May 2004 Archives

So I'm told that the Bush Administration wants you to remember John Kerry's infamous quote that "I
actually did vote for the $87 billion...before I voted against it."

Now, we already know that the Bush administration reads Furdell.com and incorporates our ideas as policy. That being the case, I have a message for George: do you really want this election to be decided based on quotes taken out of context? Or even in context, for that matter?

And another thing, while I have your ear, Mr President: a war for oil was all well and good, but how about a war for gasoline? Cause oh man, that stuff is expensive.

It may be time to add a new entry to the Furdell Clich?d Book of Movie Clich?s, for Dummies: making reference to, or showing, two Starbucks Coffee shops across the street from each other.

I know of two qualifying films right off: Shrek 2 managed to shed the mantle of the original's Smashmouth clich?, but included this one. Best In Show features two characters who meet after seeing each other from their respective Starbuckses across the street from each other. (Maybe it's a good clich? to include in your movie, since both of those are quite funny. Did you notice yet how I can type the ? with an accent mark? I'm so sm?rt.)

Surely there are other examples. Meanwhile, how about some love for the original, bare-breasted Starbucks logo, from near Pike Place Market in Seattle:

Ahhh, sweet lady caffeine, personified.

This article, about how widescreen DVDs are now preferred over full screen by Blockbuster, reminds me of the halcyon days when my brother used to work there. Remember that, James? Those days sure were halcyon, huh?

Anyway, if I recall James's story correctly, it goes something...like this.

Well, I'm just relating the story as it was told to me about ten years ago. My version might not be completely accurate, but it's probably way more interesting than the way James tells it anyway.

1. Gasoline has gone up in price a bit, to an average of about $2.15. Gonna have to cut back on the ol' turbo boost:

2. In northern Virginia, it's cicadas, cicadas everywhere. The mutantly-named "Brood X" of ugly, big, slow-flying bugs who emerge every 17 years to fly around, mate, and die. While also getting all over everything and making unearthly noises that would make Orson Welles proud. It's a bug hunt, man!

We should nuke 'em from orbit. It's the only way to be sure.

Brain not yet working. We did so much in two weeks in England and France that it's hard to wrap my head around all of it right now. But everything went perfectly, and we even got really lucky on a few occasions. Details some time in the future when brain works again.

First of all, I'm back, and yes, it was awesome. Thanks.

Now, on to the blogging.

Why is it that when the U.S. military holds suspects' relatives hostage as bargaining chips I see it as another instance of abuse, whereas I cheer every time Jack Bauer does it on 24?

Uh-oh. It's another one of Andrew's posts about 24. Looks like everyone who still insists on not watching every Tuesday in a quiet, dark room with unplugged phones will once again be bored.

Apparently I've lost my touch since yesterday, because today it took me five tries (at 6 pesos per attempt) before I finally edged out the factory-set high score of 310,000 (damn you, 'SS2', whoever you are). In my defense, the scope was off by a half-inch and occasionally it jumped to random parts of the screen. I'm still fairly confident at least that nobody in Mexico can beat my score, and most tourists won't ever find that mall.

So, you can rest easy. I am still the Ultimate International Sniper. Huzzah.

Umm, that's all I wanted to say. Not that exciting really. I'd better spice things up: Bush is a fascist. Hah! Mission accomplished.*

*note: this joke is too subtle.

As a seasoned world traveller, I like to leave my mark everywhere I go. Since you?re not allowed to carve your name into coral reefs, my preferred method is to get such an obscenely high score in a local arcade?s copy of "Silent Scope 2" that my glorious initials, ALF, will forever grace that town?s machine.

Currently you can view my handiword in Spain, Switzerland, France, and England; or, if like some of our readers, you hate foreign people, check out the Luxor at Las Vegas and see if you can approach 1/3 of my score. (you can?t. I?m that good.)

So today I attempted to make my move at Playa del Carmen in sunny Mexico. The game was going great; I had many head hits and had not missed a single target in the first two rounds. In the third round, I hit the first four guys easily enough. From then on, everything would be icing on the cake. As the fifth assassin sped towards me on his skis, I took aim and fired, hitting him -- and so astounding the machine with my skills that it went blank. "IO Failure." Damn.

Next time, Mexico. Next time.

OK, best vacation ever. Kimberly and I are taking a few days in Paris, and it's been incredible. Our hotel upgraded us to the suite overlooking the Panth?on, we had dinner at a Seychellian restuarant which defies description, and the weather's been beautiful and sunny.

But London's been great too. We had the most incredible day Monday, when we spent most of it at the Kew Botanical Gardens, and then saw Tom Stoppard's reworking of Luigi Pirandello's Henry IV at a tiny theatre in the West End. (I'd include links, but I'm having enough trouble typing on this weird French keyboard.)

Long story short: Europe kicks ass and I want to stay. Vive la revolution!

I'm going on vacation this week, which means not a single Furdell will be in the country. (Or at least none of the important ones.) If everyone gets anthrax while we're gone, I swear it's a coincidence.

Speaking of terror, I'll take this opportunity to rebuke some more comments from commenter Chris.

They may have showed them at the time, but I haven't seen a World Trade Center video, based on why we are fighting this war on terrorism, in about 2 years. Bush used one image in a commercial and all the liberal activists went crazy. Why? Because it reminds Americans why we are fighting terrorists in Iraq and Afghanistan.

Did you know that every time you remember something, the memory gets rewritten in your brain with a whole new set of perceptions and links? Often the new memory barely resembles reality. An interesting, totally unrelated fact.

Back on the subject at hand, it'll interest you to know that those liberal activists were in fact firefighters and victims' families; and that they were upset because they believed Bush was exploiting the tragedy for political gain.

If I had seen the video, I probably would have responded by putting my hand through the TV screen. It enrages me that human beings would do this to someone else. It further pushes me to believe what we are doing is the right thing and the ultimate defeat of the Islam-o-fascists is something all countries should strive for.

You don't seem nearly so upset by what white human beings were doing to Arab human beings at Abu Ghraib. Innocent people died there too -- do we American fascists therefore deserve to be ultimately defeated as well? (Correct answer: "No, but now I understand why those guys are so pissed at us. Hmm.")

In conclusion, your jingoism disturbs me. It disturbs me so much that I'm going to leave the country! Goodbye, you obese bunch of losers!

As I am now there, here are this week?s top 10 singles in the U.K.:

1) F**K It (I Don?t Want You Back) by EAMON
2) Air Hostess by BUSTED
3) My Band by D12
4) Fit But You Know It by THE STREETS
5) Left Outside Alone by ANASTACIA
6) In The Shadows by THE RASMUS
7) This Love by MAROON 5
8) Yeah! by USHER Featuring LUDACRIS & LIL JON
9) Solitary Man by HIM
10) Sunny by BOOGIE PIMPS

Ah, yes... "F**k It" by Eamon, an excellent choice for #1.

Troy **

Tonight I saw Troy, yon blockbuster adaptation of the Iliad. I give it two (2) stars out of 20.

Ah, perhaps you're wondering exactly what scientific method I use to rate movies? The only one that makes any sense: I award one star for each actor that was formerly a Bond villain. 'Troy' gets 1 star each for Julian Glover (aka Kristatos) and Sean Bean who you remember as Alec Trevelyan.

It should be noted that, with a score of three (3) stars, Ronin is the best film of all time. Personally, I'm not a fan. But I'm not going to argue with the system.

I had assumed that the conservative response to the Iraq prison torture mess was going to boil down to something like: "Torture isn't so bad! In fact it's expected, nay, required in a war of this magnitude!"

I was totally wrong; the token response is instead to blame the press for releasing the photos of the abuse. HAH! Forget about the abuse, it's revealing the abuse that's really causing problems!

But wait a second -- isn't it the responsibility of the press to publicize exactly this kind of thing -- namely, governmental abuses? If the press had failed to publish those photos, it would have been just that -- a failure. Sure, non-photo coverage is powerful too, but the term "photojournalism" exists for a reason, and those pictures were news.

So if you're thinking the press is to blame for people getting their heads cut off, consider this: our government does what it does knowing that, if the press finds out, so will we. It is not the responsibility of our newspapers to censor themselves in the hopes of saving lives; it is the responsibility of our leaders to do the right thing or be held accountable.

Due to scenes of extreme awesomeness, viewer discretion of the following weblog is advised.

For those of you who missed last night's 24, I pray for your doomed souls. But also I shall give you a synopsis of the Most Awesome Scene in last night's episode, which may have also been the best scene of the season that didn't involve Nina.

Hey, kids! I think I have strep throat. I'm not sure, but I'm in horrible pain! Oh lordy.

Well, that's enough pity partying. It's time now that I tought you all the game of Pluck, which I learned about a month ago while waiting with some other degenerate gamblers for a poker game to start. Pluck is great because, like baccarat, there's no skill involved; but unlike baccarat, I understand it.

OK, here's how you play. First of all, each player names a specific card (suit and value). Then all the cards are spread out face down on the table in an unorganized pile. Moving clockwise, each player "plucks" a card (get it? get it?) from the pile. Depending on what card they get, they might get money!

Here's how it works: suppose my card is the 3 of diamonds.
* if I get a diamond, everyone pays me $1.
* If I get a 3, everyone pays me $5.
* If I get the 3 of diamonds, everyone pays me $20! Give me your money!

Ah, but the money-giving doesn't stop there. After each player has 5 cards, everyone pays $3 to the player with the best poker hand (or $6 if their hand is 3-of-a-kind or better).

Believe me, this game is fun. Highlights include: picking your card and suddenly getting $80; and, getting super-drunk while you play and realizing it makes no difference whatsoever and possibly even helps. Play Pluck(tm) today.

I can't draw nearly as well as Andrew. Nonetheless, here's my take on Van Helsing in glorious Six-Panel Vision.

And lest we be condemned for only focusing on the negative, let it be known that Spider-Man will not be appearing on a third base near you.

Though I, as the non-baseball-watching Furdell, find the whole thing silly. It's not as if there's no precedent for commercialization of sports. Would you have been less offended if they'd chosen a more well-worn path -- like, say, Spider-Man Stadium?

Actually that would be pretty awesome. I would go to Spider-Man Stadium every day, I'll tell you that much.

Moore: What should I name my next movie? Ah, eureka! I'll name it as a reference to Fran?ois Truffaut's worst movie, which itself was based on Ray Bradbury's most overrated book. Brilliant!

Eisner: Great idea, Michael! Hey, here's a brainstorm -- your last movie was cheap to produce and made a huge profit. So I'll refuse to distribute this one on political grounds! It'll cost me a fortune! Oh, joy!!!

Moore: Good one, Michael! Hey, time out, another thought is coming to me! Yes, here it comes, here it comes -- I got it! I'm going to wait until the last second, so I can blow this whole thing out of proportion! OH MY GOD I'M SO SMART ARRRRGH -- * (heart attack)

Moore devotees: Oh no! Probably nobody's going to pick up distribution on a definite box office hit! We'll never get to see the movie! Oh, woe is us! REVOLUTION!!!

Bush: There goes the neighborhood! (smiles at camera and shrugs; still frame, roll credits)

Mike Luckovich is the bomb, as usual.

Now that Major League Baseball has entered into an agreement to place Spider-Man 2 logos on the bases and on-deck circles for one weekend next month, and is reportedly considering other product-placement advertising on players' jerseys, can we all finally agree that it's time Congress repealed baseball's anti-trust exemption?

Here's the Silly Quote of the Day:

"This [advertising] does nothing to impact the play of the game," [MLB president and CEO Bob] DuPuy said. "The base doesn't know that it has a corporate name on it, nor does the foot that hits the base."

Ahh, but consider, Mr. DuPuy: my eyes that watch the game will know that this looks absoludicrously awful. What's next? Where do we draw the line?

Oh. That's where.

This is how you write a movie review.

In this world, Dracula wears an earring and a ponytail. Remarkable! The Prince of Darkness shares his sense of style with Mexican drug lords, wedding videographers, and overzealous personal trainer Tony Little!

He's talking, of course, about Van Helsing.

I figured out who Pants is! Our long national nightmare is over!

Long ago, as I was thumbing through a ratty issue of Total Baseball with Kimberly by my side, we stumbled upon an entry with a first name of "Pants."

(Hmm, I'm thinking Lifetime movie. "I Know My First Name Is Pants." Let's make some calls about this.)

Unfortunately, while laughing uncontrollably, I lost the page, and the true identity of Pants seemed lost to me forever.

Until today.

Clarence "Pants" Rowland was manager of the White Sox from 1915-1918. He even won a World Series in 1917, but when the team slipped to 5th the following year he was fired (thus avoiding the whole Black Sox thing).

Pants later umpired in Major League Baseball and served as president of the Pacific Coast League. According to his obituary, here's how he got his name:

When Roland broke into baseball, the first club he played with did not have a uniform small enough to fit him. The pants slid down to his ankles--and a nickname was established.

In that case, shouldn't they have named him No-Pants? Or, to adapt a nickname from another White Sox member, Pantsless Joe?

Look. I know that it's part of the deal, that they are required to spend two years as missionaries annoying people around the world, but seriously, Mormon boys, STOP COMING TO MY HOUSE.

I have nothing against Mormons, per se, and there are individual Mormons of which I'm very fond (Hi Jen!). I do, however, think it takes a very high degree of arrogance to come to someone's house, interrupt them while they're writing a paper (as I invariably am), and tell them that they're going to Hell. Not that they ever say that outright, but it's definitely implied. It doesn't matter that I've put a great deal of thought and study into my religious beliefs (or non-beliefs, in the case of Mormonism). Nope, at age 18, these boys have discovered the "truth" that I have been too stupid to see.

So no, Mormon boys, you may not come in. You may not give me any literature. And if you want to pray for me, feel free to do so from the other side of this swiftly closing door.

Check out the least useful DVD review ever, of the new box set for '80s cartoon-slash-marketing-opportunity Jem and the Holograms:

Each disc features a "play video" function that will allow you to watch all of the videos from the episodes on that disc.

That's adorable.

Inexplicably, I own the five-part pilot of Jem on tape. It is really, really hard to watch. The songs are awful, and a lot of the animation is simply repeated during the music video segments. At least it's kinda funny when the members of bad-girl band The Misfits make their appearance by riding their motorcycles out of a record executive's office closet.

Now that's impressive.

An Oprah Winfrey Show featuring graphic sexual talk angered many American viewers. Some of them sent complaints to the FCC. The Smoking Gun... is there, with a random sampling.

(Not as utterly hilarious as the letters sent to the FCC after the Super Bowl, but definitely in the same ballpark.)

You can't look away from... The Photo That Lost The War.

Never mind all the other photos of abuse from the Abu Ghurayb prison in Baghdad. This is the one that sums up the war for me: a female U.S. soldier with a goofy grin on her face and a cigarette dangling out of the side of her mouth, pointing at a prisoner's crotch and giving a big thumbs up.

Exactly what kind of chain of events could lead anyone into thinking this was a good idea?

"That's all right, I'm sure those men of Islam don't mind being tied up, stripped naked, and made into the submissive sex slaves of an American woman. And, of course, once you've done all that, be sure to take photos for everyone to see. They'll love it, trust me."

I learn a lot of things every time I play poker, really I do. But last night I learned exactly five things -- and that lends itself well to a Top 5 List.

Well, actually, I already knew these things. And technically there's only three of them -- but two of them are really long.

When you're going up against some kind of supernatural monster, and said monster has the ability to resurrect and multiply when you kill it... you need to find some other way to deal with it than killing it. Because it's just going to come back to life and multiply, stupid.

I'm talking to you, Hellboy.

Some NYU graduate students have turned New York City into a big Pac-Man board. Four players take on the role of ghosts, and one is Pac-Man:

It's a little game they like to call Pac-Manhattan. Looks like fun.

I was going to do this really heavy rant about naked Iraqi sex torture, but instead, since this weekend we're in the spirit of giving non-Furdells a voice, I shall instead copy-and-paste the work of my friend Mark.

Long-time readers who recall my sucky previous blog will remember Mark as the guy who has hilarious out-of-office automatic email responses. Here is another of those. Enjoy.

Because our friends are also hilarious, like us they deserve to have a voice. Eric Lipman, in fact, demanded it, and his late comments on Andrew's Jew Watch post are certainly worth repeating:

Alright boys (& kfree) - you're my web-savvy friends, so here's my idea; make it so:

Hijack the JewWatch domain name or IP address or whatever thingy you have to, and link it to . . . me. I'll get one of those webcams and Krazy Glue it to my head, leave it on 24/7, and all the anti-semites [please read that word as though spoken with the Polish immigrant accent of my late Great Aunt (in both senses of the term) Taube, affectionately known simply as "The T": ANti-semITES; in the interest of full disclosure, she was occasionally known to refer to Jesse Jackson as "that blek bestahd,"] can see how the chosen people really live, and that we're not so evil.

Imagine all they'd learn.

For example, they'd get to see me sit behind my desk, using my law degree to fight not-so-passionately to defend the interests of big corporations (often run by non-jews) accused of screwing the little guy.

They'd get to see me eat a bagel and bacon together - an image that screams religious and ethnic harmony.

They'd get to see me . . . well, that's pretty much what I do - eat and work. If nothing else, maybe I could bore the hate out of them.

Just a thought, nay, a little something extra.

(Ahh, a Lagniappe shout-out, no less.)

Meanwhile, the stuffed toy bear of dear Furdell friend John Chan has somehow found his way into the blogosphere. He's a playa and his name is Pup. And he is, predictably, funky.

You will listen to me. I am Pup. Pup is the voice in the back of your head.

Yes, I will speak in third person about myself. So what? That's cool yo.

Here I will Rant on and on because all I do is sit in the apt. all day watching my Bonzi tree grow.

Today's post was brought to you by the number P.

Watch out, playas. Pup's coming to steal your ladies.

My birthday isn't until July 28th, but you should really start figuring out what you're going to get me now. At this rate, anything you buy me will pale in comparison to what DVD manufacturers are cooking up. They've decided to release everything awesome on July 27th. Isn't that sweet?

First off, the old softies decided to release the Dawn of the Dead remake, knowing full well that I am a lover of the zombie movie in all its forms.

Secondly, these beautiful bastards -- who are well aware that my favorite director is Paul Verhoeven -- decided to give a gift to both me and my birthday-sharer, Liz (me and Liz go way back). That present is the Showgirls VIP Edition. You don't know how long me and Liz have been waiting for a Showgirls release with some actual special features. It's taken great restraint on our part to not by the sucky-ass barebones edition.

And finally, as if gold and frankincense were not enough, I have been honored with the myrrh that is Sledge Hammer!, a show that James and I loved in our youth. They even removed the laugh track for the DVD release! Oh, true joy, thy name is DVD.

I'm just saying, you have a lot to live up to.