I'm still amazed by how many people are still browsing the Web with Internet Explorer. 70% of thingy visitors are using it. STOP THE INSANITY! Download the free and secure and virtually identical browser called Firefox. Here's an article that does a good job of explaining why it's extremely important.

I think Queer Eye for the Straight Guy is a pretty damn good show. It's funny, the work they do is always impressive, and the personal stories are usually entertaining. The knockoff, Queer Eye for the Straight Girl, isn't so good. The group just does not have the charm or wit of the Fab 4. Will the success and popularity of QESG keep QESG afloat? The shadow knows...but might not give a damn.

This Saturday is the college Senior Bowl, where preparations for the 2005 NFL draft begin in earnest. I don't know why or precisely when I fell under its spell, but I can't miss these pre-NFL draft events (not to mention the draft itself). I think it's a fascinating process and an intriguing contest of organizational will and analytical skill.

Every year, teams pick complete duds four rounds before a future hall of famer is selected by another team. One team's collection of highly-paid scouts and pro personnel executives will conclude that Joe Smith, outside linebacker from Ye Olde College, is well worth a second-round pick. Joe turns out to be a complete bust, while another outside linebacker selected in the 5th round goes on to be a perennial probowler. It's more than college production and measureables. How do you spot the player that has that undeniable "it"? How is it that Tom Brady is plucked from the sixth round, when Giovanni Carmazzi and Chris Redman (both out of football due to sucking) were taken in the third round? What did those scouts see that didn't exist in those two quarterbacks, and more significantly, how did 31 teams fail to see that Tom Brady is loaded with "it"?

It's fascinating. And it's fun to watch teams develop and grow with players you tracked and made modest predictions for. It might even warrant a thingy predictions board. Yes. Yes I think I so. Coming soon.

Speaking of the NFL...the Arizona Cardinals have updated their logo. They've gone from a birdie who looks annoyed and bent on nipping at your shins, to a birdie who looks determined to nip at your shins. Quite an upgrade.

Actually, I think it might have been twelve years. The other day I watched a recorded re-run of Northern Exposure, an episode from the last season that involved Dr. Joel Fleishman. I think his final season was 1994. Pretty sure. Anyway, Joel was played by Rob Morrow, and since he left Northern Exposure to pursue a film career that started well with Quiz Show, he hasn't been in much. At least nothing that I've seen. So a decade had gone by where I hadn't seen this guy's face.

Tonight I decided I'd watch that new CBS series, NUMB3RS. It looked interesting. It was. Gotta say, best pilot I've seen since...hey, maybe since Northern Exposure. There's a surplus of cookie cutter cop/investigator/crime scene shows on television, so when I first saw the promo I think I rolled my eyes or grumbled or something. Then I saw that Rob Morrow was in it and figured, hey. Dr. Fleishman! I should check that out.

Glad I did. Well done. The writing was pretty crisp. It didn't inspire a cliché count. I wasn't aware of the acting. I didn't want to stop watching. If I had to find an area for criticism, I'd say that Joel I mean Rob's character, Don Eppes, seemed a little too cavalier about his kid brother's help. In a period of what seemed to be two to three days, the young math genius Charlie Eppes not only saved a young woman's life, he developed a whole new science for cracking serial crimes. Not too shabby. You'd think he'd at least get a good ol' hug from his big bro the FBI case manager. Usually when new avenues of science are opened up, or when theories and equations find powerful new applications, people take notice. Awards are handed out. Exclusive interviews with shadowy government agencies are offered, if not ordered. At the end of the pilot, it seemed a little too casual and "business as usual" considering all that had taken place.

But I digress. So the other night I saw the face of Rob Morrow, circa 1994. Same face I've known since I watched the show in the early 90s. Haven't seen hide nor hair of him since then. To see him the next day, aged 11 years, was pretty interesting. His frown lines were deeper. His skin is coarser, blemished by time and experience. He looked to me like he had seen some tough times. It was probably just time, though. We don't recognize change very well when we see it in intervals throughout a span of time, but man. When you see a face age 11 years in a single day, you notice some things.

By the way, figured this might be a good time to ask:

Don'tcha think that it's just a wee bit creepy that

111,111,111

X

111,111,111

Equals 12,345,678,987,654,321?

The SpongeBob thing is all over the blogosphere. You've probably heard about it, but in case you haven't, two puritanical Christian groups, Focus on the Family and the American Family Association, have lashed out against SpongeBob Squarepants for promoting tolerance of homosexuality.

These orgs just handed their "enemies" a loaded bazooka, just like Peta did when it lashed out against Jimmy Carter for promoting fishing. It's no different, but this attack on SpongeBob is far more visible and will have much longer legs. These two organizations, with their extreme opinions and mission statements that involve foisting those opinions (and fears) into public and corporate policy, hurt the parties they're aligned with more than any single unpopular party representative, yet they fail to see the harikari knife in their hands.

If these people don't like SpongeBob, they can turn it off or prevent their kids from watching it. It seems they're on a mission to convince the country that there's a moral imperative to stop homosexuality, a mission which is both ludicrous and futile. It's an effort that willfully ignores science, willfully disregards the history of Bible interpretations, and represents some of the most egregious hypocrisy coming out of their ranks in years. And it will hurt them.

They apparently don't realize they've picked on a beloved character in popular culture, particularly among college students. If they think that such archaic nattering is going to make SpongeBob's audience turn on them, they've missed the mark. It can only make these organizations more irrelevant to the youth of this country.

My generation grew up with Bert and Ernie, two "grown men" who shared a bedroom and spent their lives together. We're all okay today. In fact, we're probably better for having grown up with Bert and Ernie, just as Bugs Bunny and Foghorn Leghorn and Daffy Duck and Sylvester the cat all contributed to the development of our sense of humor as kids. I haven't seen much of SpongeBob but I've seen enough and heard enough to know that it's just as harmless as my old favorite, Ren & Stimpy, which had many homosexual jokes beneath its surface. We recognized them, and they were hilarious. Not dangerous.

I know enough about Christianity to think that these efforts don't represent the religion well, let alone define it. Wasn't tolerance one of the the most prominent of Jesus' themes? Yep. Do they reeeaaaally think that Jesus is looking down on SpongeBob with disapproval? If the Republican party has any brains whatsoever, it'll make sure that voters don't link them to these reactionary concerns. It seems funny to put it this way, but if Republicans care about their future roles in the shaping of American policy, they'll make light of this and find a way to separate themselves from this sort of thing going forward. But they won't, because nobody has any balls when it comes time to put Pat Robertson types in their place on a national stage. But this is not conservatism.

Judge not, lest ye be judged. One of the best things ever said in human history, cast aside when it doesn't suit them and brought back into play when it does. That is not Christian.

A new search has entered the fray to take on Google, and I gotta admit, I'm impressed by the results that Clusty has given me thus far. But, I ah...*ahem*...question their judgment in using that Pittsburgh Steelers icon in place of their own logo. No matter how temporary it might be, why would a fledgling company want to alienate such a large portion of their potential user base? That's not gonna elevate you to a position where you can wrangle with the likes of Google and Yahoo, Mr. Clusty. In fact, thousands will doubtlessly assume that you're nothing but a Pittsburgh concern.

Some of the photos coming from the Cassini-Huygens mission are stunningly eerie, but I have to admit, if JPL keeps showing us pictures of orange, rocky, barren landscapes, the masses are gonna tune it all out eventually, and that would be a real tragedy. Cuz they'd be tuning it out in favor of shows like "Who's Your Daddy?". I think it's time JPL doctors a photo of some amicable-looking alien holding a WELKUM sign, misspelled and with a backwards K, like a 7 year old might do.

I don't like getting political, but I seem to encounter egregious hypocrisy just about everywhere I click. Take a look at the "lost Danziger cartoon" and ask yourself...If Danziger wasn't the well-known, left-leaning cartoonist that he is, but instead was a well-known right-leaning cartoonist, don't you think this cartoon would have met with rage from the mainstream media and organziations like the NAACP?

Now imagine if Danziger was a well-known right-leaning cartoonist AND Condi Rice was the exact same person she is today but an appointee of a Democratic president...? Whoo-boy...we'd have a national "race crisis" on our hands because of this cartoon.

Danziger's self-defending comments are about as pathetic and contrived as they come.

If someone had said it's possible that a nailgun could punch a nail this big through the roof of your mouth and into your brain without your knowing it, I'd have used a GWOTGGTWBSLWTLOP  word like balderdash or poppycock. I might even have said, "Oh Bother!"

Figured I'd update a few things. Housekeeping.

Spam filter update:

I've noticed that spam is trying harder to form complete sentences. It's failing miserably, but its broken syntax, bizarre use of the comma, and context-free attempts at making me click back to it is becoming more interesting. To wit:

• RE: framed the pond, making
• Fence and never taking
• RE: execution. But still, even
• Wetscape: Public peeing, accidents
• Drugs online
• Good news about the economy, Violet
• Performers unceremoniously began sticking
• e-Rolex
• Windshield percocet make you drowsy
• RE: Never did, paperbacks?

The living list of GWOTGGTWBSLWTLOP has grown:

• davenport
• trousers
• computerize
• moonshine
• slicker (raincoat)
• rubbers (footwear)
• icebox (freezer)
• permanent (hair)
• galoshes (see rubbers)
• clicker
• britches

Please keep the list alive. Good excuse to call your grandparents and make their day.

Speaking of words, I found a napkin from a long time ago...'bout three years. No, no...it just had a note on it. Sometimes you just have to make due with the nearest bit of canvas you can find. My rooms have always been littered with the wee scraps. Anyway, this one had eight words on it. At first I had no idea what the hell I could have been thinking, but then it came to me. These were words I really like, not for their meanings but for the sounds they make. Here they are, in the order they were recorded, for what it's worth: (To get a sense for what I'm talking about, say these words to yourself several times, until the meaning sort of washes away and you're left with nothing but the sound...)

• garage
• twelve
• zero
• glib
• shrubbery
• oyster
• chortle
• persnickety

Two count 'em Two people misunderstood something in my last thingy. To preclude further confusion...Yes, of course I know there are people on both sides of the political spectrum who fit the description of "ANTIs". I never suggested otherwise. I merely selected two timely examples. I was tired of hearing the relentless attacks on Clinton, too. Daily negativity becomes tiresome, taxing. We all need to take a big dose of optimism and wash it down with some good cheer. Translation: turn off the news and watch Bugs Bunny re-runs. And please, don't fill in any thingy blanks with assumptions. I am a gray figure in a gray state among 50 gray states. Gray I tell you. Gray.

Cheers to the Journal of the British Interplanetary Society for being the first mainstream, established planetary society with balls. An interesting (and brief) article to chew on...

Lower the flags of the American lexicon? As time continues onward and we get closer to losing the last emblems of the WWII generation, I'd like to pause to reflect on some of the great words that will be lost with them. You know, those words only heard from the mouths of your grandparents. Words like davenport and trousers. Computerize and moonshine. There are so many. Got any more off the top of your head?

So Prince Charles' son Harry throws on a nazi soldier costume for a private party. Party goer with cameraphone spots the opportunity and takes a shot. Said goer takes it right to the British tabloids, who give him a nice chuck of change for it. The British Isles quake, and are still feeling the reverberations. Some claim that it's a signal that the young royals are secretly antisemitic. No, no, no...Boy Harry hadn't a clue what he was doing. To the Brits, this is as big a royal gaffe as there ever was. Perhaps he hasn't been taught well. Perhaps he hasn't learned well. But that's all it is...call it stupidity or ignorance or thoughtlessness, or perhaps more accurately, a failure to understand the weight of his congential position in Europe. But don't call it a sign of royal antisemitism.

I've always been put off by people who are comfortable being defined by what or who they are against. From the extreme faction of PETA who get on their soapboxes to tell us about the evils of eating fish to the relentless anti-Bush venom coming from an otherwise decent filmmaker, I just don't understand how anyone could spend all their waking days caught up in such unwavering invectives. I can't imagine that it's synonymous with a long lifespan.

The media's coverage of the Abu Ghraib trial, which you would think would be about the militants being held there, is just getting creepier and creepier. Why? Because many in the media are covering this thing as if the victims are the muslim militants (who are there for good reason, let's not forget) and the bad guy is the U.S. military. Dangerous stuff. Particularly when fed to the millions of the young and naive who don't understand much about the world and are perfectly happy to not investigate for themselves. While there seems to have been some excessive use of force and bizarre behavior on the part of a few guards (which should obviously be dealt with in a manner commensurate with the violation), hanging the military out in front of the country as "a problem" is incredibly dangerous. I don't understand where these journalists are coming from. I don't know where their heads are. But I have an inkling as to their motivations.

I'm only addressing what I've seen on TV and on Websites such as CNN and Salon and MSNBC. If there truly were violations of the Geneva Convention, the people involved should be court martialled. The U.S. should be an emblem of strength in the world, which includes civility and right conduct. But let's not be naive...every country that takes prisoners, especially prisoners that are part of a network whose only reason for being is to destroy your way of life...does whatever it takes to ensure its safety. I'm not condoning anything Machiavellian, I'm just saying...let's not be naive. We think of our WWII vets as heroes, correct? This sort of thing went on then, only worse. Much worse. On both sides. It's easy to forget that because in those days, political correctness didn't exist. Activist journalism didn't exist. But tactically brutal—which is different from inhumane or even cruel—treatment of enemy militants was normal and expected, and from most accounts, it was effective. War is hell.

It was a rough day, so I apologize for bringing up dark subjects. I really, really should steer clear of the Bad News Channel, formerly known as the news.

I'll end with some increasingly better cheer to put this thingy back on track.

• First, this is refreshing, isn't it?
• Surely this will elicit a smile...?
• Well, how about the Rochester forecast—that's usually good for a laugh:
  
• How about this...?
• Hmmm...okay, try this.
• If all else failed, this one's a sure thing.

Can someone please explain the appeal of awards shows? I'm thumbing through the channels and land on CBS. It's the night of the "People's Choice Awards". Lucky us. They're talking about an award for the "fans' favorite hair". Am I alone in my completely eroded tolerance for all this celebrity crap and all the over-the-top materialism? The celebrity machine keeps pumping out the redundant award shows, and for all their time and largesse, the only thing the "winners" in these self-congratulatory narcissism parades can do is spew mawkish clichés between ums and use the word very as redundantly as possible. And of course there's always a few who insist on tarnishing the concept of genius by throwing the word around to anyone they've ever "worked" with.

The only good thing I saw in 20 minutes of viewing was that infomercial for tsunami relief, with George W. Bush and Bill Clinton. It was really nice to see those two together. (There are so many people out there who would celebrate policy X if it was implemented by president Y, and criticize that same policy if implemented by President Z. The truth is, both of those guys are good people, no matter what Michael Moore says.)

And then, at the end of the ex-presidents' public service announcement, some careless dolt behind the scenes found a way to screw it up by showing the wrong Web address for the relief organization. Well done.

For those of you whose lives involve many elevators and subways and other close-quartered public arenas, you've probably had to endure many an insipid cell phone conversation from nearby strangers. Here...you might find these cards helpful. Scroll down and behold the variety.

Apparently, rats have some language ability. Anna Nicole Smith should feel that much lower.

If you were alive in the 80s you heard Tommy Tutone's song 867-5309 a zillion times. Well, some guy named Dan, who clearly had a nice chunk of time on his hands, decided to call that number for every valid area code and report the results.

So the Mexican government has issued a pamphlet for would-be illegal immigrants, showing them methods they can employ to beat the border patrols and get into the land of free money. It's officially sanctioned government material showing their citizens how to leave their own country to break U.S. laws. Their explanation is that it will help keep them safe. I'm not going to say a word. Read this and/or this and tell me what you think.

I'm going to pick on Ashlee Simpson again. Or more accurately, her agent(s), the clueless marketers working for her record company, and the artless money machine that built this no-talent hack into the "superstar" that she was announced as. Did you catch the Orange Bowl halftime show?

While USC took a break from their destruction of the hapless Oklahoma Sooners, Simpson...headlined...the halftime show. Not long ago, she was exposed for the fraud that she is on Saturday Night Live. This time, she figured she had better go live or else. So, the world got to hear just how bad her live voice really is. We were privileged enough to gag on her juvenile, off-tune ramblings, such as "you make me wanna...uh uh uh uh....you make me wanna...ooo ooo ooo ooo...you make me wanna...uh uh uh uh...you make me wanna...SCREAM!"

Why does this machine keep stuffing these people down our throats? Ashlee Simpson is a boardroom creation, and it says a lot about their lack of awareness that a stadium full of college students booed her right out of Florida. Listen to it...it's bloody awful. The only people that listen to Ashlee Simpson are middle school girls. Passing her off as the headliner in the superbowl of college football, you have ask, is there ANYONE out there who understands demographics? Is there anyone out there who understands what music is supposed to be? You can say you like this or hate that, and it's a matter of taste. But you can't say that Ashlee Simpson is talented, just like you can't say that you own a Tyrannosaurus Rex. She is the product of suits in a boardroom. Her "songs" are written by ghost writers who have been spitting out minor revisions of the same song heard all over top 40 radio stations for the past decade or more. Most people either don't realize this or don't care. They just want to know what's popular, and listen to it. So they tune into top 40 stations, sort of listen, and over time they become numb to the very concept of song.

This has to end somewhere. Who knows, maybe Ashlee Simpson is a savior. Maybe her constant public sucking will wake up the music masses. She received the loudest, most universal boo I've ever heard on live television.

Ashlee will be counseled to prance around the truth when asked about her performance and the crowd's unanimous disapproval. Her publicist(s) will say she had a sore throat (again), or that she burned her mouth on hot pizza.

Wake up, music industry. Stop diminishing the concept of music by feeding middle school kids this manufactured bilge. Wake up, entertainment coordinators...learn about what your audience might actually like and respect, and hire accordingly.

How can this shit keep happening?

Labels: tunes

The following is an actual conversation between me and Nikki that I hastily recorded on the back of a receipt the moment after she delivered the punchline:

Nikki: I want to trade in the KitchenAid for a red one.

Brandon: Why? What's wrong with the one we have?

Nikki: Red will look better in the kitchen.

Brandon: But...we've used that thing once, and we've had it for almost two years! How could they even let us return it?

Nikki:They will.

Brandon: But what's the point? We store it away—it can't "look better in the kitchen" if it's in the cupboard.

Nikki: I'll use it more if it's on the counter.

Brandon: But you never used it when it was on the counter.

Nikki: I will if it's red.

The comic potential of spam never occurred to me until I took a peek inside my spam filter. The following subject titles caught my attention:

• Brandy, the reception is at 8
• Florine, consider these
• Improve your spermatazoan count and character
• Olivia, are you ready for the results?
• Superviagra for peanuts
• You can transmute to the unsurpassed human
• Pay less jackrabbit vibrator
• No trick. Actual study! Extend your phallus
• Swampy satisfaction
• Blaine isn't feeling well
• Date night at Morse's
• Pliable and dissolvable pills for genuine chaps
• Bloomfield crumple deborah
• I'm happy with this morphine stuff
• Engine sluts
• Chivalrous Toradol is a narcotic similar to the codeine
• Don't be a moron Kristy

In the days before spam became a serious Internet illness, Todd would sign me up for the most ludicrous things. I'm still paying for that.

So I'm trotting up the basement stairs after a fruitless search for some missing XTC CDs, and find a way to stumble just enough to jam my right shinbone into a step. Bone pain. Left a nice mark. Abby, our permanently starving chocolab, comes running to the top of the stairs. My fall must have made the sound of raw steaks slapping on pavement. She saw that there were no steaks, stared at me while I clutched my shin and uttered every available curse through clenched teeth, and then slowly ambled away disappointed. She stopped at her food dish to make sure it didn't catch some falling morsels, and disappeared into the other room.

I then went to the kitchen and made the mistake of touching a plastic grocery bag, which functions as a food alarm in the canine/feline world. In comes the dog, wagging expectantly, followed immediately by the cat. I showed them both my empty, treatless hands, and walked to the upstairs steps. I started up in my usual trot, and Ab bolted up after me, cutting me off to one side like we're racing. The unexpected jolt was just enough to make me slip on the hardwood stair and bang my left knee into the landing. She looked back at my cursing mass as if to say, "I could really use some rawhide", and like a goalie, took a stubborn seat at the top of the stairs. She wanted to discuss matters back in the kitchen. But there would be no treats this day.

Labels: at home