Football Picks, Week 4: Once again 3-1 last week and now 10-3 for the season. Obviously, my planted assumption that the early season games are a crapshoot was way off. Either that or I am just so freakin' intelligent and perceptive the laws of chance do not apply to me. It's important to remember, we all have a daddy; Pedro's is the Yankees and I am yours.

• New York Jets - 6.5 at Miami -- Neither of the Florida teams should be 0-3 at this point. Fiedler is back at QB and maybe his little vacation motivated him a bit. The defense is still very strong. And in case I haven’t mentioned it before, the Fins are not as bad as everyone thinks they are. (I've gotten real good at hiding my meds.) Pick: Dolphins


• Denver -3.5 at Tampa Bay -- If Miami shouldn’t be 0-3, then Tampa Bay really shouldn’t be 0-3. Seriously, the D is solid and if you looked at this team and I told you they would be 0-4 to start the season you would have laughed at me -- then told the nurse about me hiding my meds. Pick: Buccaneers


• Washington -3 at Cleveland -- A truly difficult pick, but the 'Skins and Gibbs looked completely confused last week. It was a poorly coached game which is a shocker. True, the Browns aren’t worth a damn, but they are at home and have 3 points to give, and there ya go. Pick: Browns


• New York Giants +7 at Green Bay -- This is an interesting match-up. In week 1 the Packers looked invincible and the Giants were an outright disaster. Since then Green Bay lost to Chicago of all teams and then lost the shootout with the Colts. Meanwhile the Giants seem to be putting it together. If the Giants can stay on the straight and narrow and show up early for their meetings, and the Green Bay that played Chicago shows up, and if they don’t win by at least a touchdown…Pick: Giants

Fresh Meat: ReadApplePie.com has been completely revamped in the style of ReadBusinessAsUsual.com, including a free preview of the first four chapters. If you haven’t read Apple Pie, you should of course, but you can get a feel for it at the site, and although it is not technically available yet, you can pre-order it at Amazon. Hopefully it has found a permanent home with the new publisher.

Yet another terrific week for my football picks, but more on that in a couple of days. Speaking of football, here's a couple of good articles: This one from Football Outsiders is a recounting of a road trip to Ann Arbor for last week's Iowa/Michigan game; it contains the perfect characterization of Wolverine fans: "...there's one thing that we Michigan fans do better than anyone: show up." And over at ESPN Page 2 we have this story of the pitiful optimism of Lions fans. I maintain Lions fans have deeper and more foolish faith than those of any other sports franchise. Not only is their no hope of a championship, there is very rarely hope of a winning season, there are even more rarely any big stars or charismatic players to root for, and worst of all there is no romance to their losing, they just lose in complete anonymity.

And while we are on the topic of sports, it looks like Washington DC is finally getting a baseball team back. This will be their third chance (third strike?) and all it's going to cost them is a $400 million publicly financed stadium. I don’t know where they are going to get the money, but I understand Marion Barry has been brought in as a financial consultant. Although the vast majority of fans are out in Northern Virginia, I'm sure they will be happy to ride the Metro in from Loudon County. In preparation for the expected throngs of fans riding in and the potential for them flaunting the rules, the DC legislature has approved the death penalty for anyone who talks or eats.

I'm still working on my write up of my Coastal Empire trip; hopefully this weekend. I may provide a few pics ahead of time. For now, I can't stop laughing at the story of Edward Furlong (the brat Ahnold has to save in T2) getting arrested while freeing live lobsters from their tank at Meijer's:

…the actor and his buddies began yanking live lobsters out of the store's display tank for reasons that were not made clear…The officers ordered Furlong to turn around so they could frisk him, but the…star began twirling around in circles instead.

I would pay real, folding money for the video from the Meijer's security camera.

Thank You Jeanne: I have just returned from a few days in "The Coastal Empire" -- specifically Savannah, GA and Hilton Head, SC. Both very cool places in very different ways. I am grateful to hurricane Jeanne for doing a quick loop-de-loop out in the mid-Atlantic so I could have some nice weather, but it was the least she could do considering it was her fault I wasn't in Turks and Caicos and it was her older brother Ivan who flattened Grand Cayman which was my first choice. A full accounting of the entire misadventure will be forthcoming, as usual. (update 9/25: Yes, I did accidentially refer to Jeanne as Frances. Hey, it's not like I never gotten womens names confused before.)

I do not know why they call the area the "Coastal Empire." It does sound better than the other descriptive name, the "Low Country," which conjures up disturbing Deliverance images. I was a little surprised, given this is the among the deepest of the deep south, that I detected little Southerness anywhere except the appearance of grits as breakfast side. More likely to encounter a European accent than a lazy drawl. Anyway, I'll save it for the story. Real Soon Now.

Football Picks -- Week 3: 4-1 last week, making me 7-2 for the year and compelling me to continue inquiries as to the identity of your daddy.

A brief Mea Culpa from last week. I referred to Carson Palmer as a rookie. This is, in fact his second year, but he didn’t take a single snap last year. Chances are you would have just figured I was fake but accurate, but I would hate to be spoken of in the same breath as Dan Rather, so there you are.

Peter King had an update on Ricky Williams' whereabouts. He's currently camping next to a bay somewhere in Australia. I've never been one for sleeping on the ground, but hey, whatever pitches your tent. Today is the first day of the rest of your life, Ricky. And considering the Dolphins are trying to retrieve in excess of 8 million in signing bonuses from you, you may take some solace in the accuracy of that.

• Pittsburgh +1.5 at Miami -- Like a highly agitated schizoid, I keep repeating the same thing over and over: The Fins are not as bad as everybody thinks. Please don't tell Nurse Ratchett.


• Philly -4.5 at Detroit -- Detroit is 2-0 with victories (cynics would say surprising victories) over the dubious Chicago Bears and the less than mediocre Houston Texans. Philly is the cream of the NFC for the moment and they dominated the Vikings last week, TO's sham TD notwithstanding. Harrington has not faced a defensive line like this. Even at home, I can’t pick the Lions.


• San Fran +10.5 at Seattle -- 10.5 is a lot of points to give. Scenario: Seattle up by 17, then end of game comes and SF is tossing up prayers in its last few plays against a bunch of Seahawk third-stringers. They get the TD. Who cares, says Seattle, they still need two scores in less than a minute, right? Except the guy who puts cash down on Seattle being at least 11 points better gets reamed. But they are at least 11 points better, so what can you do except throw down and hope those third stringers have some pride.


• Dallas +2.5 at Washington -- The 'Skins coughed up turnovers like meningital phlegm last week. (Sorry, that didn’t really work, did it?) They won’t do that again, but there is just no way they are all that good -- Gibbs or no. On the other hand, the Cowboys have Vinny Testaverde who has a stupefying ability to not quite win football games. But Parcells has had more time with his clowns than Gibbs has had with his, so I'll take Dallas and the points.

Things and Stuff: All I have to offer is some clickage.

• I did a quick recap/review of the recently concluded season over Six Feet Under over at Blogcritics. Probably meaningless unless you watch the show.


• CBC picks the top 50 songs of the twentieth century, roughly by decade. This is a pretty sharp list. I could quibble but I only outright hate about 30 percent of these songs which is pretty good for these sorts of things.


• Speaking of music, the 80s group Queen has been given the seal of approval from the psychotic Iranian mullahs. Apparently, Bohemian Rhapsody is about someone who sold his soul to the devil, at least according to the mullahs. It's as good as any other explanation, except drugs. We can only hope they'll weigh in on I Am the Walrus.


• The Donghu Hotel in the Hubei province in central China must be quite a remarkable place, considering the poetic description on the home page: "Glory and delication of half a century. Write down some brilliant chapters. Tremendous change in the reform and open…" Reading further we discover that "In the vicissitudinous history of half a century, the Donghu hotel undergone weal and woe as well as resplendence...Nowadays, it is striding toward a new century, bursting out vigor of youth…" That's nice and all, but does it include free HBO? And, about the food: "The Hotel offers Chinese and Western-style food banquet, bender ,team meal , buffet and zero service. It is good at the reception service of the slap-up feast and banquet for take charge of the reception of the national leaders in long-term. The slap-up facilities , appetite and service will take you upscale enjoyment." Whoa there! I have experienced zero service at a few hotels, but I've never been slapped up. Is that a some kind of spa treatment? (hat tip: TMQ)

Football Picks -- Week 2: Being 3-1 on last week's picks gives me the right -- nay, the obligation, to say Who's Your Daddy? Fear not, I still know that it takes a few weeks for the season to take shape before you can claim smart picks versus lucky picks. This is why I'll be waiting until late in the season to hit Vegas.

If there was a quote of the week, it came from Lions QB Joey Harrington after they beat the Bears to end a multi-year road losing streak. "Usually when we fly home from Chicago, it's like a 47-minute flight. But today it's gonna feel like 37 minutes." King of the world!

• Houston +3 at Detroit -- This is another pick 'em, with the Lions spotting the standard home team field goal. Lions won last week, but unimpressively. Texans lost last week even more unimpressively. I'll go with the Lions again, simply because even at their worst they generally do well at home. It's not much of a reason, but I can think of no reason to think the Texans can beat the spread.


• Miami +5.5 at Cincinnati -- I remain convinced that the Fins are not as bad as they are supposed to be. The Bengals have a lot of young guys at key positions, including the rookie QB, and the Jets won without really testing them with blitzes last week. Miami should win, but I'll still take the five and a half.


• Washington -3 at New York Giants -- Everyone raved about Terrell Owens last week, but nobody bothered to mention that the Giants defenders apparently chose not get closer than four feet. Maybe it's because he's gay and they didn’t want it to rub off, but it sure played well into Donovan McNabb's acknowledged skill at inaccurate passing. The Giants may actually be the worst team in the league. And although I still don’t think Joe Gibbs can work miracles, he should be able to beat the Giants by more than a field goal.


• Seattle -2 at Tampa Bay -- Tough pick of the week. I would have given both Tampa Bay and Seattle strong chances to be dominant teams this year. Seattle looked like it in week 1, TB did not. For that reason only, I figure Seattle covers. They just have to win by a field goal, right? If Chucky wins this one, I may have to stop trying to pick the Bucs games.


• New York Jets -3 at San Diego -- Chargers got a surprise win last week, but they still stink. Jets are a team n the edge of the upper echelon. Got to figure they win by more than a field goal.

Football Picks: I have no idea how long I will be able to keep this up. A couple years ago I did picked every game and it nearly killed me keeping up with things. Last year was such a pathetic season that it could barely hold my interest. This year, I'm going to try to just pick a handful of games each week at the most. I also vow to get to Vegas sometime during the season, so this will be a good warm-up.

I'll try to pick the Fins and the Lions every week, beyond that, we'll see how it goes. It's also possible I may pick all the games but only comment on a few. It's also possible I'll go crazy again. By the way, two games have already occurred (including the Fins) and I would have lost bets on both. Timing is everything.

• Lions +3 at Bears -- This is basically a pick 'em. Home field advantage usually costs you a field goal. For the Lions, this season is all about Joey Harrington. Basically he's been a pretty lame QB but the entire offense has been lame so he's had an out. This year he's got some great receiving talent and so, barring injury, it's make or break. Conventional wisdom is that he's too nice and pretty and musically talented to be a top notch QB. Mariucchi, when asked his opinion, only gives Harrington the limpest support possible. Basically nobody thinks he's got it in him. Neither do I really, but I think he's got enough to beat the Bears.


• Bucs +2 at Redskins -- Joe Gibbs returns to play Dumbledore to Dan Snyder's Voldemort (according to TMQ anyway). On the other side is Chucky, with his team all cleaned up of dead weight loudmouths. This is the toughest call of the week, but I think Chucky pulls it off. My guess is the Bucs contend with the best this year having dispatched the ass Sapp and some other overpriced personnel. Gibbs is the best, but unless he has assembled a killer team (which he hasn't) it'll be midseason before they hit their stride.


• Cardinals +10.5 at Rams -- The Cardinals are a horrendously bad team. The Rams are good, but overrated. 10.5 is a good deal of points. I think the Cards can get within 10 during the end of game garbage time.


• Giants +9 at Eagles -- The Eagles should self-destruct at some point this season, but they will likely start out hot. The Giants are awful. Eagles should cover most of their spreads until TO feels the need to prove himself a bigger brat that Nicole Richie.

Laboring Day: No day off for me. Way too much going on to lose momentum. But, I did complete three book reviews over at Blogcritics: Lake Wobegon Summer 1956, by Garrison Keillor, The CEO of the Sofa, by P.J. O'Rourke, and Tricky Business, by Dave Barry. Now I have to get ReadApplePie updated since it's re-release is imminent.

But I just have to share this with you because it make me laugh whenever I think about it.

Found Around: Hmmm. This set of links contains references to amputees, screams, dead folk's ashes, breasts and bats. Perhaps I'm channeling Roger Corman.

• Here's an interesting thread over at Metafilter providing advice for someone moving to Ann Arbor.


• Sheri moved again. Girl just can't sit still. Maybe it's time to resort to Ritalin. Also, breasts are now playing a much larger role in her site.


• HBO notes: Word on the web is that Carnivale is searching for a double amputee to play Management. Also, The Wire season three starts September 19th. I'm still not sure anyone could pick up on The Wire who hasn't seen it from the outset. After the season starts, don't bother.


• You probably know the Munch's Scream was was stolen in broad daylight. It was worth $19 million and was secured to the wall by a simple wire. Well thought out. We have a job for you at TSA. Here's some background on the greatest art heists in history.


• I like women's beach volleyball as much as the next guy (and I do mean guy), but this business of Misty May spreading her Mom's ashes in the sand is truly ghoulish.


• As I walked out one morning a few days ago, I noticed a fist-sized brown object over my door. Closer inspection revealed it to be a bat. Very cool. He was not more than two feet from my door, but he didn't bat an eyelash as I came and went. This pic should give you an idea of how close he was to my door. No matter what kind of noise I made, he just hung there all day long, totally chilled out, presumably flying out by night to go moth hunting or other batty things. I named him Eric, for obvious reasons. Sadly, he seems to have bugged out. I haven't seen him for a couple of days. I'll miss him. It was like having a living gargoyle guarding the entrance to my home.

Some Progress: Two bits of original writing. First, my summary of my trip to Miraval Spa in Tucson, including the requisite rant. Beware, it's on the long-ish side. And a quick quasi-political rant (apologies in advance), partially inspired by my trip to Portland, over at Blogcritics entitled, Be Quiet, Stupid Hippies. Do you suppose I will ever get back to writing fiction?

What's The Word: I have a new second favorite word: poshlost, which pretty much describes all of Hollywood and Washington DC. You will recall that my favorite word is asshat. Oddly neither are included in Wordcount, an artistically done site that visually ranks words by their commonality. More oddly, none are covered in this guide to reviewerese, the secret language of book reviews.

Back Again: This time I was in Portland Oregon; a work trip. Portland is a fine city, the best way to describe it is Ann Arbor but several times larger -- the social activist/hippie vibe; the indignant homeless; good restaurants; and holding it all together, upper-middle class consumers. It was uncharacteristically hot, but still good to wander around in a colorful city. I probably won’t write it up because I really spent only one day on walkabout (a nice and reliable light rail system makes getting around easy), and I am so backed up with writing projects that I will be happy to get caught up with what I have now by the end of the year. But I did bring the camera.

• Hazy Portland Skyline.


• Zen in the City.


• Man Encased in Frozen Carbonite.

Coming soon, the latest spa visit. Then a trio of book reviews.

The New Phone Book Is Out: Well, almost out. In all probability, this will be the new cover of Apple Pie. I can dig it. There will be review quotes added. This means I have to put updating ReadApplePie.com on my to-do list.

HBO Notes: My longtime favorite blogger, the fresh and sassy Sheri, has a new home: the Hotel Angsty. It looks like she just started watching Six Feet Under which is too bad because this hasn’t been their strongest season, that would have been last season. (In fact the official season quality ranking is 3,1,4,2.) this season has been more on the light side which is probably realistic given the various traumas they all went through. There has still been some wicked clever writing, but these guys really do emotional depth much better than light comedy. Still better than anything else on TV at the moment, with possible exception of reruns of The Wire which redefines grit, but you shouldn’t watch unless you watch both seasons back to back, or it will mean nothing to you.

Then there is this tidbit from a trusted web source:

Speaking of HBO, Carnivale adds some new freaks to the mix when they come upon the stranded Daily Brothers carnival and the Samson merges the groups. They head to Damascus NE, where a supernatural force is killing people at a hotel.

I'm sure it will be very spooky, but they better find a strong plotline this year because spooky will not hold my interest indefinitely.

Skinned Pigs: I am more than a little gratified by this column over at Football Outsiders. For years I have always had to explain why, despite living in southeast Michigan for pretty much my entire life, was I more of a Miami Dolphins fan than a Detroit Lions fan. The answer is that when I was but a mere lad, circa 1972, the family went on one of those excruciating family road trips all the way down to Florida. Those with even a minor knowledge of football history will recall that 1972 was the year of the Dolphins famed undefeated season; the only such season in the history of the NFL. A bond was formed. (Of course, it's also true that the Lions are one of the most pathetic franchises in the history of sports, but that's not the reason. Really it's not.)

Well apparently I am not the only expatriate Dolphins fan. And I offer a bit of thanks to the writer for making me feel less like a total freak of nature.

The Dolphins have had an abysmal off season. Early on, legend Dan Marino took a job as GM. Ex-players do not usually make good executives, but at least it meant Marino would be around and something good might rub off from that. If he sucked at the job, maybe they could have just let him continue as a figurehead and let the professional talent evaluators do the real work. Then, suddenly, Marino changed his mind and resigned after only a few days. Pundits postulated that he was probably just surprised to find out it was a bit more demanding than the announcers booth. Or maybe he got a whiff of an administration that hasn’t produced a Super Bowl winner in 30 years, in spite of having reams of talented players, and saw the futility. We'll never know, but things didn’t get any better.

Brian Griese -- Wolverine alum and son of Bob Griese, the quarterback from the undefeated season -- was let go and AJ Feeley, third string QB at Philadelphia behind Donovan McNabb was brought in as the new back-up. Nothing wrong with that move, Feeley had a couple of good games subbing for McNabb, but unless somebody saw something spectacular in the kid, the QB job is still Jay Fiedler's. Fiedler is steady at best. If he goes the season without injury, things should be OK. If not, it's a gamble on Feeley, which is not any better than a gamble on Griese. Call it a wash.

They added receiver David Boston who has talent but is a confirmed head case. They did not fire Dave Wannstedt, who has shown definite Grady Little tendencies over the years. The offensive coordinator requested a demotion because of exhaustion even before Ricky Williams retired. Odd because all he really ever had to do was draw up a game plan for Ricky to carry the ball about 40 times.

See, it was already a mess even before the bomb dropped. Which brings us to Ricky, who retired last week to...well, we don’t really know what to do. To live, too roam, to be. Whatever he does, it's a fair bet that it will involve tooting a monster spliff.

You see, Ricky retired almost simultaneously with the NFL narcs putting the touch on him for tastin' the ganja -- for the third time. How much of a inveterate pothead do you have to be to get caught three times? "Yeah I know I'll be peeing in a cup tomorrow, but that sleepy dude with the bong said that Little Debbies will mask it, so I guess it's OK." Ricky's retirement is supposed to be the death knell for the Dolphins season.

But maybe not. Last year, the Dolphins were 10-6, despite injuries to Fiedler. The defense was sound and still is. And the fact of the matter is, although Ricky made lots of yards last year he was a less than mediocre performer. Maybe it's because he spent the previous year getting his bell rung 35-40 times a week in the course of leading the league in rushing, but last year he got his bell rung 35-40 times a week for a miniscule 3.5 yards per carry behind a horrendous offensive line. And the Dolphins were still 10-6. Now the offensive line is a bit better, so with an average RB as a replacement and a healthy first string QB. Is there any reason Miami shouldn’t get 10 wins again?

Psychology you say. They have the talent but the loss of their go-to guy is going to take a toll in morale. They won’t believe they can win, so they can't. Again, maybe not. They could just as easily use Ricky's "betrayal" as motivation. Or maybe they'll just be happy to be rid of him in the locker room. According to Peter King, besides just being flat-out weird, Ricky had a bit of a problem with personal hygiene:

I had various mates tell me over the years that he and his locker smelled of severe B.O. (which I can confirm), that he was alarmingly antisocial, and that he had no interest in being their friend. None of which, by the way, makes him a bad person.

So maybe things aren't so bad as they seem. Which brings to another topic. Gambling. Scooting around web sports betting sites, there is an over/under for total wins for Miami at -130 for over 8 wins. That means a hundred dollar bet will yield $130 if the Dolphins win 9 games (8 wins is a .500 season). I'd take that without hesitation. Other potentials are -150 for 9 wins. That means if Miami duplicates last year's record of 10-6, a hundred dollar bet returns $150. I'd take that too with maybe a bit of hesitation.

And while were at it, here're some other good bets in my fevered mind:

++The Lions are paying $145 for a hundred dollar bet that they will win at least 7 games (meaning a .500 season). The Lions are much improved.
++The Ravens are paying $135 for a hundred dollar bet that they won’t win 9 games. When a running back carries more than 370 times in a year, they almost invariably fall off the following year. Jamal Lewis carried 387 times last year. A fair bet.
++ You can win $155 for a hundred dollar bet if the Titans win less than 10 games, the Jets win less than 9 games and the Bears win less than 7 games. I'd consider any of those, especially the Jets.

Of course, if you want to take a flyer at the Super Bowl winner, I would go with Tampa Bay at 10-1 or Seattle at 12-1 for a good balance of probability and risk. (Interestingly, the Patriots are 4-1 to repeat but the Eagles are 7-2 to win it all, meaning the Eagles are the favorites according to bettors. That's all wrong; the Pats improved undeniably, the Eagles improved only arguably.)

So what's the bottom line of all this? I need to get to Vegas.

Back Again: I spent the better part of the last week in Tucson, Arizona at the Miraval, Life in Balance, Resort and Spa where I got stabbed with needles, balanced on top of a telephone pole, basted and slow roasted, and just generally was taken care of for a change. A full accounting will be forthcoming.

I also took pictures (shock and awe!), but there is only one that I think is worth sharing: this one (it's about 175k). It's a picture of the one of the pools with the mountain vista in the background. I may share some others after I use them as experimental photoshop fodder.

I also finished Garrison Keillor's Summer 1956. A beautifully written book, but if you are used to the innocent Lake Wobegon stories, the explicit nature of this book may shock you. The main character is a 14 year-old boy and Keillor doesn't spare the sexual obsession and toilet humor that define that age. Keillor may be the only writer in the world who can frankly portray the lurid mind of an adolescent boy and still make it sound like poetry. More to say about this in the future, too.

Give me a couple of days to sort myself out and then I'll be back with more thrills and spills.

Extreme Makeover:  You ever look around and think, I'd really like to throw away my house, my job, my body and my website, and just start over and redesign everything properly? 

No?  Well then forget I asked.  I'll just provide you with these links and we can keep going just like before.  But if you don't hear from me for a while, you'll know what I've been doing.

• For all you golfers, try this course.  Par 11,880.


• HBO News: Minor Deadwood spoiler.  I have it on good authority that Wyatt Earp comes to town next season.


• David Chin wrote to let me know about his site, A Picture's Worth, which is a "personal, non-commercial project that aims to highlight the emotions and memories that can be triggered by a photograph."  Long time readers are giggling now, reminded of my struggle to actually take a picture.  They also know full well that I have enough trouble generating a 1000 words.  But if I did have some good photos, A Picture's Worth would be a decent place to put them to use.


• Bob Probert, former Detroit Red Wings thug…er enforcer, apparently got arrested during his first day on the job as  a bouncer in a Florida night club.  Probert, who is as tough as any brain-dead, psychotic coke-fiend, resisted arrest for buying drugs, apparently oblivious to the fact that when it comes to cops, five for fighting means five years.  I don’t know about you, but I think a Mike Tyson vs. Bob Probert pay-per-view would net millions for Comcast.


• Kids today don’t know nuthin' about rebellion.  Most of them apparently like their parents. Why, back in my day, we were fighting in the streets.  With our children at our feet…


• This is fun.  Waxy.org has gone through Amazon and excerpted some of the deeply negative reviews for critically-acclaimed works.  For example, about the Wizard of Oz: "For one thing, I don't like to watch things with witches in them, especially if one of them is portrayed as a 'good witch' - that's an oxymoron I can't reconcile with." Readers chime in with more.  Here's one on the King James Bible: "Apart from the leather, this book isn't really any good."  Take a moment to enjoy.

What Up:  Apple Pie inches closer to re-release.  Misspent Youth inches closer to being about half done.  This site inches closer to redesign.  Summer inches closer to Fall.  (And I inch closer to the grave.) 
 
I am in the process of reading three funny books that I picked up in the remainder bin.  CEO of the Sofa by P.J. O'Rourke, Lake Wobegon Summer 1956 by Garrison Keillor, and Tricky Business by Dave Barry.  All will get a good review once I finish them.
 
Yes, that's right.  Unlike many reviewers I actually read the books I review.

Eye Candy: Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle came on HBO just recently, and two things occurred to me.  1) What hath The Matrix wrought? and 2) Bill Murray is no assclown.
 
1) CA:FT is loaded start to finish with the 360 degree view, stop action wire stunts that began with The Matrix.    Memo to Hollywood: This is no longer cool enough to dwell on.  But at least it's better than a bunch of chatter and, to its credit, CA:FT is very light on the chatter.  Over-the-top action mixed with lots bare flesh are what this movie is about.  That's not necessarily a bad thing.  If the pace keeps up, if it doesn’t take itself too seriously, you get a middling piece of eye candy.  If the narrow plot and 2-D characters have at least some sort of coherence, you get a good piece of eye candy.  The first Angels was good eye candy, this one is middling.
 
Seriously, we need to get over the hyperactive, CGI-pumped Kung-Fu antics and get back focusing a smart camera angles and clever choreography.  Nothing here is as compelling as the fight scenes Bruce Lee did in Enter the Dragon 'round about 30 years ago.
 
2) Bill Murray doesn’t return to his role as Bosley.  The role was given to Bernie Mac.  The Bosley role also changes from a classically comic bungling sidekick (as portrayed by Murray), to a brainless assclown (as portrayed by Mac).  If Bill Murray knows anything, it's the difference between comedy and assclownery.  Witness the difference between Carl Spackler in Caddyshack, and virtually any role in the abysmal Caddyshack II, which Murray stayed away from.  This is why Bill Murray gets to do top notch pictures like Lost in Translation while every other SNL alum is in the casting director's file under 'A' for assclown.
 
Here's something odd.  20 or 25 years ago I would have given odds that John Cleese was going to be the dominant comedian/actor of our times, what with The Pythons and Fawlty Towers and a couple of decent flicks -- Clockwise, A Fish Called Wanda -- under his belt.  And here is Cleese taking a bit role in CA:FT (playing Lucy Liu's dad -- ??), while Bill Murray and Oscar are mentioned in the same sentence.  Never would have guessed.

Anyway, Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle is not worth renting.  The best part is the hot chicks and chances are you've seen them in various stages of undress over the years anyway.  It is worth catching on HBO or ultimately TNT, TBS, USA, WGN, Comedy, Sci-Fi, on down to Community Access, if you’re looking for a pointless distraction.

Tech Notes:  If you have any sort of need to have a set of files that you can access from any computer -- for instance, you're working on a novel or a piece of criticism and you travel a lot but your laptop is a pain to bring with you so you occasionally need to work on a strange computer in a hotel somewhere, or say you need to access files at home and at work -- the most important thing you can own is a USB flash drive (also called a pen drive or a key drive).  It's a little 2- inch long plastic gizmo that plugs directly into most modern computers, including Macs, and appears to the computer as a regular drive.  These things come in various capacities.  I have 32 meg, which is pretty much all you need for a bunch of doc files (an entire novel only takes about 500 k), and it cost me all of twenty bucks.  You can get them at any electronics or computer store.  Here's one at Best Buy that's twice the capacity of mine for $25.  Indispensable.
 
+++++
 
As you may have heard, Google started a mail service a while back similar to Yahoo or Hotmail, except they offered a full gigabyte of storage space.  Effectively, that means if you don’t have any mail with big attachments, you will never have to delete a message again.  Nice, but there's a better way to use it.  A gigabyte of relatively safe online storage is very effective as an off site back-up mechanism.  So what I do is just send any documents or files that I want to have backed up as attachments to messages to my own Gmail account.  I never use it for any other purpose and do not give out the address, so no spam comes in.  Not the purpose Google had in mind, but it's as convenient as can be.  Now I can get to my work if my condo burns to ground and my laptop melts in the file.  Since Yahoo and Hotmail are likely to come close to Google's capacity eventually, you're not limited to Google accounts, which are not available to the general public yet (although you can buy them on eBay).

OK, Here: My own personal tale of two cities (DC & Chicago) is available for your dining and dancing pleasure. It is long and contains more than a couple of pissy rants. I realize it's bad form to go off on my pet peeves in the middle of a travel story.

But it's the way I am.

It's All in the Re-writing: So I had my DC/Chicago article about 80% done and I stopped to read it over. It was like 15 pages long and filled with off-topic rants about all sorts of things. It made sense in my head as I was writing it. So I'm going to trim some of the rants and possibly turn them into seperate posts. With any luck I'll have all this sorted out by the time you get back from the holiday weekend. For now, I only have some links to offer:

• The perfunctory design site of this post is the listing of 2004 Industrial Design Excellence Awards. Lots of great kit and other intriguing stuff. Notable, however, by it's ommission is the remarkable DVD Rewinder.


• If you are doing any document design (web or otherwiese) it's probably worth taking a look at the free doodads at Tiger Direct Art. Fonts, clip art, textures and border graphics -- I snagged a font here for use in the new edition of Apple Pie.


• The greatest comedian of modern times, Mike Tyson, is back in the news. He claims to be homeless and living like a bum due to all his debt but is trying to turn his life around, adding this quote for his future biographers: "I ain't the same person I was when I bit that guy's ear off." Now how many people can say that?


• Speaking of sports, the very best sports journalist in existence, Bill Simmons, now has his own page at ESPN. He's one of the few who understands that information is secondary to entertainment in sports. Delve into the archives for some fun stuff.


• If you ever wondered what it is like to be a writer, here is your answer.


• I gave up Michael Moore bashing a while back. Other people do it better. Example: this Chistopher Hitchens review of F-9/11 wherein he demonstrates a stunning talent for sustained hostile eloquence. Instapundit has a round up of other Moore reviews and news. This blogger dug up the late, great critic Pauline Kael's review of Roger & Me, which shows his suckiness is nothing new. And it looks like they are not especially keen on accepting him back in his hometown of Flint, MI. Perhaps it's because he is a Big Fat Stupid White Man.

Cruel Summer: Damn. I'm sick again. What is going on? I got over a cold just as my trip to DC/Chicago began a couple of weeks ago and now I have another one. This has to stop. There are a couple of possible culprits; one is my Reston crew, who were in Ann Arbor for the annual Lloyd Carr Women's Football Academy. They may have brought some exotic virus with them from the Virginia suburbs. I also visited a new health club the other day and they are known to harbor all sorts of creepy crawlies, including some that my poor little immune system wasn;t prepared for. Ah well, the only course of action available is to drug myself up and ride it out. How bloody annoying is that?

I suppose I should explain what the Lloyd Carr Women's Football Academy is. For those of you not up on college football, Lloyd Carr is the coach of the University of Michigan Wolverines. Each year, he holds the Women's Football Academy in support of the Coach Carr Cancer Fund. Approximately 500 (participation is limited) women from all over the country get together and break up into teams and are coached by the actual UofM football players and coaches. Then, after a catered lunch, they get to barrel out of the tunnel into Michigan Stadium -- the Big House -- and scrimmage right on the actual football field. What a good time. I could only watch but there were moments when I wanted to jump in there and play.

The women involved in this are not athletes, for the most part; many aren’t even what you might call physically fit. I would guess ages ran the gamut from teenagers through seniors, with the average age probably in the 40s. They are all just Michigan football fans having a great time. Highly recommended if you are looking for a good time in support of a worthy cause.

And speaking of Chicago, my travel essay on my DC/Chicago trip should have been done by now, but it's not. As you probably know, my first novel, Apple Pie has found a new publisher. I moving a manuscript from one publisher to another, errors can occur in the translation. As such I have been spending my free time proofing Apple Pie for what must be the thousandth time. And I'll have to do it again to verify that all my corrections 'took'.

Still, I should have DC/Chicago up soon. And I should be over this cold soon. Then maybe, just maybe, I can start enjoying the summer.

(BTW, my land line voice mail is FUBAR. I can see that I have messages waiting but I can't retrieve them. Thank you Talk America. So if I have been ignoring your call, I haven't. Try my cell, or email me.)

Another Week Gone: The only thing I can say is that this week proved that God has a sense of humor. A really vicious sense of humor. A big fan of dark comedy, The Almighty is.

But that not withstanding, a follow-up article on Deadwood is up over at Blogcritics Now I'm working on a travel piece about my recent trip to DC and Chicago, and I have a thick stack of fiction to edit. For now, here's some linkage.

• The Detroit Pistons won a stunning victory in the NBA Finals. They were written off before the series and now everyone is wallowing in I-told-ya-so. For a clearheaded and very funny take on it check out Bill Simmons. Favorite quote: "...there's no better way to pass the time in traffic than to talk to yourself in the Larry Brown monotone for 10 straight minutes: 'I'm very proud of my car right now. It's not heating up at all. I even have the air conditioning on. It's just a credit to the people who made this car. Other cars would be overheating right now. I can't control what people think about this car. I'm just taking it one traffic jam at a time. Now I'm going to count backwards from 10. When I clap my hands, you will wake up from this traffic jam.' "


• Scam alert. I almost fell for this one; it's very different from the ch34p v14gr4 spams you get. It's from an outfit called "ShareYourExperiences.com" and starts like this: "Someone who knows you is attempting to share experiences opinions and experiences about you via our website. The purpose of this email is to inform you that a posting has been made about you at our website. This is email is not commercial in nature.", then it directs you to a website to see what that someone wrote. When you get there you find that you must pay a subscription fee to read what was written about you. The fact is nothing has been written about you. Don’t fall for it. Here are the details.


• Adnan emailed to let me know about his site, Sensory Impact, for design mavens. Cool stuff. Check it out.


• Running away from things in the movies. Given the comparative velocities, it looks like directors could use a reality check.


• The WB is bringing back two shows from my childhood: Lost in Space and Dark Shadows. Lost in Space was an after school staple and Dark Shadows scared me to death. I'm betting they go for irony above all else this time around.

Long Time No See: Hey, remember me? I have spent the last couple of weeks in DC and Chicago; just recently returned and I am a good twenty-thousand leagues under the sea, both at writing and at work. There will be a Deadwood essay coming. There will be a full recounting of my recent journeys. Apple Pie moves yet closer to re-release. And it's all going to happen without my head exploding -- I'm pretty sure. For now, sleep and catch-up at work; then I'll be back with more. Don’t touch that dial.

Lost, Harried and Medicated: That's how I've spent the past few days. Still nursing back spasms, but at least they aren't seriously hindering me anymore. Gotta love those muscle relaxers. It's time for me to devote some serious time to the world of three dimensions, so it'll probably be a couple of weeks unitl you next hear from me. (I know, you haven't been hearing from me that much lately anyway -- I still blame the muscle relaxers.) But I promise to be back with some fresh material in a fortnight or so.

Anyone for Saki?: H.H. Munro, commonly known as Saki, was a brilliant satirst in Edwardian England. Less well known than his comtemporary, Evelyn Waugh, he wrote about the diffident, detached British gentry, often from the point of view of spoiled young wastrels (think of an amoral, cynical Bertie Wooster). He wrote in that beautiful, florid, comically understated prose that English writers employed in the early twentieth century. The good news is that the copyrights have expiried on his work, including his peerless short story collection, the Chroncles of Clovis. My gift you is a taste from that collection, called Tobermory. Enjoy:

It was a chill, rain-washed afternoon of a late August day, that indefinite season when partridges are still in security or cold storage, and there is nothing to hunt---unless one is bounded on the north by the Bristol Channel, in which case one may lawfully gallop after fat red stags. Lady Blemley's house-party was not bounded on the north by the Bristol Channel, hence there was a full gathering of her guests round the tea-table on this particular afternoon. And, in spite of the blankness of the season and the triteness of the occasion, there was no trace in the company of that fatigued restlessness which means a dread of the pianola and a subdued hankering for auction bridge. The undisguised open-mouthed attention of the entire party was fixed on the homely negative personality of Mr. Cornelius Appin. Of all her guests, he was the one who had come to Lady Blemley with the vaguest reputation. Some one had said he was "clever," and he had got his invitation in the moderate expectation, on the part of his hostess, that some portion at least of his cleverness would be contributed to the general entertainment. Until tea-time that day she had been unable to discover in what direction, if any, his cleverness lay. He was neither a wit nor a croquet champion, a hypnotic force nor a begetter of amateur theatricals. Neither did his exterior suggest the sort of man in whom women are willing to pardon a generous measure of mental deficiency. He had subsided into mere Mr. Appin, and the Cornelius seemed a piece of transparent baptismal bluff. And now he was claiming to have launched on the world a discovery beside which the invention of gunpowder, of the printing-press, and of steam locomotion were inconsiderable trifles. Science had made bewildering strides in many directions during recent decades, but this thing seemed to belong to the domain of miracle rather than to scientific achievement.

"And do you really ask us to believe," Sir Wilfrid was saying, "that you have discovered a means for instructing animals in the art of human speech, and that dear old Tobermory has proved your first successful pupil?"

"It is a problem at which I have worked for the last seventeen years," said Mr. Appin, "but only during the last eight or nine months have I been rewarded with glimmerings of success. Of course I have experimented with thousands of animals, but latterly only with cats, those wonderful creatures which have assimilated themselves so marvellously with our civilization while retaining all their highly developed feral instincts. Here and there among cats one comes across an outstanding superior intellect, just as one does among the ruck of human beings, and when I made the acquaintance of Tobermory a week ago I saw at once that I was in contact with a 'Beyond-cat' of extraordinary intelligence. I had gone far along the road to success in recent experiments; with Tobermory, as you call him, I have reached the goal."

Mr. Appin concluded his remarkable statement in a voice which he strove to divest of a triumphant inflection. No one said "Rats," though Clovis's lips moved in a monosyllabic contortion which probably invoked those rodents of disbelief.

"And do you mean to say," asked Miss Resker, after a slight pause, "that you have taught Tobermory to say and understand easy sentences of one syllable?"

"My dear Miss Resker," said the wonder-worker patiently, "one teaches little children and savages and backward adults in that piecemeal fashion; when one has once solved the problem of making a beginning with an animal of highly developed intelligence one has no need for those halting methods. Tobermory can speak our language with perfect correctness."

This time Clovis very distinctly said, "Beyond-rats!" Sir Wilfrid was more polite, but equally sceptical.

"Hadn't we better have the cat in and judge for ourselves?" suggested Lady Blemley.

Sir Wilfrid went in search of the animal, and the company settled themselves down to the languid expectation of witnessing some more or less adroit drawing-room ventriloquism.

In a minute Sir Wilfrid was back in the room, his face white beneath its tan and his eyes dilated with excitement. "By Gad, it's true!"

His agitation was unmistakably genuine, and his hearers started forward in a thrill of awakened interest.

Collapsing into an armchair he continued breathlessly: "I found him dozing in the smoking-room and called out to him to come for his tea. He blinked at me in his usual way, and I said, 'Come on, Toby; don't keep us waiting'; and, by Gad! he drawled out in a most horribly natural voice that he'd come when he dashed well pleased! I nearly jumped out of my skin!"

Appin had preached to absolutely incredulous hearers; Sir Wilfred's statement carried instant conviction. A Babel-like chorus of startled exclamation arose, amid which the scientist sat mutely enjoying the first fruit of his stupendous discovery.

In the midst of the clamour Tobermory entered the room and made his way with velvet tread and studied unconcern across to the group seated round the tea-table.

A sudden hush of awkwardness and constraint fell on the company. Somehow there seemed an element of embarrassment in addressing on equal terms a domestic cat of acknowledged mental ability.

"Will you have some milk, Tobermory?" asked Lady Blemley in a rather strained voice.

"I don't mind if I do," was the response, couched in a tone of even indifference. A shiver of suppressed excitement went through the listeners, and Lady Blemley might be excused for pouring out the saucerful of milk rather unsteadily.

"I'm afraid I've spilt a good deal of it," she said apologetically.

"After all, it's not my Axminster," was Tobermory's rejoinder.

Another silence fell on the group, and then Miss Resker, in her best district-visitor manner, asked if the human language had been difficult to learn. Tobermory looked squarely at her for a moment and then fixed his gaze serenely on the middle distance. It was obvious that boring questions lay outside his scheme of life.

"What do you think of human intelligence?" asked Mavis Pellington lamely.

"Of whose intelligence in particular?" asked Tobermory coldly.

"Oh, well, mine for instance," said Mavis, with a feeble laugh.

"You put me in an embarrassing position," said Tobermory, whose tone and attitude certainly did not suggest a shred of embarrassment. "When your inclusion in this house-party was suggested Sir Wilfrid protested that you were the most brainless woman of his acquaintance, and that there was a wide distinction between hospitality and the care of the feeble-minded. Lady Blemley replied that your lack of brain-power was the precise quality which had earned you your invitation, as you were the only person she could think of who might be idiotic enough to buy their old car. You know, the one they call 'The Envy of Sisyphus,' because it goes quite nicely up-hill if you push it."

Lady Blemley's protestations would have had greater effect if she had not casually suggested to Mavis only that morning that the car in question would be just the thing for her down at her Devonshire home.

Major Barfield plunged in heavily to effect a diversion.

"How about your carryings-on with the tortoise-shell puss up at the stables, eh?"

The moment he had said it every one realized the blunder.

"One does not usually discuss these matters in public," said Tobermory frigidly. "From a slight observation of your ways since you've been in this house I should imagine you'd find it inconvenient if I were to shift the conversation on to your own little affairs."

The panic which ensued was not confined to the Major.

"Would you like to go and see if cook has got your dinner ready?" suggested Lady Blemley hurriedly, affecting to ignore the fact that it wanted at least two hours to Tobermory's dinner-time.

"Thanks," said Tobermory, "not quite so soon after my tea. I don't want to die of indigestion."

"Cats have nine lives, you know," said Sir Wilfrid heartily.

"Possibly", answered Tobermory; "but only one liver."

"Adelaide!" said Mrs. Cornett, "do you mean to encourage that cat to go out and gossip about us in the servants' hall?"

The panic had indeed become general. A narrow ornamental balustrade ran in front of most of the bedroom windows at the Towers, and it was recalled with dismay that this had formed a favourite promenade for Tobermory at all hours, whence he could watch the pigeons---and heaven knew what else besides. If he intended to become reminiscent in his present outspoken strain the effect would be something more than disconcerting. Mrs. Cornett, who spent much time at her toilet table, and whose complexion was reputed to be of a nomadic though punctual disposition, looked as ill at ease as the Major. Miss Scrawen, who wrote fiercely sensuous poetry and led a blameless life, merely displayed irritation; if you are methodical and virtuous in private you don't necessarily want every one to know it. Bertie van Tahn, who was so depraved at seventeen that he had long ago given up trying to be any worse, turned a dull shade of gardenia white, but he did not commit the error of dashing out of the room like Odo Finsberry, a young gentleman who was understood to be reading for the Church and who was possibly disturbed at the thought of scandals he might hear concerning other people. Clovis had the presence of mind to maintain a composed exterior; privately he was calculating how long it would take to procure a box of fancy mice through the agency of the Exchange and Mart as a species of hush-money.

Even in a delicate situation like the present, Agnes Resker could not endure to remain too long in the background.

"Why did I ever come down here?" she asked dramatically.

Tobermory immediately accepted the opening.

"Judging by what you said to Mrs. Cornett on the croquet-lawn yesterday, you were out for food. You described the Blemleys as the dullest people to stay with that you knew, but said they were clever enough to employ a first-rate cook; otherwise they'd find it difficult to get any one to come down a second time."

"There's not a word of truth in it! I appeal to Mrs. Cornett---" exclaimed the discomfited Agnes.

"Mrs. Cornett repeated your remark afterwards to Bertie van Tahn," continued Tobermory, "and said, 'That woman is a regular Hunger Marcher; she'd go anywhere for four square meals a day,' and Bertie van Tahn said---"

At this point the chronicle mercifully ceased. Tobermory had caught a glimpse of the big yellow Tom from the Rectory working his way through the shrubbery towards the stable wing. In a flash he had vanished through the open French window.

With the disappearance of his too brilliant pupil Cornelius Appin found himself beset by a hurricane of bitter upbraiding, anxious inquiry, and frightened entreaty. The responsibility for the situation lay with him, and he must prevent matters from becoming worse. Could Tobermory impart his dangerous gift to other cats? was the first question he had to answer. It was possible, he replied, that he might have initiated his intimate friend the stable puss into his new accomplishment, but it was unlikely that his teaching could have taken a wider range as yet.

"Then," said Mrs. Cornett, "Tobermory may be a valuable cat and a great pet; but I'm sure you'll agree, Adelaide, that both he and the stable cat must be done away with without delay."

"You don't suppose I've enjoyed the last quarter of an hour, do you?" said Lady Blemley bitterly. "My husband and I are very fond of Tobermory---at least, we were before this horrible accomplishment was infused into him; but now, of course, the only thing is to have him destroyed as soon as possible."

"We can put some strychnine in the scraps he always gets at dinner-time," said Sir Wilfrid, "and I will go and drown the stable cat myself. The coachman will be very sore at losing his pet, but I'll say a very catching form of mange has broken out in both cats and we're afraid of its spreading to the kennels."

"But my great discovery!" expostulated Mr. Appin; "after all my years of research and experiment---"

"You can go and experiment on the short-horns at the farm, who are under proper control," said Mrs. Cornett, "or the elephants at the Zoological Gardens. They're said to be highly intelligent, and they have this recommendation, that they don't come creeping about our bedrooms and under chairs, and so forth."

An archangel ecstatically proclaiming the Millennium, and then finding that it clashed unpardonably with Henley and would have to be indefinitely postponed, could hardly have felt more crestfallen than Cornelius Appin at the reception of his wonderful achievement. Public opinion, however, was against him---in fact, had the general voice been consulted on the subject it is probable that a strong minority vote would have been in favour of including him in the strychnine diet.

Defective train arrangements and a nervous desire to see matters brought to a finish prevented an immediate dispersal of the party, but dinner that evening was not a social success. Sir Wilfrid had had rather a trying time with the stable cat and subsequently with the coachman. Agnes Resker ostentatiously limited her repast to a morsel of dry toast, which she bit as though it were a personal enemy; while Mavis Pellington maintained a vindictive silence throughout the meal. Lady Blemley kept up a flow of what she hoped was conversation, but her attention was fixed on the doorway. A plateful of carefully dosed fish scraps was in readiness on the sideboard, but sweets and savoury and dessert went their way, and no Tobermory appeared either in the dining-room or kitchen.

The sepulchral dinner was cheerful compared with the subsequent vigil in the smoking-room. Eating and drinking had at least supplied a distraction and cloak to the prevailing embarrassment. Bridge was out of the question in the general tension of nerves and tempers, and after Odo Finsberry had given a lugubrious rendering of "Mélisande in the Wood" to a frigid audience, music was tacitly avoided. At eleven the servants went to bed, announcing that the small window in the pantry had been left open as usual for Tobermory's private use. The guests read steadily through the current batch of magazines, and fell back gradually on the "Badminton Library" and bound volumes of Punch. Lady Blemley made periodic visits to the pantry, returning each time with an expression of listless depression which forestalled questioning.

At two o'clock Clovis broke the dominating silence.

"He won't turn up tonight. He's probably in the local newspaper office at the present moment, dictating the first instalment of his reminiscences. Lady What's-her-name's book won't be in it. It will be the event of the day."

Having made this contribution to the general cheerfulness, Clovis went to bed. At long intervals the various members of the house-party followed his example.

The servants taking round the early tea made a uniform announcement in reply to a uniform question. Tobermory had not returned.

Breakfast was, if anything, a more unpleasant function than dinner had been, but before its conclusion the situation was relieved. Tobermory's corpse was brought in from the shrubbery, where a gardener had just discovered it. From the bites on his throat and the yellow fur which coated his claws it was evident that he had fallen in unequal combat with the big Tom from the Rectory.

By midday most of the guests had quitted the Towers, and after lunch Lady Blemley had sufficiently recovered her spirits to write an extremely nasty letter to the Rectory about the loss of her valuable pet.

Tobermory had been Appin's one successful pupil, and he was destined to have no successor. A few weeks later an elephant in the Dresden Zoological Garden, which had shown no previous signs of irritability, broke loose and killed an Englishman who had apparently been teasing it. The victim's name was variously reported in the papers as Oppin and Eppelin, but his front name was faithfully rendered Cornelius.

"If he was trying German irregular verbs on the poor beast," said Clovis, "he deserved all he got."

Who Made You Fat?: Morgan Spurlock ate three meals a day at McDonalds for a month, and answered yes whenever he was asked if he wanted to super-size his meal. His reasons were twofold. 1) To make a point about how bad fast food is for you and how evil McDonalds is for trying to sell it to you, and 2) To create a documentary about his experiences. I have not seen the documentary, but I have read a good deal about it including an article by Spurlock himself, in the latest (June '04) issue of Men’s Health, in which he summarizes his story and conclusions (no link, sorry).

In the course of this exercise Spurlock occasionally consumed as much as 5000 calories a day (twice what he would need to maintain his weight), often eating until he was sick. He comes out the other end of the month fat and unhealthy beyond all reason.

A sample of a daily menu:

Breakfast:
Egg McMuffin
Hash Browns
Coffee
Orange Juice

Lunch:
Big Mac
Large Fries
Large Coke
Chocolate Shake

Dinner:
Two Cheeseburgers
Medium Fries
Medium Sprite

Total (per Men's Health): 3833 calories and an ungodly amount of salt, fat and cholesterol.

Now, I am between 5'9 and 5'10, and between 170 and 175 pounds. I don't think I could force myself to shovel that quantity of food down my throat. That is beyond extreme. If you eat that much food everyday you likely have serious psychological issues beyond just habitual overeating. Blaming this on McDonalds (as a proxy for the fast food industry) is rather disingenuous.

An alternative, more reasonable three meals a day at McDonalds might look something like this:

Breakfast:
Egg McMuffin
Hash Browns
Black Coffee

Lunch:
Fish Filet
Medium Fries
Diet Coke (medium)
Vanilla ice cream cone

Dinner:
Chicken McGrill
Medium Fries
Diet Coke (medium)

Totals (source):
2090 calories
88% of the daily recommendation of saturated fat
122% of the daily recommendation of cholesterol (mostly due to the Egg McMuffin)
141% of the daily recommendation of sodium

Still not particularly healthy, but even a mildly active person my size wouldn’t gain weight or be deathly ill by the end of a month. And yes, because of the sodium, you wouldn't want to eat this if you had high blood pressure; and you’ll want to swap out the Egg McMuffin for something lower in cholesterol now and then; but throw in a multi-vitamin each morning and you’re probably OK for a 30-day period.

But even with this more reasonable menu, the fact is that nobody eats three meals a day at McDonalds. Spurlock would no doubt agree that nobody actually does this; he's just trying to make a point. Unfortunately his eating binge doesn't make it. Taking an activity, any activity, to an unhealthy extreme doesn't make a point about the bad effects the activity; all you do is make a point about the bad effects of taking things to an unhealthy extreme.

I eat a good deal of fast food, probably more than I should, and I probably eat at McDonalds twice a week, just for convenience sake (it's just down the corner from work). My cholesterol is just fine. I actually have low blood pressure and, nobody would accuse me of being overweight. I’m glad for McDonalds. I benefit from the convenience. I just don't shovel the stuff down my throat like that, and when asked if I wanted my meal super sized I’d say, "No thanks."

Which gets to the next point. When Spurlock visited McDonalds one of his rules was that if he was asked whether he wanted to Super Size his meal, he had to say yes:

It's not really the burgers and fries I'm worried about, it's the amounts they push, and the amounts we eat.

The implication is that the suggestive sell is what causes people to eat more. It’s the old corporate mind control argument. The supposition is that through the effective use of advertising and promotion and suggestive selling, you are connived into doing something you really don't want to do.

Fast-food chains say their offerings are "sometime" foods and that they're "part of a balanced diet"...You never hear one of these "restaurants" tell you how often you should eat their food...

Oh dear. Are we all such weak minded gluttons that we need to be told how often it is safe to eat fast food? This argument has always smacked of a certain arrogance and condescension, as if the writer is wise enough to see through something that the average schmoe is too dull to comprehend. I could accept the argument that the average consumer might fall for it once or twice, but super-sizing once or twice before you catch on isn’t going to make you obese. You have to keep doing all the time.

Instead of fretting about suggestive selling and advertising, I suppose you could make the argument that the widespread increase in portion size across the board is the culprit. That assumes a person who orders French fries will eat the entire order no matter the size, rather than just the amount that satiates hunger. But if that were the case, as soon as you saw your gut drooping over your belt you would think you'd know enough to stop. In no McDonalds that I know of is it a requirement that you eat every morsel of food on your tray.

Doubtless there is a correlation between increasing food portions and increasing waistlines. But correlation is not causality. Portion size has been increasing for many, many years. I remember when there was no such thing as a quarter-pounder, never mind super-sizing. McDonalds is just a corporation, which is to say they will follow where the market takes them to get the profits. My memory may be faulty, but I seem to remember McDonalds starting the quarter-pounder in response to the Whopper from Burger King and the gigantic burgers from a new kid on the block called Wendy’s. Similarly their recent abandoning of super-sizing and the addition of salads to the menu is following on the heels of Subway’s very successful health oriented ad campaign featuring Jared (despite the fact that Spurlock claims credit for this). It is by no means clear that increasing portion size came first and appetites followed. This has been a very long term process and it's more likely that McDonalds followed the market -- that is their business after all. This is another key point: Everyone knows overeating is unhealthy yet they have continued to do it, despite the fact that alternative choices are available. To say it continues because McDonalds makes it convenient is, once again, to suggest that people are not in control of their decisions.

Here's a possibility that I have yet to see investigated. The average adult weight has actually been increasing steadily for decades -- I have read studies that seem to indicate things started getting bad in the '70s. That probably coincides with the gradual increase in portion size. But it also coincides with the long decline of cigarette smoking. Is it not possible that by abandoning the appetite suppressant of cigarettes we have left ourselves more susceptible to overeating? I have no data, it's just a thought. Perhaps Spurlock will do a sequel wherein he takes up smoking and then sees if he resist the hypnotic suggestive selling by the greasy teenager behind the counter.

It's a worn out old pose to take. Find some societal ill and label the supplier as evil. It can be fast food, violent video games, Spuds Mackenzie, SUV manufacturers, you name it; you'll be very popular. But supply invariably finds a way to meet demand -- cases in point: prohibition, the war on drugs, pirated MP3s. And while it's unlikely that super-sized meals would appear on the black market, it is entirely probable that people would just order twice as much of the smaller portions, say two cheeseburgers and fries instead of a quarter-pounder and fries, or maybe just hit the candy machine at work more often.

That is where Spurlock's thesis falls down. The only real way to fight overeating -- or any other self-destructive behavior -- is on the demand side. By blaming the fast food industry and providing a convenient excuse for the face-stuffers, Spurlock undermines the only possible solution: Personal responsibility.

It Pours: I've got to hurry this cuz there are monster thunderstorms in the distance, and since the power grid around here is put together with twist ties, I expect to lose power any minute.

Sometimes you can't find a single interesting link out on the web and sometime they pour out like salt from a blue Morton's salt canister with a little girl in a raincoat on it. Is that too obscure?

• A deeply freaky special effect. Or perhaps an artistic statement about futility, infinity and how poorly groomed people cannot be stopped.


• I have seen the future of bad science fiction, and it is nanobacteria.


• Superstition is one thing. But this truly gross. Never shake hands with a baseball player.


• How not to look on prom night.


• All these years I've been eating sushi wrong. Who knew?


• One of my favorite authors, Nick Hornby, on the current state of Rock and Roll.

Dream a Little Dream: Judging from what I've read and heard here and there, a lot of folks were disappointed by the extended dream sequence in last Sunday's episode of The Sopranos. Some thought it was overly pretentious, or gimmicky, or simply inane. They're wrong; it was, in fact, a very daring piece of drama.

Generally, when an extended dream sequence appears in drama, it is wholly self-indulgent and laced with bizarre imagery that has little or no reason for existing other than the writers were running out of ideas and sat around and said, "Hey, wouldn't it be cool if..." You get a bunch of strange images and possibly even psychedelic special effects and in the end, all you come away with is a wasted third act and a few stills that look cool in promotional commercials. Not so in this case. This dream sequence was outstanding for the exact reason that despite having logical incoherency, it was completely coherent dramatically.

The main theme snaking through the whole thing was Tony's knowledge that he will, in all likelihood, have to whack is lifelong friend, Tony B. This is an enormous conflict for Tony, not just because the characters are so close, but because of the guilt he feels over Tony B.'s long incarceration which he simply lucked out of because of his own flawed psyche. In his vain, subconscious attempts to justify his upcoming evil work as necessary or unavoidable, we get an extended tour of Tony's character.

First, Tony finds himself in bed with the deceased Carmine, who states that he is suffering in the afterlife, and tells Tony he's got a job for him; the implication is that he must whack Tony B. Carmine is representative of the time when there was an orderly relationship with the New York family. This indicates to Tony that this is the way to restore things back to the way they were. Message: Whacking Tony B. is required to prevent an inter-family war hanging over everyone's head. You have no choice.

Suddenly Tony is talking to his shrink except his shrink is not Dr. Melfi, but his mother (who Tony blames for his hateful life), represented by Annabella Sciorra, one of Tony's mistresses from an earlier season. After some odd dialogue she poignantly says she died before she could have children. Message: You want to blame the need to kill your best friend on your mother, but how long can you continue to do that now that she's dead.

After a few more scenes, his children come into play. Tony's teeth are falling out and he needs a dentist, and we are presented with Meadows fiance, Finn (an aspiring dentist). Does Tony draw a parallel between rescuing his lost teeth and Finn rescuing his daughter from her mob background? But then Finn's parents accuse Finn of slackerhood and Tony is put in mind of AJ. Message: Your kids are still depending on you for survival and welfare. You can't let things get out of control for their sake as much as yours.

Tony is distracted by Finn's parents. His father is a corrupt cop who Tony used in n earlier season. His mother is Annette Benning (played by Annette Benning). Tony and Finn's father leave to hit the bathroom. Both Carmella and Annette Benning mention that they don't want their husband to "come out of there with just his c*ck in their hand" and when Tony enters a stall he checks for a hidden gun in the toilet, just like Michael Corleone, but there is none - all this is, of course, a reference to The Godfather. Later in the sequence Finn's father asks Tony about the job he has to do (whacking Tony B.). Tony says he's done his homework and pulls out a copy of the Valachi Papers. Message: You are in the mob. You're a made man and will behave like one and get your dirty work finished.

Outside, Tony B. has just committed the fatal whacking, the one that will cause Tony to have to whack him in turn. A 'mob' of people are standing around. In time they question why Tony did not stop it and why he doesn't kill Tony B. Tony makes the excuse that he has no piece (no gun). This does little good and Tony finds himself being chased through the streets by the mob. Message: No excuses. No talking your way out of it. If you don't get your job done, the mob will get you. You are helpless.

In the process of escaping the mob, Tony ends up in bed, having sex with Artie's ex-wife, Charmaine, who he maintains a nostalgic attraction to -- they were involved when they were teenagers -- and generally sees as a possible Carmella substitute. Suddenly, Tony is sitting on a horse (Pie-oh-my?) the living room of his house telling Carmella he wants to get back together. She tells him there are some rules he will have to follow, including don't bring you horse (whores?) in the house. Tony protests weakly. Message: The refuge of your wife and home life is gone too, and it's your own fault for thinking with the little head. There's no escape for you there either.

Lastly we get the most riveting scene, where Tony confronts his former football coach. The coach has no fear of or respect for Tony. He looks at the gun Tony is holding and calls it "a bigger dingus that the one God gave you." He alludes that Tony could have been a great leader but has wasted his life and is a pathetic failure. He sneers at the idea of Tony in therapy. He tells Tony to get on with what he was going to do -- which is kill his coach. The coach, of course, is Tony's conscience and he's going to have to kill his conscience if he is ever going to be able to whack Tony B. As he takes aim at the coach, the bullets slip out of the gun to the floor and crumble in his fingers as he tries to pick them up.

There's a lot more to the dream than I mentioned, I'm sure even having see it twice I missed a lot. And it's certain that there could be varying interpretations, but any reasonable interpretation would have to acknowledge that dream sequence wonderfully intertwines every aspect of Tony's state of mind with the pre-existing situation with Tony B. Tony loves his family and friends, but he cannot separate them from his mob life. They suffer because of it and Tony, although he consistently rationalizes it away, is beginning to see how the horrible things he does affect them so tragically. The whacking of Tony B. (if it comes) will be the most blatant evidence of this; it's possible Tony sees it as an act from which he can never recover -- the final death of his conscience. He searches his past for a reason things turned out like this, makes plenty of excuses, but always carries the fugitive notion that it's finally his own doing.

In drama, or any form of fiction, the most important thing is to dramatize (no surprise there). That is to say, you should never directly explain your character's feelings and motivations. Such things should be revealed indirectly through action whenever possible. The effect of this is to draw the audience in as a participant -- an idea that has been discovered by the consumer is much more powerful than one that has been explained to him. Using a dream sequence takes that to an extreme; it puts a larger burden on the audience to make the important conceptual connections between the dream and the "real world". With a sequence as complex as this one, it may take multiple viewings (reruns and TIVO to the rescue). It's a big risk. The writers have to be good enough to choose the right words and symbols to convey the underlying message without the framework of "reality"; everything has to be within the framework of the dreamer's mind. The audience has to be knowledgeable of the character's pre-existing conflicts and thoughtful and diligent enough to close the communication loop.

That's a lot to ask of an audience. I certainly don't make a habit of parking myself in front of the TV with the intent of being thoughtful and diligent. But if I do put the effort in I expect to be rewarded. I was. And I applaud HBO for taking the big risk when every other network would have just asked for car chase or a gory murder.

Back Off: It seems like I am endlessly complaining about my health. First it was the bio-terror attack that laid me out for a couple of days a while back. Then I was battling a head cold (a battle I won, by the way -- it never got past the early stages). Now I have vicious back spasms to deal with. I have gotten back spasms occasionally over the years but these were pretty bad. So my doc wrote me a script for some muscle relaxers.

Long time readers will remember that I was previous given to preventative, regular visits to the chiropractor. That ended partly because I was too time consuming, and partly because my current insurance no longer covers it unless my primary physician advises it. It is very unusual for a physician to ever recommend a chiropractor, since the two industries tend to be at odds. If anything a physician will recommend a D.O. (Doctor of Osteopathy) if some manipulation needs to be done. So I suppose it is possible that if I had continued with the chiropractor this would never have happened. It’s also possible it had nothing to do with anything -- like I said, I have a history of this.

Anyway, all this is pretty much apropos of nothing. But if my posts start to lean over to the incoherent side, blame it on the muscle relaxers.

Coming soon are a couple HBO articles. One on the extended dream sequence on last Sunday's Sopranos (so it had better be done soon), and another on Deadwood, now that I have discovered what it is about.

For now, a short stack of links:

• Men's Journal selects the 50 Best Places To Live in their June issue. Here's a preview. They aren’t posting the full list. I agree with the selection of San Diego, but once again, they missed the boat by not including Dexter, MI.


• Since all the grown-ups I know seem to be refurbishing their homes, check out artistic linoleum if you're feeling creative. When your done, you can redo my bathroom. Thank me later.


• My Reston crew is in the middle of the emergence of the famed 17 year cicadas, also known as Brood X. I recall being down there in the midst of the previous one 17 years ago. It was insane. Huge, creepy insects everywhere. That horrendous sound they make. Driving down the freeway was like being in a hailstorm of prehistoric bugs. Ick. I think they have it right over at Cicadaville.


• I can’t think of anything more offensive than a reality show about wife swapping. Yet, here it is. I'm begging all of you to not watch this.


• Tarantino wants to do a James Bond film, specifically Casino Royale. That might be interesting. (You recall that I reviewed the original Casino Royale novel a while back.) I'm guessing that wouldn't be your standard Bond film. He'd probably work in a lot of Kung-Fu, which gives me an opportunity to link my article about Bond and Chopsocky. Hey, wait a minute. Where do you suppose Taratino got these ideas? Hey, Q-man, nice to know you're reading. Call me. We'll do lunch.

Baltimore Ravin': I spent the last four days in the DC/Baltimore area as I do from time to time. Usually, there is a work reason for these trips and I am fortunate enough that my company allows me to fiddle with the scheduling for flights and hotels so long as it doesn't cost them any extra. The net result is that I got to hang with Miss Kate and HRH Miss Anna Banana (I am not a fruit!) and the rest of the Reston, VA crew. I also got to see the new Anna Banana World Headquarters which features and enormous back yard, a pool, a gas grill, two dogs, a big screen HDTV (coming soon), and all the other plunderage of upper middle class suburbia.

Here's something I didn't expect. I asked Miss Anna what her favorite bands were, expecting to here about Outkast or Beyonce or whoever is getting airplay these days. The response: Pink Floyd, Metallica, The Doors -- Led Zepplin is awesome; basically, Classic Rock. Miss Anna is 12 (going on 23). She gets major points from me for having a mind open enough to not like what everyone else thinks is cool just for the sake of fitting in. She just likes what she likes. Better than I would have done at her age.

As for me, I actually ate steak for the first time in months, if not years, courtesy of Miss Kate. No, I do not count the steak in the Bistro Steak Salad at Panera Bread. I'm talking real steak -- 20 ounces of medium rare prime rib on the bone. Said 20 ounces immediately found a comfortable resting place around my midsection, but not without sending raiding parties out to coagulate in my arteries. Currently, I'm lulling it into a false sense of security while I muster my forces for a full-on diet and exercise assault.

Baltimore remains a fun town, at least down around the Inner Harbor. It was wicked hot (upper 80s) and I was able to sit outside at the Hard Rock and have lunch overlooking the Baltimore harbor. Weird thing about Baltimore: Once I get downtown I can make my way around fine, but despite having tread the path from the airport to the city several times, I can never do it without making at least one wrong turn. My ego is such that I blame the poor signage in and around the airport.

I would be remiss if I didn't mention a couple of good travel experiences. First, Avis car rental. They offered me a choice of available cars; asked me only once, and very politely, if I wanted to pay for gas up front or buy extra insurance. There was no attempt to get me to upgrade to a more expensive model. Basically, they didn't try to squeeze any extra dollars from me. So thank you, Avis, for treating me like an adult.

Second, Sheraton Hotels and specifically the Reston Sheraton. Sheraton is a midline hotel chain in the Hilton/Marriot class of luxury, but they have taken the lead from lower-end places like Courtyard Marriots and Hilton Garden Inns by providing lots of conveniences at no extra cost -- things that, for unfathomable reasons, luxury hotels don't provide or make inconvenient, or charge ridiculous prices for. Specifically, things like having snacks and sundries available for purchase 24/7 instead of a gift shop that's only open from 9 to 5, or worse, having to call room service; free in-room high-speed connections; free and convenient self-parking; and a complimentary bottle of water instead of hoping I would be thirsty enough to open one and take a four dollar charge.

I'll stop before this turns into a major rant. I promise to write extensively about this later, but I cannot describe how refreshing it was not to be nickel-and-dimed by a nice hotel. It's a good strategy. I am now predisposed to stay at Sheratons when traveling for business.

Now it's back to my irregularly scheduled life.

Ya Snooze, Ya Lose: One of the enduring myths of the working world is that there is a correlation between waking up early and productivity. This particular form of insanity is left over from the days pre-electrification, when to make the most out of a day you needed to make the most of the sunlight. (The face-slapping irony of this being that, if you work in an office, maximizing your time working during sunlit hours often means you see a minimum of the sun.)

An article in today's WSJ sums it up well (can't link -- it's for paying subscribers only):

Of all the gulfs in understanding at the office, among the most difficult to bridge is that between morning and night people. On the one hand, think bushy-tailed company lawyers who eat lunch at 11 a.m. On the other, consider the bleary-eyed techies for whom the only thing as bad as waking up early is the people who enjoy it so loudly.
The conflict between the morning larks and the night owls would be the office equivalent of the Bloods versus the Crips if, at any given time, one gang weren't so pooped.

But we're not talking about a fair fight here. The 9-to-5 shift overwhelmingly favors larks. When has anyone complained that employees show up too early? Owls, on the other hand, are frequently stigmatized as recalcitrant slugabeds who fritter time and resources on the company's dime.

That stigma is just another sign that shallow emblems of productivity impress American managers more than results. After all, the 9-to-5 shift has become an anachronism in the 24-hour global economy. It fails to take into account the impact of e-mail and other technologies in making traditional work hours less relevant.

It also ignores biology. High schools and colleges have finally woken up to that fact, increasingly delaying the beginning of classes to better suit the biological clocks of students whose sleep cycles naturally slip later into the night. "It is absolutely crazy to expect high-school and college students to learn things at 7 a.m.," says Timothy Monk, director of the Human Chronobiology Research Program at the University of Pittsburgh.

Similarly, he says. "it makes more sense for [employees] to work during hours they are productive than some artificial 9-to-5 schedule."

Amen. I can state pretty accurately that my most productive hours at work are between 3-6 pm. In fact, back when I used to have to work enormous amounts of overtime, I would regularly leave work for dinner and come back to put in two or three more hours in the evening because it just felt much easier for me to do that.

The truly annoying thing about morning people is the priggish attitude they carry. The office world is designed for them and they can't fathom why anyone would be any other way except weakness of will. Drag yourself in anytime later than 9am you will no doubt encounter someone who has already been at work for three hours and is pressing you for an answer to some horribly complicated question before you have even made it to the coffee machine. They preen like this in the hopes you will be shamed out of your slovenly habits by their early-bird sanctimony.

In a more civilized world, these people could be maced. They are like nagging spouses who can't understand why you are like you are so they just nag and harp on it in the hopes that you'll see the light and reform yourself to be more like them. Their thinking is inflexibly dogmatic: "You're more productive in the afternoon? How can that be? That's just crazy talk. You're gonna need to get yourself motivated."

Morning people are worse than Hitler. There, I said it.

Well, to all of you early birds reading this let me just say congratulations, you got the worm. Hope it was tasty. Oh, by the way, I've scheduled a staff meeting for 6pm, you don't mind staying late, do you? You do? Well, you're gonna need to get yourself motivated.

Looking Back and Laughing: By one of those odd coincidences of life I happened upon a couple of older movies on late night TV that I had seen and liked before -- Clockwise and Hannah and Her Sisters -- so I reviewed them.

Quick Links: I have a new piece ready to go up at blogcritics, but the site was inexplicably down so I couldn't post. Maybe tomorrow. For now, interesting links:

• Is the Bugatti Veryon the most extreme car ever?


• Although I have occasionally argued that Detroit is best forgotten, Forgotten Detroit contains some fine images.


• Speaking of Detroit, the Detroit Sports Rag is an independent, opinionated and somewhat racy sports journal.


• Mocoloco, a fine site for design mavens like yours truly.


• My favorite critic, Terry Teachout, explains why arts tend toward sadness rather than happiness. "If you’re really, truly happy, it tends to render you inarticulate..."


• Why living in China sucks for boys, but really, really sucks for girls.


• Trivia: The character Jim in Business As Usual is named for the lead in the Kingsley Amis novel Lucky Jim. Here's why.


• Lemony Snicket is coming to theatres in December. The books are excellent -- filled with a deep appreciation of language. The film will probably stink (most do), but HRH Miss Anna will be pleased.


• OK this is truly gross. No kidding; you have been warned. But if you want your belongings to be absolutely, positively secure, I suggest: The Brief Safe. You'll sleep easy.