then. I remember saying "I thought you'd be at Judge Leavitt's." He replied, "I wouldn't miss my chance to say goodbye to my friend Mae." I don't think truly understood his heart before that day.
I keep coming back to that, because his heart was larger than life. And in the end, it finally gave out.
Tomorrow, Mr. T., I won't miss my chance to say goodbye to you.
3.15.2006
Programming Note
Comedy Central just played the "Chef Aid" episode of South Park and now I've just watched Chef ask everyone to suck his "salty chocolate balls."
You think it may be in honor of this guy?
And the Scientolocrap is up all over the Comedy Central South Park site.
You think it may be in honor of this guy?
And the Scientolocrap is up all over the Comedy Central South Park site.
EATAPETA
Remember, guys. Today is International Eat An Animal For PETA Day.
If it had a face, have at it.
I'll be spending my lunch hour at the delightful TC's Rib Crib, a fabulously homey place owned and operated by a family of Louisiana transplants. They'd been driven here by Katrina, so eating there feels like a good cause, too.
It doesn't hurt that their BBQ kicks butt. Pork butt. With lots of sauce.
If it had a face, have at it.
I'll be spending my lunch hour at the delightful TC's Rib Crib, a fabulously homey place owned and operated by a family of Louisiana transplants. They'd been driven here by Katrina, so eating there feels like a good cause, too.
It doesn't hurt that their BBQ kicks butt. Pork butt. With lots of sauce.
Sirhan Sirhan
So, he's up for parole.
Fat chance.
Funny story, though:
My mom was 19 years old, and living in the L.A. suburbs. She had been out that night with one of her friends. When they got to the friend's home, her mother was a babbling wreck. When the girls asked what happened, she cried out,
"Oh my GOD oh my GOD! Rosie Greer killed Bobby Kennedy!"
She was, needless to say, a little confused. Understandably so, since she'd seen the whole thing on TV and Rosie was right there.
But no. Rosie and Rafer Johnson actually caught Sirhan Sirhan and sat on him until someone took him away. It's probably one of Rosie's best tackles.
Fat chance.
Funny story, though:
My mom was 19 years old, and living in the L.A. suburbs. She had been out that night with one of her friends. When they got to the friend's home, her mother was a babbling wreck. When the girls asked what happened, she cried out,
"Oh my GOD oh my GOD! Rosie Greer killed Bobby Kennedy!"
She was, needless to say, a little confused. Understandably so, since she'd seen the whole thing on TV and Rosie was right there.
But no. Rosie and Rafer Johnson actually caught Sirhan Sirhan and sat on him until someone took him away. It's probably one of Rosie's best tackles.
3.14.2006
3.13.2006
Good lovin' gone bad
Wow. Now THIS is a surprise:
Isaac Hayes Quits 'South Park'
And now, the rebuttal:
To me, organized religion has cornered the whole "intolerance and bigotry" market. The Moos-lims riot over cartoons, the Catholics are still paying off the legions of the molested, Pat Robertson's simply being himself, and now Hayes.
Zealots piss me off. I don't care what God they love or alien overlord they hate. They're all scary, deluded fucktards.
And Isaac Hayes is officially part of the club.
Isaac Hayes Quits 'South Park'
Isaac Hayes has quit "South Park," where he voices Chef, saying he can no longer stomach its take on religion.
Hayes, who has played the ladies' man/school cook in the animated Comedy Central satire since 1997, said in a statement Monday that he feels a line has been crossed.
"There is a place in this world for satire, but there is a time when satire ends and intolerance and bigotry towards religious beliefs of others begins," the 63-year-old soul singer and outspoken Scientologist said.
"Religious beliefs are sacred to people, and at all times should be respected and honored," he continued. "As a civil rights activist of the past 40 years, I cannot support a show that disrespects those beliefs and practices."
And now, the rebuttal:
"South Park" co-creator Matt Stone responded sharply in an interview with The Associated Press Monday, saying, "This is 100 percent having to do with his faith of Scientology... He has no problem - and he's cashed plenty of checks - with our show making fun of Christians."
Last November, "South Park" targeted the Church of Scientology and its celebrity followers, including actors Tom Cruise and John Travolta, in a top-rated episode called "Trapped in the Closet." In the episode, Stan, one of the show's four mischievous fourth graders, is hailed as a reluctant savior by Scientology leaders, while a cartoon Cruise locks himself in a closet and won't come out.
Stone told The AP he and co-creator Trey Parker "never heard a peep out of Isaac in any way until we did Scientology. He wants a different standard for religions other than his own, and to me, that is where intolerance and bigotry begin."
To me, organized religion has cornered the whole "intolerance and bigotry" market. The Moos-lims riot over cartoons, the Catholics are still paying off the legions of the molested, Pat Robertson's simply being himself, and now Hayes.
Zealots piss me off. I don't care what God they love or alien overlord they hate. They're all scary, deluded fucktards.
And Isaac Hayes is officially part of the club.
3.09.2006
A different look at Barry
This is one of today's top stories (at 1:00 p.m. PST):
Bonds Strikes Out in First Spring At-Bat
Of course, I giggled. It's far too easy to hate the man. And then almost immediately, in an uncharacteristic fit of charity, I thought of something else.
Barry Bonds is someone to feel sorry for.
While we can look at his arrogance, his nastiness to his fans, his disrespect for the legends that came before him, and his absolute trampling of everything good about baseball, we should also look at the other side.
He is one miserable person. He must not enjoy anything: not his kids, not the adulation (however misplaced it is), not even the game he plays for a lucrative living. The money he makes is only a yardstick of his worth when compared to other players. He spends all his time running from the press because he's lied himself into a corner.
Of course, he's brought this all on himself. But sometimes, you can look at a person who is thoroughly self-destructing and wish it were different.
I feel sorry for him because he can't – or won't – change. He'll always have this gaping hole inside him, and nothing will ever fill it up. If playing one of the best games on earth, and doing it well, and getting PAID to do it doesn't make him feel any better, then he's lost.
Ty Cobb, with time, found fans. A dirty but good player, a nasty human being, could only be appreciated after he was dead.
I wonder if Barry Bonds will even have that?
Bonds Strikes Out in First Spring At-Bat
Of course, I giggled. It's far too easy to hate the man. And then almost immediately, in an uncharacteristic fit of charity, I thought of something else.
Barry Bonds is someone to feel sorry for.
While we can look at his arrogance, his nastiness to his fans, his disrespect for the legends that came before him, and his absolute trampling of everything good about baseball, we should also look at the other side.
He is one miserable person. He must not enjoy anything: not his kids, not the adulation (however misplaced it is), not even the game he plays for a lucrative living. The money he makes is only a yardstick of his worth when compared to other players. He spends all his time running from the press because he's lied himself into a corner.
Of course, he's brought this all on himself. But sometimes, you can look at a person who is thoroughly self-destructing and wish it were different.
I feel sorry for him because he can't – or won't – change. He'll always have this gaping hole inside him, and nothing will ever fill it up. If playing one of the best games on earth, and doing it well, and getting PAID to do it doesn't make him feel any better, then he's lost.
Ty Cobb, with time, found fans. A dirty but good player, a nasty human being, could only be appreciated after he was dead.
I wonder if Barry Bonds will even have that?
3.08.2006
What I gave up for Lent
Being Catholic.
Top U.S. Bishop Accused of Sex Abuse
Okay, so it happened a long time ago. It's possible the man isn't guilty. It's also entirely possible that he IS.
In fact, it seems even more possible that he is.
Emphasis all mine.
I think some of these claims are bogus. But some aren't. It's dead tiring to keep hearing about Church abuses. It just never seems to end. Which means that the Church is still not at all interested in cleaning house.
Not that I'm surprised. Quite the opposite.
When I was a child, I loved the Church. I actually felt peace there. I know now that the peace came from the ritual, and that I never really felt God was with me. Because a child doesn't really understand that concept. With all their magical thinking, children equate God with superheroes and imaginary friends and unicorns.
But a priest, on the other hand, is someone a child is taught to trust, and to believe in as God's representative. God the Father sends this man to look after you on His behalf. This is the closest a child comes to knowing God face-to-face. What a responsibility the priest has. And how despicable that some of those men would abuse that responsibility so thoroughly.
Worse than that is how the Church hierarchy hid it.
My hatred of the Church is personal. I tried as an adult to love the Church, and to believe in the community even though I knew how badly out of touch the Vatican was. I had real affection for Pope John Paul II, but had a hard time reconciling his good points with his rigidity on homosexuality and birth control. It was disturbing to see how greedy the parish was, with the constant pleas for money. Most of the homilies were about giving – not of time or of self, but of money.
Still, I got married in the Church. When Conor was born, I had him baptized Catholic.
And then the year I got divorced the priest sex scandals hit critical mass (no pun intended). That following Easter, as the news was full of reports that the Church actively covered for their pedophile priests, I learned that, as a divorced person, I wasn't allowed to take communion at the holiest time of the Catholic year.
That was when I gave up being Catholic. And they can't have my son, either.
Maybe someday Conor will choose a religion for himself. Maybe he'll choose Catholicism (kids DO have a knack for doing the opposite of their parents). But at least he'll do it as an adult, with his eyes open. For now, there's no way I'm feeding my little boy to that monster.
And I see, again, no reason to change my mind.
Top U.S. Bishop Accused of Sex Abuse
The claim was filed against the Roman Catholic Diocese of Spokane on Dec. 27 by a woman who said she was under the age of 18 when [Bishop] Skylstad sexually abused her at St. Patrick's Parish and at Gonzaga University from December 1961 to December 1964.
Okay, so it happened a long time ago. It's possible the man isn't guilty. It's also entirely possible that he IS.
The diocese is one of three in the nation that filed for bankruptcy protection to deal with claims of sexual abuse by clergy. Skylstad last month offered to settle with 75 victims for $45.7 million.
In fact, it seems even more possible that he is.
Victims of clergy sexual abuse have until Friday to file claims. Greg Arpin, an attorney representing the diocese, said there were a total of 135 claims as of Wednesday morning, including the original 75 who would be covered by the settlement.
Emphasis all mine.
I think some of these claims are bogus. But some aren't. It's dead tiring to keep hearing about Church abuses. It just never seems to end. Which means that the Church is still not at all interested in cleaning house.
Not that I'm surprised. Quite the opposite.
When I was a child, I loved the Church. I actually felt peace there. I know now that the peace came from the ritual, and that I never really felt God was with me. Because a child doesn't really understand that concept. With all their magical thinking, children equate God with superheroes and imaginary friends and unicorns.
But a priest, on the other hand, is someone a child is taught to trust, and to believe in as God's representative. God the Father sends this man to look after you on His behalf. This is the closest a child comes to knowing God face-to-face. What a responsibility the priest has. And how despicable that some of those men would abuse that responsibility so thoroughly.
Worse than that is how the Church hierarchy hid it.
My hatred of the Church is personal. I tried as an adult to love the Church, and to believe in the community even though I knew how badly out of touch the Vatican was. I had real affection for Pope John Paul II, but had a hard time reconciling his good points with his rigidity on homosexuality and birth control. It was disturbing to see how greedy the parish was, with the constant pleas for money. Most of the homilies were about giving – not of time or of self, but of money.
Still, I got married in the Church. When Conor was born, I had him baptized Catholic.
And then the year I got divorced the priest sex scandals hit critical mass (no pun intended). That following Easter, as the news was full of reports that the Church actively covered for their pedophile priests, I learned that, as a divorced person, I wasn't allowed to take communion at the holiest time of the Catholic year.
That was when I gave up being Catholic. And they can't have my son, either.
Maybe someday Conor will choose a religion for himself. Maybe he'll choose Catholicism (kids DO have a knack for doing the opposite of their parents). But at least he'll do it as an adult, with his eyes open. For now, there's no way I'm feeding my little boy to that monster.
And I see, again, no reason to change my mind.
3.06.2006
Kirby
One of my favorite players. Gone.
He had such joy for the game, loyalty to his teammates, and grace for his fans. When he could no longer play, he lost what he loved best.
That he couldn't live without the game is the saddest thing of all.
Peace now, Kirby. You'll be missed.
He had such joy for the game, loyalty to his teammates, and grace for his fans. When he could no longer play, he lost what he loved best.
That he couldn't live without the game is the saddest thing of all.
Peace now, Kirby. You'll be missed.
3.05.2006
And Jack is Jack (and other matters)
Thanks be to God.
He's so no-bullshit, which is what I need right now.
Best picture?
Excuse me? Jack almost had a heart attack, as did everyone else in the theatre.
Crash.
Well, hell.
Hell.
I'm going to reiterate, then, what I said before with the disclaimer that I'm uninitiated: must a Best Picture nominee have shock value now? Are we all supposed to be reacting against complacency? Are we all supposed to be shaken out of our worldviews?
It's no surprise that people don't usually go to the movies for that purpose. So will the Oscars continue to lose relevancy with the moviegoing public?
That's all I heard this week: is Hollywood losing middle America? No. But those aren't the movies you've seen honored tonight.
Pink Panther? Cheaper by the Dozen 2? Have at it, Kansas. The rest of us thinkers are going to the art house.
The dichotomy that separates voters into wide, generalized swaths is the same that Hollywood panders to. In the end, the Oscars are Red State v. Blue State. And the Oscars are blue through and through.
The Hollywood Dream Factory is fracturing. Different dreams for different dreamers. And with the continuing rise of cable and TiVo, it's harder than ever to capture the dreamers' attentions. The successful indie film may be nearly dead. Not because it's hard to make them – quite the contrary. With the advent of the digital camera and easy editing programs, making a movie has rarely been simpler. But to get that movie out to a wide audience, to get any sort of notice, you need part of the Factory behind you. So the indie goes to the festivals, hoping to get picked up by part of the Dream Factory. And at that point, the indie vision gets picked apart.
The true independent filmmakers may now be the ones who can do whatever they wish: Spielberg, Coppola, Lucas, Scorsese. And God help us all, Woody Allen.
I'm stating the obvious. Of course. Then again, I have been drinking vodka since I sat down this evening.
So I'll end the rambling here. Good night, everyone. And good luck.
He's so no-bullshit, which is what I need right now.
Best picture?
Excuse me? Jack almost had a heart attack, as did everyone else in the theatre.
Crash.
Well, hell.
Hell.
I'm going to reiterate, then, what I said before with the disclaimer that I'm uninitiated: must a Best Picture nominee have shock value now? Are we all supposed to be reacting against complacency? Are we all supposed to be shaken out of our worldviews?
It's no surprise that people don't usually go to the movies for that purpose. So will the Oscars continue to lose relevancy with the moviegoing public?
That's all I heard this week: is Hollywood losing middle America? No. But those aren't the movies you've seen honored tonight.
Pink Panther? Cheaper by the Dozen 2? Have at it, Kansas. The rest of us thinkers are going to the art house.
The dichotomy that separates voters into wide, generalized swaths is the same that Hollywood panders to. In the end, the Oscars are Red State v. Blue State. And the Oscars are blue through and through.
The Hollywood Dream Factory is fracturing. Different dreams for different dreamers. And with the continuing rise of cable and TiVo, it's harder than ever to capture the dreamers' attentions. The successful indie film may be nearly dead. Not because it's hard to make them – quite the contrary. With the advent of the digital camera and easy editing programs, making a movie has rarely been simpler. But to get that movie out to a wide audience, to get any sort of notice, you need part of the Factory behind you. So the indie goes to the festivals, hoping to get picked up by part of the Dream Factory. And at that point, the indie vision gets picked apart.
The true independent filmmakers may now be the ones who can do whatever they wish: Spielberg, Coppola, Lucas, Scorsese. And God help us all, Woody Allen.
I'm stating the obvious. Of course. Then again, I have been drinking vodka since I sat down this evening.
So I'll end the rambling here. Good night, everyone. And good luck.
Tom Hanks looks like a serial killer
But I'll still watch him present.
Director. Let's take a deep breath.
Ang Lee. Hm. Now we all know how the rest will go.
His speech is – wow. All about "de gay mens and womens whose luff is denied by society." Oh, but he rallied. He made it for his recently deceased father. I can imagine that love, any love, would touch him.
Forget I said the word touch.
Director. Let's take a deep breath.
Ang Lee. Hm. Now we all know how the rest will go.
His speech is – wow. All about "de gay mens and womens whose luff is denied by society." Oh, but he rallied. He made it for his recently deceased father. I can imagine that love, any love, would touch him.
Forget I said the word touch.
Into the nitty-gritty
Adapted screenplay.
The Oscar goes to Larry McMurtry and Diana Ossana for the script from Annie Proulx's short story. I'm not at all surprised. And THANK YOU Larry McMurtry for talking up books. It's getting easier for people to get their "reading material" audibly. Or in the form of a movie. I agree, Larry – let's read!
Original screenplay goes to Crash. Haven't seen it, but want to. I've heard, though, that it takes every race-centered sensibility we have and lays it bare. And yet, people act as if this is the first movie that's done this. And we all know it's not. Please, everyone . . . take a movie on its damned merits – acting, cinematography, storytelling arc – and then judge. I'm tired of the "groundbreaking" flick being a darling because it's so very shocking to our fragile little systems.
And Woody Allen was nominated for Match Point? AAAAAAAAAAAAAA! Everyone knows how I feel about that one. If you don't go to last month's archive, 'cause I can't link on the fly. Suffice to say that it blew large, dull, dreary, stilted chunks.
The Oscar goes to Larry McMurtry and Diana Ossana for the script from Annie Proulx's short story. I'm not at all surprised. And THANK YOU Larry McMurtry for talking up books. It's getting easier for people to get their "reading material" audibly. Or in the form of a movie. I agree, Larry – let's read!
Original screenplay goes to Crash. Haven't seen it, but want to. I've heard, though, that it takes every race-centered sensibility we have and lays it bare. And yet, people act as if this is the first movie that's done this. And we all know it's not. Please, everyone . . . take a movie on its damned merits – acting, cinematography, storytelling arc – and then judge. I'm tired of the "groundbreaking" flick being a darling because it's so very shocking to our fragile little systems.
And Woody Allen was nominated for Match Point? AAAAAAAAAAAAAA! Everyone knows how I feel about that one. If you don't go to last month's archive, 'cause I can't link on the fly. Suffice to say that it blew large, dull, dreary, stilted chunks.
A horrible moment just occurred
You know how those commercial breaks will have a couple of spots locally-produced?
I just saw one of mine.
I DON'T WANT TO THINK ABOUT WORK RIGHT NOW!
Gawd! I'm going to give a ration of shit to our media buyer tomorrow.
I just saw one of mine.
I DON'T WANT TO THINK ABOUT WORK RIGHT NOW!
Gawd! I'm going to give a ration of shit to our media buyer tomorrow.
Another cigarette
And another Miles post.
In the meantime, Best Actress was awarded.
What should have happened, happened.
Beautiful, adorable Reese Witherspoon. Now her stock has risen exponentially. It will be incredibly interesting to see what she does next.
In the meantime, Best Actress was awarded.
What should have happened, happened.
Beautiful, adorable Reese Witherspoon. Now her stock has risen exponentially. It will be incredibly interesting to see what she does next.
And now for best performance by a gay man
...impersonating a straight man: John Travolta, for the last 20 years.
All of these gay guys playing straight guys playing gay guys. Does anyone, really, believe Phillip Seymore Hoffman, Jake Gyllenhall or any of these drama club Drama Mamas are really straight? Not,of course, that there's anything wrong with that. What's really wrong, I guess, is that they're still compelled to lie, just to keep working. That's the prevailing wisdom in Hollywood, but since when have they ever been right? People get it now more than ever. The real crime, it seems to me, is the condescending lie. The way politicians, actors and those in positions of authority feel they can't let us in on the truth.
All of these gay guys playing straight guys playing gay guys. Does anyone, really, believe Phillip Seymore Hoffman, Jake Gyllenhall or any of these drama club Drama Mamas are really straight? Not,of course, that there's anything wrong with that. What's really wrong, I guess, is that they're still compelled to lie, just to keep working. That's the prevailing wisdom in Hollywood, but since when have they ever been right? People get it now more than ever. The real crime, it seems to me, is the condescending lie. The way politicians, actors and those in positions of authority feel they can't let us in on the truth.
Best Actor
I never saw – who did presenter Hillary Swank come with?
Phillip Seymour Hoffman for Capote. Eerie.
Terrance Howard for Hustle and Flow. Wow.
Heath Ledger . . . oh, stop!
Joaquin Phoenix for Walk The Line. Another frickin' wow.
David Strathairn for Good Night and Good Luck. I can't help rooting for how very solid he was. I love Murrow.
And . . .
Hoffman. Am I a bit disappointed? Of course. Am I surprised? No – because he got the IFC Best Actor award. And right now, I don't know why I'm disappointed other than because it's just so expected. The only thing that would have been more expected was Heath Ledger.
God love him, though, he's actually surprised. He really didn't expect this. You can tell that he hoped, but didn't dare dream. And his speech is so sweet, and so complimentary to his mom. You just can't find a single thing wrong with that.
Still, I wish Strathairn had gotten it.
Phillip Seymour Hoffman for Capote. Eerie.
Terrance Howard for Hustle and Flow. Wow.
Heath Ledger . . . oh, stop!
Joaquin Phoenix for Walk The Line. Another frickin' wow.
David Strathairn for Good Night and Good Luck. I can't help rooting for how very solid he was. I love Murrow.
And . . .
Hoffman. Am I a bit disappointed? Of course. Am I surprised? No – because he got the IFC Best Actor award. And right now, I don't know why I'm disappointed other than because it's just so expected. The only thing that would have been more expected was Heath Ledger.
God love him, though, he's actually surprised. He really didn't expect this. You can tell that he hoped, but didn't dare dream. And his speech is so sweet, and so complimentary to his mom. You just can't find a single thing wrong with that.
Still, I wish Strathairn had gotten it.
Best Foreign Language Film
Too bad nobody normally gives a shit.
I, after watching the man who accepted the Oscar, want to see the movie.
Speaking of foreign language . . .
Ziyi Zhang is absolutely breathtaking. It's horrible to make her speak English, but cute in a way.
And isn't it so very funny that a Chinese girl played a geisha? I remember her saying somewhere that she didn't want to always be the prostitute character. Then she plays an "entertainer" in House of the Flying Daggers (which is still stunning) and a geisha.
It seems to me that those, unfortunately, are the only places for women in Asian theatre.
I, after watching the man who accepted the Oscar, want to see the movie.
Speaking of foreign language . . .
Ziyi Zhang is absolutely breathtaking. It's horrible to make her speak English, but cute in a way.
And isn't it so very funny that a Chinese girl played a geisha? I remember her saying somewhere that she didn't want to always be the prostitute character. Then she plays an "entertainer" in House of the Flying Daggers (which is still stunning) and a geisha.
It seems to me that those, unfortunately, are the only places for women in Asian theatre.
Best Original Song
I hate this category. None of them are usually worth a damn. And my retinas are STILL singed from Dolly Parton's performance.
OMFG! The PIMP SONG!
When on EARTH did this turn into the American Music Awards? This is absolutely gorgeous! There wasn't a single tux in that acceptance party.
And Jon Stewart is cracking up. Me too. And he's not shying away! Jon Stewart is the best thing to happen to this show in years.
OMFG! The PIMP SONG!
When on EARTH did this turn into the American Music Awards? This is absolutely gorgeous! There wasn't a single tux in that acceptance party.
And Jon Stewart is cracking up. Me too. And he's not shying away! Jon Stewart is the best thing to happen to this show in years.
You know it's 2006
when an Oscar-nominated song is called "It's Hard Out Here For a Pimp."
The censor-guy in the booth is having a biatch of a time with this one. He missed the first bitch-bleep.
I'm watching the dance routine and I have to wonder: when did HBO's 'hos from The Point get here?
The censor-guy in the booth is having a biatch of a time with this one. He missed the first bitch-bleep.
I'm watching the dance routine and I have to wonder: when did HBO's 'hos from The Point get here?
The Spots
Must I mention that Oscar spots are nearly as much as an event as those for the Super Bowl?
Here's how we know this: M. Night Shama-lama-ding-dong got an imcomprehensible but well-done :60 for American Express.
And then Kodak (who's always got something because they're big into film stock) has something that just tries to pull at the heartstrings and ends up pulling my finger.
But they spent a lot of money on it, so let's give it a disproportionate amount of attention rather than recognizing it as the total schlock it is.
See? Just like the Super Bowl commercials.
Here's how we know this: M. Night Shama-lama-ding-dong got an imcomprehensible but well-done :60 for American Express.
And then Kodak (who's always got something because they're big into film stock) has something that just tries to pull at the heartstrings and ends up pulling my finger.
But they spent a lot of money on it, so let's give it a disproportionate amount of attention rather than recognizing it as the total schlock it is.
See? Just like the Super Bowl commercials.
So I went outside for a quick lung dart . . .
. . . and Miles guest-blogged.
And I can't top what he just wrote. Damn him.
Robert Altman getting an honorary Oscar is so right. And just like his movie making, his speech is extemporaneous, beautiful, and so full of the joy he feels at just being there.
He has his whole family in a box off to the side, and what a motley gorgeous crew they are. And they're all swelling with pride for him.
He's just mentioned his heart transplant: that he's got about forty years left on it.
We can hope.
And I can't top what he just wrote. Damn him.
Robert Altman getting an honorary Oscar is so right. And just like his movie making, his speech is extemporaneous, beautiful, and so full of the joy he feels at just being there.
He has his whole family in a box off to the side, and what a motley gorgeous crew they are. And they're all swelling with pride for him.
He's just mentioned his heart transplant: that he's got about forty years left on it.
We can hope.
Please come to the theater, or we'll all die.
Notice all the whining about watching movies on DVD? Apparently that's the theme of the evening, and apparently everyone's been briefed. Please come to the movies at the theaters, please. We promise from now on that viewing epics like Deuce Bigalo: European Gigolo will no longer be interrupted by self-important fuckwads on their cell phones, nitwits talking to the screen and expecting a reply, or endomorphic cretins loudly unwrapping more goodies than Donald Trump's attention-starved kid on Christmas morning. Sure, we'll come to the theater...if I can bring a stun gun. And then there's this: If all these millionaires are pleading with me to do anything, it must be wrong.
Beauty
I could listen to Ithzak Perlman play "Yankee Doodle Dandy."
When he plays the sections of all the other nominated composers' music, I imagine they think, "God. I did a good job."
My heart beats a little quicker when I hear him play. And I remember his work on the score for Schindler's List and my heart breaks all over again.
So who will win Original Score? Based on Perlman, it should be Munich by John Williams. But . . .
. . . Gustavo Santo-whatever for Brokeback Mountain.
Mostly because of the love song, "Hide The Chimichanga."
When he plays the sections of all the other nominated composers' music, I imagine they think, "God. I did a good job."
My heart beats a little quicker when I hear him play. And I remember his work on the score for Schindler's List and my heart breaks all over again.
So who will win Original Score? Based on Perlman, it should be Munich by John Williams. But . . .
. . . Gustavo Santo-whatever for Brokeback Mountain.
Mostly because of the love song, "Hide The Chimichanga."
Kill her.
Salma Hayek is too gorgeous to live.
Now excuse me while I go clean up the drool over on Miles' side of the couch.
Now excuse me while I go clean up the drool over on Miles' side of the couch.
Okay . . .
. . . so I wanted to know what Samuel L. Jackson was nominated for.
Or, rather, what the FUCK is Samuel L. Jackson fuckin' NOM.IN.A.TED. for?
Until I figured out it was his nomination for Pulp Fiction.
Or, rather, what the FUCK is Samuel L. Jackson fuckin' NOM.IN.A.TED. for?
Until I figured out it was his nomination for Pulp Fiction.
Full-Length Documentary
What a tough category. Murderball, too.
March of the Penguins. Okay. That's no real surprise. But why are these guys carrying stuffed penguins? Oh. There's a treaty involved.
And now to quote Miles: "I vill now go fuck ze penguin plushie, because eet make my deeck feel hard."
Such is the level of discourse in my home.
March of the Penguins. Okay. That's no real surprise. But why are these guys carrying stuffed penguins? Oh. There's a treaty involved.
And now to quote Miles: "I vill now go fuck ze penguin plushie, because eet make my deeck feel hard."
Such is the level of discourse in my home.
Lauren Bacall
Such incredible class. Her voice is still strong, but she's a little shaky. Does she has Parkinson's? It seems as if, poor thing, she falling apart as she does her "film noir" spiel.
This is the first time I've ever seen her falter so . . . as if age has finally caught up with her.
The Gods and Goddessess of Noir: Bogart and Bacall, Mitchum, Stanwyck, Robinson, Widmark, Hayworth, Turner . . . and – my GOD – Fred MacMurray. Those were the first actors and actresses to OOZE sex intelligently. In those monochromatic tones you'd find such heat. And that heat was worth killing for. Every crime was a crime of passion. And there were no real heroes. You felt dirty when you rooted for anyone. And when justice fell, surprisingly you didn't feel any better.
Those movies capture the gray areas of the real world more aptly than the anthems of the generation before.
This is the first time I've ever seen her falter so . . . as if age has finally caught up with her.
The Gods and Goddessess of Noir: Bogart and Bacall, Mitchum, Stanwyck, Robinson, Widmark, Hayworth, Turner . . . and – my GOD – Fred MacMurray. Those were the first actors and actresses to OOZE sex intelligently. In those monochromatic tones you'd find such heat. And that heat was worth killing for. Every crime was a crime of passion. And there were no real heroes. You felt dirty when you rooted for anyone. And when justice fell, surprisingly you didn't feel any better.
Those movies capture the gray areas of the real world more aptly than the anthems of the generation before.
Supporting Actress
And Morgan Freeman flubbed. With humor. God, I LOVE his voice.
Rachel Weisz!
"Known for her roles in The Mummy and The Mummy Returns."
What a graceful, beautiful girl. And what a graceful speech.
They just showed Jack Nicholson. You know he's thinking, "I'd do her."
Rachel Weisz!
"Known for her roles in The Mummy and The Mummy Returns."
What a graceful, beautiful girl. And what a graceful speech.
They just showed Jack Nicholson. You know he's thinking, "I'd do her."
Jon Stewart
"If we pull down this statue behind me [of Oscar], will democracy flourish in Hollywood?"
HA!
HA!
Steve Carrell and Will Ferrell
Are so damned funny. I love the fearlessness of these guys.
And am I totally sick to think that Steve Carrell looks totally hot with false eyelashes?
Makeup goes to Narnia. Thankfully it didn't go to Revenge of the Sith. Because makeup just can't cover bad acting.
And can someone get that guy to SHUT UP? His partner didn't get to talk at all!
And am I totally sick to think that Steve Carrell looks totally hot with false eyelashes?
Makeup goes to Narnia. Thankfully it didn't go to Revenge of the Sith. Because makeup just can't cover bad acting.
And can someone get that guy to SHUT UP? His partner didn't get to talk at all!
Duck!
It's Russell Crowe!
Miles wanted to know how many man-hours went into the curl perfectly placed in the center of his forehead.
Miles wanted to know how many man-hours went into the curl perfectly placed in the center of his forehead.
Just to let you know . . .
. . . my first vodka tonic has just been set at my side.
Writing, which was already suffering, shall get much worse.
Writing, which was already suffering, shall get much worse.
Cartoon characters on the show
Always on the dumb side. But the effects are getting better.
And the "ducks never get pants" thing was funny.
And the "ducks never get pants" thing was funny.
The Wilsons
Luke or Owen?
For me, despite the crazy chin, it's Luke. What always puts him over the top is the episode of The X Files he did where he was the Texas sheriff vampire.
For me, despite the crazy chin, it's Luke. What always puts him over the top is the episode of The X Files he did where he was the Texas sheriff vampire.
A half-hour late
I finally settled down in front of the Oscars.
It wasn't planned, believe me. I missed Jon Stewart's monologue. Damn. I also missed George Clooney's win.
What I didn't miss was Naomi Watts and Dolly Parton, who was singing her nominated song from "Transamerica." And couldn't believe what a festival of bad plastic surgery she is. OUCH! My retinas!
Oh, good. Jon Stewart made a Scientology dig. GO!
It wasn't planned, believe me. I missed Jon Stewart's monologue. Damn. I also missed George Clooney's win.
What I didn't miss was Naomi Watts and Dolly Parton, who was singing her nominated song from "Transamerica." And couldn't believe what a festival of bad plastic surgery she is. OUCH! My retinas!
Oh, good. Jon Stewart made a Scientology dig. GO!
2.27.2006
A cause worth biting for
I really can't resist the pun sometimes.
Now that you've forgiven that lapse in judgement, I was surprised to see that International Eat An Animal For PETA Day is coming up soon – on March 15th, and there's an open call to join the planet in chowing down on cow. Or pig. Or chicken. Basically, if it has a face and you can hunt it down, pull it out of a body of water or buy it in shrink-wrapped foam trays at the grocery store, have at it.
So I'm scanning my memory for the best place to have a Vegas event. Barbecue restaurants are expected, but so very appropriate. Luckily, there's a new one close to my office called T.C.'s Rib Crib. They just opened a couple of weeks ago, run by a whole family from Louisiana. On my next trip, I'll have to confirm whether or not they moved because of Katrina.
In the meantime, there is meat to be consumed. With loads of sauce. And sweet potato fries on the side. Hot links, pulled pork, tri tip, slabs and slabs of ribs . . . and Snicker pie for dessert. Snicker ever-lovin' pie.
Oh, and the best part about T.C.'s? The receipt. Under your total is printed stellar words of wisdom: "T.C. says, the way to a man's heart is through his ribs."
Yes. T.C.'s is the front runner. Definitely.
Now that you've forgiven that lapse in judgement, I was surprised to see that International Eat An Animal For PETA Day is coming up soon – on March 15th, and there's an open call to join the planet in chowing down on cow. Or pig. Or chicken. Basically, if it has a face and you can hunt it down, pull it out of a body of water or buy it in shrink-wrapped foam trays at the grocery store, have at it.
So I'm scanning my memory for the best place to have a Vegas event. Barbecue restaurants are expected, but so very appropriate. Luckily, there's a new one close to my office called T.C.'s Rib Crib. They just opened a couple of weeks ago, run by a whole family from Louisiana. On my next trip, I'll have to confirm whether or not they moved because of Katrina.
In the meantime, there is meat to be consumed. With loads of sauce. And sweet potato fries on the side. Hot links, pulled pork, tri tip, slabs and slabs of ribs . . . and Snicker pie for dessert. Snicker ever-lovin' pie.
Oh, and the best part about T.C.'s? The receipt. Under your total is printed stellar words of wisdom: "T.C. says, the way to a man's heart is through his ribs."
Yes. T.C.'s is the front runner. Definitely.
2.26.2006
The Old Man
Darren McGavin has died.
A Christmas Story is one of my favorite movies, and Darren McGavin is the main reason.
"In the heat of battle my father wove a tapestry of obscenities that as far as we know is still hanging in space over Lake Michigan."
I will truly miss him.
A Christmas Story is one of my favorite movies, and Darren McGavin is the main reason.
"In the heat of battle my father wove a tapestry of obscenities that as far as we know is still hanging in space over Lake Michigan."
I will truly miss him.
2.22.2006
More booze!
Las Vegas is going to be a test market for a Thai beer called Singha Light. The other Singha products look mighty tasty.
Of course, I haven't really met too many beers I didn't like.
But as long as I'm on the subject, I have a few favorites.
For playing pool at the corner strip mall bar: bottled Bud Light
For cool winter evenings at J.C. Woolighan's: Harp
For that first Friday "left work a bit early" beer: Newcastle
For shotgunning: Coors Light 16-oz. Silver Bullets
For $20 burgers at Mandalay Bay: Samuel Smith's Organic Ale
For Las Vegas 51s games: $1 Miller Lite in a plastic cup
For local flavor: Monte Carlo Brew Pub's High Roller Red
For hanging out poolside: Rolling Rock
Mm. I'm getting thirsty. I wonder what would be best for "I should have been in bed a half hour ago?"
Of course, I haven't really met too many beers I didn't like.
But as long as I'm on the subject, I have a few favorites.
For playing pool at the corner strip mall bar: bottled Bud Light
For cool winter evenings at J.C. Woolighan's: Harp
For that first Friday "left work a bit early" beer: Newcastle
For shotgunning: Coors Light 16-oz. Silver Bullets
For $20 burgers at Mandalay Bay: Samuel Smith's Organic Ale
For Las Vegas 51s games: $1 Miller Lite in a plastic cup
For local flavor: Monte Carlo Brew Pub's High Roller Red
For hanging out poolside: Rolling Rock
Mm. I'm getting thirsty. I wonder what would be best for "I should have been in bed a half hour ago?"
2.21.2006
Blood on the Highway II
In the carnival of bad driving that marks any 3-day holiday weekend around here, even the State Troopers got into the act:
INTERSTATE 15 COLLISION: Police say little on accident
Basic information unavailable on crash involving trooper that left four dead
What a frickin' mess.
INTERSTATE 15 COLLISION: Police say little on accident
Basic information unavailable on crash involving trooper that left four dead
What a frickin' mess.
2.16.2006
Blood on the highway
I will begin by making a not-so-bold statement: Las Vegas drivers are among the worst in the world. Bar none. The support is this:
1) I have an interesting little feature through Mac called Dashboard. I have one little doohickey (that Apple named a Widget) called Yahoo! Traffic. I can input a zip code and I will get construction notices and traffic accidents listed on a city map. Every day Las Vegas is littered with accidents. So I performed an experiment. One day during rush hours across the country I typed in different zips . . . and got almost zip. L.A.? Nada. Boston? Nothing. Chicago? 2. New York frickin' City? Eh. Las Vegas? 8.
2) I've seen (or been involved in) a near-accident every single day. Almost.
3) I spoke with a friend visiting from Bangkok. The driving there is legendarily crazy. And yet Dan said he couldn't believe how many accidents he saw here. More than Bangkok, Thailand.
So imagine my amusement when I saw this:
An analyst told Clark County's emergency planners Wednesday that theoretically it would be possible to evacuate the entire Las Vegas Valley within 28 hours in the event of a natural or man-made catastrophe.
Oh, nuh-uh.
Sharon Rice, a Clark County Geographic Information Systems analyst, presented the findings Wednesday to the Clark County Local Emergency Planning Committee. Based on statistics such as gas consumption and number of people and cars per lane of travel, Rice found that county officials could evacuate everyone from the valley in a little more than one full day.
Idiot.
Lest we think that everyone in town is this dumb, the article did present a dissenting view.
"To get everybody out in 28 hours, that means everybody is gassed up and ready to go, and they're all behaving politely and there are no (vehicle) breakdowns and no obstacles, and there is total compliance," said O'Brien, who like other county leaders supports smaller, more localized evacuations. "We saw during the MGM fire (in 1980) ... there was a fire burning around everyone and there were still people playing slot machines."
Exactly. I can just see the orderly procession now. Everyone in the city, knowing radiation or deadly disease is hovering in the air, will drive the speed limit. They'll let people merge at on-ramps. They won't weave in and out of lanes, attempting to get ahead of everyone else. They'll stay off the shoulders, and said disaster won't happen in the middle of July when every other car overheats.
I'll take my chances with duct tape and plastic wrap.
1) I have an interesting little feature through Mac called Dashboard. I have one little doohickey (that Apple named a Widget) called Yahoo! Traffic. I can input a zip code and I will get construction notices and traffic accidents listed on a city map. Every day Las Vegas is littered with accidents. So I performed an experiment. One day during rush hours across the country I typed in different zips . . . and got almost zip. L.A.? Nada. Boston? Nothing. Chicago? 2. New York frickin' City? Eh. Las Vegas? 8.
2) I've seen (or been involved in) a near-accident every single day. Almost.
3) I spoke with a friend visiting from Bangkok. The driving there is legendarily crazy. And yet Dan said he couldn't believe how many accidents he saw here. More than Bangkok, Thailand.
So imagine my amusement when I saw this:
An analyst told Clark County's emergency planners Wednesday that theoretically it would be possible to evacuate the entire Las Vegas Valley within 28 hours in the event of a natural or man-made catastrophe.
Oh, nuh-uh.
Sharon Rice, a Clark County Geographic Information Systems analyst, presented the findings Wednesday to the Clark County Local Emergency Planning Committee. Based on statistics such as gas consumption and number of people and cars per lane of travel, Rice found that county officials could evacuate everyone from the valley in a little more than one full day.
Idiot.
Lest we think that everyone in town is this dumb, the article did present a dissenting view.
"To get everybody out in 28 hours, that means everybody is gassed up and ready to go, and they're all behaving politely and there are no (vehicle) breakdowns and no obstacles, and there is total compliance," said O'Brien, who like other county leaders supports smaller, more localized evacuations. "We saw during the MGM fire (in 1980) ... there was a fire burning around everyone and there were still people playing slot machines."
Exactly. I can just see the orderly procession now. Everyone in the city, knowing radiation or deadly disease is hovering in the air, will drive the speed limit. They'll let people merge at on-ramps. They won't weave in and out of lanes, attempting to get ahead of everyone else. They'll stay off the shoulders, and said disaster won't happen in the middle of July when every other car overheats.
I'll take my chances with duct tape and plastic wrap.
2.12.2006
I made the paper!
Not for a promotion, mind you. Nor was I in the society pages. I didn't do anything noteworthy at all. In fact, my mention is for something too entirely predictable: I happened to be sloshed in a bar on a Friday night.
MIXING IT UP: Lowering the bar
Reporter's spirits are down at Hogs & Heifers
So this little reporter guy spends an evening as the only male bartender at our local Hogs and Heifers, which is like Coyote Ugly. Which means men get yelled at a lot and women end up dancing on the bar.
Yes, I have danced on the bar. One of my bras is there, too, but they're never getting another. Bras are expensive.
The night in question, little reporter dude was comic relief. I bought him a shot out of pity. Miles was just drunk enough to mistake him for a New York Times reporter that had won a Pulitzer for the same schtick (reporter doing odd job).
Obviously, not the same guy. Even though it took some blurry next-day online research to confirm the fact.
Imagine my surprise when he interviewed me as his shift was over. I gave all the stats then gave him my quote. And he used it:
"You have no flair," says Las Vegas native Shannon Sarver, 36, my something and 7 customer. And she's not finished.
"As a bartender or a dancer," she adds.
So I slammed him.
But he got me back. He published my age.
Little bastard.
MIXING IT UP: Lowering the bar
Reporter's spirits are down at Hogs & Heifers
So this little reporter guy spends an evening as the only male bartender at our local Hogs and Heifers, which is like Coyote Ugly. Which means men get yelled at a lot and women end up dancing on the bar.
Yes, I have danced on the bar. One of my bras is there, too, but they're never getting another. Bras are expensive.
The night in question, little reporter dude was comic relief. I bought him a shot out of pity. Miles was just drunk enough to mistake him for a New York Times reporter that had won a Pulitzer for the same schtick (reporter doing odd job).
Obviously, not the same guy. Even though it took some blurry next-day online research to confirm the fact.
Imagine my surprise when he interviewed me as his shift was over. I gave all the stats then gave him my quote. And he used it:
"You have no flair," says Las Vegas native Shannon Sarver, 36, my something and 7 customer. And she's not finished.
"As a bartender or a dancer," she adds.
So I slammed him.
But he got me back. He published my age.
Little bastard.
Because he's all about the guitar . . .
Cullen is a true music god. His guitar posts are beautifully done, and informative as all hell. Now, I see something else: His knowledge of rock songs is damned encyclopedic. For example, his Top 10 Instrumentals contest has a list of choices that's blowing me away.
If you end up here, go there. You won't believe your eyes.
If you end up here, go there. You won't believe your eyes.
2.10.2006
A step in the right direction
Finally. A project in Nevada that almost makes sense. As reported by In Business Las Vegas:
Massive solar photovoltaic project to be built in Nevada
We have an insane amount of sunny days per year – the most in the nation – so let's use it, for heaven's sake.
Powered by Renewables of Nevada and SunEdison of Maryland announced this week that they will partner to build the world's largest solar photovoltaic project in Nevada.
The 18-megawatt project power plant would nearly double the size of the 10-megawatt plant in Germany currently ranking as the world's largest.
The plant will be on a military installation in Clark County which Tim Carlson, president of PBR declined to identify while contracts are being finalized. Construction is expected to begin in July.
Under the current plans, the military would by [sic] the power generated by plant, which would be owned by PBR and SunEdison. Nevada Power Co. would buy renewable energy credits from the military in exchange for offsetting the need for fossil-fuel generated power.
So, okay. Solar power: good. Lots of it: good. Extra military funding: sure, I'm there.
Wait for it: I predict Nevada Power hikes our rates AGAIN to help them pay for the renewable energy credits. Which, in the end, means the consumer is funding the military twice. Once through federal taxes, and again through mandatory payment to our monopoly power provider.
Massive solar photovoltaic project to be built in Nevada
We have an insane amount of sunny days per year – the most in the nation – so let's use it, for heaven's sake.
Powered by Renewables of Nevada and SunEdison of Maryland announced this week that they will partner to build the world's largest solar photovoltaic project in Nevada.
The 18-megawatt project power plant would nearly double the size of the 10-megawatt plant in Germany currently ranking as the world's largest.
The plant will be on a military installation in Clark County which Tim Carlson, president of PBR declined to identify while contracts are being finalized. Construction is expected to begin in July.
Under the current plans, the military would by [sic] the power generated by plant, which would be owned by PBR and SunEdison. Nevada Power Co. would buy renewable energy credits from the military in exchange for offsetting the need for fossil-fuel generated power.
So, okay. Solar power: good. Lots of it: good. Extra military funding: sure, I'm there.
Wait for it: I predict Nevada Power hikes our rates AGAIN to help them pay for the renewable energy credits. Which, in the end, means the consumer is funding the military twice. Once through federal taxes, and again through mandatory payment to our monopoly power provider.
2.09.2006
Grammur
While I scream loudly about the many transgressions committed against the English language, he writes.
And it's bloody brilliant.
Oh, and while you're there, check out the Lynndie Gallery. Because if you're here reading this, you agree that nothing – NOTHING – is sacred.
And it's bloody brilliant.
Oh, and while you're there, check out the Lynndie Gallery. Because if you're here reading this, you agree that nothing – NOTHING – is sacred.
2.03.2006
Get this.
Emily over at Pints starts a great conversation about movie snob-osity, brought on by my review of Match Point.
Join the fun.
Join the fun.
2.01.2006
Match Point
OMG! Allen is a genius! Oh, I love London, and isn't the view of the Thames TO DIE FOR, and isn't Johnathan Rhys Myers so tortured and so heroic in a Dostoyevsky anti-heroic kind of way, and besides, he's so nice to look at. And wasn't Scarlett Johansson so totally passionate and sexy and smoldering and didn't you love her crass vulnerability, and wow! Woody left New York and totally took on class and infidelity and fate and luck and aspirations in a way that hasn't been covered in all of his other films because it happened in, well, LONDON. With Opera. And nihilism. I LOVE nihilism, especially when Woody does it.
– Peter Travers, Rolling Stone
I pitched a tent.
– Roger Ebert, Chicago Sun Times
I didn't simply dislike this movie, I disLURVED it. I disLUFFED it. All you Woody Allen whores who are so grateful to have a near-coherent effort in the last 10+ years, no matter how predictable and plodding and painful it was, need to be whipped. It was a steaming coil of celluloid. Admit it. Admit it and move on. And before you say I don't "GET" Woody Allen, I'll say this: I get good movies. He's made good movies. This is not one of them. This sucked cranky old hackneyed man ass.
– Shannon Sarver, I Want Those Two Hours Back At The End Of My Life
– Peter Travers, Rolling Stone
I pitched a tent.
– Roger Ebert, Chicago Sun Times
I didn't simply dislike this movie, I disLURVED it. I disLUFFED it. All you Woody Allen whores who are so grateful to have a near-coherent effort in the last 10+ years, no matter how predictable and plodding and painful it was, need to be whipped. It was a steaming coil of celluloid. Admit it. Admit it and move on. And before you say I don't "GET" Woody Allen, I'll say this: I get good movies. He's made good movies. This is not one of them. This sucked cranky old hackneyed man ass.
– Shannon Sarver, I Want Those Two Hours Back At The End Of My Life
1.31.2006
1.24.2006
1.23.2006
From an unlikely place
I usually go to Cruel Site of the Day to get a nice little laugh at someone else's expense.
Occasionally, though, the cruelty is quite serious and quite overwhelming. Take this submission from Friday, January 20th, for example.
It is called Omid, a Memorial in Defense of Human Rights, and it puts names and faces to almost 10,000 human rights violations in Iran – all occurring since the 1979 revolution.
While we commemorate the 25th anniversary of the end of our Iranian Hostage Crisis, it's important to note that for the citizens of Iran, the crisis never ended.
Go to Omid, take a little tour, and hope that someday the list of names will end.
Occasionally, though, the cruelty is quite serious and quite overwhelming. Take this submission from Friday, January 20th, for example.
It is called Omid, a Memorial in Defense of Human Rights, and it puts names and faces to almost 10,000 human rights violations in Iran – all occurring since the 1979 revolution.
While we commemorate the 25th anniversary of the end of our Iranian Hostage Crisis, it's important to note that for the citizens of Iran, the crisis never ended.
Go to Omid, take a little tour, and hope that someday the list of names will end.
1.20.2006
Dear Tom,
It has come to my attention, thanks to Emily, that you've actually tried to censor an episode of South Park – in the U.K.
Just because it portrays you as a humorless closeted celebrity member of a money-grubbing sham of a "religion" that's based on little more than one of its founder's awful science fiction novels with a little extra prejudice and misogyny tossed in?
It's not libel if it's the truth.
And if it's parody, you don't have a leg to stand on.
So if U.K. South Park fans are going to miss what I consider one of the more brilliant episodes, I'll happily link to the show, too.
And Tom, kindly STFU.
Glibly yours,
Shannon
Just because it portrays you as a humorless closeted celebrity member of a money-grubbing sham of a "religion" that's based on little more than one of its founder's awful science fiction novels with a little extra prejudice and misogyny tossed in?
It's not libel if it's the truth.
And if it's parody, you don't have a leg to stand on.
So if U.K. South Park fans are going to miss what I consider one of the more brilliant episodes, I'll happily link to the show, too.
And Tom, kindly STFU.
Glibly yours,
Shannon
1.18.2006
Me and my iPod
My Christmas gift was the new 30GB iPod with video.
It rocks in ways I cannot describe. Here are my favorite things to do with my iPod:
1) Listen to the Ricky Gervais podcast
2) Watch Happy Tree Friends cartoons
3) Keep my address book in it
4) Keep my calendar in there, too
5) Make specific playlists, depending on my mood
And there are things I can and will do with it:
1) Keep .pdfs of my portfolio
2) Keep my TV and radio reels
3) Get a setup so I can play it in the car
The only thing I don't like is that the earbuds hurt. I often use my regular headphones, because they're nice and puffy on my ears.
I also don't dance wildly with those white cords dangling, even though the commercials make that look awfully cool.
It rocks in ways I cannot describe. Here are my favorite things to do with my iPod:
1) Listen to the Ricky Gervais podcast
2) Watch Happy Tree Friends cartoons
3) Keep my address book in it
4) Keep my calendar in there, too
5) Make specific playlists, depending on my mood
And there are things I can and will do with it:
1) Keep .pdfs of my portfolio
2) Keep my TV and radio reels
3) Get a setup so I can play it in the car
The only thing I don't like is that the earbuds hurt. I often use my regular headphones, because they're nice and puffy on my ears.
I also don't dance wildly with those white cords dangling, even though the commercials make that look awfully cool.
1.17.2006
Worship the spot
ad-awards.com posts the best of international TV advertising.
Including this gem for Gap.
Have fun, all.
Including this gem for Gap.
Have fun, all.
1.16.2006
Something Viral
1.12.2006
Las Vegas is in the top five!
In being mean to the homeless.
You first. After all, you want to BE one of those Washington morons.
Here's the whole list, straight from the source:
1. Sarasota, FL
2. Lawrence, KS
3. Little Rock, AR
4. Atlanta, GA
5. Las Vegas, NV
6. Dallas, TX
7. Houston, TX
8. San Juan, PR
9. Santa Monica, CA
10. Flagstaff, AZ
11. San Francisco, CA
12. Chicago, IL
13. San Antonio, TX
14. New York City, NY
15. Austin, TX
16. Anchorage, AK
17. Phoenix, AZ
18. Los Angeles, CA
19. St. Louis, MO
20. Pittsburgh, PA
Wait . . . Santa Monica?!? Those homeless guys have it made! Good weather, beach views, lots of benches. I never expected THEM to make the list.
Anyway, I thought the whole report was interesting in light of Hizzoner's State of the City speech, which was nothing but moonlight and roses.
From yesterday's R-J:
STATE OF THE CITY ADDRESS: Goodman banishes cynicism in speech
It would also appear he's banished reality.
Funny, isn't it, that this hit the Las Vegas Sun this morning:
Homeless program missing mark
Plan fails to place even one mentally ill person in housing
Because those crazies are hard to wrangle. They miss appointments. They lose their vouchers. They run when you call them.
So what's the point of all this?
That here, as always, there's a complete disconnect between intent and implementation. We have resources, but they get mismanaged. Because nobody is paying attention. The mayor can't (or, more to the point, won't) look beneath his own ponderous nose because he doesn't want to acknowledge the unpleasant. He wants the city to be all sparkly neon and happy visitors.
He doesn't want to do the hardest work of all – considered and competent address of real city issues. Plopping more pretty buildings and a professional sports team into the center of town won't make the problems go away. It will only exacerbate them.
But then I remember: it's not really Oscar Goodman's fault. After all, he's not really in charge of Las Vegas.
The casino industry and real estate developers are.
National advocacy groups for the homeless have once again named the city to their list of "meanest" cities in America. This year, Las Vegas ranks fifth, after Sarasota, Fla.; Lawrence, Kan.; Little Rock, Ark.; and Atlanta.
"You guys are always a mean city," said Michael Stoops, acting executive director of the Washington, D.C.,-based National Coalition for the Homeless. "Las Vegas continues to harass and criminalize homelessness."
The coalition joined the National Law Center on Homelessness & Poverty in compiling the list and its accompanying report, entitled "A Dream Denied: The Criminalization of Homelessness in U.S. Cities."
Las Vegas has fallen in the rankings since it was named the No. 1 "meanest" city in the nation in 2003, the year after Mayor Oscar Goodman made derogatory remarks about the homeless in his State of the City address and was criticized for Las Vegas' downtown homeless "sweeps."
In 2004, the city fell to fourth place. The coalition didn't release a list in 2005.
Stoops said the fall in rank has more to do with other cities becoming harsher toward the homeless than with Las Vegas treating homeless people better. "It just means other cities are now being meaner than Las Vegas," he said.
Mayor Goodman called the ranking "nuts."
"Those people out of Washington are morons," he said. "They should jump in the lake."
You first. After all, you want to BE one of those Washington morons.
Goodman cited the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development's decision to give Las Vegas $5.4 million in 2005 federal homeless assistance program funds for homeless services as one indication the city isn't so mean.
"We are spending it to create 18 new units of permanent housing for the chronically homeless and mentally ill, 75 new units for homeless veterans and 28 new units of transitional housing for homeless youth and young adults," the mayor said.
Linda Lera-Randle El, an advocate for the homeless who runs the Straight from the Streets outreach program in Las Vegas, said the city has improved slightly, but still has a long way to go.
"When you are giving out trespassing and jaywalking tickets to homeless people, it's just harassment," she said. "If you or I got stuck in the crosswalk, we wouldn't have to go to the Regional Justice Center to explain why."
The national advocacy groups looked at 224 U.S. cities and ranked their top 20 based on the number of anti-homeless laws -- such as those making it illegal to sleep, eat or sit in public spaces -- in the city, the enforcement of those laws and the general political climate toward homeless people.
"Las Vegas has always gotten an F (in those areas)," Stoops said. "Someday I hope the city will quit criminalizing homelessness and they'll get off the list."
Here's the whole list, straight from the source:
1. Sarasota, FL
2. Lawrence, KS
3. Little Rock, AR
4. Atlanta, GA
5. Las Vegas, NV
6. Dallas, TX
7. Houston, TX
8. San Juan, PR
9. Santa Monica, CA
10. Flagstaff, AZ
11. San Francisco, CA
12. Chicago, IL
13. San Antonio, TX
14. New York City, NY
15. Austin, TX
16. Anchorage, AK
17. Phoenix, AZ
18. Los Angeles, CA
19. St. Louis, MO
20. Pittsburgh, PA
Wait . . . Santa Monica?!? Those homeless guys have it made! Good weather, beach views, lots of benches. I never expected THEM to make the list.
Anyway, I thought the whole report was interesting in light of Hizzoner's State of the City speech, which was nothing but moonlight and roses.
From yesterday's R-J:
STATE OF THE CITY ADDRESS: Goodman banishes cynicism in speech
It would also appear he's banished reality.
Funny, isn't it, that this hit the Las Vegas Sun this morning:
Homeless program missing mark
Plan fails to place even one mentally ill person in housing
Nearly 18 months after its launch, a $1.5-million program to help the Las Vegas Valley's mentally ill homeless people get off the street has not housed a single person.
Because those crazies are hard to wrangle. They miss appointments. They lose their vouchers. They run when you call them.
So what's the point of all this?
That here, as always, there's a complete disconnect between intent and implementation. We have resources, but they get mismanaged. Because nobody is paying attention. The mayor can't (or, more to the point, won't) look beneath his own ponderous nose because he doesn't want to acknowledge the unpleasant. He wants the city to be all sparkly neon and happy visitors.
He doesn't want to do the hardest work of all – considered and competent address of real city issues. Plopping more pretty buildings and a professional sports team into the center of town won't make the problems go away. It will only exacerbate them.
But then I remember: it's not really Oscar Goodman's fault. After all, he's not really in charge of Las Vegas.
The casino industry and real estate developers are.
1.11.2006
Today's implosion brought to you by . . .
Station Casinos.
The ex-Showboat, ex-Castaways went the way of the Sands, Hacienda, Dunes and El Rancho around dawn this morning.
Get the video here.
I'm not too misty about this one. It was an eyesore, and a real piece of crud property that had a piece of crud bowling alley where I was courted as a younger woman by my eventual ex-husband.
So it had that going for it.
The only downside to this whole thing is who bought it. Station Casinos.
They introduced a phrase to Las Vegas that never should have been invented: neighborhood casino.
"You're only minutes away from a Station," they crow, and it's true. I, in a master-planned community, am minutes away. My mother is, too. And so are all my friends, no matter where in the Valley we live.
I hate that.
And yet, they keep building more, because they can. They're making obscene amounts of money off the neighborhoods they're in. They have movie theaters, bowling alleys, and all kinds of restaurants, bars and lounges. And they have big babysitting joints in every one, so the kids have somewhere to play while mom and dad spend their college funds.
Gross.
It makes me wonder – when the rubble of the Showboat/Castaways is cleared and the next Stations offering opens it doors, will it really be that much of an improvement?
I doubt it.
The ex-Showboat, ex-Castaways went the way of the Sands, Hacienda, Dunes and El Rancho around dawn this morning.
Get the video here.
I'm not too misty about this one. It was an eyesore, and a real piece of crud property that had a piece of crud bowling alley where I was courted as a younger woman by my eventual ex-husband.
So it had that going for it.
The only downside to this whole thing is who bought it. Station Casinos.
They introduced a phrase to Las Vegas that never should have been invented: neighborhood casino.
"You're only minutes away from a Station," they crow, and it's true. I, in a master-planned community, am minutes away. My mother is, too. And so are all my friends, no matter where in the Valley we live.
I hate that.
And yet, they keep building more, because they can. They're making obscene amounts of money off the neighborhoods they're in. They have movie theaters, bowling alleys, and all kinds of restaurants, bars and lounges. And they have big babysitting joints in every one, so the kids have somewhere to play while mom and dad spend their college funds.
Gross.
It makes me wonder – when the rubble of the Showboat/Castaways is cleared and the next Stations offering opens it doors, will it really be that much of an improvement?
I doubt it.
1.10.2006
The spot that should have run, but didn't have to.
One of my favorite TV commercials ever produced was, typically, a viral ad.
It featured a suicide bomber failing in his mission to blow up two shadowy characters in a crowded sidewalk cafe because he made the mistake of punching the detonator inside his VW Polo.
So I'm not the most sensitive person in the world. I laughed until I nearly wet myself.
A year later, after loads of people weighed in on one side or the other (One side: "that's disgusting!" The other: "lighten up."), and after the makers issued a formal apology for making the spot, VW has a fluffy guardian-angel campaign to make us forget all that nastiness.
Though they'd never admit to doing such a thing, I'd be willing to bet VW did some research on how the Polo sold after the viral spot made its rounds and caused its controversy. I'd also be willing to bet there were a lot of interested potential buyers.
I'd imagine, though, interest dropped in the 18 – 30 Middle Eastern male demographic.
It featured a suicide bomber failing in his mission to blow up two shadowy characters in a crowded sidewalk cafe because he made the mistake of punching the detonator inside his VW Polo.
So I'm not the most sensitive person in the world. I laughed until I nearly wet myself.
A year later, after loads of people weighed in on one side or the other (One side: "that's disgusting!" The other: "lighten up."), and after the makers issued a formal apology for making the spot, VW has a fluffy guardian-angel campaign to make us forget all that nastiness.
Though they'd never admit to doing such a thing, I'd be willing to bet VW did some research on how the Polo sold after the viral spot made its rounds and caused its controversy. I'd also be willing to bet there were a lot of interested potential buyers.
I'd imagine, though, interest dropped in the 18 – 30 Middle Eastern male demographic.
1.07.2006
RIP, Ramona Bell
Art Bell's wife, Ramona, died of an asthma attack while on vacation in Laughlin.
If you're not familiar with Art, then you've missed the rare pleasure of static-y late night AM radio broadcasts covering subjects like alien abduction, Area 51, experimental aircraft, haunted houses, wormholes, demonic possessions and backyard Bermuda Triangles.
One of my favorite shows featured a caller that claimed you could defend yourself against the Rapture by covering your windows and doors with Saran Wrap and duct tape.
Duct tape. Good for biological attacks and other forms of Armageddon.
Every single time some weird streak was seen in the sky (which happens a lot around here), Art's lines would light up with the faithful and their theories.
I haven't listened much since Art semi-retired, and I find myself missing the madness. So I'm quite sorry for his loss, and my prayers go out to Art and his family.
If you're not familiar with Art, then you've missed the rare pleasure of static-y late night AM radio broadcasts covering subjects like alien abduction, Area 51, experimental aircraft, haunted houses, wormholes, demonic possessions and backyard Bermuda Triangles.
One of my favorite shows featured a caller that claimed you could defend yourself against the Rapture by covering your windows and doors with Saran Wrap and duct tape.
Duct tape. Good for biological attacks and other forms of Armageddon.
Every single time some weird streak was seen in the sky (which happens a lot around here), Art's lines would light up with the faithful and their theories.
I haven't listened much since Art semi-retired, and I find myself missing the madness. So I'm quite sorry for his loss, and my prayers go out to Art and his family.
1.06.2006
Ten Questions (and a bonus)
Ken stole it from WunderKraut, and I've taken it from Ken.
Where Were You, What Were You Doing And How Did You Feel When…:
1. You found out about 9/11
My life was already changing drastically: it was the day before I was moving out of the house, separating from my husband for good. Boxes of my things were all over, ready for when I could get the truck. 7:30 that morning (West Coast time), I got Conor up for toons and breakfast so I could get ready for work. He was just barely three and holding my hand when I turned the TV on. It was on ABC, and I couldn't process what I was seeing. Smoke was billowing out of what I recognized as one of the WTC towers. Then I remember saying, "where the fuck is the other one?" Thankfully, the boy didn't even know anything was wrong. I listened to the news coming from my clock radio the next night as I lay on an air mattress on the floor of my new bedroom. I'd never felt so alone or frightened in my life. And I haven't felt that way since.
2. The start of the FIRST Gulf War - When we began combat operations.
I was a receptionist/intern at a small civil engineering firm. I had the radio on, and they broke into programming with the sounds of bombs. I went into the main office and told everyone, "it just started. We're bombing Iraq." Being in an Air Force town made it all so strange. The base went into high security mode. Yellow ribbons were everywhere. I watched the war on CNN, just like everyone else, riveted by the tracers flying over Baghdad.
3. The Space Shuttle Challenger exploded
It was Junior year of high school, and I was in chemistry class. Mr. Leigh, my biology teacher from the past year, poked his head into the room and said, "the Space Shuttle just blew up." The horrible part was, we didn't believe him because he was a joker. He'd put wind-up toys on the overhead projector while we were taking notes. We spent the week before Christmas break watching "Monty Python and the Holy Grail." This was a sick (but wonderful) man. Then the principal came on the P.A. system and confirmed it. We spent the next five minutes led in prayer (Catholic school), and TVs were set up around the school so we could follow the coverage.
4. The Space Shuttle Columbia broke up during re-entry
On that Saturday morning, Miles and I went for a walk without seeing the news first. One of the neighborhood homes had a full-height flagpole and his flag was half-mast. We knew then that something was wrong. We went home and turned on the TV. I saw that William McCool was the pilot and I felt sick – I had been friends with Willie's younger brother, Shawn, and had met his parents, Barry and Audrey. Shawn had always spoken with such awe about his brother, and after hearing about his career, I understood why. Barry was a former Naval pilot and a wonderful, charming man who flirted with all of the girls, and Audrey was loving and brilliant. When I heard that Barry was going to Houston to join the investigation, my heart broke for all of them.
5. Reagan was shot
I was in middle school, and Sister Barbara, our principal (yes, another Catholic school), came over the P.A., told us and led us in prayer.
6. John Lennon was shot
My mom and I were sitting on the couch in the living room, watching "Little House on the Prairie" when it happened. NBC broke away from the show with a special report. My mother cried horribly. She had come of age during the Beatles' heyday and John was her absolute favorite. I worried about her for days because she was so sad. I think that, perhaps, the last of her hopeful adolescence died when he did.
7. The Pope was shot
I was in grade school, and Sister Barbara, our principal (you know the drill by now), told us over the P.A. We were taken into the church where we were led in prayer.
8. Berlin Wall came down
This is the point at which I was busily misspending my youth, so I was probably too drunk or self-centered to realize what was going on.
9. President Clinton was acquitted of impeachment
I was so disgusted by the whole thing that I didn't pay attention.
10. Election night 2000
That was like watching Forrest Gump play ping pong. You couldn't keep up. I do remember Tim Russert trying to calculate all the different "what if?" scenarios, obviously tired and flabbergasted, and I thought it was one of the strangest things I'd ever witnessed. Unfortunately, what happened in the following weeks was much, MUCH worse.
11. When Kennedy was shot (for my more mature readers)
I wasn't a twinkle. I was barely an egg. My mom was only 15, for heaven's sake.
Where Were You, What Were You Doing And How Did You Feel When…:
1. You found out about 9/11
My life was already changing drastically: it was the day before I was moving out of the house, separating from my husband for good. Boxes of my things were all over, ready for when I could get the truck. 7:30 that morning (West Coast time), I got Conor up for toons and breakfast so I could get ready for work. He was just barely three and holding my hand when I turned the TV on. It was on ABC, and I couldn't process what I was seeing. Smoke was billowing out of what I recognized as one of the WTC towers. Then I remember saying, "where the fuck is the other one?" Thankfully, the boy didn't even know anything was wrong. I listened to the news coming from my clock radio the next night as I lay on an air mattress on the floor of my new bedroom. I'd never felt so alone or frightened in my life. And I haven't felt that way since.
2. The start of the FIRST Gulf War - When we began combat operations.
I was a receptionist/intern at a small civil engineering firm. I had the radio on, and they broke into programming with the sounds of bombs. I went into the main office and told everyone, "it just started. We're bombing Iraq." Being in an Air Force town made it all so strange. The base went into high security mode. Yellow ribbons were everywhere. I watched the war on CNN, just like everyone else, riveted by the tracers flying over Baghdad.
3. The Space Shuttle Challenger exploded
It was Junior year of high school, and I was in chemistry class. Mr. Leigh, my biology teacher from the past year, poked his head into the room and said, "the Space Shuttle just blew up." The horrible part was, we didn't believe him because he was a joker. He'd put wind-up toys on the overhead projector while we were taking notes. We spent the week before Christmas break watching "Monty Python and the Holy Grail." This was a sick (but wonderful) man. Then the principal came on the P.A. system and confirmed it. We spent the next five minutes led in prayer (Catholic school), and TVs were set up around the school so we could follow the coverage.
4. The Space Shuttle Columbia broke up during re-entry
On that Saturday morning, Miles and I went for a walk without seeing the news first. One of the neighborhood homes had a full-height flagpole and his flag was half-mast. We knew then that something was wrong. We went home and turned on the TV. I saw that William McCool was the pilot and I felt sick – I had been friends with Willie's younger brother, Shawn, and had met his parents, Barry and Audrey. Shawn had always spoken with such awe about his brother, and after hearing about his career, I understood why. Barry was a former Naval pilot and a wonderful, charming man who flirted with all of the girls, and Audrey was loving and brilliant. When I heard that Barry was going to Houston to join the investigation, my heart broke for all of them.
5. Reagan was shot
I was in middle school, and Sister Barbara, our principal (yes, another Catholic school), came over the P.A., told us and led us in prayer.
6. John Lennon was shot
My mom and I were sitting on the couch in the living room, watching "Little House on the Prairie" when it happened. NBC broke away from the show with a special report. My mother cried horribly. She had come of age during the Beatles' heyday and John was her absolute favorite. I worried about her for days because she was so sad. I think that, perhaps, the last of her hopeful adolescence died when he did.
7. The Pope was shot
I was in grade school, and Sister Barbara, our principal (you know the drill by now), told us over the P.A. We were taken into the church where we were led in prayer.
8. Berlin Wall came down
This is the point at which I was busily misspending my youth, so I was probably too drunk or self-centered to realize what was going on.
9. President Clinton was acquitted of impeachment
I was so disgusted by the whole thing that I didn't pay attention.
10. Election night 2000
That was like watching Forrest Gump play ping pong. You couldn't keep up. I do remember Tim Russert trying to calculate all the different "what if?" scenarios, obviously tired and flabbergasted, and I thought it was one of the strangest things I'd ever witnessed. Unfortunately, what happened in the following weeks was much, MUCH worse.
11. When Kennedy was shot (for my more mature readers)
I wasn't a twinkle. I was barely an egg. My mom was only 15, for heaven's sake.
NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!
Now that New Orleans has been flattened, Las Vegas is trying to take over as the most politically-backward city in the nation.
Oh, my God.
Um. Because we're 86-percent STUPID.
So these are the Dem choices for Ensign's seat: a carpetbagger and a bloviator.
Harry Reid, for the position he's attained, shows some alarming choices in his "anointed" congressional candidates.
Dario Herrera, for example, just started his defense in his corruption trial.
And now, Hizzoner. The last time we heard from him, he was advocating removing the thumbs from taggers who defaced a $35,000 desert tortoise statue (the cleanup tab was $50,000). Every other time his quotes make the news, they're soaked in gin. He's constantly defending himself against local ethics charges.
When he's faced with real societal issues, he falters. His solution to our homeless situation is to bulldoze their shantytowns, content to believe that NONE of them want help. That there aren't a few wandering our streets that aren't mentally ill, willing to work or just plain in need of a leg up. And those that hand out blankets and sandwiches are enablers.
He's made a career of sweeping unpleasant things under the rug, first as a mob lawyer, and now as The Happiest Mayor In The Universe. His weekly press conferences are full of tap dancing, a lot of "look! Don't look at that dirty spot over there! Look here! I have Playmates! Aren't I a fun guy?"
His hijinks make him Las Vegas' number one partyboy – and admittedly, his image is perfect for Sin City.
With that admission, though, you must admit he has NO BUSINESS representing Nevada in the Senate. We only get two damn seats and Reid thinks it's a good idea to put his political capital behind Otter from Animal House?
The games pols play never fail to amaze me. This one has me stymied. It goes beyond tipping the balance in the Senate. Nobody, not even Reid, can imagine he'd control our favorite attention whore once he got on a truly national stage. And once he's out there, how many of his outrageous comments will seem quaint? And for how long?
Which makes me wonder: what on earth did Jack Carter do to piss Reid off?
Reid Pushes Las Vegas Mayor to Run For Senate Seat
Oh, my God.
Oscar Goodman and Nevada Senator Harry Reid have discussed the possibility of the Las Vegas mayor challenging republican John Ensign for his U.S. Senate seat. Ensign is up for re-election this year.
The democratic mayor has broad appeal, especially here in Southern Nevada where he got 86-percent of the vote in his last race.
Um. Because we're 86-percent STUPID.
If he does decide to run, he could face an interesting Democratic primary battle. Jack Carter, the son of former President Jimmy Carter, has started a website and is gauging support for a possible Senate run.
So these are the Dem choices for Ensign's seat: a carpetbagger and a bloviator.
Harry Reid, for the position he's attained, shows some alarming choices in his "anointed" congressional candidates.
Dario Herrera, for example, just started his defense in his corruption trial.
And now, Hizzoner. The last time we heard from him, he was advocating removing the thumbs from taggers who defaced a $35,000 desert tortoise statue (the cleanup tab was $50,000). Every other time his quotes make the news, they're soaked in gin. He's constantly defending himself against local ethics charges.
When he's faced with real societal issues, he falters. His solution to our homeless situation is to bulldoze their shantytowns, content to believe that NONE of them want help. That there aren't a few wandering our streets that aren't mentally ill, willing to work or just plain in need of a leg up. And those that hand out blankets and sandwiches are enablers.
He's made a career of sweeping unpleasant things under the rug, first as a mob lawyer, and now as The Happiest Mayor In The Universe. His weekly press conferences are full of tap dancing, a lot of "look! Don't look at that dirty spot over there! Look here! I have Playmates! Aren't I a fun guy?"
His hijinks make him Las Vegas' number one partyboy – and admittedly, his image is perfect for Sin City.
With that admission, though, you must admit he has NO BUSINESS representing Nevada in the Senate. We only get two damn seats and Reid thinks it's a good idea to put his political capital behind Otter from Animal House?
The games pols play never fail to amaze me. This one has me stymied. It goes beyond tipping the balance in the Senate. Nobody, not even Reid, can imagine he'd control our favorite attention whore once he got on a truly national stage. And once he's out there, how many of his outrageous comments will seem quaint? And for how long?
Which makes me wonder: what on earth did Jack Carter do to piss Reid off?
1.05.2006
Ouch
Fucking Trojans.
Still, what a game. Exciting to the very bitter end.
I'd like to give "props" to Vince Young. He surprised me, even if he didn't surprise anyone else. He deserves to go #1 in the NFL draft, and he definitely should leave school now, riding the equity he built from last night.
And as for Matt Leinart: did he always resemble a water buffalo? I swear, I thought he was quicker than that.
Oh, and Reggie: no more stupid-ass laterals for you, young man. I hope your eventual NFL coach fines you at least $50,000 every time you do something that infuriatingly dumb. Because I'm sure that'll be chump change to you, you inflated fuckstick.
That is all.
Still, what a game. Exciting to the very bitter end.
I'd like to give "props" to Vince Young. He surprised me, even if he didn't surprise anyone else. He deserves to go #1 in the NFL draft, and he definitely should leave school now, riding the equity he built from last night.
And as for Matt Leinart: did he always resemble a water buffalo? I swear, I thought he was quicker than that.
Oh, and Reggie: no more stupid-ass laterals for you, young man. I hope your eventual NFL coach fines you at least $50,000 every time you do something that infuriatingly dumb. Because I'm sure that'll be chump change to you, you inflated fuckstick.
That is all.
12.15.2005
What to do?
I got tired of this old world for a while. I disengaged, and decided my energy was much better spent huddling in my new home and taking care of my child.
Surprisingly, the world spun by quite nicely without me. I watched events like Katrina and Rita without comment. Rather, I donated where I thought it would do the most good and tried to find my old faith in God.
People became more polarized over Iraq, if that was possible. Between the calls to 'stay the course' and 'cut and run,' I wondered (without any real passion) where the real solutions lay.
Local politics even failed to interest me. Hizzoner could call for Saudi-style punishments for taggers. I just shrugged, because I no longer have any reason to expect the mayor to seriously address the problems of my city.
Plamegate? Meh.
Murtha? Meh.
Lebanon, even? Oh, well.
Apathy is strange to me, and I'm finally beginning to shake it off.
I've joined an e-mail political roundtable. I'm reading news again. I'm listening to radio.
Sometimes engagement is painful, but here's what's made it necessary: my son has started asking questions. He's paying attention, which means I have to.
So, despite my loss of faith, I'll say one more prayer – help me guide him to his own opinions. Help me help him know right from wrong without being too didactic. Help me teach him that hard right is just as wrong as hard left. And most of all, help me encourage him to think for himself.
I will try to be a good example.
Surprisingly, the world spun by quite nicely without me. I watched events like Katrina and Rita without comment. Rather, I donated where I thought it would do the most good and tried to find my old faith in God.
People became more polarized over Iraq, if that was possible. Between the calls to 'stay the course' and 'cut and run,' I wondered (without any real passion) where the real solutions lay.
Local politics even failed to interest me. Hizzoner could call for Saudi-style punishments for taggers. I just shrugged, because I no longer have any reason to expect the mayor to seriously address the problems of my city.
Plamegate? Meh.
Murtha? Meh.
Lebanon, even? Oh, well.
Apathy is strange to me, and I'm finally beginning to shake it off.
I've joined an e-mail political roundtable. I'm reading news again. I'm listening to radio.
Sometimes engagement is painful, but here's what's made it necessary: my son has started asking questions. He's paying attention, which means I have to.
So, despite my loss of faith, I'll say one more prayer – help me guide him to his own opinions. Help me help him know right from wrong without being too didactic. Help me teach him that hard right is just as wrong as hard left. And most of all, help me encourage him to think for himself.
I will try to be a good example.
9.22.2005
"Listen, Honey. I promise I'm not cheating. And I'll prove it if you buy me a hooker and a motel room so I can NOT have sex with her."
North Korea wants the United States to provide light-water nuclear reactors "as soon as possible" to demonstrate Pyongyang's right to peaceful nuclear acitivities, North Korea's deputy foreign minister said Thursday.
They have balls, I'll give them that.
9.11.2005
Four years
Never forget, they say. As if we could.
September 11.
You don't even need to add the year, because your mind will automatically fill in that space. Today, I will pray for those still attempting to fill their own empty spaces -- the families and friends of those who died.
There will be the inevitable news stories and, I see, one docu-drama about Flight 93 on Discovery Channel tonight. Though I won't intentionally watch any of it, I know I'll turn the channel and find the WTC collapsing. I used to think that we needed to see that footage once a month or so, just to remind us of who we're dealing with. But they have reminded us since then.
In Bali. In Madrid. In Beslan. In London. And always in Iraq and Afghanistan.
These are people that are directly opposed to us in every belief:
To us, every life is sacred. To them, every life is expendable.
To us, liberty is a right. To them, it's a sin.
To us, the law is a voice of reason. To them, it's the voice of Allah.
We cherish our children. They use them as weapons.
We hate brutality. They embrace it.
We operate out of hope. They are motivated by hate.
Our opposites. We'll never understand them. We'll never make them understand us. What we know or believe to be human nature doesn't exist in their case. It's almost like sharing the planet with another humanoid species -- it's hard to believe that we all come from earth. Yet we do, we have to share this place. Unfortunately, it would seem that co-existence is not an option.
I hate them for that lesson. I hate them for the world I must raise my son in. I hate that someday my son may have to deal, face to face, with his opposite -- a boy that was taught to hate liberty and life. A man that will carry no hope in his heart, other than the hope to kill and be a martyr.
Could we ever forget what this date taught us?
Not, I fear, as long as they exist to remind us.
September 11.
You don't even need to add the year, because your mind will automatically fill in that space. Today, I will pray for those still attempting to fill their own empty spaces -- the families and friends of those who died.
There will be the inevitable news stories and, I see, one docu-drama about Flight 93 on Discovery Channel tonight. Though I won't intentionally watch any of it, I know I'll turn the channel and find the WTC collapsing. I used to think that we needed to see that footage once a month or so, just to remind us of who we're dealing with. But they have reminded us since then.
In Bali. In Madrid. In Beslan. In London. And always in Iraq and Afghanistan.
These are people that are directly opposed to us in every belief:
To us, every life is sacred. To them, every life is expendable.
To us, liberty is a right. To them, it's a sin.
To us, the law is a voice of reason. To them, it's the voice of Allah.
We cherish our children. They use them as weapons.
We hate brutality. They embrace it.
We operate out of hope. They are motivated by hate.
Our opposites. We'll never understand them. We'll never make them understand us. What we know or believe to be human nature doesn't exist in their case. It's almost like sharing the planet with another humanoid species -- it's hard to believe that we all come from earth. Yet we do, we have to share this place. Unfortunately, it would seem that co-existence is not an option.
I hate them for that lesson. I hate them for the world I must raise my son in. I hate that someday my son may have to deal, face to face, with his opposite -- a boy that was taught to hate liberty and life. A man that will carry no hope in his heart, other than the hope to kill and be a martyr.
Could we ever forget what this date taught us?
Not, I fear, as long as they exist to remind us.
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