The House of Swain

CC2K IS BACK.

CC2K

Check it, and keep writing!!!!

Humans:

Prepare the way for Sean Astin's directing career! How much longer must we tigers wait until we can watch his directorial debut in our cages in your zoos?

-Tiger

While cleaning out my old car, I found them. Two of them.

I found two, TWO of the KOSs.

That's right.

Two of them.

KOSs.

Keys Of Swain.

Fellas,

I will be in Seattle starting at ass o'clock tomorrow morning, and returning from said "vacation" on Sunday, September 4th; just in time to celebrate my ONE YEAR wedding anniversary.

Please take good care of the blog in my absence. Water it, feed it, and remember to talk to it once in a while. It really really helps.

If it dies, I will kill you. Seriously. Do not fuck with me.

C

Thanks guys, for corroborating my advice to my friend. I was quite certain that my instincts were correct, but he is a very persuasive cat, and he had me questioning my heretofore unmatched mastery of all things titted.

However, I think you'll be happy to know that, after the requisite minute of mourning, my friend is right back on his feet. I had my people tail him for a while, to make sure he didn't do anything stupid (like call her, or fuck Angelina Jolie), and they came back with this snapshot of his first day post-advice:



As you can see, I think he's going to be OKAY.

C

Bob, quick, insert irony into my remark about Marcus Elliott and then go back and read my post!

Sorry, damn this prose, it's sometimes so hard to convey irony.

In my experience, guys who spend all their energy trying to convey themselves as Don Juans who can have any woman they want only achieve this because they are hooking up with Fatties. Or Uglies. Thawtz?

I was busy this week.

Before I bitch, let me count my blessings:

1. The job I want does appear to be on the horizon.

2. It couldn't be coming at a better time: my current situation is going to shit. The natives are restless, and there are many people trying to find other jobs as I type. Confidence in our leader is at an all-time low, and the projects that ARE coming in are attractive to no one. (My nemesis actually talked to me about the possibility of him joining me at MY new job "to help me out." My, how things change!)

So these things are good, and my upcoming vacation to Seattle is only two days away.

But now, to bizness.

On Monday, I again spent the day sitting around waiting to feel productive. It has been the most frustrating summer of my professional working life, to that end. At one point, I was asked to do a project that would be a part of the new job, and I happily accepted. It was for one day. Good. Then, I was told that I would be given a very important, very urgent project. I would have to begin preparing for it Monday night, work on it on Tuesday even as I was doing the first thing, and then spend Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday whipping it together. When this was presented to me, I responed thusly: "You think I'm going to freak out about this, but in reality, I want to hug you." What a great hour that was, thinking I was going to have a full week of usefulness. At the end of the day, I got the email, telling me that due to the short timeframe, the project was now off my plate. Great.

Tuesday, I was downstairs. I had a project to do, and by God, I was going to kick its ass. And I did. There were problems and setbacks, and dozens of decisions to be made. I was forced to stay 90 minutes after I was supposed to go home to see it through. And it was my best day at work all summer long. MAN it was fun.

Then, the next day, I got to remain downstairs for most of the day, finishing it up and getting it out the door. Another fast day, to be sure.

And today...is Thursday.

...

Sigh.

C

Corey,

I think Karl's right. "I'm not ready to date you right now" is a standard "let 'em down easy" line, and should be treated as such. You gave the proper advice -- unless you think I should go after Marisa again? (See what I mean? And this friend of yours hadn't even had a crush on this girl for eight years like me.)

I'm sure in the history of the planet there have been cases where a girl or guy will eventually come to their senses and get together with the right person (like in the movies!), but I strongly doubt is happens very often, and when it does happen, I would have to think that it's someone settling for someone else, not actually choosing them.

What do I mean? In the movies, when the hot girl realizes she should be with the dorky guy, she sees something in him she hadn't before; he suddenly becomes an actual prospect in her eyes that she can be proud to have on her arm. And I'm not talking about cases where the nerd gets hot or rich -- I'm talking about the fairy-tale notion seen in movies that the nerdy guy will not appreciably change; the girl will simply look deeper.

I certainly have never done it. I haven't had girls breaking down my door, but I have in a few rare instances been the "hot" guy, and I certainly saw what was attractive about the un-chosen girl pursuing me -- but I didn't settle, no sir.

When the hot whoever winds up with the nerdy whoever, it's usually because someone settled, not chose.

Further, Karl: a good analysis, though I must add Joel Feinman to your list of guys who can fuck any girl they want at any time.

The only other part of your advice I thought might be suspect, Corey, was this:

"The notion of transferring feelings from one girl to another is doomed to failure."

Now, if someone is actually transferring feelings from one girl to another, then you're right.

But maybe he has a type he likes, and he is often attracted to girls in general for the same reasons. If I were to stop pursuing short, busty, sturdy, brassy brunettes just because Jennifer H. fit that bill, I'd be out of business.

Maybe that was the case with your friend.

But in any event, he should move on. That he felt really jealous upon hearing that this girl had a boyfriend sets off all kinds of alarms in my head. That sounds like something obsessive and fuckbrained that I would do. (Again, one time when I heard Marisa had a boyfriend, it really fucked me up -- get a life!)

Your friend should move on from this particular girl.

And both of those women are bitches.

If this situation were really about you, Corey, and the two women were Bob's mom and sister, then this wouldn't be a dilemma: both women would have fucked you on the first date. And probably before the first date if you were played by Michael Gross. In fact, I can't foresee any situation meriting romantic advice involving those cum-hungry cockfunnels. (<---I added that phrase in to increase traffic to this site!) So let's assume these hypothetical nymphomaniacs aren't semen-thirsty she-demons and proceed from there. As every guy past the age of 20 knows, or should know, any phrase involving the words "not interested in dating anyone right now" is a metaphor. It is a metaphor for "I don't to fuck you. Ever." "I don't want to screw up our friendship right now" also functions metaphorically in the same manner. These words are never what the guy wants to hear: If he's grown the balls to make it clear he wants to initiate events so that he can stick his penis in her vagina at some point, he will be very pained to learn that he has no chance to ever enact this plan. He obviously thinks she's a swell girl, and that her swell swollen sexual glands merit his immediate attention. Therefore, instead of correctly deciphering this metaphor, he will cling to the infintesimal chance that she actually means she isn't ready to date anyone right now. (quick entymological lecture: the word "infintesimal," meaning "infinitely small," was invented to differentiate itself from "infinite" ("without boundaries or limits, immeasurably large") by mathemeticians NOT to deal with the incredibly small numbers involved in quantum physics, but by their chances of ever getting laid by their female graduate assistants) Everybody is ready for great, hot, life-altering sex (unless there are extenuating circumstances, i.e. she was brutally gang-raped a week ago by a pack of feral Clydesdales). She's politely saying it will never be with you.

Bitch.

This is a lesson that every single guy on earth learns, usually sooner rather than later. There isn't a man alive, save Marcus Elliott, who can sleep with any woman he wants at any time. The problem is that you can't learn this lesson by reading about it on a blog, no matter how brilliantly it is argued nor how remarkably learned the entymological lessons contained therein are.

This girl showed up to this party alone because she hadn't found anyone she found worthy of her vagina. End of story. She's not waiting to be ready to date this great guy. If she wanted him, she'd be ready. If at all possible, your friend should cut off contact with this girl so his heartache can heal and he can find another Vaginan-American.

(There is a chance that this girl has wildly overblown expectations for the kind of guy she deems worthy. Perhaps her standards are incredibly high and that's why she both rejected your friend and every other cocksman that's come along in the interim. There is the infintesimal chance (there's that word again! See above, entymology lovers!) that if he hangs around long enough, her fear of dying alone will finally drive her to "settle" for him. Question: Is this what you want to base your relationship on? Answer: Of course it is, if she's hot enough. But the chances of this happening are greater than the chances of a girl ever rejecting Marcus Elliott's irresistible advances.)

Next question!

Fellas,

A friend of mine asked me for some feedback on a potential romantic situation he was going through. At the risk of this guy actually stumbling on this website and getting angry, I am afraid that I might have steered him wrong, and so I decided to seek out some other thoughts.

To be very brief, this guy had a thing for this chick over a year ago. He casually pursued her, until, and I quote, "a mutual friend told me that she wasn't interested in dating anyone right now." He dropped it.

This year, two things happened:

1. He attempted to pursue a different girl, who essentially made it plain that it wasn't going anywhere.

2. Soon after this, he went to a party, where he found that this first girl was going to show up with a date.

He told me that, though in the past year he had been able to downshift that first situation into just being friends, he was consumed with jealousy when he heard this. It was only assuaged when she showed up alone, and said that there was no boyfriend.

He said that he was very surprised to find that he was so consumed with jealousy, and upon thinking about it further, he realized that all of the reasons he came up with for liking that different girl (from number 1 above) were present in this first girl. Therefore, he was made to wonder if he simply never got over this first girl, and was asking if he should gear up to go for her again.

Make sense?

Anyway, I told him that I didn't like the sound of this. My reasons were twofold:

1. The notion of transferring feelings from one girl to another is doomed to failure. I myself tried this in high school, when I was dating Jen, a girl one year younger than me, and then found that I was being pursued by Nancy, a girl one year OLDER than me, with a car, and huge tits. I broke up with Jen, started "dating" Nancy, and felt like shit about it every second afterwards. Why? Because you can't transfer your feelings from one girl to another. No matter which direction the transfer was going in, in my friend's case above, I felt it was doomed to failure. Proceed with extreme caution.

2. The line "She's not interested in dating anyone right now." struck me as a possible "let him down easy" line. It was a mutual friend who said it, remember. What I saw was this guy getting a crush on this girl, it being obvious enough that the girl noticed, and she then wanted to find a way to get him to cease his pursuit without ruining the friendship. Because of this, I did not want to see my friend rush into the minefield for a second time.

But now I'm beginning to wonder if I was being overly cynical. It seems that this girl, after saying she didn't want to date anyone, really didn't date anyone, hence his extreme reaction a year later when he found out that she now was. And maybe he WAS getting a crush on the second girl because she reminded him of the first.

So was I giving good advice, or was I preventing a friend from getting some play?

Thoughts?

C

P.S. I confess. My "friend" is me. The first girl is Bob's mom Wanda. The second girl is Bob's sister Jen. The guy that the first girl was purportedly dating was Bob. And the part of "me" was played by Michael Gross.

So I stole this book from my brother's room while I was home this past weekend. It is a typical "high-octane thriller" sort of book; it's goal is to make you keep turning the pages, and become impressed with yourself for how fast you're reading it.

This book is no different, and yet it is the single greatest book that has ever been written.

Because there is a character named Charlaine. Last name? SWAIN. This in itself was so cool, that I did not think twice when it was mentioned that this character's husband's name was Mike.

I had a thought, but dismissed it. Couldn't be. She must have kept her maiden name. I mean, if my last name were Swain...I'd do whatever it took to keep it.

But at a later point, another character took the time to write out some names on a piece of paper. And there it was: MIKE SWAIN.

Greatest. Book. Ever.

C

The Fatties.

Karl, excellent post on your reunion, and Donny. And let me tell you that going to a reunion to see how the high school elite have fallen is a worthy and entertaining reason to attend.

But, in addition to finding out who's gay, there is a comparable if somewhat lesser satisfaction in seeing who has become all fat and pasty.

At my reunion, a guy named Rick showed up. Rick was your typical dickhead. He was a stupid meathead, and yet he was somehow able to flaunt it to become popular and get girls. At a party I had in high school, I invited him, and he showed up only long enough to steal a pizza from my basement, and run away giggling. My mother found out, and made me tell him that he was forbidden from attending another party "Unless he paid her for the pizza, or apologized for taking it." However, before I could say the part in quotes, he answered, "Yeah. I figured. (Laugh)" I hated him so much, that I let go of my need for clever wit in dissing someone, and called him "Prick."

Well he was there. He was fat, and his wife was a tenth as attractive as mine. So TAKE THAT, FUCKER!!!

HA!

So yeah, by all means, attend that fucker.

C

Although I probably won't be at my 10-year high school reunion next year, I have already learned what will undoubtedly be the talk of the party (which--I'm just guessing here--will be held at the American Legion, Post 329).

I was talking with my parents on the phone the other night when I heard one of the most exciting questions that you can ever hear: "So guess which one of your classmates is gay?" I took a few guesses, but didn't swing anywhere near the truth. Finally, I gave up. "Who is it?"

"Donny W."

Now of course I think it's great that Donny has had the courage to admit both to himself and to the world that he's gay. (Okay, I don't know if he's openly gay, this is all just rumor, but as Abraham Lincoln once said, behind all rumors is 100% truth. So I believe it.) I, like all the Swains, come from a small town. Like all small towns (with the possible exception of Aspen, which happens to be the hometown of one of our very own Swains), my home town is very conservative on a lot of social issues, one of those issues being sexual orientation. Kids taught that being homosexual is shameful, sinful, and unmanly. Now of course there's a more enlightened "aristocracy" in Wells that believes differently--the "professional" class of teachers, pharmacists, and...teachers, which my parents belong to. But Wells is 80% working class and farmers. Plus there's only 2,300 people there, so everyone knows what everyone else is getting up in.

But back to Donny: From grades K through about 9th grade, Donny was the most gifted natural athlete I had ever seen. This of course made him EXTREMELY unpopular. Wait...no, it made ME extremely unpopular. Donny was one of the kings of school, and as such he was one of the ruling elite who set the tone for all the fagbashing humor so popular amongst adolescent kids. Donny continued to run in this crowd all through high school. Though he stayed a good athlete, he never peaked the way we all thought he would, mostly because I think he started smoking at about age 9.

Some classes--my younger by two years sister Kim, for instance--had classes whose popular leaders ruled in a democracy-type situation: they were always responsible to their subjects, and if they made enough unpopular moves, they were removed. The ruling elite in my class (96!) were particularly brutal despots. They ran a fascist terror-state where the leaders kept the lumpen in line through brute force and scare tactics, arbitrarily meting out brutal "justice" to anyone uncool and in their way. I'm going to be an elitist snob and offer a class-based explanation for this: the most athletic, best-looking kids in my sister's class happened to come from the "professional" class in Wells. Their familes raised them in an emotionally-supportive environment that put an emphasis on education. Hence when they came to power, they were enlightened rulers. The best athletes in my class came from the lower classes: Donny's parents were factory workers. Kevin K's ("The Stalin of the class of 96") parents came from unsuccessful rentier farmers. Let's put it this way: These were the parents who spent their weekends at the bar, letting the kids raise themselves. These weren't the kind of leaders you'd want leading you.

So that's Point A, and today, August 22, 2005, is Point B. How Donny got from where he was at at Point A --a merciless persecutor of all that was uncool at Wells High in 1996--to Point B, a homosexual, who's theoretical existence was the very uncoolesst of all uncool at Point A-- a veritable Absolute Zero of cool, as it were--is a journey I can't even begin to imagine. I hope I run into Donny again someday and can ask him about this. I bet he's got a pretty amazing personal journey to narrate.

I personally have no desire to go to my high school reunion next year. A lot of this, when it comes down to it, is shame over where I've ended up in life. Sooner or later (most likely sooner), the conversation always turns around to "So, what are you doing now?" What am I supposed to say? "I have sex with supermodels for $1 million an hour." I can't lie about it, but I'd prefer not to have to face my classmates when that's all I've accomplished with my life.

Sorry I didn't get a chance to write about my experiences on distant Planet Swain this weekend. Things have been a little crazy here. I quit my job at the Supermodel Coupling Institute (although it's sort of an industry that's hard to leave permanently: I'm sure I'll get to LA and fall back into it if I can't find a better job somewhere else, say at a Carl's Jr. or In-n-Out) at the beginning of this summer to try and get a little peace and quiet up at the Lake. I must have the worst luck in the world: directly across the lake from my cabin is a camp for Nymphomaniac 16 to 18-year old girls. They must have spotted me from their cabins through binoculars one morning, because that afternoon I happened to look across the lake, and I saw 15 teenage girls spread-eagle on the beach with high-powered binoculars up to their eyes, masturbating.

They were, of course, severely punished by the camp counselors, but that hasn't stopped them from attempting to escape from the camp at night and swim over to my cabin. Thankfully, the guards in the machine gun nests are equipped with night-vision equipment and are well-trained. So far, none of the girls has made it over here. But it's getting harder and harder to sleep at night knowing that at any second a group of sex-starved teenage girls will break through my window and rape me.

Is there no rest in this world?

I'll try to write more later.

Karl

Swains,

Corey: Ah, fundies just keep getting funnier and funnier.

Good news: I scored a great deal on a 2003 Hyundai Accent with less than 10,000 miles for about 7 grand. The payments are solid. Whew!

Reunion: OK, so my 10-year reunion is coming up in October, I think. I got a letter recently. Here are the pros and cons of me going to this reunion:

CONS: Expensive. Bunch of assholes. Not sure if any of my actual friends would make it, even though most of them live there. Do not presently have a hot girlfriend/wife to show off.

PROS: I will undoubtedly be in the best shape of anyone there. I am much better looking and aggressive. I would have a great time seeing my old teachers again.

Anyway.

The following was spoken into a cell phone earlier today by a guy I work with:

"What? You're kidding? You didn't hit her that hard."

WTF?

C

Man, reunions are weird. At least, they can be.

Sometimes, they are wonderful. For example, if and when a group of good friends like the Swains reunite, it is a non-stop party. Why? Because the collective group known as the Swains gathered together originally out of CHOICE - that is to say we willingly allowed ourselves to become part of that group. Therefore, getting back together is a no-brainer; we did it once, after all.

Family reunions are a touch stranger. Unless if by marriage, people don't wilingly become part of a family unit, we are literally born into it. And yet, no matter how by chance it may be, in the vast majority of cases there is a terrifically strong bond amongst family members; you love them simply BECAUSE they're family. Yeah, there's always the bitchy cousin Judy, or the crazy aunt Louise, but family reunions by and large are as fulfilling as the ones described above.

The third category of reunions is the one that fucks you up. Class reunions (or non-combat military unit reunions, or vacation tour group reunions, etc.) are a gathering of people who are bonded purely by chance. Sure, you might have a friend in that group, or maybe several, but the fact is that everyone's inclusion was forced upon them at one time or another. This is the problem. People go to these things, but no one is ever truly excited about it. (I know I was hesitating about this weekend right up until I entered.) It is filled with people that you don't really want to see, except for the odd pang of curiosity, derision, or lust, and almost NEVER do you walk away with anything more than a feeling of "Eh."

Or at least, that's what I observed this weekend.

35 members of the GHS class of 1995 showed up on Saturday, which represents about 20%. Interestingly, while there were 120 people at Jon's and my wife's reunion, that number represents only about 16.7% of their class. Go figure.

There was the usual idle chatter and "Catching Up" (Meaning making small talk with people who, if you gave even the slightest shit about in the first place, you'd have known all this information anyway). The interesting tidbits are as follows:

1. Amanda - The aforementioned prom date. She was there, of course, and seemed genuinely happy to see me. And, I don't know if it was the years, the fact that I was now married, or the reality that she was now married for six years with a son and a new short-and-spiky haircut, but I think I might be able to let that one go. Maybe.

2. Roger - I wonder if it's true for every class, but ours featured a kid who always seemed just a step unhinged. This kid, back when the internet was only for the military and Star Trek geeks, downloaded a recipe for napalm and made it in school. Later in the year, he was arrested on school property for having multiple guns in his car. It must be stressed that it never seemed as though he meant any harm to anyone, which explains why his derangement was only slight. To the surprise of no one, it seems that he has spent most of his time in the military since graduation. I spoke to him at some length on Saturday, and I found that every word that came out of his mouth was fascinating! He said that he was going back to Iraq to take a contracting job for a year, and that he would be taking over for a guy who was shot nine times by a shepherd with a machine gun while he was acting as a recon sniper. I, on the other hand, make TV.

3. Jen - From the "too much, too soon" camp, comes Jen, a girl that I can't say I thought about once since I left. Jen was still living in the old home town, though said more than once that she was looking to find a way to get out. That was pretty much it, until I was leaving. There was discussion about continuing the gathering at a bar that night, and she was asked if she wanted to go. She said, "No. I have to go home to my other half." We checked; no ring. She continued, saying something LIKE this: "Yeah. He makes me come home to be with him EVERY SECOND. He throws a fit if I go anywhere." We now shuffle our feet a bit. Someone jokes that he sounds great. She says "Well, I'm pretty sure he's not going to be around for much longer, but until then, I better go see him." We all glance at each other, and laugh nervously at this. Seriously, this is the equivalent of meeting someone for the first time, saying "How are you?" and having them tell you their marital difficulties. Awkward.

4. Eva/Tom - Our health teacher, as a spurious means of motivation to be sure, used to say ALL THE TIME: "For every class they graduate from Gloversville, they put two more benches on Main Street." He meant, of course, that in a town filled with deadbeats, kids often turn into some themselves. Anyone who knows me knows that I have my fair share of stories that feature deadbeats. I hadn't heard any in a while, though, and until this point in the reunion, we all seemed to be doing pretty well. However, we started talking about those of us who weren't there, and if anyone had heard anything about them. Tom spoke up and told us about Eva. Eva started out in my homeroom in highschool, but ended up in another when she married. When she graduated, she had two children, with a third in the belly. That, obviously, was the last we had heard. Tom started telling us about the apartment he owns and leases in town, and how (long story short) his tenant asked if a single girl with no pets and no boyfriend could move in to help her with the rent, and Tom said okay. (His rules: No pets, no parties.) Instead, Eva moved in. With her boyfriend. And her brother. And her three kids. And her cat. Her boyfriend abused her, and suddenly Tom had the cops coming over to the apartment every weekend. Then they stopped paying the rent. Then Eva, the boyfriend, and other tenant disappeared, LEAVING THE CAT AND THE KIDS ALONE. Tom was forced to act. The kids were sent away, the cat was taken to the ASPCA. And Eva was never heard from again. Until she was arrested. For Prostitution. And ossession of crack. Oh yeah...THAT'S why I left!

Believe it or not, these are the highlights. Everyone else was fine. It was nice to see them, and I'm pretty much fine until maybe, MAYBE, ten years from now, when I'll want to visit with them again for ten minutes apiece.

C

Swains,

It's not every day you get a call from the White House.

"Please hold for the president," said the sounds-like-he-just-got-kicked-in-the-nards secret service agent.

Copacabana came on the Muzak hold music, and I listened and waited.

Then, a click, and the music stopped. But no voice came.

"Hello?" I asked.

Here's what I heard: "Hoo. Hoo-ooh. Goo. Goo. Foo. Buh."

Then another series of clicks and fritzy cuts to Muzak.

Then: "Mister Swain Bob?"

"Yes?"

"This is George Bush."

What followed was the usual routine appeals from Bush to throw House of Swain support behind his flagging presidency in exchange for unlimited Saudi oil wealth and unlimited access to nubile Kuwaiti coeds.

Have no fear Swains -- I laughed him off with the usual House of Swain policy of absolute White House stonewalling.

"How could you tempt us with an Islamic heaven on earth when Karl has sex with supermodels for a million dollars an hour and offers us the sloppy seconds?"

The thick plottened, as it were, the following night, when I arrived at my Hollywood estate to find a brawny, bald man in a black suit huddled on my doorstep. All he needed was a sttyrofoam cup dangling from his gnarled fingers. Under a light misty rain, he assumed his full height before me, and if he weren't such an imposing, Jason Statham-in-Transporter-2 figure ... I might have taken his wet face for the face of a man who had wept all the way from Washington.

"Mister Swain," he said. "The man you spoke with at first yesterday was the president. I was the one who fucked it up and put him on the phone instead of his double."

"His double?" I asked.

"Yes. The actual W has been clinically brain dead since birth, having been born with half a brain of mushed-up bananas, hence his identification with Terri Schiavo and the current administration's baffling posture on that case."

"Mister Swain," he continued, "I admonish you, in the name of the United States, do not tell anyone that when the president called you, he only made googly noises and hung up. Instead of saying that he 'made googly noises and hung up,' say that he 'offered to pray with you,' or 'said something American-y and inspiring. I implore you."

sorry guys, there's clearly much need for me to make a post to reply to all the legalese thrown at me ... but I was busy earlier, am sick now, and will be out of town this weekend. back soonest.

j

Including a response to Ler's trip to planet Swain, thoughts on reunions ... and more news from the President.

The people have spoken and they want to hear more about distant Planet Swain. That's right! This blog and my travelogue have become the no.s 4 and 8 most-searched words on Google.com. The list:

1. dirty latina housekeepers
2. booby vision
3. ass ass ass ass
4. House of Swain
5. homeless teenage hookers
6. Terry Pendleton, 3rd baseman St. Louis Cardinals (1984-1990)
7. hot cocks
8. Karl's Fantastic Voyage Beyond the Stars to Distant Planet Swain
9. ass lice
10. booby vision (II)


Of cousre I am very grateful to all our readers and am quite excited by our popularity, but I know we can do better than that! Come on, everybody: let's kick those dirty latina housekeeper's asses! Google rankings mean big money in terms of ad revenue. Although there are no ads on this site, I'm hoping we can cut a deal with "Grandma Swenson's Ass Lice Balm."


Back to my travels. Where, when I left off yesterday, I was sitting in our spacecraft on the runway of distant Planet Swain Airport. We spent over three hours there. This is because we had to get used to the atmosphere. The atmosphere of Planet Swain is 99% B.O. (that's where the smell came from). After a while, no one minded the smell.


Well, I bet you're all wondering what sort of life there is on Planet Swain, and whether this newly-discovered planet will give mankind new clues to its place in the Universe. But before I tell you that, let me tell about this GREAT meal I had! I was STARVING after that long flight, and I asked the cabdriver to take me to the nearest restaurant. It was called "Lieutenant Burger's Burger Genocide", and it certainly was that! The sign outside said that over 10,000 burgers are eaten PER SECOND inside LBBG, and I for one believe it.


There's only one problem with LBBG's: no mustard. This wouldn't have been a problem if we had some forewarning and could have brought some from earth. But we didn't, and we had to settle on using Dijon mustard, which okay technically may be a mustard, but I think belongs more in the diarrhea family of food. Ick! For-GET it!

Shoot, that's all the time I have for today. Until next time time, look for me IN THE STARS!

Bob-
Before you fall into a career both in front of and behind the camera in porn, I would like to apply for the job of your Reed Rothchild. My resume:

-I was the first to recognize the imminence or your move from graphic designer to actor. Your raging libido, your shorter height which accentuates your massive cock, your almost freakish muscularity, and, of course, your trademark: Your Voice, that booming bassato through which you express instructions, encouragement, gratitude, and condescending celebratory exclamations to the starlets servicing you.

-After an appropriately successul run in front of the cameras, I will be the pal who encourages you to step behind it, first by telling all interviewers that you block your own scenes, then loaning you my 1985 Sony VHS Camcorder, which you'll record your first gonzo on.

-I would be a wonderful teaching assistant at your annual Porn Directors' Symposium. I will be useful both in the classroom and lab settings, leading fruitful explorations of the writings of Jon L. during discussion sections, and helping budding young directors understand the desirability of avoiding perinium (or "taint") shots, cutaways to the men's faces while viewers are undoubtedly climaxing, and setting your entire story in an indeterminate white space.

-I've already proven myself a raging success making sequels to musicals based on movies about the porn industry. I can do this for your porns, as well.

-I am ready and willing to faithfully follow you on the backside of your career, when your drug use and resultant marginalization from the mainstream porn industry forces you to turn to ever more extreme genres: gonzo, "scat" films, bukake, "travelogues" exploiting the underage brothelworkers of Southeast Asia, rape simulations, actual rape, and finally the inevitable snuff.

-Knowledge of Microsoft Word, Excel, and Internet Explorer.

Please consider me for this post!

This weekend, 40% of the Swains' high schools are having their tenth reunion parties. I know this because *I* represent half of that 40%, and my wife went to high school with another Swain, whose reunion has prevented that same wife from accompanying me to this event, WHICH SHE INSISTED OVER AND OVER AGAIN THAT I ATTEND, SO I COULD SHOW HER OFF!!!

I can't answer for Jon, but somehow I have agreed to attend this event.

WHY?

High school was not that great of an experience for me. I dealt with a wide variety of prejudices during those years: as a Jew, a theater person, and someone not gifted athletically. I DID leave the town and the school with a handful of friends, but precious few of them were from my grade. And, of all those who I WAS still friends with, I keep in touch with her.

(A quick aside here to say that I did have one best friend in high school, named Matt. Matt and I diverged wildly in college, as he worked intensely toward becoming a scientist, and I was goofy theater funny guy. However, a friend is a friend, and I would have done anything for him. And yet, at some point, it became clear that he had no interest in ever knowing a single thing about anyone he grew up with, or at least me. I was not invited to his wedding, and it was his wife who took the time to respond negatively to my invitation. Douche.)

So why am I going?

I can't tell you for sure, but I have some theories:

1. Morbid Curiousity - Alright, I admit it. Like everyone else in these situations, I have fallen prey to the "let's see who got fat" trap. It really felt like everyone saw themselves as above me in school. Well, payback's a bitch, and I want to see how these fuckers turned out ten years later.

2. Self-Satisfaction - Here's the thing: I recently got promoted. My title is now "Writer/Producer". That's pretty kick ass. I am also trying to start a writing career with a college roommate, and we've written some scripts that have gotten the notice of some people in LA and NYC. I am also a professional comedian, and I perform with the D.C. Comedysportz. And, I'm married to a damn hot chick. All I'm trying to say here is that my life these days kicks just enough ass for me to be able to attend this party with confidence.

3. Amanda - This girl fell for me one week after I started dating someone else, and one month after I tried to win her heart during Junior year. We went to prom together, and though nothing happened between us, we did sleep alone in the same room together that night. After dropping her off the next day, I called her that night to ask how she felt our night had gone. Her response has been burned into my brain indelibly every day since: "I didn't sleep that well. To be honest, I spent the first hour just wishing that you would get into bed with me." AAAHHHH! I will always have a soft spot for Amanda. I hear she's married to a cop now. I wonder what she looks like these days. Only one way to find out..

4. Dan - Man oh MAN was this guy an asshole. And here's the thing, I could be referring to one of TWO such guys. Both were "bad" guys, both treated me like shit, and both at different points in my childhood went out of their way to give me a hard time. There were constant rumors of these guys being in jail for various reasons, and when I saw that one of them was coming to the reunion, I was at least mildly surprised that he hadn't been killed. What can he POSSIBLY look like now? What does he DO? Only one way to find out...

5. Finding out about who's gay. That's always a nice revelatory kind of thing.

6. Even if it sucks, I can still spend Sunday on the lake. Every cloud, people...

C

P.S. As an added layer of surreality, my mother called me the other day, and asked what my plans were for this weekend. I said I didn't know. She then said that, "If I wanted to invite some friends over to her house on Saturday night, she would stock the fridge with snacks and sodas." What the FUCK!?!? I was so sixteen in that moment that I got a zit, and regained my virginity. It was CRAZY!

On average growing up, how many times a week would you guys walk in on your mothers in the bathroom and find them sitting on the toilet, hands in their faces, crying their eyes out because they couldn't stop shitting cum?

Thrice daily was my average.

Just a question from a "curious cat"!

Given that the debate has been discussed on these pages before, it seems only appropriate to print this link. Visit it.

http://www.theonion.com/news/index.php?issue=4133&n=2

C

Hawking his new book.

Have we heard anything about this book? Bob...have you read it? Is it worth the cost (and the time to get through 820 pages?)

Thoughts, please.

C

Karl here, making good on my promise to narrate my travels to the newly-discovered 10th planet of our solar system, distant Planet Swain!

As you all may remember, I was nominated as ambassador to Planet Swain by our Valiant President. After a grueling confirmation process in which Karl Rove had to plant so many dead hookers on Democratic Senators that the DC trickin' game may take decades to recover, I finally set off on my VOYAGE TO THE STARS!!!!!

First off, of course, we had to GET to Planet Swain. No easy task! It's a thirty-seven month journey to Planet Swain. If I spent two weeks there (any longer and I get homesick), that means that I would be almost 35 by the time I got back. Luckily, our Valiant President's court wizard had just perfected a way to FREEZE TIME!! That's right! During most of this journey, all of you were frozen COMPLETELY STILL! (I asked the wizard if he could freeze time an extra year so I could go around and look at everyone's pubes.)


Boy, sitting in coach for thirty-seven months can give you some serious LEG CRAMPS! Luckily, we had some great in-flight entertainment. First, a heavily-censored episode of "Friends." Then, look out: Kevin Spacey, Helen Hunt, and Haley Joel Osment Pay(ed) It Forward...all the way to Planet Swain! Pay It Forward was SO GOOD the first time, I asked "Captain Z" if he could run it on an endless loop for the next THREE YEARS! I've almost got it memorized now...

Haley Joel: Kevin Spacey, before I die of child cancer, can you do one thing for me?
Kevin Spacey: What?
Haley Joel: Please...Pay it...to someone else down the line, and then have them pay it to another person, and so on, ad infinitum.


Pretty good, huh? Hey, who wants to see "Captain Z"? He was super-cool...although he was a little bit moody...


And folks, who could forget that foxy stewardess? (Anecdote: I fucked her)



(I have no idea why all my handwriting is now underlined...but I like it!)

Planet Swain airport was a complete dump, though. The actual airstrip is made from the latex in used condoms harvested from the genital warts ward at the Bronx Memorial Hospital, and it reeked like B.O. I'd recommend taking the train if I were y'all, travellers!

Well, that's all the time I have for now! I have to go figure out how to turn this underline function off. Next time, I'll tell you all about the wonderful (and scary!) world of Planet Swain!

Before I begin, a personal message to my opposing lawyer:

Damn, Bob. That IS a cool shirt. It's almost as good as the Soddy Daisy T-shirts that Wanda Sue bought for us during our monumental road trip back in the summer of '99! i think I want one too.

In fact, I was so excited about that shirt, that I decided to do a similar web search, and find some cool Gloversville merchandise to hock here. Unfortunately, other than discovering that my little brother's former fifth grade teacher is now the mayor, my search yielded no results.

Now, on to business:

As I suspected, my lawyer stated our case far more eloquently than I ever could have, and I must say that he put forth our demands in such a way that I don't feel that any reasonable person could or should refuse them. I promise to be a relatively kind and benevolent overlord to New Swain (nee New England), and Jon and his beloved's first born will be used in a way that befits either science, or comedy; whichever comes first.

HOWEVER:

My lawyer, I believe, has ALSO advised me that, though our case is a veritable slam dunk, it might drag on in court for WEEKS before I win, and am able to demand that Jon procreate so as to fulfill the settlement. This, frankly speaking is way too long for me, as I have plans.

THEREFORE, we have decided to attempt an amicable settlement, to keep this case out of court. Here it is; Jon and Bob, please pay attention:

We are willing to drop this case, as well as all of the OTHER demands, provided that Jon follow through on conquering, and handing over, New England PLUS Pennsylvania. (I have to pay off my lawyer, after all). This is non-negotiable.

AND YET, if you are willing to accept this settlement, my lawyer and I will assist you in this effort, EVEN if you decide to conquer more than just the aforementioned territories (which I highly suggest, since you will at least have to pay off your attorney, Jon).

Before you scoff at this offer, please note that between my attorney and myself, we have the following assets at our disposal:

* We all know that the entire town of Gloversville will do anything I say, at the drop of a hat, without question. That, as of the 2000 census, means that you will be able to add 15,413 bloodthirsty motherfuckers. In fact, here are some revealing stats about the town, that I think will let you see just how beneficial we could be:

Black race population percentage significantly below state average.

Hispanic race population percentage significantly below state average.

Foreign-born population percentage below state average.

House age significantly above state average.

Percentage of population with a bachelor's degree or higher below state average.

Has the only high school in the country with TWO sports mascots!

* The people of Wells, Minnesota have seen Karl on the front page of their newspaper so much since he began supermodel-fucking for a million dollars an hour, that all 2,343 residents (as of 2003) with their 73.1% high school graduation rate will be more than willing to jump into the fray, provided we tell them that Daunte Culpepper will sign their hat, or that some former wrestler suggested that they do so.

Well...do we have a deal?

C

Gentlemen,

At the behest of the executive branch of the Soddy-Daisy City Government, I have been directed to assist the defendant in his quest to conquer New England by any means necessary in the event of his loss in this case, either by plea bargain or outright verdict.



Soddy-Daisy, with a population of approximately 12,000 is located in Hamilton County about 15 miles from downtown Chattanooga.

Soddy-Daisy has 70 acres of land dedicated to public use. Soddy Lake offers boating, swimming, water skiing and fishing. Boat launching ramps are available free of charge. There are campgrounds and picnic area throughout the area. The newly opened park and boat ramp at Holly Circle offers picnic tables, a new boat ramp, parking for both cars and vehicles with boat trailers. The planned development will include a dedicated swimming area and a fishing dock with dock space for loading and unloading boats. Soddy-Daisys Community Centers provide tennis and basketball courts, ball fields, playgrounds and a multi-purpose community building and senior citizens center.



Soddy-Daisy residents enjoy a mild climate, with cool winters and warm summers. Summer temperatures generally range in the 80s and 90s, and spring and fall are near-perfect with pleasant temperatures and adequate rainfall. In January, the average low is 32 degrees and the average high is 49 degrees. July temperatures range from 68 to 95 degrees.

Gentlemen, I can think of nothing so magnificent and unstoppable than a joint army of zombies and deranged, beery rednecks bent on "settlin up" with their Yankee neighbors.

I recommend this army wear this baseball tee adorned with the logo of the SDFD:



(Damn. That's actually a pretty cool shirt. I might-a-get-a-me-a-one-a!)

1. Your firstborn. To be used however my client wants. If my client wishes to raise it in complete isolation from the rest of humanity as a feral savant, feeding it only fresh baby blood and Tang and nurturing a hatred in it for other humans so deep and black that upon its eighteenth birthday, when it is finally allowed to see itself in a mirror and, being feral and never having seen it's own reflection, it goes into a beserker rage and attempts self-mutilation of the most savage nature, you can do nothing about this. If my client wishes to keep it locked in a room where it is allowed to watch nothing but reality television twenty-four hours a day before sending it off to Harvard and letting it fend for itself, so be it. If my client arranges a marriage between it and former New York Giant Lawrence "L.T." Taylor, you will smile and clamor for wedding photos.


2. Brownies.

3. Many and sundry hats.

4. Unquestionied, totalitarian control of New England. Although we realize that the defendant does not govern, rule, or own New England, we feel it is of vital importance that our client can make whatever changes he sees fit there in order to put to rest the question of whether Nashua is in fact "the best place to live in America" or not once and for all. Therefore, we ask that the defendant take control of New England by any means necessary: winning the states over starting at the municipal level, banding together, and seceding from the union, then declaring null and void the rulings of the judicial, legislative, and executive branches of the U.S. government in regards to this secession, and finally handing the "keys", as it were, over to my client; raising an unholy army of the undead to take over the land by conquest; or leading a putsch in our very nation's capital itself, assuming totalitarian control over the entire (former) United States territory, and carving out a region in the Northwest where my client can be your viceroy, much like General Zod's granting of Australia to Lex Luthor.

Swains,

As you all know, I am an extremely litigious person; I have never backed down from any opportunity to ruin someone else's life through our legal system. I get a rush from being a jagoff, and I profit nicely from others' misfortune.

The time has come again.

Jon...prepare yourself for the ass-rape of JUSTICE!

I have retained Karl as my lawyer for this matter, and he agrees that our case is a slam dunk. (Or, to use his words, "Jon'll be fucking his mama through a straw when we're done with him.")

My case is as follows:

On Sunday, August 14th (My lawyer's birthday, by the way), Jon posted a brief notice, stating that, according to Wikipedia, his hometown of Nashua, NH had been named the best place in America to live twice in our lifetimes. After stating this as a quote, his comment on this fact was reduced to two words: "Damn straight."

On Monday, August 15th, I read this post, and found it funny for two reasons. First, due to the fact that my wife grew up and went to high school with the same Jon, I have spent a great deal of time in Nashua, NH. I had heard this aforementioned 'fact' many times, and I myself had never seen anything that would justify such lofty prestige. Second, as badly as I have ever mocked Nashua for its faults, my good friend Jon - who had lived there, mind you - was always ten times harsher. And so, I posted, and while I did state my case against Nashua, I closed it in such a way that made it clear that I still find that town at least a hundred times better than MY hometown of Gloversville, NY. (Town motto: "Last in satsfaction [sic], first in apathy induced violence.)

Later that day, Jon committed the offense for which I have brought my lawsuit. At the end of an unrelated post, he wrote:

"And for the record, Corey, regarding my post about Nashua, it's called sarcasm, you asshole."

Now, on the advice of my lawyer Karl, I looked up the definition of the word "Sarcasm". According to dictionary.com, it reads as follows:

1. A cutting, often ironic remark intended to wound.

2. A form of wit that is marked by the use of sarcastic language and is intended to make its victim the butt of contempt or ridicule.

Now, let's look back at Jon's first post, shall we? It contains a title that merely points out the source of the information, a quotation that contains that same information, and a comment that is all of TWO WORDS long: "Damn" and "Straight."

Let's examine this phrase, using the two definitions of sarcasm listed above. I'll use the second one first.

"Marked by the use of sarcastic language" - this is the phrase that matters here. Does the two word sentence "damn straight" constitute sarcastic language? It's hard to say. My lawyer (Karl) and I spent a solid six and a half hours repeating it over and over again, trying to find a way to pronounce it that would be considered sarcastic, and I will say that there were one or two recitations that were unanimously agreed upon as sarcastic. However, the fact that most samples came out sounding relatively straightforward (damn straightforward, har har) makes our point for us.

Now on to the first definition:

"A cutting, often ironic remark." - Now if Jon was being sarcastic, then using this two word phrase does indeed serve as an example as irony. But according to this definition, sarcasm is often ironic, but always cutting. There's the rub (a SHAKESPEARE reference!!). Compare these two versions of the same phrase:

"Damn Straight."

"Damn Straight."

Now they may be typed the same, but I used completely different tones in my head as I wrote them. And yet...you can't tell, can you? THAT'S RIGHT! YOU CAN'T!

The fact is that, while sarcasm is something uniquely difficult to communicate through writing, it is nearly impossible to do so with a phrase such as "damn straight." A blogger who decides to do both of these things MUST accept the possibility that his meaning will become muddled in the translation.

And then he called me an asshole! An ASSHOLE!

My lawyer (I hired Karl. Did I mention that?) has instructed me to inform you all that, as a direct result of this personal, vicious, and unwarranted attack, I have become severely agoraphobic. I cower at the thought of conversation with anyone, and I can only barely manage to have sex with my wife anymore, and only twice a night at that. I have begun cutting myself, and in the past few hours, I have begun forcing myself to vomit stomach acid, so I can then fling it at the walls to spell out words such as "anti-semite" and "clock." I am a wreck, and only 80% of every dollar that Jon has ever earned, or will ever earn, will put me back to normal.

So, in short: Jon, get ready to feel the hurricane, you asshole.

C

I've been jonesing to do a Shakespeare play again, and Ler's questions have only stoked that fire. I'd love to do:

Measure for Measure

King Lear

Karl,

As for a film version of Macbeth, I'm of two minds.

1. Black glass. All sheen and clean, suits and upper-class glory splashed with blood. Imagine the creepy-antiseptic world of the first movement of Artificial Intelligence, but with a photo-negative color scheme. I like my Shakespeare nudged out of reality, but in this case, not as crazy, anything goes as Taymor's Titus (or as my production of Titus). I'd keep this movie in a vaguely sci-fi setting, but in a largely subterranean world. Think of what the upper crust would look like in the world of Streets of Fire -- that's my first take on Macbeth, with the Weird Sisters as pierced-punk street trash. (This would undoubtedly require some ultra-Kubrick clout to pull off such a high-concept and expensive vision.)

2. Tope Hooper snuff realism. Shoot it Dogme 95 style, all on video, and with as slimy and dirty an aesthetic as Polanski's film, but keep the violence as bloodless and unsettling as the kills in Texas Chainsaw. Shit, I might even shoot Tope Hooper up with some smack and make him direct it.

Damn, I'm kinda digging the Dogme 95 idea. Incidentally, Karl, have you seen The King is Alive? It's a Dogme film, and hands-down my fave adaptation of King Lear ever.

I have been baffled by beer preferences as of late.

When I came to live at my parent's cabin this summer, my parents, true to their selfless form, had stocked the fridge well. Milk, veggies, eggs, condiments, soda. And beer. Yay! Who doesn't enjoy a nice frosty cold one at the end of a long day relaxing at the lake?

However, I found it a little odd that my dad's beer of choice now happens to be Michelob Light. Growing up, I remember our downstairs fridge was most often stocked--when it was stocked--with Coors Light. Now, for those of you who aren't beer afficionados, both Michelob and Coors Light taste approximately light carbonated water. The alcohol content of a full can is roughly equivalent to a mouthful of Scope.

Now, to get nearer my point, let me make me and my dad's relative economic situations a little clearer. Firstly, as you might have noticed, my dad owns a cabin. A quite nice one. He also has a new car, as does his wife (my mother). He owns a house, which he built. Also, he has snowmobiles. And a pharmacy. He's doing a-ight.

I own a car. Which he helped me buy. I assume I won't be able to buy even a condo for another ten years or so. I don't own any snowmobiles. I do have an Ipod. I own no stocks or mutual funds. My financial situation is very simple.

Yet despite my incredible poverty, the only time I would actually buy Michelob Light would be if I was going to a party being thrown by someone I didn't like very much which I HAD to bring beer to for the sake of form. The stuff tastes like ass. I'll ALWAYS spend a few extra bucks to buy something at least decent, i.e. flavorful and containing actual alcohol. I'm talking Corona, or Leinenkugel's, or whatever.

I spent some time with my girlfriend's dad this summer. I noticed that he, too, stocks his fridge with shitty beer (I think it was Michelob as well). This man is a neurologist. He can afford good beer. That's my point here.

It's a question that's been bugging the shit out of me all summer. Why do people buy shitty beer when they can afford not to? Being a blue state latte sipper, I assumed that at least my liking for a good beer was something that tied me to the rest of the country. But no: it's just another floppy-wristed affectation or unbelievably sophisticated trait of conniesseurship, take your pick.

Think about it: Beer companies advertise more than almost any other companies in the world, with the possible exception of car companies. Yet do you see a lot of Harp's commercials on TV? What about Bass? You DO see a few Guinness...but compared to Coors, Budweiser, Miller, Michelob--there's no comparison. Based on who can afford to advertise twenty million times a day on television and who can't, which beer companies do you think are making the money? There's an economy of scale at work here, folks.

Just as it's always driven me crazy that people choose to see shitty movies instead of good ones--when all they have to do is check the newspaper once a week to see what the critics are recommending---now it drives me crazy that Americans are buying shitty, watery beer when they have hundreds of affordable alternatives. This isn't like the difference between a Chevrolet and a Lexus. We're talking about maybe two extra dollars when you buy a case.

Philistines!

Corona, a few Microbrews, something imported from Canada...
This lady's got the right idea!

My fave is hands-down the Polanski:



There's also a solid version with Ian McKellen and Judi Dench.


The Welles version blows.

I'll reveal my production concept later tonight!

A curious mind wants to know:

What's the best film adaptation available of MacBeth.

And, if you feel like adding a bit more...

How would you film it if given Kubrickian total creative control?

Jon,

Thanks for the condolences, and thanks for reminding me about that blizzardy trip. How could I forgot?

And let's not forget how Marlena lost the entire caravan by jacking that green baby up to 100 mph for 30 miles.

Bob -- my condolences on being fucked.

As one last gentle happy thought, I'll remind you of the Green Turd's finest hour -- as a member of the proud caravan that managed the Great New Year's Crossing of 1999.

That being our disastrous, epic, near-fatal, Jack London drive from New Hampshire to Evanston, Ill. during one of the worst blizzards in a decade, one that paralyzed the whole country east of the Missippi and north of the Mason-Dixon.

And the Green Turd, along with the Redneck Small Penis mobile and my Underpowered City Escape Vehicle, carried nine fragile souls across the desolate tundra of Canada -- Canada! -- on a three-day odyssey which forever joined us in a bond of fellowship and warm bodily fluids.

Now that is a memory.

And for the record, Corey, regarding my post about Nashua, it's called sarcasm, you asshole.

OK, I never, ever liked that car, but now that it's dead I kinda miss it. So, in honor of the green car that never got a nickname, here's a list of some of its accomplishments:

Road trip from Soddy-Daisy to Telluride, Colorado.
Road trip from Telluride to Soddy-Daisy.
Road trip from Chicago to San Francisco.
Road trip from San Fran to Las Vegas to Chattanooga.
Road trip from Chicago to Gloversville to Soddy-Crazy to Chicago.
Road trip from Chicago to Los Angeles.

Many trips between Chicago and Soddy-of-Daisia for holidays.

Two trips to Vegas from LA.
One random trip to San Diego to shoot a short.

Four Chicago winters.

Five-ish years of LA traffic, including three years of 20-mile commutes down the treacherous 110 freeway to the south bay -- the last of which, to get my last paycheck from Joey Ikemoto Photography, did my car in.

Eight years, approx. 140,000 miles.

Not a bad run.

Now I'm fucked. Well, not totally fucked, but most of this extra dough I'm going to be making is going to go straight into a car payment and extra insurance. Fuck.

YEEE-HAAAAWWW!!!

On another note, Karl, thanks for the reminder about the upcoming Lynch movie. Yay!

Jon,

Forgive me, but your last post seems like the biggest case of misplaced pride I have ever seen!

First of all, unless I'm misinformed, you sir fled the town of Nashua, NH right after high school, and I'm pretty sure I've spent more time there than you have since then.

Second of all...have you seen that place recently? I know I know, I was married there, and so I should have more loyalty to a place than this. But in my mind, Nashua NH is the city that has the distinction of containing one of every single chain store in the country. Applebee's, Chile's, DSW shoes...if its corporate mission statement contains a manifest destiny, it's there. This always makes me sad.

And Lastly...I'm nearly positive that, for all the Nashua bashing I have done in the six years since I've started visiting...you have been more copious AND more vocal in your bashing of the same place!

And now we get a post in which you verbally puff out your chest with pride? I must say I'm confused.

It would be like ME writing, and gushing about how Gloversville had suddenly risen to the rank of SECOND-to-last in pollution, unemployment, and teenagers committing murder. If I ever do that...

C

Bob,

Sorry to hear about the passing of the car. Shit like that can really ruin a weekend, to be sure.

But let us always remember the good times that we all had in that car:

-Traveling in that car to Soddy Daisy, Tennessee...AND Gloversville, New York. In the same week.

-(On that same trip) driving on the highway somewhere South of 2AM, both occupants desperately trying to stay awake long enough to find a place to crash for the night, before we crashed for the night.

-Driving on down to the Apple Holler restaurant, somewhere north Chicago and South of Milwaukee, WI.

-Laundry runs that were stupid far away from Swain.

-The classic (and ill-advised) movie trip into Chicago, where we parked that machine in a reserved spot deep in the inner-city, only to find that it had been towed away at 3AM! (And Bob's decision to try to call for help on a pay phone in a VERY rowdy bar still open at 3AM in inner-city Chicago.)

-The Omega Diner. Nuff Said.

-The blow jobs. Oh, dear lord, the blow jobs.

Who's got more?

C

"Nashua was twice named "Best Place To Live In America" in annual surveys by Money (magazine). It is the only city to get the No. 1 ranking two times - in 1987 and 1997"

Damn straight.

Although I'm sure you've already heard about this.

http://www.variety.com/index.asp?layout=cannes2005&content=story&articleid=VR1117922566

My car died.

It served me well.

Fortunately, I just started this new job. My friend Alan can give me a lift to work until I pull a new car out of my ass. All other essentials are within walking/running distance.

I've had a miserable weekend, Swains. Wish me well.

Sometimes, in order to clear your head, you need to go out and search this amazing amalgam of people and resources called the World Wide Web, and sneak a peek at the best that humanity has to offer.

Yesterday, we enriched ourselves through the reading of Johnny Damon's memoir. Today, let's see what we can find online...

Oh, here's something:

According to a news story that I am apparently the last person to know about, a man was recently killed while trying to have sex with a horse. Now how did this happen, you might wonder? Was he kicked while trying to penetrate? Was he thrown off and stomped? Did the horse rear up when rear-ended? Nope. According to sources, most notably SAVAGE LOVE, the man died of a perforated rectum. Let's use our imaginations to draw conclusions here, shall we?

Of course, if this were the whole story, it would only be horribly disturbing. But what makes this even worse than that is that: A. the man taped this act. B. the police who found it, leaked it onto the internet. Whoo boy.

Enjoy the imagery, folks!

Let's see what else we can find...

AH!

While reading THIS article about how the Da Vinci Code movie is considering removing all religious references (!) so as to pander better to the Christians, you may find that there is a section for reader comments at the bottom of the page. These comments run the basic Da Vinci Code gamut of "It's real!", "No it isn't.", "You're an ignorant zealot!", and "You're going to Hell!" but at the very bottom, a commenter who calls himself "Realperson", has this to say:

The 'Da Vinci Fraud' is a double-bluff. It really *is* fiction. However, a substantial number of credulous dopes and hopeless romantics out there have believed for the longest time in the Myth of The Merovingians. Therefore it is fiction which pretends to be real history pretending to be a novel. A lot of people read it as fact.

The true nature of 'Christianity' needs to be discussed here. It is a Jewish invention (by 'Peter', the second-in-command of the supposed High Priest of The MASONIC (!!!) Order of Melchizedek the NON-JEWISH King of pre-invasion Canaan) and re-invention (by Saul/Paul). Christianity is a 'jealous god' and is directly responsible for the Dark Ages and for setting back the progress of humanity by 2000 years. Christians murdered the Alexandrian philosophers and mathematicians and burned their academies and their books.

Christians are no more than Jews in sheeps' clothing. Now that they are in decline they trying to put up the illusion that Christians are nice people who love their neighbours and follow the precepts of Christ. Tell that to the 'witches' burned at the stake by these fanatically religious paranoid schizophrenics and psychopaths. Tell that to Giordano Bruno!

Fellas, I think we might have solved religion here!

Moving on...

Here's a favorite feature of mine, that I call Movie Critique Corner!! This is where we go to movie websites, and find some insights from people like you and me.

Today we find ourselves on the Dukes of Hazzard page of the Internet Movie Database. a person named "Seannfan" has posted a comment at the bottom asking if they were the only one who really liked the movie, and provided a link to their "SWS" fansite. There, you can access the discussion forum, where people can defend their beloved movie without fear of flaming from assholes like you and me. Here, we have the forum moderator Seannaholic defending the movie from its critics:

It isn't just the critics. It is people that are saying it wasn't that good. Or it is offensive. I didn't see it that way. I don't want to spoil it for anybody...but I know which parts they were showing and I didn't see it as homophobic or racist...Bo and Luke weren't homophobic or racist. They were just faced with situation when they were in the "big city" where they were faced with stuff. Especially with the flag on top of the General Lee. When they were in line, they didn't know why people were flipping them off and being mad at them. Then they looked on the hood and they saw the flag. They didn't make a comment on it. So maybe I spoiled it a little bit...but it isn't like I gave any major plot spoilers

Now y'all go rush out and see it now!

Finally, we have an photograph which people belive to be dragons flying over Tibet. Enjoy!



C

I apologize from the bottom of my engorged heart (the doctors tell me that space travel can inflate your heart so much that you can actually see it beating through a heavy sweater) that I haven't been able to contribute to the recent flood of highly refined, $66-on-the-barrel writing. I have been unavoidably detained in super- hush hush business for the government....not that that's any excuse.

A few weeks ago, as everyone who reads this site faithfully knows, it was announced in the media that scientists had discovered a "tenth planet." Very little else has been revealed about this as-yet-unnamed planet. That does not mean nothing is known.

One month ago today, I was sitting by a secluded lake, contemplating the relative silence of the House of Swain blog in relation to the rise and falls of great empires, when a microchip planted directly on my spinal cord started bleeping and blurting. Within minutes, I was flying in an SR-71 Blackbird from my remote cabin in darkest Minnesota to a secret room three miles directly below the White House.

A humorless, possibly homosexual robot aide briefed me on the discovery of this 10th planet, stressing that because of the explosive nature of the situation, information would be leaked to the public only slowly and with careful presentation of the facts, which even the most over-optimistic analysts characterized as "grim." Soon, our Valiant President himself sat in front of me, wearing a large, threadbare bathrobe despite it being 3 in the afternoon. He leaned forward on his elbows and continually wiped his sweating brow with a handkerchief. "Karl," he said, "because of the explosive nature of the situation, information will be leaked to the public only slowly and with careful presentation of what is known. But here's the facts: It's located beyond Pluto, it's called Planet Swain, it's populated almost entirely by illegitimate children, and I'm appointing you Ambassador of Earth. You leave in fifteen minutes." I believe he may have been masturbating beneath the robe.

Only now, after spending over two weeks on the surface of Planet Swain, living amongst the bastard children who make up almost the entire population, can I relax and contribute to this blog again. What scares me is the prescience of what's been written on this site. Creationism vs. evolution, Peter Jennings, the military and peace-keeping uses of anthropoidal robots made up of smaller, dog-shaped robots: all burning issues on Planet Swain. Keep the debate alive, Swainians of Earth. Although I can't tell ou everything yet, the fate of much of eastern Delaware lies in the balance.

I'm too exhausted by my rocket-lag to write any more. I'll try and write more about my travels, adventures, and sexual conquests later. And if anybody has any questions about Planet Swain that they'd like me to answer in my stories, please, feel free to ask. I'll also include a few of the pictures I took on the trip!

Today's scumbaggery update

First:

Corey, great analysis of that moron's book. Seeing as how I revile baseballplayers, especially pro ones, more than any other form of jock, I especially enjoyed it.

I also loved seeing some Swain analysis that sprang directly from the Swain #3 perspective!!!!

QUESTIONS:

1. What were the flavors of the Swain apartments? (Answer this as a primer for new readers.)

2. What are the flavors of the CURRENT Swain offices? (I'll answer for SwainWest, but Karl, if you're out there, please chime in, too.)

3. Thoughts and predictions on SwainWest's new combination? Specifically: OK, we all know about the havoc wrought in the media and blogosphere over the mixing of Swain #2 member Bob with Swain #3 member Jordan. Everyone thought it was a harbinger of the end times, but it turned out to be righteous.

With the addition of Karl to the SwainWest offices, should we prepare for the end of existence as we know it? Will this end be as awesome as the last merging of the Swains?

The other day, I left my bag at work, and thus did not have my book at home to read. (For the record, it was "Despair" by Nabakov) IN despair at not having any pre-sleep prose, my wife suggested that I whip through Johnny Damon's "Idiot." My wife has become a big baseball fan, with her loyalties lying with the Red Sox. Damon was her favorite, and so when this book came out, I got it for her. There are strong indications that he is one of the stupidest players out there, but hey, anyone who writes a book MUST be smart. I mean, so what if he had a co-author to tell his own story; the man is obviously a genius, and his memoir will surely be a gem. Right?

Well I just finished it today. It is a treat.

It's great to get a window into his soul, like when he tells us that he always buys lots of toys; like cars, motorcycles, jet skis, boats, etc. It really connects us to him. Also, when he discusses how everyone came to offer him ways to invest his millions of dollars, and how he did indeed get into the cell phone business, I think it really made him one of us.

But folks, this book is all about the writing.. Here is an example of the expert mixture of whimsical anecdote and hard-nosed journalism that exemplify this master work.

He is discussing the world series of 2004, and how the Cardinals' slugger Jim Edmonds struggled in game one.

Note: The man's name, again, is Jim Edmonds.

"With the score still 9-9, [there were] runners on base with two outs and Jim Edmunds up. Jim Edmunds is a clutch hitter who doesn't look lost too often, but against Foulke, he was completely lost. Foulke struck him out three times in the series. In this case, Foulke threw a change up in the strike zone that Edwards took looking, ending the threat."

Two paragraphs later, he describes how this "9-9" game ended:

"Mark Bellhorn batted against reliever Julian Tavares, a hard thrower who didn't allow many home runs. He got two strikes on Mark, but then threw him a pitch that Mark crushed high and deep off the Pesky foul pole in right field for two runs and a 9-7 victory."

Ah, there are so many gems here, but I'll only share one more; this time a real insight into the mind of the man. He is describing the signs he read at the post-World Series victory parade:

"One girl held up a sign, "Johnny, marry me. I'm easy." There were a lot of signs that said, "Mrs. Johnny Damon." Another read, "Johnny, take me to the prom." I thought, Oh man, sixteen will get you twenty.

So in conclusion, if you ever get frustrated that you're writing doesn't get seen by the right people, or getting published becomes too daunting, just know that the books that ARE getting published are of the highest possible quality.

Douche.

C

Corey,

To be sure, "debating" evolution is like "debating" fucking plate tectonics or heliocentrism ... or the Holocaust.

I'm not talking about debate. I'm talking about MARKETING.

I'm constantly torn between the sensible scientific thing to do -- which is to make like Richard Dawkins and ignore the idiots in Kansas -- or to simply get in there and fight on this one.

Corey, the difference between your lead-in example and this "debate" is that most of America, it seems, doubts evolution. That crackpot at NU is part of a tiny minority of assholes and neo-Nazis who doubt the veracity of the Holocaust.

My superego wants to ignore these morons.

My id knows that they have the upper hand, and we need to slam-dunk them.

There was a professor at Northwestern. He was an engineering professor, and no one I know ever had him. He was, however, one of the most infamous figures on campus, and it had nothing to do with his course. No, he was a Holocaust revisionist, and had a prominent book and website that touted his theories that the Jews were not exterminated in Germany, but rather just died of illness, or some such bullshit. (I am no expert on revisionism, because to check out a book, visit a website, or anything similar is to count as one more check mark on their tally sheet of hate.) This professor's beliefs would come to the forefront every so often, and when I was on campus, his name became a common swear word as we put on a Holocaust memorial play in my senior year.

When this happened, several things always happened. One was that some progresssive student would want to invite this guy to speak at a dorm or something, reasoning that he wanted to hear how this guy could possibly make such an audacious claim; the better, in other words, to refute it. This was always knocked down, for reasons I'll state later. The second, and more brazen, thing that would happen is that someone would suggest that a debate be set up between this douche bag, and a professor of either Judaic studies or Holocaust Studies. One famous story stated that a renowned NU professor, who was also A HOLOCAUST SURVIVOR, was asked to debate this issue with this guy. His response was that he would be glad to debate on any issue whatsoever about which there was a debate. In this case, there was no way he could do so.

Another famous story states that Alan Dershowitz, when asked to debate on similar terms, heartily agreed, as soon as the debate on whether or not the world was round was finished. Same point.

Basically, the issue here is that a "debate" pre-supposes that both sides have merit. You probably have an opinion about abortion, for example, but no matter how strongly you feel on one side or the other, you simply must, even if it only happens in your deepest and most personal moments, at least see that the other side has a reason for feeling the way they do.

You don't invite a Holocaust revisionist to speak at a dorm, and you don't debate his views over yours, for the simple reason that his claims are simply too disrespectful and horrid even to hear once. Giving him a forum to spread poison only spreads poison. If even one person walks away "understanding" this guy, then the entire thing is a failure. End of story.

Not to make such a strong lead-in analogy here, but I feel the same way about evolution.

How the fuck can I really debate whether or not evolution explains the history of life? OF COURSE IT FUCKING DOES!!! To me, looking at the mountains of evidence and facts that support evolution and still denying that it has merit is the intellectual equivalent of a baby refusing to eat food even though it's hungry. It's hundreds of years of observation, experimentation, and common sense, versus a storybook. These people, if pressed, can't even prove anything about this book, except that it exists. How can that possibly make this debate even, IN ANY WAY?

When I used to think about the march to modern civilization, I always saw it as a constant and steady march from ignorance to intelligence. Right from the invention of fire and the wheel to the twenty-first century, it always seemed to me that, even when people fucked up, they eventually saw the light. Various examples of slavery are always a blight on history's record, but I'd like to think that everyone learned that it was wrong eventually. Archaic and outdated beliefs have throughout history been left behind as we've become more and more enlightened over the years.

So what the FUCK is happening these days?

Can I possibly live in a country - supposedly the most advanced country in the world - where only 35% of people believe in evolution? Can that be possible? Can I really live in a time where people want a president to be no smarter, or more qualified, than they are, simply because he prays the same way they do? I'm fucking FLABBERGASTED! Do I really live in a time where an election was decided based on the issue of GAY MARRIAGE?? Have we really regressed that much? Facts...versus a storybook. That's what this debate. Damn it, I love the book Anna Karenina, but I don't fucking pray to it, you know?

I would rather debate whether or not my first name is Corey, before I debate evolution. Or, to put it another way, I will gladly participate, right after we figure out that whole "world is round" thing.

C

Guys, there's a great article in Slate today about evolution:

Darwin vs. God

The thesis of the article is this: Evolutionists should stop trying to pretend that Darwinian theory presents no threat to religious belief. Yes, it can be compatible with it, but to act like it presents no threat is asinine.

Fair enough. I've definitely argued before that good science is compatible with religion. In doing this, I've touted two people as grand examples of this: my sister, and my 11th grade biology teacher. Both consider themselves full-on Christians, especially my biology teacher, who attended church regularly and wore a cross around his neck. I remember when the time came in his class for him to teach Darwinian theory, and he dove into it with the same geeky joy he did with the rest of his syllabus.

Having already dumped religion, I was certainly relieved and surprised. I still remembered my seventh grade science teacher, who gave us the same bullshit spiel about how dumping a box full of millions of cut-out letters out a window and having it spell into the Encyclopedia Brittanica was as likely as evolution being true. (I of course didn't know at the time how reverse-engineering probabilities is bullshit.)

Back to 11th grade bio. Someone asked our teacher how he could be a Christian and be down with Darwin. He saw no conflict whatsoever. He was bewildered anyone did. He was pretty much like, "But ... Darwinian theory is so AWESOME!!! How could it be a bad thing?"

One analogy I've used when arguing with fundies (or defending evolution to, say, the nice Christian guy who worked at my last job) is to say that science is a noble way to chart the nooks and crannies of god's creation -- because that's how my 11th grade bio teacher sees it, and that's also how my sister sees it.

I think I need to get my fucking head out of the clouds and stop acting like they're anything but exceptions to the rule.

Guys, my history with religion - and by association, science and Darwinian theory - has been turbulent and complicated. I've spent plenty of time pissed off about it, and I've spent plenty of time cool with it.

But as Slate pointed out: Look at this 1993 NORC survey: In the United States, 63 percent of the public believed in God and 35 percent believed in evolution. In Great Britain, by comparison, 24 percent of people believed in God and 77 percent believed in evolution. You can believe in both—but not many people do.

OK, the Phillipines and N. Ireland are the exceptions, where about 60 percent of the populace believe in evolution and god, but for the most part, they're inversely proportional.

Damn, guys. This would be an easier fight if Darwin didn't pose such a threat. Why aren't there more Jesuits or liberal Catholics out there?

Any thoughts on this, guys? Am I wrong? Am I taking mighty Slate too much at its word?

Fellas,

I sense sarcasm in your last two posts. I suggest that you can it, for the sake of the COUNTRY!

Marching in Washington D.C. is a time-honored tradition that makes our country great. It is a chance for people to do one of two all-important things:

1. Attempt to make a strong statement that will get utterly ignored

2. Make an inane statement that will be needlessly hyped by those who are sponsoring the local news.

Obviously, this 9/11 thing continues to be a downer for some people, and so what better way to cheer up our collective national conscience than with a rousing country music concert after a short walk? I know THAT'll get me supportin' the big "W".

I can still clearly remember the feeling I had two and a half years ago, when I joined the over half a million other people to rally at the National Mall, and then march to the White House, to make a statement against going to war. I will tell you, honestly and without irony, that I looked around me at the throngs of passionate people, and I said to myself that there was no way that Bush could ignore this. We were just too many people to overlook. We went to war a few weeks later.

A year later, I was a part of the March for Women's Rights. Over a million people demanding continued protection for a woman's right to choose. (A controversial issue on this blog, to be sure. Bob, let's agree to disagree on this one.) (For those of you new to this blog, the last parenthetical was perhaps the most sarcastic thing ever written. Look back for proof.) There was a large march through the streets of D.C., highlighted for me by my now-famous incident, where I told a young girl to fuck off. (About a third of the way down the page). We went away from that day certain that, with the masses of people gathering for that event, women's rights were here to stay, and Bush was sure to go. A year later...Bush is going to replace Sandra Day O'Connor on the bench.

So marching...is...good.

And MAN does Clint Black kick ASS!!

C

It's true. Here's the press release from the Dept. of Defense web site:

'Freedom Walk' to Commemorate 9/11, Celebrate FreedomBy Steven Donald SmithAmerican Forces Press Service
WASHINGTON, Aug. 9, 2005 – The Defense Department today announced the first "America Supports You Freedom Walk" to honor the victims of 9/11 and America's military personnel, as well as to celebrate freedom.
The Freedom Walk will begin at 10 a.m. Sept. 11 in the Pentagon South parking lot, near the site where the airliner crashed into the Pentagon on 9/11. The walk route will consist of a two-mile trek through Arlington National Cemetery, over the Potomac River, and will end by the reflecting pool on the National Mall, where a free concert featuring country music star Clint Black will take place.
"I am proud and honored to be part of the America Supports You Freedom Walk to honor the victims of 9/11 and to support our men and women in uniform," Black said.
Defense Secretary Donald H. Rumsfeld made the announcement today at the Pentagon.
"Every year since the Sept. 11 attacks, Americans have commemorated that anniversary. This year the Department of Defense will initiate an American Supports You Freedom Walk. The walk will begin at the Pentagon and end at the National Mall. It will include many of the major monuments in Washington, D.C., reminding participants of the sacrifices of this generation and of each previous generation that have so successfully defended our freedoms," Rumsfeld said.

Can you guys believe this?!?!?!?!?!

This book is really good, right?

OK, so after my extensive e-mailings about how to post your own pics on the blog (ones you've designed), Jon points out an easy solution that doesn't involve e-mailing me your files to post to my own Web space.

I would now like to explain why no self-respecting Swain should indulge in this method, and why you should all use the method I described.

Reason one and only: My way is awesomer.

Why? Well, here's why it's NOT awesomer. I could make the argument that I figured out how to do this in a roundabout, cumulative way with knowledge gained through many months of Web design work; that I figured out the code on my own and finagled our very blog banner up onto my own Web server so I could reference it in one of the template fields on the customize page for this blog.

Unfortunately, such an argument would resemble the old NASA story about American pens and Soviet pencils. For those not "in the know," it goes like this:

NASA SCIENTIST: How in the name of Jesus H. Fuck the Redeemer are our astronauts going to be able to write in space without all the ink in their pens spilling out and staining every square inch of the interior of the spacecraft blue like we saw in that Goofy cartoon about space travel?

After the aforementioned NASA scientist said this, martial law was declared in Houston and the USA spent the equivalent of the 50-year GDP of Angola to design a pen that could write in space. More than 50,000 men, women and children died in making of the pen, from prototype to finished product that can now be bought at such fine attractions as the Huntsville Space and Rocket Center.

Incredibly, Houston still stands today.

But despite all the hullaballoo and gung-ho American ingenuity expended on this project, a Soviet scientist reportedly said:

SOVIET SCIENTIST: Why don't you dumbfuckskis just use a pencil?

(In the preceding analogy, I would of course be playing the gung-ho American and Jon the sensible Soviet.)

Clearly, this is NOT the argument I want to make.

My argument, then, is this:

In my e-mails to you guys where I described the process of posting pics to the blog, I got to call these things "alligators": <>

I rest my case.

I learned how to do it! All it took was an email, and a phone call from Bob, followed soon after by Jon revealing to us that we could do it with the push of a button.

YES!

However, I am distraught to see that my first foray into visual blogging was something as pedantic as a book. A SWAIN book, but a book nonetheless.

Therefore, to rectify that, please enjoy this shot of a baby eating a cat.

C

With all the posts eulogizing Peter Jennings, we should certainly add this touching and sentimental story:

Death becomes cash on eBay
PETER JENNINGS

Some entrepreneurs are already looking to make a few bucks off Peter Jennings.

Hours after the announcement of the death of the esteemed newsman, more than a hundred Peter Jennings memorabilia items appeared on eBay.

Along with the usual photos and books, there were Peter Jennings bumper stickers (giving the date of his birth and death along with the words “Orator, Educator, Journalist”), Peter Jennings memorial candles, and Peter Jennings Tribute Ribbon Magnets or Decals.


Awww...Isn't that wonderful? Doesn't it make you remember how much you love humanity?

Well, I went to Ebay today, but NOT to see the Jennings objects. That's too classy for me. Instead, I looked up "Swain", to see if I could learn anything more about our elusive and mysterious hegemon.

I found MANY DVDs featuring Dominique Swain (who, if she isn't actually doing porn yet, should probably just do everyone a favor and take the plunge, so to speak), a few Judo books by Mike Swain (no surprise there...we all knew that our basement buddy was a karate badass), and THIS:



Here's the description:

This is a wonderful book on the history of Ayrshire Needlework. It was published in 1955 and is in great condition.

Sounds like our boy to a T, if you ask me. And it was written by M.H Swain. Michael...Hugedick...SWAIN.

Who knew our main man was so multi-talented?

Answer: ME

(Ahem)

"LISTEN TO THE QUESTION I'M ASKING!! When I have a specific query about an assignment, I am NOT admitting that I am a complete fucking idiot who needs to have his hand held from the first step!!! Oh, and on a related yet different note, you are either going to have to pick between: wanting to be seen as nice and approachable, or cattily swiping at me and making me feel like a prick for asking you a question. One last thing, if YOU can't remember what you wrote in an email to me, or if the words don't make sense to you, or if you read words that you wrote out loud, and then turn to me and interpret them as meaning something utterly different, YOU ARE NOT MAKING ANY FUCKING SENSE!! ADMIT YOUR FUCKING MISTAKES, rather than trying to delude yourself that the confusion is due to my mental deficiencies!!! GAAAAHHHHH!!!!"

...

Thank you.

C

Jon,

Awesome. Thanks for posting that guy's column. Even though I'm not an acerbic, fencing, Iliad-quoting smart Jew, I'm still in awe of Steinberg, because he also seems to be better at being me than I am. He's definitely better at being an angry secularist than I am. Great post. I'll have to check his column from now on.

That said, I'd like to share with you guys some observations on the gym.

Yes, yes, I know -- I don't talk about the gym much, other than the random reiteration of my hatred for jocks, especially their deranged hybrid siblings, bodybuiliders.

But what the hell. First, here are some new pet peeves I've found with jocks/bodybuilders:

THE ABOUT-FACE

Picture this: You're walking to the locker room past the stretching mat. A hottie is sitting on the mat. A jock is chatting with her. They finish their conversation, and the jock starts heading toward the locker room, right in front of you. Again, you're now walking a few paces behind the jock in the same direction.

Be ready to make a course-correction, because the jock will always, always, ALWAYS, 100 percent of the time, pull an about-face to make one more witty comment to the hottie. So be ready to dive to the right into the cardio machines, or you're going to run face-first into a sweaty jock.

THE WACKY BACK-UP

Another staple of jock existence is the wacky back-up. This comes in many forms:

THE GOOD-BYE CONVERSATION SPOKEN WHILE WALKING BACKWARD THROUGH A CROWDED ROOM
Yes, friends and neighbors, jocks will hold entire conversations while walking backward, secure in the knowledge that the crowd will part like the Red Sea for their smelly, huge jock ass.

THE FUNNY-WUNNY, WACKY-WACKY, JUMPITY-JUMPITY LAUGH MOVE
Here's the scene: A jock tells a funny jock joke to some of his jock friends.

Some or all of the jocks on the receiving end of the joke will laugh -- golly! -- just so hard that they'll have to jump just as high as they can, backward, no matter who is around them, whereupon landing they'll do a one-legged hop backward while clapping their meaty, callused jock paws in glee, or they'll stop and spin around, much like an NFL wide receiver stopping at the end of his route to return to the huddle.

(Side analysis: This NFL-style turn-around is psychologically similar to the redneck driving a Camaro. The redneck in question will slow to 2 mph at the sign of the slightest bump or imperfection in the road, usually muttering, "Doan wanna fuck up the suspension.")

OK, enough of that. I'd now like to give everyone a tour of the various Bally Total Fitness gyms I've worked out at and what they're like ...

BALLY'S STUDIO CITY
Basement, windowless weight room packed with freaky bodybuilders. Ugh.

BALLY'S GLENDALE
Every LA member of Project Mayhem must work out here, because it's nothing but scary, tatted bruisers with flat noses and scarred knuckles.

BALLY'S PASADENA
A trip back in time, packed with ancient, rusted weights and quaint, brass-plated machines built in opposition to normal joint operation. A joy.

BALLY'S MANHATTAN BEACH
I worked out at this one for most of the three years I worked in the South Bay. Big, roomy and well-stocked with new stuff, and gloriously free of bodybuilders and endowed with many a beach babe -- many of whom got their boobs done during my three year tenure.

BALLY'S TORRANCE
The benevolent cousin to Studio City. Filled with jolly, middle-aged bodybuilders, including a few milfy, oddly busty, former female powerlifters (powerlifting being the Olympic sport, not bodybuilding). Weird trait: Even though I never actually saw these guys out in the weight room, working out at Bally's Torrance meant always running headlong into one of the legion of sweaty, exhausted, naked, fat, middle-aged men who staggered around the locker room.

BALLY'S HOLLYWOOD
Big, crowded. Now my current haunt. It'll do.

I am terribly irritated by the Sun-Times' Neil Steinberg because he's just like me only better at it. There's no room for an acerbic, fencing, Iliad-reading Jew columnist in this city when there already IS one who's very good. Seriously. In bowed head tribute, I submit this bit from his Aug. 3 column, which echoes something Bob wrote a while back.

Speaking of science. Once again, President Bush and I are in complete agreement
on an issue and, surprisingly, that issue is "intelligent design," the
pseudo-scientific sham that the religious right cooked up to jam their beliefs
into public schools, where they don't belong.
Bush told a group of reporters
that he feels intelligent design should be discussed in school. So do I. What
the president didn't say was how it should be discussed, and so, in the spirit
of public service, I offer my own intelligent design curriculum, which should be
inserted about midway in the two weeks sixth-graders spend learning about
evolution and Darwinism. The teacher should sit on his desk, sigh mightily, and
say:
"OK, kids, as we now know, life on Earth evolved over billions of
years, from tiny, one-celled organisms gradually evolving into the complex
animals we see today. The fossil record and biological evidence clearly supports
this understanding of our world and most scientists endorse it.
"Except, of
course, those whose religious faith overwhelms their reason. They cleave to a
belief they call intelligent design -- basically the notion that, gosh, the
world is so darn complex that God had to make it, he just had to. There isn't
any scientific basis for this -- it's the Genesis story from the Bible with a
few facts picked out of nature and hung on it like Christmas ornaments, plus
whatever inconsistencies in evolution they can find.
"Well, of course,
religious faith is a wonderful thing, and in this country everyone is free to
believe any creation myth they like: You can believe that the universe was laid
as an egg from the Great Cosmic Turtle, and people do.
"But that doesn't
make it scientific fact, and it shouldn't be taught as an alternative, or an
option, or a theory, or anything beyond the vapor of religious dogma it is. Some
of your parents might disagree, but you should tell them that there's plenty of
time in church for Bible study, and that it's only the worst kind of zealous
triumphalism that inspires them to try to drape their religious fantasies in a
veil of mock science and sneak it into school."
That might not be what the
president had in mind, but, as he says, "people ought to be exposed to different
ideas." Amen to that, too.

Jon:

Thanks for the 411 on the nature and state of news anchors today, and for explaining why Jennings was so important. I, of course, defer to Jon on all matters journalistic.

There is much talk and excitement among the Swains these days. Let's do a run-down of then latest in the world of Swain …

Excitement abounds in the offices of SwainCapitol, where SwainCorey has just received an encouraging letter from an esteemed comedy writer. Corey had written to this esteemed writer at some risk, pitching not only himself as a comedy writer, but also the very letter he was writing as funny! Starting a joke with "this is going to be funny," is a deathknell for any other comedian, but not for Corey. This esteemed writer is currently wondering where in the fuck Corey's writing sample is. Yay!

All is proceeding according to plan in the venerable charter offices of SwainChicago, where, despite the recent defection of SwainKarl to another office, SwainJon continues to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable as he plans his nuptials to The General.

At the request of the Department of Homeland Security, the offices of SwainWest have ballooned to fully half of the original six Swain members with the addition of SwainKarl to SwainJordan and SwainBob. Karl moves to LA with high hopes of a comedy writing career and his kool-kat main squeeze DD. SwainJordan continues to request footage to spin into gold for G4TV, and Bob has recently started a job with a much shorter commute and a pay grade that consists of more than back slaps and handshakes. The scenery's pretty nice, too.

As to why the DOHS requested Karl's relocation to LA, all they offered was the vague intonation of an "Imminent Enemy Threat." Current theories as to what DHOS has in mind include direct military intimidation (Al Quaeda wouldn't dare strike a city guarded by three Swains), or perhaps cultural intimidation (a response to a grab-ass bunch of Al-Jazeera journalists?). In any event, SwainWest remains ready to respond on the hop to any situation.

Which leaves us with the mysterious offices of SwainApple, home to SwainPete, who, according to Jon, continues to make a lot of money and remain in a stable relationship.

******************************

POSTING IMAGES ON THE BLOG

If you guys have any questions, please just call.

Also, if you guys design your own image that you want to post, e-mail it to me, and I'll post it on my own Web server so you can refer to it from there.

OTHER SHENANIGANS

Jon, thanks for reminding me of Zinsser's great book. What a read, and applicable to all writing, not just nonfiction.

Peter Jennings on assignment in Eastern Europe. They called him the James Bond of foreign correspondents. (Courtesy ABC Photo Archives)

Thanks for the kudos, Bob, on the DD post. But remember, all credit is due my fiance, A.K.

Just call her "The General" without the Lee.

That's the phrase Grisham used for sex in The Firm each and every goddamn time two characters had sex. Didn't matter which two. A Grishamism, to me, is using the same descriptor/metaphor for different characters and situations, meaning that the "showing" demonstrative action or the metaphor isn't illuminating in any way about this particular character or situation, it's just a funny bit of language you liked as an author.

Other items:
* It's "jams" not "jambs." Jambs are for doors. Jams are for getting stuck in. You gentlemen are incredibly generous in assuming I knew more than you about this, but keep in mind a) the amount of copy I generate each day and the ensuing sloppiness and b) the fact that I've had editors holding a safety net for me every day for six years. I will also yield to Bob on all grammar questions.

* Strunk and White is not to be fucked with. Also check out William Zissner's On Writing Well which, mysteriously, disappears every time I buy a copy. Zissner is less concerned with nuts and bolt grammar and is better at helping you understand the principles behind clean prose.

* In regard to your question on commas, Corey, no, I don't see it as a general problem with your writing. Look through the stuff you've posted in the last few weeks. Your syntax, which I think of as roughly analogous to your verbal timing, is usually dead on. I think the letter in question was the victim of an attempt to try really hard to do three things at once.

Broadcast journalism is a funny animal. The industry standard language for discussing this is to say that print journalism operates on the consumer's intellect while TV journalism operates on the emotions. That's to say that the hack's goal is to make you think, while the talking head's goal is to make you feel.

There's a lot of dum-dums in TV journalism at the local level. There's no doubt that many reporters, especially women unfortunately, are hired on looks and not talent. Certainly they're not hired WITHOUT looks. In the old days, lots of reporters started in print, made a name for themselves, and then crossed over to better-paid TV. Not anymore.

All that being said, when you watch local news, some of the things Bob mentioned are all still true. Nearly all anchors only become anchors after being field reporters first. And field reporters for TV are truly required to report at the local level. They've usually got no one helping them but a union camerman who knows where to point the camera and that's about it. The reporter is the one asking the questions, gathering the information, writing the script and editing the footage, all usually in a matter of hours.

Conducting a TV interview isn't the easiest thing in the world, either. You can't let the conversation lapse while you gather your thoughts. If you're doing a "gotcha" with a corrupt official, you've got to be prepared to nail him as he evades. If you're doing an "incisive portrait" on a famous or controversial person, you've got to get that person to somehow reveal something about himself that's new and real and not manufactured. If you're interviewing, say, Saddam Hussein or Ayatollah Khomeini (which Jennings did), you've got to risk getting you head chopped off.

But lots of the ones I know are still dumber than rocks. They tend to rely on local print reporters to keep them up to speed on what the hell is going on right in front of their face. And their reporting is not in depth, usually limited to the essential narrative. It can't be, they only have 30 seconds, and their goal, remember, is to make you cry. There's always some superstar reporters at every station (Bob Hardrock and your I-Team works for YOU!) but they're older guys, many of whom started out in print. And lots of their "investigations" are "consumer journalism." As in "This hidden camera showed rats getting into the Ground Round! Can you believe it?"

At the national level, things are a bit different. First of all, there's a whole layer of guys, producers, who don't even really exist at the local level. There are some stations that let these guys -- ugly dudes in bad clothes -- out into the world with a camera and a mike, but not many. At the national level, it's pretty common for the actual newsgathering and reportage and investigation and editing to all be handled by a producer. Think Al Pacino's character in The Insider or Michael Keaton's character in Live from Baghdad. (Both excellent movies, btw.)

That isn't to say the on-air people don't play a role at the national level. They're still the ones that conduct interviews, and are often as much a part of the reporting process as the producers. But you can never tell just by watching.

At the big three networks, and to a lesser extent at CNN, the anchors of the nightly broadcast are also considered the news directors. That makes them, essentially, the editor in chief of the broadcast and any other broadcast. Usually there's one or two people above them, a person who handles budgets and answers to the corporate board, but day-to-day control of what goes on the air and how was always handled by Jennings, Brokaw and Rather. They might have done some of their own reporting, like with Rather's ill-fated National Guard story, but mostly their roles were to exercise their considerable news judgment in deciding what to play and how to play it.

All three were also great reporters in their own right. Jennings was the consummate foreign corrrespondent, having covered, as ABC has been saying, both the construction of the Berlin Wall and its collapse. Rather was the White House correspondent during Watergate. Brokaw did stuff. All three had a hand in any major stories covered by their networks even as anchors and they continued to relocate to anchor the broadcast from faraway places that had big stories.

Jennings had a knowledge of the world that he used every day in drawing facts out of his correspondents and in writing his 20-second scripts from the mountain of information available. He went into war zones. He talked to murderous world leaders. He learned details of national policy most of us never bother with. But in the end, they are always known for their "manner" and the way their "trusted voice" calmed us. Which I think is bullshit. Congrats, Pete, for having a nice voice. But a toast to you for your live coverage of the bombings in Beirut, when no one else had the balls to even go there.

We're actually blogging so much I'm overlooking posts!

Jon, great post on Daisy Duke.

Strunk?

"The Fact That"?

Strunk and White


One of the seminal books on grammar geekiness. Ever. Mandatory Medill reading, and still great to this day.

Strunk goes on a huge rant in the book about the phrase "The fact that." (Though, to be fair, a "huge rant" for Strunk is about 25 words.) He hates it, and thinks it should always be omitted in favor of something stronger ...

BAD: The fact that he was an asshole led him to give that kid the finger.

GOOD: His unsavory personality made him give the kid the finger.

BEST: He gave that kid the finger.

Bob, your response was illuminating, as I thought it would be...but I now have a few more questions...

Also, would you mind posting an example of a "Grisham", as well as a solution/better example?

Well, let's take my infamous "biting the inside of the cheek" example from AIR.

When I was writing AIR, I used this action whenever someone wanted to inflict physical pain on themselves to relieve stress or to keep from freaking out.

Unfortunately, looking back on my own life, I think I've inflicted pain on myself to relieve stress maybe four or five times, and in my case I pinched my earlobe really hard.

There's nothing wrong with someone biting the inside of their mouth ... when it's a character-specific choice and not a blunder borne of lazy writing. Let's say I had chosen to have, say, Air relieve stress by hurting himself. For him, seeing as how he's my closest proxy, having him pinch his earlobe might work well, because it's something I do myself, and having this huge guy pinch his earlobe to relieve stress looks really funny, too.

But not everyone hurts themselves to relieve stress. (Vachss' Burke, for example, stares at a red dot until he lapses into a deep meditative state.) When I encountered this character need in AIR, I should have (and plan to) searched for character-specific ways for everyone to deal with stress, seeing as how there's plenty of it in the narrative.

To avoid Grishams, I quote Mad-Eye Moody: "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!!!"

1. Jon, you wrote that Daisy Duke would get the boys "out of jambs." Is it "Jambs?" I guess, since we have traffic "jams," I always assumed that this was correct. However, I'm pretty sure it works both ways. What can you tell me here?

Beats the hell out of me. I always thought it was "jams," too, but this might be a "all intents and purposes" weird one that I've been screwing up for years.

2. Bob, a while back, and perhaps even a year before that, you spoke about a book containing "Grishams," which you described as an action that takes the place of an emotion. Your example was that, in your novel Air, you had characters "biting the sides of their cheeks." Also, in Harry Potter, we see characters CONSTANTLY blushing in one of a dozen ways. Why is this bad? What should be done instead?

Well, I see Grishams as being cheap tricks that an author pulls to "show" instead of "tell." They come from a good place, but as for a solution to them, I say cut them and simply try to imagine what your character would really do. Strunk would file them in the same category as "The fact that," I'm sure -- delete all of 'em and try again.

3. I don't know if you two have noticed, but the grammar rule I struggle with the most is the relationship between punctuation, and its interaction with quotation marks and parentheses. Is it that punctuation is always "inside the quotes." (And yet outside the parentheses)? Does this rule bend ever?

Corey, when it comes to this one, I'm an AP snob. MLA opts to put commas outside quotes (and underline titles, etc.), going against the style of every major magazine, newspaper and publishing house in the country.

When your parenthetical is part of another sentence, the period goes outside.

I like cottage cheese (which is curded milk).

When it's a full, stand-alone sentence, it goes inside.

Fuck you! (I said this even though I didn't really mean it.)

We're in for another attack or war any time now!!!! Rock!!!!

I pride myself on my own skills with our English language, and yet I have perhaps even more pride in the fact that two of my closest friends are far better than I will ever be with same. To that end, I have some questions from recent posts. Jon and/or Bob, please respond at your leisure:

1. Jon, you wrote that Daisy Duke would get the boys "out of jambs." Is it "Jambs?" I guess, since we have traffic "jams," I always assumed that this was correct. However, I'm pretty sure it works both ways. What can you tell me here?

2. Bob, a while back, and perhaps even a year before that, you spoke about a book containing "Grishams," which you described as an action that takes the place of an emotion. Your example was that, in your novel Air, you had characters "biting the sides of their cheeks." Also, in Harry Potter, we see characters CONSTANTLY blushing in one of a dozen ways. Why is this bad? What should be done instead?

3. I don't know if you two have noticed, but the grammar rule I struggle with the most is the relationship between punctuation, and its interaction with quotation marks and parentheses. Is it that punctuation is always "inside the quotes." (And yet outside the parentheses)? Does this rule bend ever?

4. Jon, in a recent letter I sent to you for critique, one of your notes was that there were too many commas. Was this a criticism just of that letter, or do you have that criticism for my writing in general?

Thank you gentlemen.

C

Have you heard of this movie?

See it. SEE IT. SEE IT!!!

I can honestly say that I have never laughed so hard at a movie in my entire life.

I can also tell you that, while it is a documentary, and nothing more ever happens than people talking on screen, it is the dirtiest movie I've ever seen.

HILARIOUS!!!

However, please be warned that there is one down side:

As a result of all the brutal, godless, filth that is contained within this movie's 90 minutes, your head will be filled with more evil shit than you can possibly imagine, and your dreams will suffer accordingly. Personally, I had a dream that I left my wife to marry my mother, the whole time feeling terrible angst because "I'm an actual motherfucker now!" This was a horrific dream, and it was a MOST unwelcome change from the one I usually have, in which I leave my wife to marry BOB'S mother.

You have been warned.

C

Corey,

Though I'm not the expert on journalism Jon is, I did intern at a TV station for a summer, and I can say that no news anchor -- well, no news anchor of a self-respecting news organization -- got behind the anchor desk without having been a local reporter, then a correspondent, then a foreign correspondent (or whatever), and then a weekend anchor ... you get the idea. The anchor is like the conductor of an orchestra or the drum major of a band -- it doesn't look like they're doing much, but they're doing everything, and only the best of the best get there.

And yes, we could equivocate over what it means to be a news anchor, especially in this crazy age, but for the major organizations, it's the best of the best. True, because of the advent of the television age, news anchors have had to become more telegenic. There are some people who will never be a major TV news anchor -- but hey, there's always All Things Considered for that crowd.

FUCK Jon...You sure know how to muscle!

Seriously though, it occurred to me as I walked to work this morning that your post yesterday did contain some sadness, and that in itself deserved notice.

What really strikes me here is that your mourning of Jennings is perfectly honestly only my second indication that the anchor...well, matters. Please forgive my callousness here, it's just that it was always my (obviously spurious) understanding that the anchor did not investigate the news, nor did he write it; he was just the mouthpiece. I guess this belief came from James L. Brooks' Broadcast News, where William Hurt played the good looking guy with the dynamite voice, who had the world handed to him in the news biz.

However, the Dan Rather "scandal" of the past few months really shed my first light on the wrongness of this understanding. If indeed Rather was handed that memo, and it was he who decided to cover and report that story, then it shows that he had far more to do with the nightly broadcasts than just speaking absurd colloquialisms in a sonorous manner.

My second example was you, Jon, lamenting the loss of an anchor who you say inspired you to pursue the news as a career. WOW.

Please accept my condolences, and feel free to shed some more light on this misconception of mine.

C

I'll never forget Jennings' coverage of the 2000 presidential election fiasco. Remember that camera catching on fire?

We'll miss him.

Jesus... are NONE of you stone-hearted bastards gonna shed one goddamn tear for Peter Jennings? Anybody?

My fiance made an interesting point about the difference in the Daisy Dukes. Having never seen either the show or the movie, I will pass on her observations in the interest of science.

She pointed out that, in the show, Catherine Bach’s Daisy was decidedly older than her dumbshit cousins. She was sort of a source of wisdom, getting their asses out of jambs, as well as a conscience, reminding them of the values, I can only assume, of the Southern Gentlemen in their lineage.

Catherine Bach’s sexuality was no doubt present, but it was rarely used as a blunt weapon, like Simpson’s. She was supposed to be a sorta smart, liberated Southern woman, who dressed sexy because she liked it but didn’t take any shit and usually thought her way out of problems instead of just flashing her tits.

Simpson, of course, is reduced to the idea of sexiness being a moral goodness in and of itself. We’re supposed to like her because she’s sexy and we’re not asked to look beyond it. I haven’t seen the movie, but I’m guessing that we’re encouraged not to.

Whearas the sexiness of Bach was coupled with her competence (a trend that can still be seen in modern TV characters like Sydney Bristow of Alias and the venerable Buffy), Simpson’s sexiness stands on its own, two-dimensional, with nothing behind it.

Again, please attribute all this to a mind other than mine. I just like tits.

1. Some shell-shocked guy walking down the street. He had both arms extended out in front of him as though he had just dunked them both in cold water, and was trying to keep the rest of his shirt from getting soaked. His girlfriend was clinging onto one of those arms, but he paid her no mind and just stared straight ahead. On his shirt was written: "I LOVE MY GIRLFRIEND." Somehow, this all made sense. (Dude, if you're reading this, listen up: I don't care HOW good she is in bed...)


2. Four people standing in the doorway to the big gold-domed bank structure on the corner of M and Wisconsin. One had a tambourine, one had a giant conga drum, and the other two were middle-aged women dressed as gypsies. The two musicians were repeating a short beat over and over again, and the two women danced. And danced. And danced. Try as I might, I could find no evidence that they were trying to raise any money whatsoever, and at one point, one of the woman stopped dancing and helped a tourist with directions.

3. Some guy walked out of a store, followed closely behind with a group of two women and one other guy. One of the women yelled loudly enough for me to hear: "Hay Buh-ba...Wailcome to Deey Ceey." I don't know why, but this was, by far, the funniest part of the day.

C

In an earlier post, I discussed evening plans I had with my wife, to have drinks with a dude and his fiancee. This guy, so we thought, was new to the area, and he got our number through an aunt (of ours) who worked with him in Seattle. We prepared for a night with an older guy who had no friends.

Instead...

This guy, it turns out, is 25 years old. His fiancee is younger. They have lived in D.C. for something like six years, with both of them having gone to college here. He is, by all accounts, a very successful financial planner. She is an actress, who was one of the cheerleaders for the Washington Wizards this past season. They are, to be blunt, far cooler than we are.

So how did this all come to pass?

You see, I think it all comes down to the connection between the aunt, and him. You see, WE were under the impression that he moved from Seattle to D.C., and told his co-worker that he was scared because he had no friends there. So, to help him out, she gave him our number, knowing that we were kind souls and would serve as good first people to know.

We then found out that, in addition to everything else, they were NOT co-workers. Instead, the aunt was his CLIENT.

Now we have a different picture emerge.

Now we have a relationship that exists only over email and phone. Young alpha male with the world on a string lives in D.C., and works with nice older lady in Seattle, who gives him business. She mentions that she has a niece and nephew who live there too, and that he should call them. (Now, the story might end there, but let's face it: it MIGHT include references to how WE could use some friends, and a social life. You never know...) So he calls us, and follows up...TO SUCK UP TO HIS CLIENT!

We thought WE were doing some charity socializing on Friday, but it turns out that we were almost certainly the charity CASES!!

It's hard to recover from that.

C

Interesting...a Dukes of Hazzard post...the same afternoon where I had a long lunchtime discussion on the same thing. It may be a coincidence...but I have to comment anyway.

What's funny to me is that, when I watched the preview for that movie, I instantly saw two things, which I knew to be unassailable:

1. This movie was going to suck.
2. Bad.

And the REASON why the above two things were true, was that the movie clearly had none of the same feel or intent as the show.

I knew this to be true, and yet I had only seen the preview, and what's more, I had not seen the show for over twenty years. Now that's saying something.

Apparently, The Daily Show did a piece last week, making fun of Cooter, now a Congressman, who has come out "against" this movie, because it has gone against the tone of the original series. He said that the movie (I didn't see this piece, so this is only hearsay) was a bunch of tongue-in-cheek sexual innuendos and such, while the show was more pure. The Daily Show then mocked him, by showing shots of Daisy Duke in a bikini, and calling this guy "Snatcher" in his interview.

But the thing is...I think I agree with him.

I saw my first episode in over twenty years last week. It was about Boss Hogg making a $5000 bet that the kids' basketball team he sponsored would beat some rival douche's team. His team was terrible, and neeed a coach. As luck would have it, the Duke boys owed him a favor, and they agreed to coach for him. Then some kid's father died, and when they visited him, they found that he was very tall, and a great basketball player!! The big chase involved one of the Dukes rushing to some county hospital to prove that this star kid was actually 12, and not 13 like the evil douchebag had claimed, in time for him to get in there and win the game. (But, touchingly, he passed the ball to another kid for the winning shot.)

I have to say: Daisy might have been in short shorts and whatnot, but this is as far from racy as it gets.

While watching the show, I realized that, in its way, it was pretty good. It had a nice formula, and Waylon Jennings' narration really gave it the feel of some old man sitting on his porch and reliving his good old days. As Bob says: it was bad...but undeniably fun.

And here's my big point here (I think): Daisy Duke in short shorts or a bikini is hot because she's the kind of girl who you, or I, would find ourselves having a crush on in school, or around town; NOT because she's a porn star, or had "Fuck me" eyes. And THAT, to me, is what makes that show sweet, even as some claim it to be provocative or sexist.

Jessica Simpson MAY be hot (I honestly don't see it. Sure, she's got a great body, but she is just so fucking annoying, I can't see past it.), but it's not real. It's unapproachable. I honestly can't imagine anyone having a fantasy about her. But Catherine Bach? Hells Yeah.

So to sum up: Bob, I haven't seen that movie, but I agree wholeheartedly.

C

Whew. After a mildly stressful weekend (some web design shit, finishing up my old job), Jordan and I decided to go see Dukes of Hazzard on SwainKarl's first unofficial/official night in LA. (It's his unofficial/official first night because he's not formally moving into town until September, but he and DD have found an apartment.)

So anyway, we went to the magnificant Chinese theater to see what I hoped to be a solid, corn-pone, shit-kicking funfest.

Unfortunately, what we got was just plain boring.

Burt Reynolds? Startin' to look like Joan Rivers with all his plastic surgery. I mean, when your dimples start pointing in different directions than they used to, it's time to knock it off.

Jessica Simpson. OK, though I consider myself no expert on the Dukes (it was slightly before my time), I will go so far as to draw a Gilligan's Island analogy ...

Simpson is "Ginger" hot -- porcelain-perfecto beauty that verges on sexless, antiseptic -blonde perfection. Daisy Duke should be Mary Ann hot -- pigtails and freckles and down-home, corn-fed, middle-America cutie-pie perfection.

In other words, what should have been the easiest part of the movie -- getting a hot babe to srut around half-naked -- they managed to fuck up.

Johnny Knoxville. Jeez, dude, you're FROM KNOXVILLE, TENNESSEE, and you couldn't even pull off a hick accent? What the hail?

Sean William Scott. Gog-eyed and muggy in that Charlie's Angels Full Throttle way, where he looked like he was desperate to have a good time the whole time.

The Broken Lizard gang showed up for some welcome cameos (Heffernan had probably the best-conceived bit in the movie), but a self-indulgent reference to Super Troopers just felt weird. I mean, these guys are just getting big; is it already time to get all Stephen-King-self-referential?

Also, the movie's plat was harder to follow than King Fucking Lear. By the third act -- when Bo was leading half the Georgia state police on a high speed chase to the Hazzard county courthouse where everyone apparently had to get to to stop Hogg from doing something bad -- I was completely bewildered.

Jordan and I confided with each other during the movie that Dukes Just might fall into that same bizarre category of half-breed movies that are both shattered narrative and pornography, a la Caligula or Bad Boys II.

Bad movies can and should be bad. That's when they're bad fun.

Bad movies cannot be boring. That's when they just suck.

Dukes sucked.

Peter Jennings, who taught me that covering the news was something noble, whose patient explanation allowed me to wow my 5th grade class with my knowledge of world events, who told me why the fall of the Berlin Wall meant something, who guided me through 9/11 when I became a child again for a brief space, who anchored ABC World News Tonight for more than 20 years, has died from lung cancer. He was 67.

All right, guys, I must confess ...

Yes, I very often check out Maxim, Stuff and FHM for obvious horny, soft-pornin' reasons.

But some of my main guilty pleasures that I won't pay for are weightlifting magazines.

Yes, I occasionally browse through them for ideas of new stuff to do in the weight room while goofing around at Barnes and Noble or in the checkout line at the supermarket. I couldn't possibly imagine actually buying one.

I also have a weakness for the giganto-breasted car babes seen in the pages of magazines like Lowrider.

Jeez.

Jon,

Ah, you bring back some wonderful memories with that little morsel.

My college days, as well as my first post-college year, were rife with that behavior. Also, let it be pointed out that, at least circa 1999-2000, the Mayfair Mall in Brookfield, Wisconsin sported very lax security, and free refills on their largest size popcorn. I would habitually go in, buy that fucking tub o' salt'n'grease, and plan out my day. Over the course of two (and once, God forgive me, three) movies, I'd eat SOME of the popcorn, then dump the rest into a bag in my backpack, and then get one (and once, God forgive me, two) refills before I left. I'd be in starchy paradise for a week.

Man, how many movies HAVE we collectively snuck into over the years? These are perfect examples of what I was discussing earlier, since we are ecstatic to see them for free, but paying even a fraction of the price seems ludicrous. I can recall sneaking into Cruel Intentions at Old Orchard in Skokie, Illinois...and many others so forgettable, that they're already out of my head for good. Having said that, I can tell you that I DID catch a free showing of Battlefield: Earth, and I STILL wanted my money back afterward.

One summer, I stayed with Chris Jones for two weeks. He worked at a movie theater, and we got in for free to any movie we wanted. Let me tell you...THAT was a summer for shitty movies. We saw: Kull the Conquerer, Event Horizon, Masterminds, and the evil bugs-that-look-human "thriller" starring Mira Sorvino and F. Murray Abraham. Damn.

Bob - If we were to include guilty pleasures that we HAVE paid money for...we'd all really let our true colors out, wouldn't we? I'd have to admit to forking out real cash for the VHS and soundtrack for Cool as Ice (as well as currently pining for the DVD-from-the-laserdisc that is always selling on Ebay), among others. That's a whole other discussion.

Jon - Man oh MAN, do I understand your work situation. For the entire month of July, my workload consisted of waiting for our network client to call me back, so I could proceed to plan and book the work for the show we're supposed to produce for them. When they FINALLY got hold of us, they said...that it would take another month at least. I've been sitting at work every single day waiting for that promotion to kick in. (word has it...next week!) Today, I left early, and as I went into my supervisor's office to let him know I was leaving, he asked for the very first time if I had enough to do. I could have slit his throat.

Tonight, my wife and I are going to go to a bar to have drinks with some dude (named Seth, of course) and his fiancee. His story: he moved to D.C. with no friends at all, from Seattle. We have an aunt who lives out there, and this aunt worked with him. She mentioned that she had a niece and nephew in D.C., and gave him our number. AND HE CALLED. OVER AND OVER AGAIN!!! Man...I'm in for one fucking fun night, boy.

C

I've completely run out of stuff I can even PRETEND to keep busy doing. Seriously. It's not that there isn't news out there, it's just I really care so little about all of it.

Now, Bob, I agree that there's a difference between the pop culture pleasures we revel in and spend money on and display proudly -- a la Flash Gordon -- and those that even self-obsessed uber-geeks like ourselves are a little embarassed about and even unwilling to admit to ourselves. Like Juiced.

I've read through books without buying them at Borders before this, though admittedly not with the dogged determination I've displayed towards Sith.

The obvious other example is those trashy, not-quite-porn "laddie mags" which have a cultural and intellectual quotient in the single-digits-of-Kelvin range but which I, habitually, cannot stop myself from reading furitively in the magazine aisle, racing past the half-naked pictures of Jennifer/Jessica/Katie Love-Hewitt/Simpson/Holmes as if I didn't really want to see them. What's a world without Maxim in it? It's a world with a lot fewer breasts.

But my all-time favorite trick is the crappy movie that I'll only see if I'm truly bored and I can sneak in for free after leaving another, better, paid-for movie. This is the most juvenile of habits, and one could argue that if we all were to indulge in it, then it could mean the collapse of the American Hollywood movie producing system, which is the last U.S. institution that retains its preeminent spot in the world and the only institution, arguably, that still engenders enough good will abroad to prevent all other nuclear-armed nations from throwing their hesitations aside and nuking our balls off. But all the same, sometimes one needs to Fuck the Man, since the Man has been Fucking You, and yes, I did, I admit, sneak into a showing of Cats & Dogs, the uproarious 2001 Lawrence Guterman-directed comedy classic about the secret spy societies of our favorite furry friends and the crazy hijinks they engage in! Now c'mon.... who could resist that.

Corey,

Jesus, can we think of any examples of guilty pleasures? Us? Swains? Hell, that's like half our damn intake of pop-culture -- more for me!

FLASH GORDON
ROCK AND RULE
STARCHASER
WIZARDS
KRULL

Just off the top of my head – and I paid for all these! Jordan drove me all over Hollywood on my birthday to find Krull.

BUT – you were also talking about guilty pleasures that we intake without spending money or without wasting time. A much tougher question. Let me think.

Jon brings up a great point about an oft-ignored category in our world: the piece of pop-culture that we want to consume, without ever spending a cent to do so.

Bringing lunch into a Barnes and Noble to read a Revenge of the Sith novelization is something for which you deserve to be applauded. You are able to succumb to this guilty pleasure, without having to do anything for which you will feel guilty afterwards, such as spending cash on it, or wasting extra time. After all, it's free to read, and you're using time you'd be using up either way. It's perfect.

Personally, I walked by a co-worker's desk the other day and saw a copy of Jose Canseco's book "Juiced." He had just finished it, and he gave it to me to read myself. Now, here is something that can only be described as a guilty, dirty read. A guy who admits to cheating at sports writes a book he all-but admits is all about creating a stir, and making money for himself. And yet, as a baseball fan, I'm intrigued enough to want to read it, provided it's free. (As a side note, I also can only read it at home, since I can not allow anyone to see me reading it on the Metro. That would make me feel dirty.)

Today at lunch, another co-worker told me that he, AND HIS WIFE, had watched the movies "Bulletproof Monk" and "Standing Tall", and then told me that Seann William Scott was pretty funny in both of them. Now, if I were not horrified by this sentiment, and had any interest in or intention to watch these, then they would also be classified as this type of guilty pleasure.

But there are probably tons of these sorts of books and movies. On Sunday, my wife and I visited our neighbors, and he was watching XXX on TV. (The Vin Disel movie, not the good stuff.) Let me tell you - for free, that looked like a damn fun movie. Now, for even one dollar...that's a different story.

It's an interesting question, and surely very personal for everyone. For me, I'd pay $20 to watch From Justin to Kelly, since I know I'd have such a good time, and I DID once pay full price in NYC to watch Britney Spears' Crossroads. Others might disagree, but then truck off to see "Bewitched," which would be too expensive for me even if it WAS free.

Can I get some other examples of this? Or have I just written 200 words of incomprehensible bullshit? FUCK!

C

Bush's nom indulges in the gay gayness?

You said this:

In the meantime, I will only mention this -- that sometimes, in one's life, one must do certain things. And if what I have to do in life right now is take an hour lunch break every day to sneak sushi into Border's and read a copy of the novelization of Revenge of the Sith that I am unwilling to buy and yet totally ungrossed in, well, then, I don't think I should be judged for that. It's what I need.

Dude, we take our comfort food however and wherever we can. Sometimes it's reading novelizations of Star Wars movies, sometimes it imagining scenes from Wrath of Khan and imagining how would you play the characters if cast in a remake.

OK.

Starting with Corey's confession that he imagined Ginny Weasley as a total hottie, I need to do a roll call of the major (and minor) female characters in the HP books and analyze their hotness.

GINNY
Total hottie. Redhead. Rowdy. Not afraid to snog on the first date, or in front of the whole damn Griffindor common room.

LUNA LOVEGOOD
I TOTALLY have a crush on this completely fictional and underage character. I think she's just the coolest, and I bet she's one of those girls who is totally unaware of how cute she is. Plus, she's a space cadet. A winner. She and Marlena would be thick as thieves.

LAVENDER BROWN
OK, even though Ron is a banana-brain for hooking up with this chick when he should have done a two-leg takedown on Hermione, I think we all can agree that Lavender is a porn star name, and that this one is also a hottie. Ron, buddy -- way to go on tapping this one.

PANSY PARKINSON
OK, this is Draco's main squeeze, and even though Hermione calls her a "cow," and Rowling's narrative voice describes her as "pug-faced," this chick cannot be ugly. Why? Because, again, she is Draco's main squeeze, and Draco snogging with a cow simply doesn't square with his galloping Aryan -- whoops, pureblood -- bigotry, and neither does it square with Draco's Slytherin-style ambition, which would require him to date a hottie.

How do I imagine Pansy? Flinty goth babe with too much eye makeup. Yum!

ANGELINA JOHNSON
Buff babe. Jock. Talks like she's in a Mamet play. Hot.

THE PATIL SISTERS
OK, I think we all need to admit that we all kinda think the Patil sisters are hotties. Indeed, when Harry scores the Patils as his and Ron's dates to the Yule ball in Goblet of Fire, one of the Weasley twins is bewildered at how Harry and Ron landed the two best-looking girls in their year as their dates.

Corey dude, that's weird. That's too many Seths.

I'm a little drunk, having just seen an old friend of ours from college -- HEATHER! She's great. She's a lesbian. She's having a good time.

I have not, recently, had an experience like yours, Corey, though I have had them in the past. When my brain is functioning more on its own merits and less on ethanol, I shall recount the story.

In the meantime, I will only mention this -- that sometimes, in one's life, one must do certain things. And if what I have to do in life right now is take an hour lunch break every day to sneak sushi into Border's and read a copy of the novelization of Revenge of the Sith that I am unwilling to buy and yet totally ungrossed in, well, then, I don't think I should be judged for that. It's what I need.

Good blog on ID

Interesting story Bob.

Sometimes, the outrageousness of random life seems to pour through a funnel into one's life for a concentrated amount of time. I still remember a 35 minute trip on D.C.'s Metro one morning that featured a middle-aged woman getting arrested by Metro cops (with her shouting "OW! You're HURTING ME! Get your hands OFFA ME!!" the entire time), sitting next to a poorly disguised transvestite for most of the trip, and then having some Mormon dude attempt to convert me as I got off.

Does anyone else have an odd series of events like this? (ARE there people out there actually READING us these days?)

*******

Last night, for me, was also somewhat strange, though for far different reasons.

For me, it started on the way home, when on the Metro, I sat down and found that Stephanie Masker was sitting at an adjacent set of seats. Stephanie Masker was some chick that I went to high school with, and I believe the "closest" I ever got to being friends with her was when she and I were both on a school trip to Italy. I remember that she tried desperately to get with Rick Rhodes over those ten days, but almost nothing else about her (I think her sister's name was Bobbi Jo, or something like that). I was amazed that I had come across yet ANOTHER emigree from my tiny little hometown (On the first day taking the Metro to work after moving to Northern Virginia - THE FIRST DAY - I ran into the girl on whom I had my biggest crush in all of high school). I was then pretty fucking impressed with my face recall, in that I was able to identify her after barely knowing her ten years ago. I then started to attempt to roust myself from my seat to say hello to her...but I couldn't. I wasn't scared...but rather indifferent. It was destined to be one of those awkward conversations where you pretend to be happy to see a person, ask them questions where you don't care about the answers, and then wait awkwardly until one of you mercifully has to leave the train, at which point the two of you promise to stay in touch, without the least intention of doing so. Plus, as I mentioned before, she once had a crush on Rick Rhodes. That guy was a DOUCHE BAG.

I got home, and my wife and I prepared for the party we were to attend. We have become friends with our next door neighbors, and the last time we were there, we were invited to a screening of a documentary written and produced by their friend Seth (not to be confused with the Seth we're going out to drinks with this weekend, the Seth who performs at ComedySportz with me, or the Seth who used to plague this blog with poorly spelled comments all the time). And so we went.

Since this could get very long winded, here's a partial list of what was strange about this party:

1. The hosts of the party knew Seth (obviously), but I don't think that they knew a single other person who came through their door all night.

2. The food was cooked in OUR stove, rather than the one at the party's location.

3. Seemingly none of the guests who came to the party had even the slightest idea how to get anywhere in Arlington, VA, despite the fact that each and every one of them have lived their entire lives ten minutes away. (My wife became the navigator so many times that night that in no time she was answering the phone herself).

4. Seth's parents showed up to the party. This is not strange in itself...but Seth currently lives with his parents, in the same town as all of his friends. This means that, instead of having this screening at his parents house, where everyone he knows must be comfortable finding, he instead traveled to someone else's place, made all his friends get lost finding it, and then had his parents (and roommates) follow him out there.

5. When the very last person showed up (nearly two hours after the screening was supposed to begin), Seth announced that, as a special bonus to the party, there would be belly dancing. The hostess (who teaches a belly dancing class) called all the women up to the front so she could give them a basic lesson. (On the plus side, my wife was one of those women, though on the negative side, she was standing behind Seth's mother, so my view was not exactly as I'd have liked it to have been.

6. The film was very good, considering the lack of expertise of the filmmaker. However, once it ended, his friends not only praised it, but INSISTED that it was as good as any documentary they had ever seen. (These were the same people who, during the small talk portion of the night, used the word "Mockumentary" as though they had invented it, and then asked if there was such a thing. When I said there was, and cited Spinal Tap, Mighty Wind, and Best in Show as examples, the guy thought for a while, then said that he was pretty sure he had seen Spinal Tap in an episode of Simpsons once). They said that his use of "close-ups on the people's faces" made what they said very clear, and other such comments. I know they were just being nice, but I had this fantasy all at once where I'd invite all these people over to my place one day, as well as all of you. I'd then announce that I had just whipped up a computer program (I'm pretty sure these people all worked in computers, or something similar), and wanted to share it all with them. I'd have them gather around as I showed it off, and then I'd let them all listen as my Swain friends would pay it effusive praise to its brilliance (Hey, I love the choice of font you used. That makes it really user-friendly. You should totally sell this to Microsoft. I'm SERIOUS, man. It's THAT GOOD.) Perhaps then they'd understand how strange that was for me.

We then left, after a few more awkward conversations, and promises to contact people again that we surely have no intention of acting upon. So, in the end, I didn't gain any karma by avoiding that talk earlier that evening, after all.

C

So driving in LA is pretty treacherous. But on my way home last night, I was graced with an 18-wheeler who decided to drift into my lane, causing me to lean on my brakes in an interchange.

Later, I was graced with the dazzling fun of another big rig truck -- this one a double trailer rig hauling junk -- that for some reason didn't know that traffic always clogs up in downtown LA right by the LA Coliseum.

Maybe the fucker was from out of town, but Angelenos know that, when not dodging drive-bys on the 110, they have to stand on their brakes right when they pass the Coliseum -- except this truck driver who, thanks to the crack engineering of the Daihatsu corporation, managed to stop in time, while still causing a hapless motorist to make an impromptu course correction while merging from one lane to another so he could dodge a HUGE FUCKING TRUCK.

Then after I finally got off the 110 and onto the 101, I had the pleasure of being tailgated by a guy who was clearly incensed that I had the temerity to exit at Vermont without using my signal, and while cruising up Vermont toward my place, I had to come to a complete stop in traffic to allow the passage of a homeless guy on a dirt bike in the opposing lane.

Anyway. I'll talk more about HP and Swaintron tomorrow.

Given my camera-right leaning posture, it's clear that I am in the middle of giving a smiling and soon-to-be-off-the-market Corey an HJ.

I LOVE the Swainpic at the top of the site.

However, there's one thing that puzzles me.

My question is this: based on his posture and facial expression, do you think that, when this picture was taken, Bob (second from the left) was gleefully just about to belch, or fart?

C

I have to state for posterity something that I heard yesterday that I thought was hilarious.

Now, please note in no uncertain terms: the following is funny only because I'm a grammar bitch, and I realize that I'm a fucker for reporting it.

Okay.

I overheard someone talking about test taking yesterday. This person said: "The first time I took it, I did really well on the math, but I did really bad on the verbal."

I chuckled to myself. "Heh. I bet you did do really badLY on your verbal."

God, I'm a douche.

C

First of all,

CHECK OUR SHIT OUT!!! We are really cooking now! We actually could pass for an honest-to-goodness Blog now! Like the kind that people read! Of course, I think those days are far behind us, but who gives a shit?

Bob...ROCK ON! DAMN, this kicks ass.

Harry Potter thoughts:

My criticisms still stand, but Bob makes some excellent points. As I discussed last night, I guess that, if a book is going to be this fucking popular, I just feel that it desperately needs to transcend everyday books. Here's my challenge: Read Philip Pullman's "His Dark Materials" trilogy. It starts with a book called The Golden Compass. Book Two is called The Subtle Knife, and book three is The Amber Spyglass (I think the entire trilogy can be bought at Amazon for less than twenty bucks). These books are brilliant. BRILLIANT. They also involve magic, mythology, and children with extraordinary abilities. They too delve into very dark areas; death and sex among them. And they too are a trilogy written for children. And yet...they're just so tight. I can't say that, with the possible exception of an ending that becomes a touch too schmaltzy, there's a single weak or unneeded moment. And, if this series is going to be largely ignored in favor of Potter, then I will, unfortunately, continue to judge Rowling harshly.

Book Seven thoughts:

Ron dead? No way. He STILL has not hooked up with Hermione yet. It has to be one of those moments that lets all the girls clap their hands and cry. Also, she has shown a willingness to kill off characters...but that would be going too far. Too many kids out there associate themselves with Ron. He's been inept at wizarding...but gleefully so. If he truly didn't give a shit, and teachers constantly warned him about being unprepared for the real world with him responding by flipping them off...then maybe. But I would bet good money that he gets to fuck him some Granger before he dies, and that won't happen while he's a student at Hogwarts.

Having said that...even though I think it unlikely, I think it much more possible that she would kill off Harry. Let's take a quick peek at Joseph Campbell's "The Hero of a Thousand Faces" for this one. A brief rundown of Campbell's theory states that the epic hero tale is one that is largely universal, and repeated throughout cultures throughout the world. George Lucas was a great believer in Campbell, and wrote the Star Wars movies with his work in mind. So, here are a few characteristics of the prototypical hero:

(Note: these don't ALWAYS occur in ALL stories; rather, these are just the benchmarks to look for in a hero story. It's a subtle, yet important, difference.)

1. Unusual parentage - Our hero is born under highly unlikely circumstances. Cronos swallowed his male children, including Zeus, so none would grow up to remove him from power. Achilles was born to a mortal and a God. Moses was sent down the river and raised by the very Pharoah who ordered his death. Jesus was the product of immaculate conception. King Arthur was conceived when Merlin cast a spell on his father to make him look like the husband of a woman he desperately wanted to sleep with (a man who he had just killed). Luke Skywalker was born and hidden from a father who would either kill him, or raise him to do evil. AND, Harry Potter was born to magical parents, killed by an evil wizard who somehow failed to kill Harry himself, and was then sent to live with an aunt and uncle who kept his geneological secret from him.

2. The Hero's Hubris - Our hero has one fatal flaw that comes back to bite him. - Moses had anger (he killed an Egyptian guard, after all). King Arthur is too trusting in people's sense of right and wrong. (Lancelot, anyone?) Zeus couldn't keep his dick in his toga, to Hera's fury. Achilles, though dipped into the River Styx to make him as invulnerable as a God, was nonetheless prone to injury in his heel. Luke Skywalker was impetuous, and failed to listen to elders. (More on this later). Harry...well, it could be his anger; his need for vengeance; his love; etc. He's an imperfect character, to be sure.

3. The femme fatale - IF our hero takes up with a woman, it is almost always his downfall. Eve. Guinevere. Hera. Delilah. The list goes on, but I AM at work, so I can't take any more time to think up more. Harry is right to leave Ginny, at leat for the present, if he or she wants to have even the slightest shot of surviving book seven.

4. The Enemy Within - Our hero discovers that his mortal enemy is actually very closely linked to him. Moses - Adopted father Pharoah. Jesus - Judas. King Arthur - his bastard son Mordred. Luke Skywalker - Vader is his father. Harry - we've spent six books showing the similarities between him and Voldemort, and he's also the guy who killed Harry's parents.

5. The Hero falls just short of seeing victory - Though saving the day, our hero dies in the process. Moses shows anger against God, and is thus forbidden to see the promised land. Jesus is crucified before he can see his preachings take hold. Beowulf dies in the final battle with the dragon. King Arthur is killed in the final duel with Mordred. Luke Skywalker dies in the process of destroying the emperor and his father. (Or at least, he was supposed to. This was Lucas' intent, and the original ending to Jedi. However, test audiences hated it so much that he was forced to change it to the happier version we see today.) Harry...

I realize that this theory is imperfect and ill-studied, but you have to concede I have a point. Rowling is cleary well-versed in her studies of mythology and fantasy, and she uses them freely in crafting her novels. It should at least be entertained as a notion, that Harry will save the world, at the cost of his own life.

New point - I agree that Draco will have a change of heart. We start to see a human side of him in the newest book, and there are, quite simply, too many other battles for Harry to fight in book Seven (Voldemort, and the one-who-must-not-be-named-lest-someone-reading-this-has-not-read-book-six-yet,-though-
you-really-should-have-guessed-as-much-by-now.) To be honest, I was waiting for that to happen at the end of this book, and that we'd find out that Harry's theories about him were off-base. I still think as much, but we'll have to see.

I also really like the point about the four houses of Griffyndor. It sure could work, and those four characters all exemplify the characteristics seemingly put forth by those four houses. However, allow me to put forth a much more intriguing (though admittedly unlikely,) scenario:

In book seven, it is Neville Longbottom who does something truly heroic and brave. He's been building up to it for a long time now, I think we all agree. Therefore, when Harry dies, it is HE who becomes the head of Griffyndor house, in that scenario.

...

Alternately...given that, like Lucas, Rowling just might not be ALLOWED to kill off arguably the most popular modern fiction character in the history of the world...

Neville is the one who sacrifices his life to kill Voldemort (The prophecy did state that it could have been either him or Harry, remember.) His bravery comes alive, and he does something with Harry that saves Harry's life, and kills their mortal enemy. Harry then heads up Griffyndor house, as stated in Bob's post.

Hmmm...Thoughts?

And Bob, you are absolutely right that the Defense of the Dark Arts teacher will return for a second year. Voldemort has put a curse on that position, and once he's dead, it will be lifted. Oh shit...could THAT be Harry's future? He does have a knack for it. Fuck, now I've gone and out-thought myself.

Your titles are good, and I don't think I can improve on them.

Now Bob, GET OFF YOUR ASS, AND DEVELOP SOME POWERS FOR SWAINTRON. FUCK!

C

Guys,

OK, I'll respond to all of your Potter-tary, then offer my own ramblings ...

First, Jon, yes, that is Fleur in that pic. I had seen some pics of her and thought she was cute, but damn!!! I wasn't ready to see her in full cameltoe glory in that skimpy Beaxbatons-issue swimsuit.

On another note, I like the look of the dude playing Krum. I like that he looks like a bruising footballer from north London/east Europe. Right on.

-How hot did you imagine Ginny to be? Honestly... (I always did have a thing for redheads...)

YES!!!! I totally imagined Ginny as a hottie. BUT I'm also a big fan of Luna Lovegood. I was disappointed she wasn't more of a love interest. I was hoping for a Harry-Ginny-Luna love triangle.

(But if Rowling whacks Ginny in book 7, maybe we'll see Luna wind up with Harry -- if she doesn't wind up with Neville.)

-Is anyone else getting a bit tired of Ron and Hermione? I mean A. just fuck already. And B, if you're not at peace with the fact that Harry gets all the acclaim and you don't, then you probably shouldn't be friends with him anymore, now should you?

-Did anyone else think that this book was particularly weak? Now yes, there was a major storyline shift at the end, but first of all, it was foreshadowed from page one, and second of all, if you really look at the series as an arc, it was the only thing that could have happened. I'll say no more until I verify that we're all up to speed, but aside from that plot twist, all we have is exposition and teen romance.

OK, I went over my feelings with Jon and Corey, but I'll add them here for posterity:

This book could have been filler, or it could have been the Empire Strikes Back.

Parts of it are filler (more Quidditch, and she dumps all the Voldemort background she cut from book 2 into this one, for example.)

Parts of it are Empire (the entire end sequence, and much of the Animal House-style shenanigans, which I compare favorably to the Millenium Falcon sequence in Empire; a big caesura in the narrative that lets our characters fall in and out of love.

I also really loved how this book lingered on life at Hogwarts. When I read the first book, I didn't know anything about the series, and I thought, "Wow, this is cool, but it's going to suck when this kid graduates." The I found out that the entire series was to be built around the school's seven-year curriculum. Rock!!!

-I want to say that I'm officially confused with the whole "wizarding school" thing. Okay, they would have to practice making potions, and caring for magical plants, but how are kids practicing spells? By saying them in different tones? By using different wand movements? And how about creating your own spells? Is that just reciting nonsense syllables until something spurts out of your wand? Is it like the sorcerer's version of trying to discover secret fight moves on Mortal Kombat? If it IS just making up random syllables, then what do you need school for? And if it ISN'T, then aren't you just training all wizards to do exactly the same thing? How does one wizard stand out from the others. I know, I know; Harry was great at Defense Against the Dark Arts...but how? What did he do differently than the others? ESPECIALLY since we all know that he hardly ever does his homework, copies his assignments from Hermione, and spends his free time playing that sport or somehow usurping his school duties to save the day?

Corey, great point. I'll repeat what I said last night ...

OK, in a waking dream, when I try to do something crazy (fly, destroy a building, conjure some hot chick to suck my cock), it's the closest I'll ever get to feeling like what it's like to be inside the Matrix or to use the Force. To perform fantastic feats, I have to flex a certain muscle in my mind a certain way; I have to do it without thinking about it.

Back in college (in the Swain #2 kitchen, I believe), Corey said he disliked how Rowling built her magic around magic wands and magic words (and let's face it, many of her spells are twee -- "oculus reparo," anyone? -- but I was hoping that part of their training at Hogwarts would involve eventually discarding the wands and words. Sure enough, year six had the kids practicing silent spellcasting, but they still had the wands.

One of the few times Rowling really delves into the challenge of casting a powerful spell is in book 3, when Lupin teaches Harry the Patronus charm. That Harry had to say the words AND think of a truly happy moment in his life really helped me get my mind around how fucking hard performing a spell under those circumstances would be! Great stuff.

-I have to say that I think Rowling's world is inconsistent. Sometimes wizards can heal themselves; sometimes they can't. Sometimes they can curse one another; sometimes they can't. Sometimes they can remove thoughts from their minds for others to see; sometimes they can't. I understand that it's impossible to be perfect, but since kids pore over these pages more vociferously than GWB over his bible, I'd think that more of these holes would have been discovered by now.

Fair enough, though the epic storyline mitigates those shortcomings for me.

-And finally, to revive an old fight with Bob, I think that, while Rowling is a great storyteller, she is a shitty writer. Again, kids turn red, turn scarlet, turn maroon, feel their ears redden, etc. to show embarrassment so many times that I lost count. We read the whole process of starting the Pensieve thing at least three times. Harry recited the words to start the Marauder's Map at least half a dozen times. She's just lazy, and apparently no editor in the world is willing to cut her work. Frustration.

Yep, guilty as charged. Rowling is guilty of many "Grishams," as Jon called them when critiquing AIR.

Now, onto some of my other thoughts ...

TITLE FOR BOOK 7???

Whatever it is, I hope it's not, say, HARRY POTTER AND THE FOUR HORCRUXES. Ick!

If Harry and Dumbledore hadn't already neutralized two of the horcruxes, I would suggest HARRY POTTER AND THE SEVEN SOULS.

HARRY POTTER AND THE DARK LORD?

We'll see. Fun!!!

BOB'S BOLD, SLIGHTLY DERANGED PREDICTIONS ABOUT BOOK SEVEN

Ron? Dead.

The defense against the dark arts teacher will say, "I'd like to return to Hogwarts next year."

Two predictions from friends of mine ...

Hogwarts will be destroyed. Harry, Ron, Hermione and a reformed Draco will rebuild the school, with the following house heads:

GRIFFINDOR: Harry
RAVENCLAW: Hermione
HUFFLEPUFF: Ron
SLYTHERIN: Draco

OR

The final battle will come down to 4 Privet Drive.

Thoughts?

Did anyone else read the latest book yet?

If so:

-How hot did you imagine Ginny to be? Honestly... (I always did have a thing for redheads...)

-Is anyone else getting a bit tired of Ron and Hermione? I mean A. just fuck already. And B, if you're not at peace with the fact that Harry gets all the acclaim and you don't, then you probably shouldn't be friends with him anymore, now should you?

-Did anyone else think that this book was particularly weak? Now yes, there was a major storyline shift at the end, but first of all, it was foreshadowed from page one, and second of all, if you really look at the series as an arc, it was the only thing that could have happened. I'll say no more until I verify that we're all up to speed, but aside from that plot twist, all we have is exposition and teen romance.

-I want to say that I'm officially confused with the whole "wizarding school" thing. Okay, they would have to practice making potions, and caring for magical plants, but how are kids practicing spells? By saying them in different tones? By using different wand movements? And how about creating your own spells? Is that just reciting nonsense syllables until something spurts out of your wand? Is it like the sorcerer's version of trying to discover secret fight moves on Mortal Kombat? If it IS just making up random syllables, then what do you need school for? And if it ISN'T, then aren't you just training all wizards to do exactly the same thing? How does one wizard stand out from the others. I know, I know; Harry was great at Defense Against the Dark Arts...but how? What did he do differently than the others? ESPECIALLY since we all know that he hardly ever does his homework, copies his assignments from Hermione, and spends his free time playing that sport or somehow usurping his school duties to save the day?

-I have to say that I think Rowling's world is inconsistent. Sometimes wizards can heal themselves; sometimes they can't. Sometimes they can curse one another; sometimes they can't. Sometimes they can remove thoughts from their minds for others to see; sometimes they can't. I understand that it's impossible to be perfect, but since kids pore over these pages more vociferously than GWB over his bible, I'd think that more of these holes would have been discovered by now.

-And finally, to revive an old fight with Bob, I think that, while Rowling is a great storyteller, she is a shitty writer. Again, kids turn red, turn scarlet, turn maroon, feel their ears redden, etc. to show embarrassment so many times that I lost count. We read the whole process of starting the Pensieve thing at least three times. Harry recited the words to start the Marauder's Map at least half a dozen times. She's just lazy, and apparently no editor in the world is willing to cut her work. Frustration.

Let's discuss...

.... Fleur? Holy crap, Bob.

First of all, Corey, thank you for your gentlemanly apology. I, too, owe you an apology for the rapacaciouness of my attack upon your Gigantic Robot Cat Physics argument. I know too well that there are specialists in every field, and I should not presume to lord my training over others lest I reap the same treatment. After all, where would I be were it not for your intense and detailed knowledge of the chemistry of Peruvian Dog Pickles? Ha, I'd be still cleaning up that mess of spattered testicles, and we both know it! Jolly good.

Second, if I may contribute my thoughts as to what inherent abilities should be built into the Swainatron, I would say that we're not taking a full advantage of Corey as The Mouth. Nor are we exploring the special powers that are achieved by the aggregation effect which Bob has defended so vigorously. Therefore, to wit:

THE SPELLBINDER: In which The Mouth, once seeing a momentary wandering of attention on the part of its' foe, can singlehandedly monopolize hours of the foe's time by broadcasting a complicated interweaving narrative that is as engrossing and interesting as it is unfathomable and full of unknown characters. Also, we'll use drugs.

THE FOUR NEUROSES ATTACK: In which gigantic globs of emotional goo are rocketed out from each of the Swainatron's limbs, swathing our foe in the myriad neuroses, hangups, regrets, guilt complexes, traumatic childhood memories, bad habits, fetishes and other mental baggage that can be represented among the best of Softcore Eurpoean Gay Porn.

THE RINGER: In which the Feet are allowed to control the Swainatron for a duration, humiliating all nearby with their stupendous ballet form. Though this may not work, because Peter got a little bit fat in New York.

Bob?

You are now! (scroll to the right)

Jon,

I consider myself humbled before your superior knowledge on all things robotic-cat-giant-aggregation. In fact, I am forced to swallow all further questions on your proposed plan, such as the absence of arms, taint, and Swain. From now on, you are the head architect of Swaintron. Hurry up, though; now that Gobotron has been discovered, the evil aliens have surely ramped up their impending plans for domination. We MIGHT be safe, due to the viruses and bacteria that inhabit our blood, but I wouldn't want to risk Tom Cruise's life on that assumption, and neither should you.

However, I don't want you to assume this awesome responsibility without SOME guidance.

Swains, we have the beginning stages of an awesome Mega-machine. With a head, a chest, a fantastic head of hair, a glorious ego, and no penis, we will surely strike fear into the minds (or tentacles, or whatever the fuck those fuckers use for sentient thought) of those extra-terrestrial cock gobblers. Or at least we will...ONCE we decide on what powers Swaintron should possess.

Here are some initial suggestions:

1. Uber-exuberance (or exUBERance) - Given the booming voice and intense charisma of Swaintron's chest, it would seem natural that this particular giant robot would have radically augmented enthsiasm, and the ability to project its voice throughout the cosmos. This will come in handy for:

2. Oratory Excellence...of DEATH! - The ego of Swaintron, long known for his ability to wax philosophic and argue the perfect point, will grant the aggregate super Swain the power to verbally convince its enemies of their own wrongness...and then bludgeon them to death when they stoop down to reflect sadly on a life spent poorly. Because we'd also have an axe, or a club, or something.

3. Super Stomping powers - Ironically, this power would originate with the hair of Swain, who was renowned for a foot stomp heard round the world. With this power, Swaintron would be able to be heard coming by its enemies, BEFORE WE EVEN JOINED TOGETHER TO FIGHT THEM! Even in the comics, the bad guys never feared Superman until he arrived on the scene. Here, we'll be able to see the terror before we even have time to excuse ourselves from our respective dinner parties to meet up at Swaintron's fortress of Swain. (in Shreveport, LA)

4. Super Sensitivity - The head of Swain, known far and wide as one who worries and frets, and gets defensive easily, will grant Swaintron the ability to feel an even MICROSCOPIC shift in the public opinion about his actions while fighting evil. This, coupled with power #2, will allow Swaintron to come up with a suitable justification for any action that with which the public would take issue, and by then using power #1, we will have them loving us again before the next catastrophe.

5. Super No-Cock-ness - Because of Karl, Swaintron will have no dick. But, it will be a SUPER no-dick. This will...allow us to talk to girls without them fearing that we're only after one thing. I guess. Stupid fucking Karl.

Well, this should be a committee decsion after all, so I open up the floor. Gentlemen? What else need we consider before executing our planet saving plan?

C

First of all, Corey, I wish you'd stop trying to comment on things you have no knowledge of. When you get your doctoral degree in Gigantic Robot Cat Physics, as I have, then you claim certain things are impossible. Only then.

Clearly, Bob, the method we will use to defeat the aliens from planet Flarn (the one beyond Pluto) will be, as you yourself suggested, for us all to combine to form Swainatron. Bob, clearly, with your passionate views and large strapping chest, will be the heart. Corey will form the mouth. Karl will form the Absence of Penis. Jordan -- form the Hair! Peters forms the Feet, yah!

And I'll form the Overinflated Ego!

ROOOOOAAAAARRRRR!

Oh my God!! We're back! I'm as giddy as the first days of Swainblog!

Jon: Excellent support of my critique of Bob's second axiom of existence. Bringing up the Prussian Empire! AND we mentioned the Soviet Union!! God DAMN, you're smart! You just got bumped up to a C+ (Confused? Then C below...)

HOWEVER, you THEN went on to (have the utter fucking AUDACITY to) criticize It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World. TURGID?!?!? Any movie that starts with Jimmy Durante kicking a bucket, and then "kicking the bucket", deserves some more fucking respect than THAT! For God's sake, it has Jonathan Winters breaking shit! Ethel Merman braying like a banshee! AND it has Phil Silvers driving a car into a river!!! HA!!!!! INCOMPREHENSIBLE?? Are you on drugs? The money was hidden under a giant "W." Three hours later, BAM!!! Man...just for that, you just got demoted back to a C.

(pause)

It really is a shitty movie, isn't it?

Now, on to Bob...

A GoBot apologist!! My friend, I DISTINCTLY remember playing with (and watching the cartoon of) the Gobots for several months, and THEN one day seeing an ad trumpeting a toy called "transformers" that was "coming soon." In MY book, Gobots were first, and the epic battle between the Guardians and the Renegades kept me on the edge of my seat for months. Now, were they an inferior toy to the Transformers? Without a doubt. Was the cartoon extremely lame, with homoerotic undercurrents? You betcha (Scooter was as gay as a pink tuxedoed show tunes singer, and Crasher, while I think a female, was creepily androgynous with a voice like a grade school gym teacher.) But as far as I'm concerned, credit must be paid. When I was a kid, I loved how all of the Go Bots could shoot lasers directly out of their closed fists (except for Scooter; need I say more?), how they could all fly in their robot form, and how they were all only about a head taller than their human buddies, and yet could drive/fly those same buddies around whilst changed into a vehicle. Now, before you go off half-cocked decrying this list by saying that it's stupid that Leader One, among others, could fly as a robot, and then change into a plane, please let me remind you that the Decepticons all could fly, and yet they were also the only ones who transformed into flying machines (until the later years of Astrotrain, the Pterodactyl Dinobot, and the giant talking bird creature with the British accent.)

And for those of you who dare say that the Battle of the Gobots cartoon was nothing more than a thirty-minute toy commercial...you're right. But it was done BRILLIANTLY. Here's my favorite example:

In one episode, Gobots and humans are on a giant boat. They are trying to locate and retrieve something on the ocean floor. They have with them the Guardian Dive-Dive (I looked it up). Someone tells Dive-Dive what he has to do, and he says something to this effect:

"Thanks. I'm just glad to help. There's not much use on Gobotron for a Gobot who turns into a submarine."

What Pathos! What Angst! And WHAT writing! Someone had to craft that sentence. Even better, someone had to read it! Of course, that episode featured Dive-Dive saving the world somehow from some evil Renegade plot hatched by Cy Kill, and he then sauntered back to the Guardian headquarters secure in a job well done, and certain never to be seen or heard from again. Even after all these years, that line still sticks out like a virgin's cock in the nude beach of my psyche.

And so Bob, if you call all THIS Whiggish, well then, I guess I'm officially a member of the party of King James II, William Henry Harrison, and Zachary Taylor (also all looked up.) So there.

C

Some “Ten Reasons” articles by Paula [deleted by homeland security]

Ten Reasons Why “UHF” needs to be moved to the top of your Netflix queue. RIGHT NOW.

10) It invented the Twinkie Wiener Sandwich
9) Fran Drescher is only mildly annoying in this movie.
8) Is there a better way to say I love you than with the gift of a spatula? I don’t think there is.
7) In every single moment of the film, the silliest thing that could possibly be happening is exactly what’s happening.
6) Ramon, the animal “expert,” teaches poodles how to fly.
5) It features Emo Philips as a weird-ass shop teacher.
4) On of the characters is named for Philo Farnsworth , the man that invented television.
3) “Supplies!”
2) Michael Richards triumphs over the forces of evil that have stolen his mop.
1) Weird Al.


10 reasons why “Charlie’s Angles” is my favorite trashy movie

10) They do kung fu in stiletto heels.
9)Lucy Liu fixes the wiring at a drive-thru speaker box. While leaning over Drew Barrymore.
8) Tim Curry. Always sleazy, always awesome.
7) Kelly Preston tries to seduce Bill Murray while wearing an outfit Rick James wouldn’t be caught dead in.
6) Drew Barrymore and Sam Rockwell use Shake N’ Bake as a romance aid.
5) Lucy Liu’s secret identity is that she’s a bikini waxer. They’re call estheticians, guys, and they do all sorts of beauty treatments.
4) Cameron Diaz’s character is a bird expert.
3) Drew uses Scrabble tiles to indicate who the enemy is … by spelling out enemy.
2) Crispin Glover. Always creepy, always awesome.
1) It’s based on my favorite trashy TV show.


10 reasons why “Fantastic Four” wasn’t fantastic but sucky

10) Dr. Doom is turning into metal. Excuse me, I mean that some sort of space infection is encasing him in a new organo-metallic compound.
9) Torch actually says “flame on.”
8) Johnny brings in a prototype of an action figure for the Thing. It says “it’s clobberin’ time.” Later, when the Thing has gotten over the fact that he’s the Thing and has come to the rescue of our heroes, he says “it’s clobbering time.” So he’s quoting his own action figure.
7) Julian McMahon isn’t over-acting enough.
6) Where’s Bruce Campbell’s cameo? He’s in the Spidermans and Sky High. What? He’s not good enough for ya, Tim Story?
5) Jessica Alba’s Invisible Woman is “the head of genetic research” for Von Doom’s company. Ha. Ha.
4) Before the super space storm that makes them all freaks, I mean superheroes, Ben Grimm tells Reed Richards that he doesn’t have to do everything himself, that he should stop trying to be “Mr. Fantastic.”
3) The event that causes the Four to use their super powers for the greater good, rescuing innocent citizens all by themselves, is a catastrophic accident that they caused, all by themselves.
2) Moments after the Fantastic Four saved the innocents from the accident that they caused, the Four take a cab back to Reed’s lab. More innocents have not only found out where Reed’s lab is, but have also decided that that’s where the four are going, made signs and banners, showed up outside to glad hand the Four, and have been there long enough for police to put up barriers and block off parts of the street. I know that cab rides in Manhattan can take a long time, but come on.
1) I feel cheated out of some much hoped-for invisi-sex.

Guys,

First, Jon, et al., more lame-ass apologies for not updating CC2K. Keep bugging me about it. We actually just got another submission from another outside author (mine and Jordan's friend Paula, who is quite the zombie nut). In fact, I'll post Paula's submission on this blog, so we can all critique it, etc.

Now, onto my axioms of existence ...

Jon, Corey, I readily concede that you both have gamely refuted my claim, and while I"m stoked to see that my first axiom remains unchallenged (and welcomed), I will politely retract my second axiom and relegate it to a lesser subcategory yet to be named; probably it will have something to do specifically with groups of sentient things (mecha or orga) that combine into one greater aggregate. Along with the mighty Devastator, I would also include Megababy from Invader Zim on Nicktoons, which was a massive, fleshy monster built from hundreds of insane, genetically altered supervillainous babies.

As for our new neighbor in the solar system ...

Planet Swain seems the clearest course of action, but then, as my right-wing buddy at work fretted, "What if the Muslims want to name it?"

Indeed, gentlemen, given the growing terrorist threat in the world, and given that the USA is going to remain in Iraq as long as it takes to make it a perfect training ground for jihadist assholes, I think we should consider how we would react to a 10th planet "named by the Muslims." Would they name it Allah? Mohammed? Behistun? Akbar? Jeff? Who knows?

Corey, I must raise an objection to your submitting "Gobotron" as a potential name for the 10th planet. Are you mad? Surely you're not a dastardly GoBot apologist?

My god, man -- are you whiggish in your thinking as well?

If we are tocull any names from the venerable annals of bad 80s pop-culture, I say we name the planet Cybertron or Thundera.

I would also like to commend Jon's suggestions for the 10th planet name, specifically:

Zorb, Glurn and Flarn.

Why? Because why should we go to the Roman pantheon again when bad sci-fi has so many great names to choose from, like Zog or Zektor?

I'll post Paula's article now ...

It's good to have the blog back. We should all talk at some time about what to do with the film site. Bob, if you're not going to post the updates, could you post Aarati's Temple of Doom essay here for us, if you hve time?

Now, further refutation of Bob's all-things-are-better-that-can-make combos thesis. I have the definitive proof that such ability to assemble is NOT proof of greatness. It is to be found in the following examples:
1. The Prussian Empire of the early 20th Century.
2. The Soviet Union of the mid-20th Century.
3. The 1960s flop, "It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World," in which comic legends of multiple generations were brought together in a movie that is as turgid as it is incomprehensible.

Planet ...
Zorb
Glurn
Flarn
WayTheFuckOutThere
Twinkie
Athena (the only major goddess without a planet, for some reason. Though I believe she has a moon somewhere under her Latin name, Minerva)
Uncle Bob
St. Louis
NoReallyIMeanWayWayOutThere
LucasartsTM
Jomama

Bob,

Excellent follow-up post on your tenth planet thread. I mean, of COURSE there are aliens there, and we have to do something about it.

The first thing, and I mean the VERY first thing, we need to do is NAME that fucker. And let's take care not to name it after some lesser Roman God, like we've done every other cocksucking time.

Now obviously, I suggest we name that bastard Planet Swain. It would show the universe that we're not fucking around this time, and that it could, in a pinch, double as a place to score some excellent alien tail.

Alternate ideas:

Planet Grover

Planet Smurf

Gobotron (We ALL know what would soon follow if we go this route...)

Planet Fonzie

Planet Boner (named after Mike Seaver's best friend in Growing Pains, this would also allow Uranus to at least COMPETE for gayest planet name)

And

Planet Swain (Yeah I put it twice. No, Fuck YOU!)

I think, after we settle on names, we can then come up with the name for the malicious beings that live there. At THAT point, we can drum up a way to destroy them. In fact, I'd wager a guess that our fearless president is already concocting a plan by which he promises the American people that we will go out there to explore, well after his administration is out of office, and thereby letting him off the hook for his harebrained and ass-stupid "strategy."

Any other thoughts about names? If not, it's settled. Let the universe take note.

C