Cryptozoology University

So the wife and I completed the 3-week course "Lake Monsters, Bigfoot & UFO's" at Minneapolis Community College (AKA a rather squalid high school). Actually, we were truant for the last class, which tackled the UFO mystery, but I'm assuming it was a lot like the first two. That is, the professor insisted that they exist, told a story of how he saw one, and showed the class some blurry b&w pictures from books published in 70's, most of which I already have.

I guess I shouldn't be so harsh. The professor was a genial old chap named Dr. Charles Huver, and if I heard / remember correctly, he received his PHD from Yale and teaches Invertibrate Biology at the U of M. So he's obviously not some witless dope. However, some visual aids would have been nice. A plaster cast of a footprint, maybe pop in a VHS tape of an old "In Search Of..." episode, overhead transparencies, something.

And as interested as I have been since literally 1973 about Bigfoot, I always have maintained a somewhat realistic view of the whole concept. I mean, it's a lot easier to digest the possibility of it if you think of Bigfoot as a nocturnal animal instead of a monster. But I also think that the famous Patterson footage is a guy in a suit. But our teacher questioned nothing. He was fishing once on the St. Croix River and saw a stream of bubbles. Must be a lake monster! It's the only logical explanation. Something scared his cats one night. Must be Bigfoot prowling about! Because foxes and coyotes, those are the truly mythical creatures.

Anyway, it was something to do. And it was sorta enjoyable. And it did yield this terrific find, courtesy of a home & garden catalog some friends brought to show me:


That's right, it's a Garden Yeti! It stands over 2 feet tall, and it can be yours for a mere $98.95. Or, to be more accurate, it will be mine for a mere $98.95. I think it will really set off my lillac bushes. It's available from the fine folks at Toscano, which is appparently an Italian company that makes weird shit for fringe-dwellers. They have a variety of unicorns and wizards, not to mention this fine item:


The garden zombie. Pretty cool, I must say. Once again, a veritable steal at $85.00.

Countown to meeting Kirk & Spock: T minus 72 hours

This Sunday will be a special day, as Mrs. Blogfoot and I have paid through the nose to have our picture taken with both William Shatner and Leonard Nimoy at a Star Trek convention here in the Twin Cities. That's right - both at the same time. Truly a rariety, even in the annals of weird & obsessive sci-fi fans. And before you hurl derision at me, it was my wife's idea. She's a big OS fan (orginal series, duh) and is super-excited to say the least.

The question is: what color shirt will really pop off of a cobalt blue outer space backdrop? I don't own any gold clothing.

The perfect headline

Here's an ad from the 1960's for a Tarzan model kit produced by the fine folks at the Aurora Plastics Corp. I salute the copywriter who spent all of seven seconds coming up with this headline and then headed out for a three-martini lunch. Once in while you have to just ignore the inner voice that's telling you to keep pushing for something better, because sometimes the best solution is the most obvious one.

They don't make 'em like this anymore

Which is too bad, because I would buy any magazine that depicts a man fighting an octopus on the cover. In fact, I would happily subscribe to monthly magazine titled "Man VS. Octopus Digest" if such a thing existed.

The other thing I like about this cover so much is the title: "Man's Conquest." What power those words contain! And the editorial freedom the title provides must have been a boon to its contributors. In mean, man conquers just about anything, so anything is fair game. You could have a guy stepping on an ant on the cover and it would pass muster in terms of journalistic accuracy (it would just be a challenging assignment for the illustrator.) And the other other thing I like is that although it's a magazine, it looks just like a G.I Joe box.

Thanks to Poulpe Pulps via Boing Boing for the pic. Pouple Pulps has a giant gallery of covers through the years that depict mankind engaged in all sorts of struggles with tentacled fiends of various sizes. It's a beautiful thing, and you can gaze upon its wonders here.

For those too lazy to click through, here are some others from the octopus gallery that I enjoyed (click on pics to embiggen).

Truly, "Don Winslow of the Navy" is the greatest title in comic book history. Although I always preferred "Ralph Schneider of the Neighborhood Watch Patrol."


Any experienced newstand operator will tell you:
chicks in swimsuits + octopus = ringing cash registers.


Followed by it's equally memorable sequel "I Use A Fork To Eat."

I thought he was dead

My favorite recent news blurb, straight from the think tank of Florida:

"A Brevard County doctor dressed like Captain America was arrested after police say he pulled a burrito out of his tights and groped a woman."

Read the entire sordid and rather unpatriotic account here.

Apparently, getting beat out time after time for trash bag commercials by Tom Bosley takes it's toll on a guy

Still, it's shocking to see Dick van Patten reduced to riding the rails like a common tramp. Formerly an iconic network TV partiarch, he now dodges vengefull railyard bulls, fends off attackers with his aged, dull hunting knife and steals pies and feathered apples (chickens in hobo-speak) from more respectable members of society. But at least he has a loyal, four-legged companion to keep him company.

Now that's what I call progress

I heard an interesting phrase last night while watching the new "Forests" episode of the BBC series "Planet Earth" that the Discovery Channel is showing in hi-def ( the footage in this series in awesome, by the way).

Anyway, narrator Sigourney Weaver was describing the hatching/ maturation and subsequent trek of a shitload of Cicadas, a large, noisy insect. They were all walking en masse on the forest floor because their wings were still wet. Anyway, Ms. Weaver described the action thusly:

"They all march forward like zombies."

Outstanding. Do you see how far we've come? Not even five years ago the mass of Cicadas would have been described as marching forward "like soldiers" or something of the like. But now zombies, formerly a fringe monster at best to everyone except genre fans, have become so entrenched in our culture that they are referenced in nature documentaries. This makes me happy.

We've obviously reached a zombie "tipping point." What glorious times we live in!

Adult education is a good thing

You caffeine-starved rat racers can have your MBA's earned at night. Tonight me, the wife and some friends begin a grueling 3-night, $25 course at Minneapolis Community College entitled "Lake Monsters, Bigfoot and UFO's." I can't imagine what anyone could possibly teach me about any of those subjects, especially Bigfoot, but I decided to go along for entertainment purposes.

I'm thinking that I should view my role as that of Thorton Melon (that's Rodney Dangerfield to you) in "Back To School" as he sat in the lecture hall throwing zingers at the stuffy professor's outmoded views and theories of modern business practices. Yes, I think that's a fine idea. Now that I think of it, wearing sunglasses and a bathrobe would probably take things up a notch as well.

The Shit List groweth

Nixon kept one. And so do I. It's called a "Shit List," and it was a concept introduced to me by my Dad, who would trot it out when he was pissed at me, my brother, or both of us."You're on my shit list", he would simply say. What a staggering thought for a young lad to hear! My mind would race, wondering if there were an actual tangible list hidden in a drawer somewhere, rendered in my Dad's crude, mispelled scrawl. Was it numbered? Was it organized by date, or by the severity of the perceived offense? So many questions.

Anyway, it's phrase that stuck with me. And the newest addition to my Shit List, and in fact they've rocketed to the coveted #1 slot, is...the Genie garage door opener company!

I bought a Genie garage door opener kit with keypad and 2 remotes a couple of months ago, and then installed it (thanks to some Milwaukee peeps who held it aloft while I bolted it into place. Thanks, fellas!). Last week one of the remotes stopped working. Putting a new battery didn't help, nor did reprogramming the remotes. So I had to buy a new one for 27 clams. Now the exterior keypad isn't working, and attempts to clear it and reprogram it have failed. Finding no answers on their website, I attempted to call their customer service number, where I was put on hold for a lengthy span of time before being cut off.

Congrats, Genie! You have joined an ever-growing list of luminaries that includes (but is certainly not limited to ) the following:

Volkswagen, the guy who did our landscaping, Ivan Reitman, my landlord from 1987-1988, and if you're not careful, YOU.

The latest Bigfoot news

Nothing really major to report in the field of Bigfoot research as of late. But here's a fabricated summary that's nonetheless probably quite accurate: some people driving late at night probably saw something cross the road in front of their car, some hunter in a tree stand probably heard some grunting and smelled something really bad, and some middle-aged dude probably reminisced anout the time something big chased him and his buddies by some train tracks in Kentucky back in 1973. That kind of stuff.

No carcass was found, nor were any conclusive hair or DNA samples tested. No clear photos or decent video were proccured either.

But soon, people. Soon.

Shit

Kurt Vonnegut, 1923-2007

Kurt wrote 14 novels and many short stories. He started as basically a sci-fi writer and grew to become one of the greatest American writers of the 20th century and one of the finest humorists of all time. His work was sharp, funny, sad, cynical, hopeful, condeming, forgiving, simple and insightful. In other words, it was very human.

The Field Guide to Arthur Fonzarelli

A lot of people bag on Wikipedia, and I can see why. It's literally rife with errors. However, I do enjoy clicking around it, following story link after link. You know, you search for a random something, you see a highlighted name within that story, click on it, and so on. It was just such a method that led me to this rather sober examination of the man known as The Fonz. I'm only printing part of the entry, but I love the clinical, fact-based approach the writer took. It's like an Encyclopedia Brittanica entry, written as if The Fonz were an actual human being and not a rather broad character on a dopey sitcom (although I love the early episodes, when Fonzie wore a light blue windbreaker and the show was shot on film instead in front of a live audience). Here goes:

"Fonzie is a leather jacketed mechanic who lives in Milwaukee, Wisconsin sometime in the late 1950s. Although he is a high school dropout and is seen by the establishment characters in the show as a rebel, he has a number of skills and qualities such as womanizing, strong loyalty, and sexual attractiveness. Despite the low opinion of the authorities, he commands tremendous respect throughout much of Milwaukee for his well-deserved reputation for fighting (in one episode, he outduelled an expert fencer; in another, he literally mangled a gangster's prosthetic iron hand with one fist), his skills as a ladies' man and mechanic, his history of romantic involvement with virtually every attractive woman in Milwaukee, and his imperturbable "cool." Opponents far larger and more dangerous-seeming than himself back down from confrontations with him. Those who do confront him never come out on top, leaving 'The Fonz" without a scrape.

Fonzie usually exhibited a characteristic sangfroid during times of challenge, stress, or annoyance (although as the series progressed he became more susceptible to irritation). Fonzie's "cool" occasionally manifested as the ability to make mechanical objects function with a single touch, implying that he knew so much about how they worked that he could set the works in motion via one "Technical Tap"; he frequently started and stopped the jukebox at Arnold's diner by this process. This knack eventually became almost supernatural in nature when he proved able to achieve similar effects by snapping his fingers."

I must confess, I'm actually pretty impressed that the writer used the word "sangfroid" instead of "cool" at the beginning of the second paragraph. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go see if someone on Wikipedia has plumbed the depths of the complex and troubled Holden Caufield-esque delinquent known as Vinnie Barbarino.

Well said

Best response from someone regarding my recent post about watching "Doctor Detroit" via on-demand:

"I wouldn't watch that with your dick."

Touche', sir! Thou hast cut me to the quick.

Is this acceptable now?

And by "this" I mean, "shaving your junk in the YMCA shower in full view of others."

I saw a dude doing this other day. Is this how far we have fallen as a society? I couldn't believe my eyes. Just to paint the picture for you, the YMCA doesn't have private, individual showers (at least the one I go to in downtown Minneapolis doesn't). No, these showers are of the high school / prison variety. You know...25 spigots in a giant tiled room. The guy wasn't being shy or subtle about it either. No, he took his sweet time, pausing occassionally to tap the razor on the wall to dislodge the, uh, hairs.

WTF?

Cue the mournful Walter Matthau-esque tuba music

Here, courtesy of the Fantagraphics comics blog, is a picture of actor Peter Mayhew, the very tall man who played Chewbacca, setting up his booth at the recent Emerald City comic-book convention in Seattle.

Whew.

Good luck with the hatching, Annie!

I can't find my sister-in-law's email, so I'm hoping she'll read this and know that I'm wishing her the best of luck in her soon-to-be-commenced birthing process.

For some reason I hear jack Webb's voice as I re-read the above line.

I feel dirty

I watched "Doctor Detroit" using my cable's "on-demand" function last night. It was the free on-demand, but still. There's simply no excuse for this kind of behavior.

It was laugh-free and put me to sleep.

My shameful literary past

I’ve got a confession to make.

I used to read movie novelizations. Lots of them.

Before you condemn me, I would like to explain myself. As a kid, I was always into comic books. I was also very into sci-fi/horror movies from a very young age, kicked off by television viewings of stuff like “Planet of the Apes” and “King Kong”, then followed by old Universal horror movies, etc. Then, around 1977 or so, I became straight-up obsessed with movies, probably due to “Star Wars” and “Close Encounters”. I initially gravitated towards genre films, but then as I went through middle school and early high school (1978-1982) it became a matter of wanting to see pretty much every movie released, with the exception of “On Golden Pond”, “Ice Castles” and “One on One” (I guess I wasn’t a big Robby Benson fan).

I started favoring directors, read “Starlog” magazine to find background info on upcoming productions, and my friends and I went to movies constantly. But this wasn’t enough. I needed more. Enter the movie novelization.

I knew they were trashy and poorly written. I didn’t care. It was a way to see the movie again (remember, this was before the advent of home video) and even gain additional background info, as most of the books were padded with stuff that wasn’t in the movie in order to make it ‘book-length’. Even better, some of them were written by the directors! The “Star Wars” novelization? Written by George Lucas! “Close Encounters”? Written by Spielberg! “Dawn of The Dead”? Written by George A. Romero! “Animal House”? Written By Doug Kenney and Chris Miller, with cool art by National Lampoon artists to boot!



The king of the movie novelization genre was a chap named Alan Dean Foster. He wrote the lions share of the horror/sci-fi ones, and even wrote the “sequel” to “Star Wars” titled “Splinter of the Mind’s Eye’, which was released before “The Empire Strikes Back.” I guess he could generously be called a hack, although I must say that I re-read my dog-eared copy of “The Thing” novelization this past summer and thought it was not bad at all.





Here is a fairy complete list of the movie novelizations I read as a young lad, in chronological order. An asterix denotes titles written by Alan Dean Foster. Keep in mind as you hurl derision upon me is that I did read plenty of “real” books at this time as well:

Star Wars
Close Encounters of the Third Kind
Saturday Night Fever (!?!)
*Splinter Of The Mind’s Eye
Halloween
Dawn of The Dead
Nosferatu
National Lampoon’s Animal House
Prophecy
Heaven Can Wait
*Alien
Murder By Decree
Fade To Black
The Howling
*Outland
Escape From New York
*The Thing
Tron



Alas, “Tron” was the end of the movie novelization line for me. First of all, it was a really bad book (shocking, I know). Let’s just say that the movie’s computer world imagery did not exactly lend itself to the prose format. Secondly, I was a freshman in high school by this time, and I quickly discovered that explaining to girls what “Tron” was about wasn’t exactly going to result in me getting to “first base” (sadly, it didn’t occur to me until later that them passing around a copy of “Flowers In The Attic” was no better.). I'd also like to think that my tastes had become more discriminating at this point, although that's certainly up for debate.

Whew. I feel much better now that I’ve unburdened myself.

My finest hour in advertising

The other day I was watching some of the bonus features on “The Squid and The Whale” DVD (a fine movie), and all the actors kept commenting on how strongly they reacted to the script, how great it was, how they couldn’t put it down, etc. And they’re right: it’s a great script.

But as someone who’s been cranking out tons of ideas, scripts and copy for over a decade now, it got me thinking: where is my rapturous feedback? Where are the accolades raining down upon my work? Granted, there is certainly no shortage of comments about what I generate. In fact, everything I write has to pass a gauntlet of co-workers, bosses and clients, all of them eagerly drawing a bead on whatever it is they’re looking at in order to kill it with a single shot, ala’ DeNiro in “The Deer Hunter.”

Then, a memory kicked in. Someone famous did comment on my work! And it went a little something like this…(cue blurry flashback effect)

The year was 1998. I had written some TV spots that the agency I was working for was producing for the Milwaukee Brewers, a baseball team that was (is) perennially mired in mediocrity. And they were cheap, too. So cheap that we had to shoot 3 spots in one day, no small feat when your actors are athletes that didn’t exactly grow up reciting the works of the Great Bard.

We were also forced to use the comedic “talents” of Bob Uecker, the Brewers venerable radio announcer, frequent “Tonight Show” guest and star of the smash-hit TV show “Mr. Belvedere” and critically acclaimed “Major League” motion picture trilogy.

As we prepared to film our first spot, it was apparent Uecker hadn’t bothered to read the scripts he was sent weeks earlier. In fact, he ad-libbed every single line once the cameras started rolling, mugging wildly and laughing at his own jokes. The spots were supposed to be :30 seconds long, so any takes had to be about :25 max so that the Brewers could slap on a tag begging foggy-minded Milwaukeeans to vote ‘yes’ on their tax-payer subsidized new stadium initiative or whatever. Uecker’s takes were coming in around :45 / :50 seconds, and he grew visibly upset when we told him this. Eventually we got a few takes that worked timing-wise, if not aesthetically.

The second spot went no better. Uecker continued to ad-lib, and got super-pissed whenever we tried to get him to stick to the script, which was carefully written to time out to a certain length, in order to save us time/effort in expensive editing suites that The Brewers would balk at paying for.

We wrapped the second spot, and the crew started preparing for the third. Someone gave Uecker the next script, in which he was to star with Brewers legend Robin Yount (who, just to be clear, was cool, helpful and tried hard). I’m sitting in a chair about 30 feet away, watching Uecker’s beady eyes dance over my script as he munched on some cold cuts. He finished reading my script, then looked up and around the room, and loudly said for all to hear:

“Who wrote this crap?”

Awesome. The guy who made “Major League 3: Back to the Minors”, a movie so shabby that Ted “Series Killer” McGinley was one of the stars, was publicly deriding my work. Some lackey that worked for the Brewers scurried over to try and diffuse the situation, while I sat in my chair and laughed. Yount overheard the ruckus and said “What’s the matter Bob, you don’t like the script? I think it’s funny.” Upon hearing that Yount liked it, Uecker changed his mind and agreed to do it. But he still ad-libbed.

“Who wrote this crap?” Who indeed.

Rock and Roll is not Dead...

...it could just use a nap.


Pictured above is the world’s coolest bass player, although you’d be forgiven for thinking it’s actor Joe Don Baker of “Walking Tall” fame. This god among men took a break from laying people off / golfing / making bird houses in his wood shop to hold down the bottom end in what was either the worst or the greatest cover band I’ve ever seen. It was comprised entirely of flabby white guys who were over 50+ years old, and they thumbed their collective nose at the very-real possibility of heart attacks to carve out their legend in a St. Paul parking garage during a St Patrick’s Day soiree this weekend, tearing (read: wheezing, limping, etc) though a succession of bold and offbeat song choices such as "Twist and Shout", Elvis's "Burnin' Love" and "Glory Days."

These guys were so white that they made Air Supply look like the MC5. Even the tried-and-true technique of not altering your garb in any way but just tossing on a pair of sunglasses somehow failed to give them the element of danger and sexuality every great rock band needs. Thus, we dubbed them “Ken Lay and The Enron Band.” A co-worker summed it up nicely when he said “the only thing that would make these guys hipper is if Clinton was up there playing the sax.”

Sorry about the poor quality of the cell phone pics. They don’t accurately convey the majesty of this man, but I suspect only a giant oil painting could hope to do that. My wife’s cell phone only cost $400 or so, and I guess you just can’t expect decent quality for that pittance. Down with Treo! Boo!

Send over the female stripper cop, cupcakes and balloons

One year ago today a bold new blog burst on the scene. Taking no prisoners with a tough, terse writing style reminiscent of a seasoned boxing reporter, it purloined material from other blogs with an eerie swiftness, while also tirelessly championing the belief that a giant, hirsute beast does indeed stalk the forests of North Amercia.

That blog, for readers who may have been dropped on their heads as infants, was this one. Happy 1-year birthday, Blogfoot! And thanks to you, my readers. It is your patronage, and desire to avoid working, that makes this blog what it is. Although technically, I make it what it is, and you just read it. But you get the point.

A rich, emotional backstory

Although I've always enjoyed the character of "Jaws" (as played by Richard Kiel) in the James Bond films "The Spy Who Loved Me" and "Moonraker," I did feel he was a bit one-dimensional - you know, just another variation on the seemingly unstoppable henchman / brute that we've all seen a million times before. But that was before I unearthed this info on the web, as culled from the novelization of "The Spy Who Loved Me" by Christopher Wood:

"Jaws's real name is Zbigniew Krycsiwiki and he was born in Kraków, Poland. Krycsiwiki was arrested by the secret police for his part in the "1972 bread riots". Whilst he was imprisoned the police "beat him with hollow steel clubs encased in thick leather" until they thought he was dead, leaving his jaw broken beyond repair. Krycsiwiki later escaped and stowed aboard one of villain Karl Stromberg's vessels. Eventually he was caught, but instead of turning him in, Stromberg hired a prestigious doctor to create an artificial jaw. After 14 operations Krycsiwiki's jaw was restored using steel components that created two rows of terrifying razor-sharp teeth."

Seems more fleshed-out now, yes? Even a bit tragic. Jaws isn't bad; he was just trying to get some bread. And he's not really trying to bite Bond - 007 is really just a metaphor, a substitute if you will, for the delicious, aromatic loafs he was arrested for trying to get his giant paws on in Poland lo those many years ago.

Interesting fact

Though not an amphibian, Godzilla has an amphibious lifestyle. He spends about 1/2 of his life in the water.

Famous people with gout

Those who have suffered from the "disease of kings" include:

Henry VIII, Charles Spurgeon, Kublai Khan, Nostradamus, John Milton, Queen Anne, Isaac Newton, Gottfried Leibniz, Henry Fielding, Samuel Johnson, Charles IV, Holy Roman Emperor, Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor,[14] Pablo Neruda, Alfred Lord Tennyson, George IV, John Hancock, Thomas Jefferson, Karl Marx, William Pitt, 1st Earl of Chatham, Benjamin Disraeli, Kirk Reuter, David Wells, Peter Paul Rubens, Alexander Hamilton, George Mason, Benjamin Franklin, Henry James, Frederick the Great, Don Nelson, Jared Leto, Pope Clement VIII, Curt Schilling, and perhaps most interestingly, the T-Rex skeleton called "Sue."

Go easy on the sweetbreads and offal meats, kids, lest you join the ranks of the gout-stricken.

Y'all had best back off

The geek movie website Aint It Cool News is reporting that some brain-addled producers are planning to attempt an ill-advised remake of John Carpenter's boffo 1981 sci-fi/action epic "Escape From New York", with "300" star Gerard Butler slated to star as anti-hero Snake Plissken.

There is no reason the remake this movie. The first one is just fine as it is. It had a fresh-off "Used Cars" Kurt Russell with an eyepatch, Harry Dean Stanton, Ernest Borgnine, Lee Van Cleef, Adrianne Barbeau and her giant rack and last but certainly not least, soulmeister Issac Hayes as the Duke of New York, the man who runs the city and is so stylish that he has chandeliers on the hood of his Cadillac (it is New York City, after all). You could not possibly hope to top that all-star cast, so why even try?

If you're not familiar with the movie (in which case I weep for you and your offspring), it was set in the year 1997, and the USA has basically become a police state. The island of Manhattan has been walled-off and converted into the country's one maximum security prison. You commit a crime, and you are dumped in there with the rest of the scum and forced to fend for yourself, as there are no guards. Air Force One crashes inside with President onboard, wherein he is made hostage by prisoners. A condemned criminal and former war hero named Snake Plissken (Russell) is offered his freedom if he can rescue the President in time to get him to some important peace talks with a cassette tape(!) that contains the secret of nuclear fusion. Snake proceeds to land a glider on top of the World Trade Center and get busy on some sewer mutants and criminals. A perfect canvas, I'm sure you'll agree.

Back off, Hollywood, you hear me? The memory of this fine film has already been tainted enough by the wretched "Escape From LA" sequel in 1996. I suffered through the indignity of your "Planet of the Apes" and "Godzilla" remakes, but now I must draw the line.

He's gone to that big guitar / spaceship in the sky / outer space

Brad Delp, the golden-throated singer of the 70's rock behemoth Boston, died this weekend at the fairly young age of 55. Dang. He's the one on the right with the Andre The Giant as Bigfoot-style hairdo-beard combo, although in the video below he has ditched the beard in favor of a more Doug Henning -like appearance. These guys sold 17 million copies of their self-titled debut album in 1977. Which would explain why they are sitting on their own plane in the above picture.

Say what you will about them, but "More Than A Feeling" is a song that rocks your balls off. It's easily one of the best entries on the mighty "Guitar Hero" video game (although I'm growing increasingly fond of G-n-R's "Sweet Child O' Mine" on "Guitar Hero 2.") Anyway, here's a grainy video of "More Than A Feeling" for you to sing along / cry to.

Flirting with genius

And now, for your reading pleasure, I'm going to post my second favorite of the McSweenys "Short Imagined Monologues." This one is written by Robert Hornack and is titled:

Bob Hope Auditions for the Role of Quint in Jaws: April 12, 1974 (The USS Indianapolis Monologue).

What? This scar, right here on my arm? Oh, that's just a souvenir from my trip to Tinian back in '45. Onboard the Indianapolis. You know what the Indianapolis is. That's 12 hundred men and a worn-out Betty Grable pinup.

Yeah, back on the boat, we got a big surprise. The Japs unloaded two torpedoes into our side. Boat sank in 12 minutes flat. A minute less, it would've beat the old record set by the McGovern campaign.

Over a thousand men went into the water. And it was the middle of the night. Water was 40 degrees. I tell ya, I haven't been so cold and wet since I hugged Nixon.

Well, we didn't see the first shark for a half-hour. Tiger shark, 13 feet long. You tell that by looking from the dorsal to the tail. Good thing Robinson remembered his tape measure. Course, then he was the first to get pulled under. Good kid, Robinson. Never knew he could hit an F-sharp over high C.

By then the sharks were on to us, all right. Swam right up, looked us in the eye. Funny thing about a shark, he's got lifeless eyes, black eyes, like a doll's eye. Like Kissinger at the press-pool snack table. I tell ya, when a shark comes at you, it doesn't seem to be living. Not, at least, till it bites you and those black eyes roll over white. I saw that and I knew it looked awfully familiar. My wife, closing time at Tiffany's.

So they didn't list us overdue for 'bout a week. That's a long time just floating in the water. My skin got so wrinkled I looked like Rose Kennedy at a Shar-Pei convention.

Finally, a PBY rescue came along, started picking us out of the water. It was a long, terrifying ordeal, waiting our turn while the sharks circled under our feet. I won't say the men felt doomed, but I heard one guy scalping his Dodgers season tickets. Another one tried to talk me into his watch. Said it was hand-carved, worth $400. And I thought the sharks were all under the water.

So 11 hundred men went in the water, 316 men came out. They call that another typical day over at Liberace's house.

Anyway, that's my story, made it out alive, June 29, 1945. Thanks, ladies and gentlemen, and remember, we're all supporting you out here, and believe me when I say I'm gonna do everything I can to get you boys home and with your families before next Christmas morning. If not, then look forward next year to Angie Dickinson and Raquel Welch in a tap-dance number that'll knock your socks off. Good night.

Genius

The word 'genius' is one that is used all-too-often these days. People throw it out like candy from a parade float. But I think in this case the use of the word is entirely justified.

I speak of the following excerpt from the humor / literary website McSweenys, an off-shoot of the publishing imprint started by a fine writer named Dave Eggers. The site adds new content often, and even accepts submissions it deems worthy, which is cool. One of the regualr features I enjoy is "Short Imagined Monologues", where the writers create the thought process for real or fictional characters, for instance, "Christopher Walken Attempts to Convince a Harlem T-Shirt Vendor That Scarface Can Be a Religion" which depicts Christopher Walken doing just what the title says he will do, or "Aquaman, King of the Seven Seas, Has Fucking Had It With You, Man" or "Wario Gives an Account of a Mario Kart Race for Strangers at a Bar", and so on. Below is my all-time favorite. I read it at least once a week. It is quite literally perfect in concept and execution. It was written by Ralph Gamelli and it's called:

"Final Thoughts of the Big Bald Shirtless German Soldier Who Beat Up Indiana Jones in Raiders of the Lost Ark."

Oh, Helga, why did you leave me? We could have made it work.

Bah! I must stop obsessing. It has been weeks. I will get some fresh air. Perhaps a nice walk will put things in perspec—

Hmm? A ruckus going on near the plane, and with the propellers in motion, too. Someone is pounding the schnitzel out of Franz. I've never been particularly fond of the fellow—this pseudointellectual who quotes Nietzsche too often—but I must go to his aid. Also, a beating will soothe me more than any walk. I will take out my frstrations upon this stranger.

Hat ... off. Shirt ... off.

Down goes Franz. Even with a giant monkey wrench for a weapon, he is still a muschi.

I approach the intruder. He is an American. Stranger still, he is wearing a leather jacket. It must be 120 degrees in the shade. I challenge him with my upturned fists. I shall pound him once for each day, each hour, Helga has been gone.

Wait. He's pointing at the ground. I must look. A coin, perhaps? Nein! He has kicked me in the crotch, the filthy swine! A literal kick to accompany my Helga's figurative kick.

No matter. I stand my ground. I show no pain. In fact, I embrace the pain. Yes, physical pain is a welcome relief compared to my emotional pain.

Why, Helga? Why? Is it because I refused to shave my mustache, yet continued to shave my head? You complimented my look when we first met. Called it distinctive. How could you ask me to change?

One punch and the American goes down, yet I feel no better. I am still empty inside. Empty without my dear Hel—

Acht! The bastard has bitten my arm! But I will embrace the pain again. I deserve it for letting her go.

He is avoiding me now, weaving around the plane. Fight, Herr Fedora! I must feel more pain. I punch, punch. If I must beat you senseless to keep you fighting, so be it. Punch. What does not kill you, my American friend, makes you stronger ... as long as a woman is not involved. Franz would tell you that, if he were not lying face down in the dirt.

Argh! He's thrown sand in my eyes! That's more like it!

Why does he keep looking at the plane? Ah, his woman is locked in the cockpit. I should have locked my love in a cockpit so she never could have escaped.

I see the fräulein knows how to work the onboard gun. She just mowed down a truck full of my countrymen. Isn't that like a woman? If she is not leaving you, she is mowing you down with a machine gun.

The stranger swings. One, two, three, four straight punches and I do not flinch. Blood is pouring from my nose. Good. It is undoubtedly broken, like my heart.

I punch again, to prod him more than anything else. But he goes down. Get up, coward. I need more pain. I need to hurt.

What's this? He is looking behind me. Perhaps it is Helga. She has changed her mind and returned to me. Or perhaps it is the plane's propeller. Yes, of course, it is the propeller. He is ducking down and covering his head. I should duck down myself, but I cannot bring myself to care. She is gone forever and nothing else matters and I don't wish to be overly philosophical like Franz, but perhaps if you look into the propeller, the propeller also looks into you.

Wanta Wampa

OK, read that headline again, but this time imagine the music / theme from the incredibly bouncy and catchy "Wanta Fanta?" soda commercials featuring a bunch of colorfully spandex-clad skanks gyrating around that blight TV and movie screens in the summertime. Witty, huh? No, you're right. It's not.

Anyway, the reason for the Wampa reference are these old behind the scenes photos from 1980, taken during the filming of "The Empire Strikes Back" that show an actor getting into a Wampa ice creature costume. This thing is huge! I really like the one where it shows the cables that are used to hoist him up. I want one of these that I can wear during the winter months when I shovel my driveway and walk my dog.




I'm presuming this full-body costume was used for the deleted "wampa attack en mass" sequence, as the only shots used in the final 1981 film are of a puppet/maquette head and arm. A sequence was filmed but not used that showed a bunch of Wampa ( A herd? A pack? A pride? A gaggle? ) attacking the rebel ice fortress right as the Imperial Walkers showed up. Jeez! A glimmer of this sequence can seen in the film, as R2-D2 rounds a corrider / passageway, and some snow dislodges and hits him in the head. The snow was dislodged due to some Wampa busting through the walls into the tunnel. True story.

Chivalry is not dead in Wisconsin. ( Or, "Unhand thy wand, base villain!" )

From the savage, untamed land of Oconomowoc, Wisconsin, comes a tale of a chivalrous deed gone awry. A Mr. James Van Iveren, slayer of beasts and a man who treads the earth beneath his sandled feet, was sitting in his castle with his crown perched upon
a troubled brow, when he heard a woman screaming in the apartment above. Like any sensible barbarian / brigand, he grabbed his sword, bounded up the steps and kicked the door down, girding his loins for the battle that was to come. Instead of a maiden in the clutches of an evil wizard however, he found a man sitting on the floor watching a porn DVD.

Now Van Iveren is being charged with criminal trespass while using a dangerous weapon. Crom! The indignity!

You can read more details of this story here. Turns out the sword was actually a calvary sword, but I'm going to keep pretending it was a broadsword. Barbarians are much more interesting than the calvary.

Monster / Creature Fest!

Friend o' Blogfoot and comic creator extrordinaire Sam Hiti (a man who goes through ink like the good ol' U.S.A. consumes fossil fuels) is having a big monster rumble over at his website, encouraging all visitors to create their own quick monster drawing and send it in, wherein some kind of contest will ensue. Sam has lots of talented friends, so there's plenty of purty pictures to look at. Below is my submission which I drew during lunch - a terrifying depiction of a Cyclopian Ed Asner. I don't think I'm going to win.

I like the cut of this guy's jib

I was doing some online research about early Roman civilization for some gut-busting radio spots I will soon be unleashing upon the airwaves, and I followed some thread about philosphers of the time. In particular, I found one to be interesting: Diogenes. The accompanying blurb reveals him to be one wacky fellow.

"DIOGENES: A Greek philosopher who believed that civilization was a fundamentally a lie and that life was optimally led without possessions. He lived in an old wine barrel outside Athens, defaced money, masturbated in the middle of the business district, tormented Plato and excreted anywhere at any time."

I think GG Allin swiped Diogenes' act. The masturbating in the business district and excreting anywhere at any time are all well and good, but I find myself focusing on the "tormented Plato" part. What did this tormenting entail? Did Diogenes light a match between Plato's toes? Did he rig a bucket of flour above Plato's door so that when he came out it spilled on him? I need details.

The blogging muse is not upon me

I don't know what to say. Or what to blog about, either. I took a little time off, and now I seem to have lost my zest / zeal /ardor for it. My blog needs to put on some sexy lengerie to get me interested again.

Step 1: Turn the volume of your computer up. Way up.

Step 2: Click on this link.

Step 3: Enjoy

R.I.P. Dan Cortese

No, he's not dead. But the former host of "MTV Sports", who was inexplicably able to parlay that dubious gig into acting jobs that allowed him to hang around Hollywood long past his expiration date on shows like "Melrose Place", "Veronica's Closet" and other fine programming hasn't been poisoning the airwaves with his presence for the past couple of years, which is good enough for me.

I would like to blog. But forces beyond my control, and indeed my comprehension, are preventing said blogging from occurring.

Sorry about the lack of posts this week. I had a good head of steam going lately, too. The reason? What else? I'm super-busy at work, besieged at every turn for genre-bending ideas and scintillating prose.
I thought about going to youtube and entering "goat" and posting whatever I found, but even that would take more time than I have to spare. I'm considering taking a page from the crazy astronaut woman kidnappers book and wearing a diaper to maximize my time more efficiently. I'll be back in the next day or two.

A pleasant way to while away the hours

Here's a nice little video loop for you to stare at. Feel the seconds turn into minutes, the minutes turning into hours, the hours turning into days...it's hypnotic...the Zapruder film of my generation.

A possible clue to solving the great denim-wearing robot mystery

OK, so I was doing some more polling / thinking about this whole jean-wearing robot ad campaign from the mid-70's I wrote about a couple of days ago. And before I go any further, I just want to say that for the record, I'm pretty disappointed in my readership's response to solving this puzzle. I know a lot of you, and a lot of you are known by reputation and minor degrees of separation, and a bigger group of geeks harboring worthless knowledge you'd be hard-pressed to find. No emails, no feedbacks, no comments...nothing. A pox upon you all!

Mrs. Blogfoot remembered the ads though, so I know I'm not crazy. This also confirmed that I married the right woman. I mean, come on...she remembers 30 year-old commercials with robots wearing jeans and can quote "Wrath of Khan" at will. Truly a rare cut of stone, as they say.

Anyhoo, when queried about this, a friend mentioned a brand of jeans from the 70's that I had forgotten about: "Toughskins." Yes, Toughskins, the low-cost, in-house brand foisted upon the children of the non-rich by the fiends at Sears. Toughskins debuted as a new blend of materials, including Dacron Type 59 polyester, DuPont 420 nylon, and cotton. They touted the line of Toughskins children's pants as "The toughest of Sears tough jeans...lab tests prove it!"

"Lab tests", hey? Is it such a stretch to think that a company that talked of "lab tests" would also belch forth a jean-wearing robot as a pitchman? No, it is not a stretch at all. But sadly, all I could find a record of was another campaign they did in which they constructed a trampoline out of the Toughskin material. I've pasted a blurry clip of this ad below, and you can read the truncated history of the toughskins brand here.



Toughskins also featured re-inforced knees as a selling point, which would dovetail nicely into my memory of the robot doing knee bends in the jeans to illustrate their resiliency. And the fact that they were dirt-cheap would dovetail nicely with the memory of my brother and I being forced to wear them. Although once they trotted out the robot, I'm sure I was begging for them.

Why is there no record of this? WTF? Is no one with me? What's the matter with all of you? Doesn't the thought of a jean-wearing robot interest you? I think it does! Hop to it!

Crap...mine's at the cleaners

Today is National Gorilla Suit Day! So, put on that gorilla suit that's been in mothballs in your attic and get out there and spread goodwill and cheer. This holiday was invented by MAD magazine artist Don Martin, which is about as impeccable a reference as you can get. Time was, gorilla suits roamed the streets by the thousands, delivering flowers and birthday balloons, frequenting Halloween parties, and more. Now they seem poised on the brink of extinction. But we have the collective power to change all that. It takes a village, people.

Read more about this fine tradition here. There's background info, banner ads you can send to your friends, and...well, that's about it. But what more do you need?

Am I imagining things?

I've scoured the internet and polled co-workers. And thus far, my efforts have bore no fruit. I have found no record of the following, nor does anyone else remember it. But I know it existed.

Sometime around the mid 1970's, a major denim company ( not sure if it was Levi's, Lee or Wrangler) came out with a line of jeans that were built to withstand the punishment that kids dole out. It was called Super Denim, I believe. And to promote it, they had a robot character named "Super Dennis." Super Dennis was a robot that wore jeans. The TV commercials showed Super Dennis demonstrating how tough the jeans were by doing various calisthenics like deep-knee bends and squat thrusts, while also climbing rock formations, running, etc. I also remember stores like Sears and J.C. Pennys having life-size standup displays of the Super Dennis character.

Am I out of my freaking mind, or does anyone else remember this?

That ain't right

From the wilds of the Pacific Northwest comes the sad tale of the brazen theft of a large wooden Bigfoot scuplture from a local chiropractor's office (I don't know about you, but I would patronize just about any business that had a giant Bigfoot statue in front of it. Accountant, lawyer, bank-doesn't matter. I would go there.). The heartless thieves made off with the local landmark in the middle of the night, leaving only tire tracks and stunning owner Tim Payne, who's had the carving for more than 5 years in front of his office in the bustling metropolis of Federal Way, somewhere near Tacoma, WA.

The 8-foot tall carving had served as signpost as sorts over the years, and even police had used it as a marker for giving directions and finding stranded motorists. That means people were constantly saying things like "just go three blocks and take a right at the Bigfoot", which is awesome.

Is nothing sacred? Steal all the diamonds, cash and copper-wiring out of houses that you can carry, vile gangsters and meth-heads. But leave Bigfoot alone.

You can read more about this tragic story here.

Greetings from Arapahoe Acres

On a recent trip to Denver, Colorado over the holidays (in which the the wimpy city was paralyzed by snow), I took the opportunity to seek out a little suburban tract just on the outside of the city limits called Arapahoe Acres. I had read about this somewhat historic subdivision in various architecture and design mags over the years and always wanted to see it.

Simply put, Arapahoe Acres is a subdivision in Englewood, Colorado of 124 modern homes built between 1949-1957. The houses are all flat-roofed, horizontal structures in the Wright-derived Usonian (the basis of the popular 'ranch' style in the U.S.) style, constructed of brick, block, wood and glass, with some lower-slung A-frame styles present, too. It's a look prevalent in many areas of California that was driven by famed modernist Joseph Eichler, among others.

Envisioned by developer & builder Edward B. Hawkins, the initial homes were designed by architect Eugene Sternberg. The two split due to disagreements over pricing, as Sternberg intended the homes to be low cost ($11k!), but Hawkins sold them for around $20k. With Sternberg gone, Hawkins indulged his inner architect and designed the rest, which causes some debate about whether some of the houses are truly historic, as Hawkins was not a formally-trained / degreed architect.

This affordability issue is nothing new to the field of modern design, be it furniture or housing. The movement was originally intended to use modern materials and methods of the time to bring design to a wider audience, the 'masses' as it were, but in the decades since has become almost exclusively high-end.

It was pretty interesting to drive around the subdivisions wide, winding streets and see modern house after modern house. Usually if you see a modern house (or mid-century), the other ones around it are more traditional or plain. Here, you look around and all you see are these. Some were pretty small (around 1,100 sq feet), and the outer rims felt pretty crowded, with small yards and another house literally an arms reach away, but there are still some nice domiciles in here.

I spoke to an high-end mid-century antiques dealer while I was there, and he said living there is kind of a pain in the ass. You practically have to have a public meeting to change a wall color, neighbors watch you like a hawk to see if you're carrying in home improvement items from the car, etc. In the first picture below you can see a "notice of hearing" sign on the one of the windows. The poor guy probably just wanted to hang his kid's drawing on his refrigerator or something. I can see the point of this, though; lots of modern homes of the years have been messed up by owners ill-advised modifications.

Anyway, without further ado, here are some of the homes in Arapahoe Acres.

"Yawn...what else ya got?"

Below is a clip I found on youtube yesterday of Apple CEO Steve Jobs introducing the first ipod in a MacWorld keynote address back in 2001.

You've no doubt seen this years keynote, where Jobs unveiled the much-ballyhooed iphone to a worshipful, rabid throng that was cheering with the unblinking faithfulness previously enjoyed by only a few people on the planet (The Rev. Jim Jones, Hitler, etc). If not, you can see it on Apple's website.

What's funny about this clip from 2001 is that no one in the room seems impressed by the ipod. They barely seem to give a shit. I kept waiting for the dark outlines of people to get up and leave, or rotten produce to start raining upon him. It's quite apparent that the crowd of 37 people in attendance were completely nonplussed with Steve's first efforts at pushing Apple Computer towards the media/content driven company he is wisely molding it to be.



100 million ipods sold later, it's a different story. Watch this year's keynote / iphone unveiling, and I swear you can see people feverishly jerking off to Jobs' every word in the crowd shots. He could passed around a church collection plate with an Apple logo on it and people would have tossed their wallets in it. Hell, he could have had a guy with an apple shop vac just sucking the money right out of people's pockets. And this year's seems to take place in a stadium, akin to a Billy Graham revival, unlike the ipod keynote, which looks like Conference Room B of a Ramada Inn.

What a difference six years makes. Except for clothing, that is. Because Jobs is still wearing the same outfit.

Last night in "Gears of War:"

I found a weapon called "The Hammer of Dawn." When I picked it up, the game said (via onscreen instructions) that it would only work outside with a clear signal. Interesting. So I took it outside and aimed it at a large, writhing creature that was a couple of blocks away. A thin red laser came out of the rifle. After a couple of seconds of keeping the red laser trained on the creature, I heard a beeping. Then, a satellite in the sky honed in on my target signal, and sent down a large beam that obliterated said writhing mass.

It was awesome.

Color me impressed

Every couple of years or so, you see, use or experience something that you know is a quantum leap forward within its genre. You know, like audiences in 1977 felt (including my 10 year-old self) when the first Star Destroyer crept onto the screen in the opening scene of "Star Wars." That kind of feeling.

I felt that last night when I played "Gears of War" on the Xbox 360 for the first time. It's amazing. Really. You know how most video games have detailed intros with great graphics, and then you wait for that moment when the gameplay actually starts, knowing that the camera/POV is going to pull back and the figures will get blocky and cheaper looking? That doesn't happen here. The detail and fluidity of movement is astonishing.

I also like that you aren't superhuman. You can die, and quickly, and you are advised to duck and seek cover in the ruins as often as possible to re-group and plot your attack. It feels like you're in a real firefight, under seige from some monstrous insect-like enemy that has figured out how to use firearms.

I also played "Dead Rising", a zombies-loose-in-a-shopping-mall-game ala' "Dawn of the Dead." It was cool and all...a very nice game, and I look forward to continuing it. But it was no "Gears of War."

I've only played a couple of hours, so who knows what could unfold. The gameplay could get repetitive, or maybe it will give me seizures. We'll see. But for now, I must say that it's the most amazing-looking game I've ever played on a home console.

A few months ago I saw the below commercial for the game aired as a trailer before a movie. I normally loathe commericials before movies, but this one had some artistry to it. I liked the lack of sound effects except for the cover of Tears For Fears "Mad World" from "Donnie Darko."

This has piqued my interest, to say the least

I've always said that the only way you could possibly improve "Moby Dick" is to toss the Frankestein Monster into the mix.

I've got to find this old comic. I wonder what the title of story is? "Frankendick"? "Mobystein"? "Dickenstein"? The mind reels.

"Pump your schlong!"

Ah, yes...that, my friends, is the poetic subject line of a spam email I was just sent by a helpful soul named "Bondiek Marco." In his evocative yet fractured English, Mr Marco goes on to say:

Yo dude

Don't tell me why your one-eyed monster is so small,
I will better help you to make it really Bigger!

Why bigger? Because over 82% of all women need a longer
ramrod to satisfy their desire!

Go there and get your solution: http://rapvideoaudtion.info

It'll really help you!

We will ship it worldwide within 24 hours, and if
you find our product useless - we'll refund all your money!

But that's not all, dear readers. In order to claw his way past my emails spam filters (which are about as resilient as the proverbial wet paper bag), Mr. Marco was kind enough to include the following section of gripping prose:

treasurer replaced the receiver and glanced round to the window behind his back. Through the sparse leaves of a sycamore tree he saw the moon flying through a translucent cloud. He seemed to be mesmerised by the branches of the tree and the longer Rimsky stared at them the more strongly he felt the grip of fear.

Pulling himself together the treasurer finally turned away from the moonlit window and stood up. There was now no longer any question of telephoning and Rimsky could only think of one thing--how to get out of the theatre as quickly as possible. He listened : the building was silent. He realised that for some time

And that's where it ends! Nooo! How cruel! I was just getting into it! So many burning questions are left unanswered! Why was the moon flying? Did Rimsky get out of the theatre? I can't take the suspense!

I have no choice: I must email Bondiek Marco and insist that he send me the rest of the story. If he refuses to do that, I guess I would be willing to accept some of his miracle dick creme instead.

Some things you might not know about space travel

For instance: man does not need a pressurized suit to survive the rigors of space. No, in fact, an un-buttoned shirt will do just fine. And a guitar is not only an instrument that can produce catchy riffs, it also makes a fine spaceship. And a stage. And the solar winds really make your hair blow in a cool rock-star way. All of which this 1981 video from Triumph will prove.



If you're not familiar with Triumph, they were a Canadian rock trio that was popular in the late 70's / early 80's, I know what you're thinking: wasn't that Rush? Well, Triumph was for people who maybe had trouble understanding Rush. Rush was for the smarter, more discerning burnout who might have an interest in Tolkien and Dungeons & Dragons. Triumph was for burnouts who drank cheap beer and worked on cars that were always the color of primer. Got it? Good.

"Children of Men" is super-good

Some of you may have seen this movie already. I saw it a couple of weeks ago and kept forgetting to extol it's virtues here. But it's really good. It's a cautionary sc-fi tale set in the year 2027, when society is caught in a downward spiral due to the fact that women can no longer have babies. A generation has gone by, and since people can't reproduce anymore, many have just given up and ceased to care about getting along, art, commerce, or any of the things that currently occupy us. There's no future, so what's the point, right? Clive Owen stars as a former radical, since numbed by the world's situation, who is caught up in an event that could have a significant impact on things and slowly finds hope in this hopeless world.

Director Alfonso Cuaron has done a great job with this movie. Many of the action sequences in the film are composed of very long shots, which really places you in the situation in a way that multiple rapid cuts could never do. Keen observers will see where digital trickery has been used to link cuts, but that doesn't lessen the impact. And the look of the film is entirely appropriate-not too futuristic, not too run down, people aren't ruuning around in jumpsuits, etc. The backgrounds are layered with detail that tell the story of society's decay, without being too showy.

Michael Caine is great in it, and the filmakers wisely resist the urge to have Owen (an actor I really like the more I see him) turn into an action hero throughout the course of the film. He remains almost clumsy and slow throughout, escaping situations merely by luck instead of suddenly becoming a crack shot or a physical superman.

I really dug it. Check it out instead of seeing the joyless romp known as "Night at the Museum."

Nicely done

I don't want this to turn into a snarky celebrity news blog (as I prefer to save my snark for more worthwhile topics), but I couldn't resist posting this picture of P. Diddy and Jessica Biel at the Golden Globe Awards. I'm assuming Diddy thinks that 'golden globes' refers to something other than the trophies they hand out.

Trapped in Texas

I'm stuck in Austin, Texas, due to a assault of freezing rain that refuses to go away. I came down on Saturday for work, filmed outside for 2 days in miserable conditions, and now can't return. Flights are being cancelled left and right. The only carrier that's been flying is Southwest, and they don't fly to Minneapolis, and all their few flights going to connecting cities are booked. Hopefully we can get out late tomorrow.

In the meantime, the city is straight-up paralyzed. We walked around earlier today and found ONE place open: a McCormick & Schmick's seafood restarant, which we have in Minneapolis. Awesome. We've been eating pratically every meal in "Champions", the hotel sports bar (I do recommend the Frito Pie, but not as much as my buddy Mark, who is practically living on the stuff). Derek Jeter is trapped here too...we've seen him in Champions twice with his two strumpets, and bore witness to him making a waffel at the Champions breakfast buffet. Good times.

Austin has not endeared itself to me. I know it's a cool city and this shit weather is not it's fault, but I'm a grudge holder.
Damn you, Texas! First George Bush, now this!

Brief Haitus 2: this time it's personal

Actually, it's work-driven. I'll be out of the office and then out of town for the next 5 days shooting a bunch of footage ( think epic battle scenes with over 2,000 extras ) for my latest commercial opus, then I go straight into edit. Thus, Blogfoot will be incommunicado until this time next week. Until then, quit reading / thinking about the iphone and get back to work.

Mystery solved!

Hold onto your hats, people! The tireless investigative efforts of the Blogfoot staff have blown the lid off the mystery of the lunar outhouse previously discussed in the story below. And although I appreciate the comments and emails regarding this, no readers managed to crack the case.

Turns out the lunar outhouse is actually....a portable observatory.

Let me set the scene for you. I took my dog for a walk Saturday morning, and grabbed my camera on the way out, as I wanted to get some more pics of the object. As I walked in front of the house, the garage door started to raise up! My pulse quickened. Would this be a chance to solve the mystery?

A car backed out with an old lady in it. My dog played his role perfectly, randomly sniffing around so that I wouldn't appear conspicuous. The lady waved at me, and I seized the opportunity, raising my index finger in the universal gesture that says "Hold on a minute, lady." She rolled down her window, I asked her what is was, and she told me.

She was quite pleasant, and indeed seemed very happy to talk about it. Turns out her husband was an engineer, and actually built this thing (two of them, actually) as prototypes for the government. They were designed for "the comfortable observation of specific celestial bodies under adverse conditions." It has a seat inside and is fully insulated, and yes, it was actually used at the South Pole at a research facility, most likely the one destroyed by a malevolent, shape-shifting alien in John Carepenter's 1982 horror/sci-fi classic "The Thing." I took another picture of the side, and here you can plainly see the bulk of the telescope apparatus. She said that you would just pop a lens in the top and Bob's your uncle.



Unfortunately, she was all bundled up in her car, otherwise I would have asked to go inside and sit down (and yes, I would have resisted the urge to crap in it). But now that I've broken the ice with the nice old lady, I will get in there at some point and gaze at the stars. Stay tuned for further tales of the portable observatory.