"To be frank my dear, I found your prose to be rather tiresome. Now fetch me an apertif, would you?"

Am I sexist, at least in the literary sense? I fear this may indeed be the case.

Mrs. Blogfoot and I were just at a Memorial Day cookout at another couple's house, and once we had again exhausted the topic of punk bands, the talk turned to books. Everyone in attendance reads a decent amount, most likely more than average, and we were bandying about titles and recommendations before we got too drunk to do so with any lucidity. And one of the ladies remarked, after recommending the book "The Time Traveler's Wife" by Audrey Niffenegger, that she read an article that said that men rarely will read a book by a woman author.

And you know what? I think she's right.

I have a lot of books. I've read a boatload thus far in life. And in my current collection, which is pretty large, I have exactly three books by female authors. They are:

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley
Geek Love by Katherine Dunn
The Secret History by Donna Taratt

That's it. Three. And today I relayed this theory to my boss, who also reads a lot. And we looked through his two large, full bookcases, and he had exactly one book by a female author, which was "The Historian" by Elizabeth Kostova.

Maybe it has to do with subject matter? "Geek Love" is about a carnival sideshow and "Frankenstein" is about, well, you know. And I never read "The Secret History." I just own it. Although I heard it's good. "The Historian" has been described as "The DaVinci Code" meets "Dracula", so there you go.

Now, I'm simply not going to read "The Time Travelers Wife." Not because it's written by a woman, but because it's a "Today Show Book Club" selection. Gahh! My eyes will not be sullied with material that Al Roker hath enjoyed, and that's all there is to it.

I don't avoid books by women, I just haven't stumbled onto many I'm interested in. I'm going to stick with the opinion that it's due to subject matter. I don't read many, if any, best sellers either. I'm not a big fan of airport fiction, no matter how well done. I didn't read "The DaVinci Code". I did read "Cell", the latest by Stephen King, only because everyone claimed it was a return to form. And it was. Unfortunately, it was "The Tommyknockers" form. It was sluggish and filled with exposition. I hate exposition. But don't even start to bag on Stephen King. Back in the 70's and early 80's he wrote some really nice stuff. "The Shining", "The Dead Zone", "Salem's Lot", "The Stand"...these are all truly great books.



That tears it. I'm going to read my wife's copy of "Pride and Prejudice". That is, right after I finish "Vendetta" (A Mack Bolan adventure), "Doc Savage, Man of Bronze", and "The Rock Says..." by The Rock.

M.A.M.B.O.M. wants you!

Are you an aging hipster currently residing in the Minneapolis area? Do you like to build models? Then perhaps you have what it takes to be a founding member of M.A.M.B.O.M, aka the "Middle Aged Model Builders of Minneapolis." Yes, that's right. The Twin Cities will soon be home to an organization that is comprised of grown men huddled in a basement pursuing the fleeting joy of their childhoods by gluing together models, listening to punk rock, and eating sandwiches cut into triangles by Mrs. Blogfoot. Beer is also likely to be involved.

Interested parties (and who wouldn't be?) are encouraged to reserve space quickly, as charter members will get prime seating as well as first dibs on the cutting-edge technology of the M.A.M.B.O.M spray booth (a cardboard box stood on its side with newspaper inside).

Here are some of the kits I have awaiting assembly in the closet:
Aurora James Bond
Aurora Mummy
Aurora Creature from the Black Lagoon
Aurora King Kong (already underway)
Aurora Godzilla (ditto)
Aurora Neanderthal Caveman
George Reeves Superman
Mechanical King Kong (this one kicks ass, see pic below)



Members must provide models of their own as well as paint and brushes. I will provide the basement headquarters, the folding tables, stereo system, sandwiches and beer. Now all we need is...a logo.

For those of you ignorant of such matters, model building was a huge hobby for kids in the 60's and 70's. The Aurora corporation was the big player in those days, and they made a fortune off of model kits based on popular movie monsters and both Marvel and DC superheroes. You can read all about them here, as well on on legions of other fan sites. I favored the monsters and superheroes, with a nice helping of prehistoric/dinosaur models tossed in. My brother liked cars and planes, but I never like gluing on the decals demanded by that sub-genre. Models are awesome. They teach a kid how to see a project through. You know, a little thing called 'stick-to-it-tiveness.' I don't know what kids do for kicks nowadays. Videogames and oral sex, from I read. I enjoy those too, but c'mon. Everything in moderation, folks.

If I have kids, they're buildings models, dammit.

Chesley Bonestell knew how to paint. And how to party.

So there's this artist named Chesley Bonestell. At least there was, because he's dead now. But he was the guy who in the 1940's and 50's did all the realistic paintings of outer space and other planets that influenced sci-fi authors, spurred on NASA and pretty much informed the public's and Hollywood's perception of what outer space must look like. A selection from his biography sums it up nicely:

"The realism of the artwork convinced an entire generation of post-World War II readers that spaceflight was possible in their lifetime. There are countless professional aerospace engineers and scientists working today who decided their careers when they saw Bonestell's book "The Conquest of Space" when they were only eight or ten years old—such as Carl Sagan, who said he didn’t know what other worlds
looked like until he saw Bonestell’s paintings of the solar system."

He also produced matte paintings for movies (large scale paintings of backgrounds vistas, done in the days before CGI) and murals for museums. A pretty interesting life, one would say.

So I was clicking around on his website the other day, and found something amusing. To go there, click here. Click on his biography and read about him a bit. Then click on the gallery section, and check out his work (The space paintings start appearing on page 3 or 4). Then click on the section titled The "Bonestell" and get ready to have yourself a Bonestell Party.

Boo-yah!

Netscape news just posted a timely and very important story ranking the top 10 supernatural creatures. And coming in at #1, in what was no doubt a landslide, was our pal Bigfoot. Mr. Foot bested other pretenders to the throne such as werwolves, vampires, the Loch Ness Monster, and leprachauns(?!). That's right, bitches! Step to Bigfoot, and thou wilt most assuredly receive a swift beat down. Because Bigfoot is bigger than you, Mr. Leprachaun.

The official order was thus:
10.) The Banshee
9.) Fairies
8.) The Yeti (Abominable Snowman). I would rank this much higher. Like #2, say.
7.) Mothman
6.) Leprachauns
5.) The Chupacabra ( aka The Mexican Goat Sucker! The Chupacabra is cool)
4.) Loch Ness Monster
3.) Werewolves
2.) Vampires
1.) Bigfoot

You can link to the story here. But I warn you: it's one of those pain in the ass netscape stories that requires you to forward through 10 different page loads to read the whole thing.

Musician. Lover. Artiste'.

Most of you would probably pidgeon-hole Paul Stanley of KISS as just another
tight-pantsed boob who shreiks his ham-fisted, dopey anthems to the low-browed throngs. How sad that your perceptions are so narrow. This man is an artist. AN ARTIST. Sure, his music has not evolved one whit since the mid-70's. And it may seem as if his primary goals in life are to bang groupies and sell anything that a KISS logo can fit on, such as condoms, coffins, credit cards, lunchboxes, t-shirts, dolls, posters, keychains, leather jackets, and even KISS coffee (most likely spelled "Koffee").

But this man understands that one must gaze into the abyss to truly understand oneself. That sturm und drang are necessary components to a life devoted to the examination of issues that cause lesser men to flinch. And that by defacing some innocent canvases by shitting out some pigment on them and calling them paintings, you might get a chance to bang a new kind of groupie. Specifically, art groupies.

And thus, we have a series of paintings by Mr. Stanley, brought to us by the Celebrity Fine Art Gallery.

It's not so much the subject matter that gives me a headache, although all the pieces are certainly moronically conceived. And it's not the fact that he's famous. There are celebrity artists that are presumably serious and actually good...Ron Wood of the Rolling Stones, Peter Falk, and Martin Mull come to mind.



It's the technique. Each of these couldn't have taken more than an hour to complete. I mean, in the 70's, Kiss had cool album covers. Nicely painted images of the band members cavorting in fire-strewn, post-apocalyptic landscapes ("Destroyer") or surrounded by hordes of tank-topped women in mime make-up ("Love Gun")...you know, nice, tasteful stuff. OK, it wasn't tasteful...it was dumb. But it was all pretty well-painted. But this is just crap even a mother wouldn't buy. Which means a hard-core KISS fan all jacked up on Kiss Koffee probably would.

You can view the horror in its entirety
here.

"The Average Homeboy" will rock your bleak world

Behold Denny Blaze, aka "Blazin' Hazen." Denny is a white rapper who posts his tough-as-nails rhymes on his myspace page and makes Vanilla Ice look like Afrika Bambatta.

I'm not going to lie. This is going to hurt.

We now return to our regularly scheduled programming

Sorry about going off on religion in schools yesterday, folks. It had been a long week at work, and I was in a mood. The deafening silence that greeted said post was not unlike the chorus-of-crickets reception given to one of Jim Carrey's stabs at drama ("The Majestic", anyone?). I get the message. I'll stick to tales of whimsy and ribaldry.

In that spirit, here is an episode of "Computerman", from the fine folks over at Channel101.com. Enjoy. If you haven't been there yet, check it out. It's a site that posts sort-of TV shows that people make in the DIY spirit and then people vote on whether or not they continue or die. "Computerman" died, but this first episode is solid. "Yacht Rock", a series about the warring factions of smooth rockers in the early 80's like Michael MacDonald, Kenny Loggins and Toto, is definitely worth your time. When Kenny Loggins teams up with Steve Perry to sing the inspirational anthem "Don't Fight It'" to a drunken, pissed-off, down-and-out and laying-in-an-alley Kenny Messina, your skin will tingle.

The 3 R's: reading, 'riting and rampant, rabid religion

Outstanding! Various state legislatures and school boards (probably ones located in, oh, say perhaps the south?) are looking again at cramming religion down people's throats in public schools, under the guise of textbooks and courses that examine the Bible's "literary and historical importance."

Oh yeah...the Bible is extremely important in the literary sense. It's extremely well written. In fact, it makes Hemingway look like he's a staff writer for "JAG." Its skillfull use of syntax and remarkable ear for dialogue is obviously the reason it's the best-selling book of all time. And "historical importance?" This also makes perfect sense. I for one am positive that the Bible is nothing if not extremely accurate. How could a book that's written and transcribed by an army of different people over the course of centuries and features talking snakes and bushes be anything but?

This is all thanks the Supreme Court, who ruled in 1963 that even though ceremonial Bible readings in public schools would be banned, "objective" study of the text in a manner divorced from belief is fine. Now people are fighting over the chance to exploit this loophole.

Why are people so frickin' obssesed with pushing religion on others? It is and always has the been the cause of strife (The Crusades, The Inquisition, the Middle East...) in the world. Why are people determined to make something so nebulous and unprovable into law? If you want to believe in the aforementioned talking snake thing, then go ahead, but leave me out of it. And don't bother kids during taxpayer-supported school hours when they should be learning about something of actual value, like math, science, English, history...anything that could actually prepare them to compete in and hopefully improve this world we've fashioned for ourselves.

If you want your kids to learn about winged beings and magic 7 days of week, pay to send them to a parochial school. Problem solved. Or have Bible study every night after dinner. Your kids will most likely secretely detest you for this, but whatever.

And people make fun of me for believing in Bigfoot. I'll tell you what...there's more evidence supporting the existence of Bigfoot than there is for Noah's Ark. Or the Garden of Eden. Or Heaven. Or Hell. Or the AfterLife. And so on.

If you'd care to read the article, you may do so here.

NOTE: Blogfoot is not opposed to religion per se. Blogfoot believes heavily in the John Lennon axiom "whatever gets you through the night", and that people are free to worship who/whatever they choose. Blogfoot just wishes that people would keep whatever they practice in their houses and churches and out of everything else. If people want to believe that their God is the one true God, then fine, but there is no way for them to prove such a thing, and as such, their beliefs should not in any way influence public matters or policy. Just wanted to be clear.

Bas Rutten wants to kick you in the groin

Bas Rutten is one of those "ultimate fighting" guys. He gets into a ring and pummels people for a living. Now he has an instructional video on self-defense that may as well be titled "How to Maim & Destroy People That Look At You Cross-Eyed."

He has plenty of practical tips for the budding ass-kicker, but really seems to believe in the power of the groin kick. My advice? If you happen to see this guy in public, give him $20 and quickly walk away. Otherwise, you run the risk of getting kicked in the groin.



And yes, Blogfoot now has video! No more clicking on links (well, maybe some) and being catapaulted to other, less-funny sites. Stay tuned for other epoch-shattering updates, including a new masthead design and a bevy of banner ads for various sexual disfunction products.

Blogfoot Cinematic Treasures: "GYMKATA"

The year was 1985. Schwarzenegger and Stallone were reaching their heights as action heroes, and Hollywood bigwigs were looking to add to the stable of people who could kick ass in the name of America. Apparently a some bottom-feeder producer in Burbank was looking to accomplish this as well: enter Olympic gold medalist Kurt Thomas, a 5'6", 150-lb dynamo who vaulted straight off the pommel horse and into the hearts of moviegoers with "Gymkata."

"Gymkata" is a deadly form a hand-to-hand combat in which the devastating power of gymnastics is fused with karate. In fact, the movie poster breathlessy exclaimed that it was "A new form of martial arts combat! The skill of gymnastics! The kill of karate!" Indeed.

The plot, as it were, was simplistic even by jingoistic mid-80's standards. Thomas plays Jonathan Cabot, and Olympic gold medal gymnast (what a stretch!). Our government has found the perfect spot for a "Star Wars"-type missle defense base. Unfortunately, this post is within the "tiny, yet savage, country of Parmistan," which is an amalgam of "Pakistan" and "parmesan."

For the US to get this prime spot, they must compete in a brutal fighting event called "The Game." Younger readers might ask why we didn't just invade them as we're prone to do nowadays, but back in the peacenik 80's, international crises were solved with karate tournaments.

"Frosted hair...very un-masculine sweater...
yes, I believe he will make the perfect killing machine."

Anyway, the government recrutes Jonathon, who also conveniently happens to be the son of a former CIA operative, and trains him to marry his gymnastics skills with killing techniques of the east until he becomes the ultimate weapon...against crowded movie theatres, that is.

So Jonathon goes to Parmistan and beats up a lot of guys with turbans, thanks to the the conveniently placed horizontal bars that seem to be in every alley, which allow him to swing around kicking people, topped off by the perfect dismounts that are his trademark.

There's also a whitewater rafting chase involving ninjas, flaming-rope torture (mild compared the pain inflicted on viewers), a martial-arts master with a hawk on his arm, a tepid love scene, a vicious battle against a giant norwegian named Thorg, and a climatic chase through an insane asylum.



Shockingly, a perusal of the movie poster credits states that this dreck was "based on the novel 'The Terrible Game' by Dan Tyler Moore (husband of Mary?)." Well Dan, your book "The Terrible Game" became "The Terrible Movie." I hope that $2500.00 option bought you enough blow to keep you happy or kill you before this blight hit theatres.

For more info on this gem, click here. It has tons of pics that will really bring everything into cruelly-sharp focus for you, and goes into way more detail that I ever could if I hope to stay sane.

There is no escaping...the Pizzly

DNA tests have confirmed that a bear a hunter recently shot in Canada is actually a polar bear / grizzly hybrid that has been dubbed the "polargrizz." Jeez. How dangerous can you get? That would pretty much be the most terrifying creature on earth. Maybe a sharkodile (shark/crocodile hybrid, duh) could give it a run for it's money, but that's pretty much about it.

Others have come up with a few names of their own for the hybrid, including a "pizzly'' or a "grolar bear.'' I like "Pizzly" the best.
It makes this killing machine seem much more cuddly, no? Read all about this future Coca-Cola mascot here.

Terrific news ( or...The Once and Future Dickhead )

Our esteemed leader George W. Bush said yesterday that his younger brother Jeb would make "a great president." How George would know what makes a great president is a mystery to me, but that's what he said. Maybe he feels like the name "Bush" is the only necessary qualification. If so, this would put him on par with the voting public who elected him not once, but twice. Although Al Gore would say that even that is open to debate.

It warms my heart to see that we are all hell-bent on returning to the way of life that caused our forefathers to flee England hundreds of years ago, such as religious beliefs driving national policy, and an endless sucession of kings in power solely by virtue of name / birthright. I don't know about you, but I think Jeb would look quite rakish in a powdered wig and painted-on mole. And I can't wait for the day when C-Span catches one of the Bushes smacking a press secretary with the giant turkey leg they're munching on.

One other thing: is it asking too much for us to elect a President that has governed a non-southern, non-shitbox state at some point?

Read more and cringe here.

Spotting Bigfoot: now only for the wealthy

High-end automobile manufacturer BMW has announced that they are debuting a new thermal imaging system in some of its cars. How it works is this: the thermal imaging camera detects human beings, animals and objects up to 1,000 feet in front of the car before they become visible to the human eye in the headlights, and then transmits the image to a central display. It's night vision, basically.

Why does this matter to me? Simple. Many Bigfoot sightings are brief glimpses of something crossing a highway in front of a startled motorist, and now some tassel-loafered blueblood who couldn't care less is going to end up getting a good look at Bigfoot before I am, all thanks to some fancy thingamajig in his BMW. Then he'll chuckle about it to all his friends over a dinner of Alaskan king crab at the yacht club later, perhaps as a segueway to talking about a junk bond or hedge fund or something.
Then he'll get up the next day and play some squash. Maybe pick up his brat from some tony private school. Then head home to watch some German internet porn where people crap into each other's mouths. Because rich people are weird.

But I digress. You can read all about the elitist plot and see the video demonstration here.

God agrees with me

See? I told you. You've been warned!

Gaaahhhh!

Here is a recent picture of Liza Minnelli. Ladies, I suggest you quickly pay a visit to a cosmetics counter and stockpile, because it looks like all the mascara in the world has just about been used up.

She looks so vibrant! So alive! So full of booze and pills!

Oh, how I hated the Gin Blossoms!

The year was 1993. And the Gin Blossoms, a band that was the aural equivalent of a tepid bath, burst onto the scene with a limp-dicked song called "Hey Jealousy." I hated it upon first listen, but apparently I was in the minority, because it became a huge hit, rivaling even "Brown Eyed Girl" and "Son of a Preacher Man" as a favorite among drunken college chicks.

The song had a jangly, rootsy vibe that cut to the bone. It had "sensitive-guy" type lyrics. And it was guaranteed to deflate any boner that came within 100 yards of it. Although I imagine some guys had to put up with listening to it in order to get some action. A chilling thought.

I heard a snippet of it last night on a commercial or something or other, and it has lost none of its power to aggravate. It made me wince immediately. I'm begging you...don't go to itunes and buy it. Not even ironically. Your .99 cents deserves more than that.

Ah, yes...hating the Gin Blossoms. Those were good times.

Ironic T-shirts of the future

Cracked.com, the web off-shoot of Cracked Magazine (a second-rate "Mad" magazine rip-off that was somewhat popular in the 70's/80's) has a story on nostalgic t-shirts of tomorrow. And I was shocked to find that there's actually some funny ones.

Like this one:


Or this one:

And coming from Wisconsin, a land rife with jiggly, blobby people, this one struck a cord:

See the whole list here, or just assume that I've cherry-picked the funniest ones for display, which is indeed what I've done.

This all got me thinking of "Mad" magazine and how awesome it was when I was a kid. In the 60's and 70's "Mad" ruled the schoolyard, and was so popular that a bunch of imitators sprung up, all with a "mental illness"-type angle to their name: Cracked, Crazy, Nuts, Frenzy, Sick, Madhouse, Bughouse and Panic. For the most part they all stunk. But not "Mad." You had top-notch creators like Don Martin, Sergio Aragones, Dave Berg, Mort Drucker, Norman Mingo painting the awesome covers, and my personal favorite, Al Jaffee, creator of the back cover fold-in.

"Mad" actually started as a comic book way back in 1952 and then transitioned to it's current magazine format with its 24th issue in 1955, whereupon it started doing movie parodies and re-occuring features. Purists claim that it stopped being truly revolutionary at this point, but they are wrong. Such talk is merely the ramblings of fat, old smelly guys who fear change, especially, if I can judge by the smells of a comic book convention, that "change" involves clean clothing.

See your name in crackers

Here's a pointless time-waster for all of you who are sick of making your company money and looking to passive-agrressively strike back. Just go to the Bokstavskex website, type in a word and hit submit, and you will see the word rendered in cracker / biscuit type as above. Yummy.

Click here for minutes of excitement.

New "Superman Returns" trailer now online

Yeah, it's geeky to post this, and I feel like I'm encroaching on "Ain't It Cool News" territory. But there's some neat looking stuff in here. I still think Superman and Lois look way too young (probably so that they don't look too old in the sequels, ala' the hagged-out Margot Kidder), but at least they had the good sense to retain some of the mythology from the first two Superman movies (crystals, dude!), not to mention the John Williams score, which is one of the best themes of all time. And they've got Marlon Brando in it, too, via some unused footage from the original. Nice.

Hopefully it'll be good. This guy's no Christopher Reeve, but who is? Reeve was straight up perfect for the role(s) and was the main reason why the first movie was as memorable as it was. Well, it also didn't hurt having Gene Hackman, Brando, Ned Beatty, Glenn Ford, et al. Dang. That first "Superman" movie was pretty good.

Anyway, check it out in standard (you caveman!) or high definition here.

WTF?

I was looking around on google images for some artwork by an artist I like when I stumbled across this incredibly erotic fantasy image (which the artist I like did not do). God, this is hot. You could totally have sex with this centaur, if it existed. And unlike most sexy chicks, you wouldn't have to shower it with expensive gifts and jewelry. Just give it some oats and lead it to water and you're good. Just look at the way it's standing there! She totally wants it. She even took the time to shave her back legs. How she accomplished this, I don't know. Then again...maybe, just maybe, a super hot wood-nymph with little wings soaped her up and shaved her? Then the centaur gave the super hot wood-nymph a tongue-kiss as a thank you? Oh yeah, that would be nice.

Phew. I need a shower.

Immigrant protests cripple society

Ok, ok, we learned our lesson. Now get back to wrestling!

Stephen Colbert tears asshole a new asshole

The White House had its annual Press Corps Dinner Friday night, an event where media figures usually poke gentle fun at the President, who is in attendance, stopping short of actual insults in favor of making a room full of corpulent wealthy white men chuckle knowingly.

Not Stephen Colbert. The former correspondent of "The Daily Show" and current host of his own "The Colbert Report" apparently has balls the size of grapefruit, or perhaps even melons, because he took the opportunity to bend Bush over, stick it in, break it off it off and leave it in there still wriggling, if you know what I mean. And I think you do.

Bush was entirely displeased by the events, and sat unsmiling at the conclusion of the routine, his only reaction to nod curtly and offer a wan handshake to the soon-to-be-audited Colbert.

Colbert spoke in the voice of his talk show character, a blowhard who supports the President. Some excerpts:

He attacked those in the press who claim that the shake-up at the White House was merely re-arranging the deck chairs on the Titanic. "This administration is soaring, not sinking," he said. "They are re-arranging the deck chairs--on the Hindenburg."

He compared Bush to Rocky Balboa in the "Rocky" movies, always getting punched in the face--"and Apollo Creed is everything else in the world."

And this fine bon mot:

"To just sit here, at the same table with my hero, George W. Bush, to be this close to the man. I feel like I'm dreaming. Somebody pinch me. You know what, I'm a pretty sound sleeper, that may not be enough. Somebody shoot me in the face."

You can read the transcript of Colbert's speech here, and the story here, or if reading makes your brain itch, watch the video here.