Hollers From the Soul of Wikipedia

Who knew the story of Joseph Schlitz was so interesting:

In Milwaukee, Schlitz was hired as a bookkeeper in a tavern brewery owned by August Krug. In 1856, he took over management of the brewery following the death of Krug. Two years after Schlitz married Krug's widow, he changed the name of the brewery to the Jos. Schlitz Brewing Co.

The company began to succeed after the Great Chicago Fire of 1871, when Schlitz donated thousands of barrels of beer to that city, which had lost most of its breweries. He quickly opened a distribution point there, beginning a national expansion. Schlitz built dozens of tied houses in Chicago, most with a concrete relief of the company logo embedded in the brickwork; several of these buildings survive today, including Schuba's Tavern at the corner of Belmont and Southport.

Schlitz died May 7, 1875, when on a return visit to Germany; his ship hit a rock near Land's End, Cornwall, and sank. Control of the corporation passed into the hands of the Uihlein brothers, nephews of founder August Krug. When Anna Maria Krug Schlitz died in 1887, the Uihleins acquired complete ownership of the firm.

(full wikipedia entry here)

I can't say much about the beer--it being a bit below my standards--or their business sense--running the #1 beer in America out of business--but the fellas at Schlitz (who were eventually bought by their Michigan competition, Stroh's, and now owned by bitter cross-town rival Pabst) know a thing or two about hilarious/sexist advertising, eh?












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Chuck Norris Doesn't Run Wild...

Chuck Norris gets bitch-slapped by the eloquent Chris Kelly and probably doesn't even understand it:

Chuck Norris Says Obama Wants Mary to Abort Jesus

It's a well-known fact that Chuck Norris could kick the shit out of the Council of Ephesus, so when he has somehting to say about the Blessed Virgin Mary, I, for one, listen:

Lastly, as we near the eve of another Christmas, I wonder: What would have happened if Mother Mary had been covered by Obamacare? What if that young, poor and uninsured teenage woman had been provided the federal funds (via Obamacare) and facilities (via Planned Parenthood, etc.) to avoid the ridicule, ostracizing, persecution and possible stoning because of her out-of-wedlock pregnancy? Imagine all the great souls who could have been erased from history and the influence of mankind if their parents had been as progressive as Washington's wise men and women! Will Obamacare morph into Herodcare for the unborn?

He makes a powerful case, especially the last part, where health insurance reform leads to the Massacre of the Innocents. I'd get to the threat of Obama repeating the excesses of Herod the Great by pointing out they both like occupying the Middle East, but I understand Chuck's logic, too. Teach a man to fish and you've fed him for a lifetime. Subsidize his co-pay; he will commit genocide.

Here's where I get off board, and where Chuck Norris has made a potentially serious mistake. It's not that his slippery slope argument is sub-moronic. And it's not that he doesn't understand the moral difference between providing access to something -- lets say safe, legal abortion -- and ordering it. (If making something available was the same as doing it yourself, then arms makers would be responsible for gun homicides, and we know that's not true.)

My problem is with his misunderstanding of Mary, Stella Maris, Queen of Heaven, mother of mercy, sweetness and hope, bearer of light, mediator and co-redeemer. He seems to think of her as kind of a clueless, sloppy slut.

You know how women are. Don't get Chuck started.

The Mary in Chuck's example might carry Jesus to term or she might not. What does she care? The only thing that could make her give birth to God is if we make the alternative even more inconvenient.

Now, I enjoy misogyny as much as the next guy. I was in a fraternity. So Chuck Norris can imply whatever he wants about theoretical women in general, and how they'll have all the abortions they possibly can, if they're just lying around. And what rankles me isn't that -- to get at women in general -- he's taking a casual dump on the Mother of Our Savior. What bothers me is that Chuck Norris is a board member of the National COuncil on Bible Curriculum in Public Schools and he understands the Bible like a turtle humping a shoe.

You can't use Mary as an example of a woman considering an abortion, because the Mary that could make the mistake of aborting our Savior wouldn't be Mary. And if she weren't Mary, Theotokos, immaculate treasure of virginity, spiritual paradise of the second Adam, then Jesus wouldn't be Jesus. She'd just be a woman, and he'd be a lunatic. It's an analogy that isn't just ignorant; it's actually blasphemous.

The nature of Mary, her threefold perfection -- disposition, sanctification and ends -- of which the second perfection excels the first and the third the second, is evidence of the divinity of Jesus. You simply can't use her in abortion hypotheticals, because then she'd just be some yutz.

You can't ask "What if Mary chose wrong?" It's like saying, "Imagine you're Superman, but you don't have any superpowers." Or, "What if you were invisible, but everyone could see you." It doesn't work as an example. It cancels itself out.

Mary, Conqueror of Sin, workshop of the union of Christ's two natures, marketplace of the saving exchange, bridal chamber in which the Word was wedded to the flesh, was incapable of making a mistake.

Which, by the way, is not the same as not having a choice.

She has no place, even anecdotally, in this debate. Here case is by definition atypical. Even Chuck Norris should be able to process that.

There's got to be a simpler way to insult women and deprive them of their reproductive rights.

If you want to put the Bible in schools but you think Mary might have aborted Jesus, if she didn't have to pay for it, you don't get to talk anymore. You are disinvited from an opinion on theology. You don't get to put toilet paper in the boys' room.

You're not a Christian. You're just an asshole. We get that a lot.


[the link to the original Huffington Post column, reprinted here in full]

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What a Shame--She Was So Old and Full of Despair

That wasn't exercise HRH Obama was doing by moonlight in the swamp outside DC at four o'clock this morning--that was good ole-fashioned body-burying.

HeyHUH?

Yes--it appears that the White House desperately needs a new event planner, after snafus number one and two this past month resulted in the last one (wait for it...NOW!) never being seen again, crammed into an airtight 55-gallon drum ten feet under the ground, a hundred staggers from the big tree with the snake on it, already deader than the Pope's discolored, diseased excuse for a penis.

Water under the bridge. It so happens, Monsieur Obama et al, that event planning is one of my specialties--any interest in hiring the best?

I promise nobody not on the official list will get inside your house--or you'll have the balls of the guy(s) who fucked-up sitting atop your Threat Matrix the next morning, along with a glass of fresh-squeezed real California orange juice (not from concentrate, untouched by non-Hispanic hands until it cascades down your bourgeois throat) and a NYTimes crossword puzzle with all the hard ones already filled-in so people who go through your trash will think you're really smart. And we'll have some totally funky music playing at all times, to get you in the mood and keep you there, as well as a dirt-cheap-but-lifepartner-loyal bartender/shoeshiner/masseuse/Sherpa/ottoman to make everything okay always.

Much like the increasingly-creepy Men's Wearhouse dude...


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Shrimp Rules

Overheard in my brain earlier tonight:


"That was too gross. I've finally chosen my side of the fence--I think it should be illegal to fry shrimp."

"What? Why?" She says ignorantly, while wearing an unfortunate sweater and smelling badly.

"Because it tastes like high-calorie, deep-fried, buttered bread crumbs and when I order shrimp, I want to taste fresh, delicious shrimp, not something worse than frozen fish sticks. And no tax-paying (throw the rest in the fire and dance around it while drinking Cuban rum and failing to convince the last two local Homecoming Queens to check out the upholstery in the backseat of my fully-restored-by-somebody-I-hired GTO) citizen should be allowed the option of eating that shit."

"Kiss me, Roderick..."

Especially fond of the parenthetical segment of my last ejaculation, she melted into my arms like I Can't Believe It's Not Butter on a delightfully pockmarked ear of Indian corn roasting over the space heater in your low-rent-but-tastefully-decorated-if-never-even-dusted-and-kinda-grimy-Flatbush-third-floor-walk-up-Nevada-whorehouse of an apartment. It was totally radical.

Meanwhile, I stared--unblinking--into the clogged pores on the nose of a termite on the left posterior heel of her soft-coated schnitzel hound, who was sitting just across the room, in the darkened doorway to my sanctuary, and my eyes grew more dangerous with each passing breath.

Anything was possible.

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Will YOU Be My Facebook Friend?

This just in from the trenches:

Judges and lawyers in Florida can no longer be Facebook friends.

In a recent opinion, the state’s Judicial Ethics Advisory Committee decided it was time to set limits on judicial behavior online. When judges “friend” lawyers who may appear before them, the committee said, it creates the appearance of a conflict of interest, since it “reasonably conveys to others the impression that these lawyer ‘friends’ are in a special position to influence the judge.”

In practice, of course, actual friends and Facebook friends can be as different as leather and pleather, and the committee did recognize that online friends were not the same as friends in the traditional sense. A minority of the panel would have allowed Facebook friendship, which it characterized as more like “a contact or acquaintance” without conveying the notion of “feelings of affection or personal regard.”

(courtesy NYTimes.com)

Aside from the author's outright theft of my famous "leather and pleather" analogy, this article makes me smile in the same way as I did when Congress weighed in on the baseball steroid scandal and when the media thought we needed to know that Chesley (Sully) Sullenberger is his wife's "hero in the bedroom."

All are prime examples of people's time wasted for no good reason. Who gives a shit if judges are Facebook friends with lawyers? Is it not more important to make sure that judges and lawyers are honest? Why not spend time policing the actual problem of undue influence, rather than merely pay lip service to the task by taking time away from real cases to dictate people's Facebook friends?

Meanwhile, to all you judges and lawyers out there, I am truly sorry that, as a result of this senseless decision, people all over the world will now have a skewed perception of your coolness.

When the hot girl from high school (now fat with kids) cruises the net late at night, looking up potential gold mines with a Virginia Slim Menthol 100 pressed firmly between her lips, she will laugh derisively when she sees you only have 32 friends, 28 of whom are members of your extended family) and write some cruel post on your wall like "Some things never change, dweeb-o! LOL!" and it will hurt you more than anybody will ever know.

Look on the bright side, though, Judge Dweebo--you could always exact revenge via a groundbreaking legal decision that limits the number of Facebook friends to 32 systemwide. Or maybe the entire legal community will quietly retreat into the dark Filipino underworld that is Friendster and nobody will notice?

Developing...

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This Ego Best Be Gettin' Checked

And SOON:


I'm surprised she didn't give herself "Special Thanks" while she was at it. Why not, right? I hear the more credits you give yourself, the better your chance is to 'make it' in Hollywood.

"Oh, wow--it says here you were both Casting Director and Casting Coordinator on a 17-minute short film that nobody will ever see or should ever see. That's very impressive--how do you feel about writing/producing/assistant-producing/directing/assistant-directing/craft-servicing/wardrobe-assisting/PAing Spiderman 5? We're really looking for a fresh voice in the series, preferably somebody with a ton of experience doing every job on set and in post-production, since we don't have much of a budget..."

"OMG! That's so perfect! I knew I would make it in Hollywood if I never lost sight of who I am as an artist/handyman/egomaniac. I'll start crocheting a Spiderman costume tonight--I can totally see it in my head and it is going to be beautiful. "

Okay, okay, hold the phone--maybe I'm selling The Swim Team Renaissance woman Amber Crosby too short here. Let's read the synopsis--maybe the movie's awesome, right?

In her early twenties, Mona finds herself living in the tiny town of Belvedere with no direction and nothing to do. Her days consist of long, boring hours gazing out her window at the barren landscape, lying to her mother about how busy her life is, visiting the small market down the road and avoiding eye contact with the three elderly people who run it, Elizabeth, Kelda and Jack Jack, the only other people within miles.

While visiting the market one afternoon Mona overhears the three elderly shop owners arguing about how they have never learned to swim and complaining that there isn't even a suitable body of water anywhere near the town of Belvedere. Speaking to them for the first time, Mona claims that she can teach them and they don't even need a body of water. Using three large bowls, a kitchen floor and a lot of imagination the swim lessons begin. As Elizabeth, Kelda and Jack Jack eagerly follow Mona's every direction they become lithe, agile swimmers, young again in the waters of their minds.

These weekly swim lessons give Mona direction and she, too, is transformed, becoming a strong, purposeful coach. Later in life, when Mona again finds herself without direction, wandering through the empty rooms of her apartment after a painful break-up, the memory of Belvedere comes back to her. She is reminded of her time with Elizabeth, Kelda and Jack Jack and the feeling of swimming without water. Based on the short story by Miranda July, the film reminds us that sometimes it's the things we've forgotten that haven't forgotten us.

Written by George Seamer

Well, I was right--it is very far from awesome. In fact, it sounds even worse than I could have imagined. And I mean that. And I have a great imagination.

And I find it exceedingly odd that Amber Crosby didn't write her own synopsis for imdb--what, that's the only task she's too good for?

What a bitch...

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Houston's Mayor Is So Gay

Literally. City Controller Annise Parker is openly gay and she just defeated former City Attorney Gene Locke, an African-American, in a run-off election, to become the mayor-elect of Houston.

Although she received 53% of the vote, the pear-shaped sparkplug in the unflattering wool suit didn't exactly ride in on a wave of popularity--roughly 150,000 votes were cast in a city of over 2 million people.

Is this because most Texans would rather sit this one out than have to choose between a black guy and a lesbian? Hmm...as tempting as it is to say 'yes, that makes sense' it appears only 188,000 votes were cast in the initial election, which did feature at least one old white man.

What could be the cause of this low voter turnout in the largest city in Texas, a state whose inhabitants generally pride themselves on being outspoken, if usually on the wrong side of the issue?

Were all the candidates gay? Were they giving out free gun racks at WalMart? Were the American Idol auditions held the same day?

Is Houston a city made up almost entirely of orphaned children? Are the sidewalks paved with licorice and the grass actually spray-painted Big League Chew? Are their schools merely Chuck E. Cheeses in disguise? Did Oliver Twist deliver Parker the votes in exchange for an extra helping of gruel?


Or is the real Houston more like the rest of the country than we non-Texans would care to admit, its residents more aware than ever of how pointless most elections are, considering the fact that pretty much every politician is owned by the same interests and will come to the same end result, if by slightly different paths?

Not including the presidential contests held every four years, we have reached a point of gross disengagement on the part of the electorate, a direct result of our growing disenchantment with our leaders of the last...60 years. We may not have realized it at the time, but we realize it now--all the local, state, and national leaders we elected have all played their part in steering us into this irretrievably-fucked cesspool of modern politics and social/fiscal responsibility.

Whether they allowed lobbyists dictate policy in exchange for campaign money or consultant jobs post-office, or turned a blind eye while the financial industry ran amok, or let Halliburton start an eternal war on terror, our elected officials have consistently chosen business interests over the interests of their constituents, over the interests of the planet we all live on.

Now we have arrived at a place in time where The Machine is too big to fail--the rich want to get even richer, at any cost, and they have enough money to make it happen. They know all they need to do is lie, grease a few dozen palms, have those greased palms spread the lie, and the details will get lost in committee or on page 44E of a newspaper nobody reads.


We, the voters, are guilty of aiding and abetting, by giving these conspirators our votes time and time again. What better way to avoid future blame than failing to cast a vote, right? We'll show them!

Of course, this failure to participate only makes matters worse and will eventually result in some future class-struggle-cum-revolution, but whatever--much like our response to recycling efforts, water and electricity conservation, and pollution control, we don't really care because we'll all be dead by the time the effects are really felt.

Or will we? Who knows--the future is always uncertain (unless you're one of the lucky ones).

One thing that is certain is that selfishly doing whatever you feel like and crossing your fingers that you won't have to personally face the consequences is not as helpful as thinking of the big picture and using those fingers to enact whatever small changes you can in your daily life.

Stop being selfish, become and remain informed, vote wisely, hold people accountable for their actions, and help make the world a better place for all those goddamn children poor people keep having...

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For Those of Y'all Who Wanna Suicide-Bomb Some Shit

I can't vouch for the accuracy of this report, but if I were you, I would reconsider your options...

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STOP--Statistics Time

GTC HQ, before the new paint job

We here at Goodtime Charlie HQ are proud to share with you, our loyal readers, the fact that we have reached a new milestone--this month there have been over 1500 unique visitors to the site, despite the fact that we never advertise.

We are also proud to say that we remain advertising-free, to the continuing detriment of our bottom line. Not only is it easier to look ourselves in the mirror this way, but we also can't imagine anyone who might want to advertise here, considering the dangerous content, from a boredom/PR standpoint, we say with puffed chests, as if we amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world.


Regardless of all that mumbo-jumbo, here are some more fun audience statistics, courtesy of Dr. Goodtime:

- The most readers on a single day was 110 on 12/09/09

- Readers come from 76 countries, including one dangerous dude in Iran, who my sources tell me actually steals an internet connection using a sharpened toothbrush pointed SSE, down in his unmarked cell in the middle of the desert, down where we will never find him.

- Much like the red state/blue state map, oddly, most readers in the United States live in California, New York, and Illinois

- Not one person in West Virginia, Wyoming, South Dakota, or Delaware has checked in this month

- The most popular article this month is the Michael Jackson one, which has been viewed by 258 people.

- The most popular month was December, 2008, which, upon recent review, was a pretty awesome month.

- 65% of readers used Firefox as their browser (nerd alert!)

- The only phrases people have typed into Google that resulted in my blog being first on the list are:

- goodtime charlie nothing is sacred (duh-Ed.)
- "real dolls" "face fuck"
- joan rivers is so old
- how people want to escape the present
- 10 stages of romance
- private torture and rape clubs

Well, statistics class is over, students--thank you for reading and please remember to bring me shiny red apples stuffed with gold coins tomorrow morning or you'll all get caned and peed on.

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All This Because Some Rich Dude Felt Guilty About Inventing Dynamite

Huffington Post and the Associated Press dropped some stunning stats the other day, regarding President Obama's trip to Norway to receive the Nobel Peace Prize.

But first, a bit of interesting info you probably do not know about Alfred Nobel, courtesy of wikipedia:

The erroneous publication in 1888 of a premature obituary of Nobel by a French newspaper, condemning him for his invention of dynamite, is said to have brought about his decision to leave a better legacy after his death. The obituary stated Le marchand de la mort est mort ("The merchant of death is dead") and went on to say, "Dr. Alfred Nobel, who became rich by finding ways to kill more people faster than ever before, died yesterday." On 27 November 1895, at the Swedish-Norwegian Club in Paris, Nobel signed his last will and testament and set aside the bulk of his estate to establish the Nobel Prizes, to be awarded annually without distinction of nationality. He died of a stroke on 10 December 1896 at Sanremo, Italy. After taxes and bequests to individuals, Nobel's will gave 31,225,000 Swedish kronor (equivalent to about 1.8 billion kronor or 250 million US dollars in 2008) to fund the prizes.

Huh. Fascinatin'. And now, the larch*:

Despite his being there for only 24 hours, Norway is spending $16 million for security during Obama's visit. The chief of staff of Oslo's police force, John Fredriksen told the AP that the event was "the biggest - and most demanding - security operation in Norway's history."

From the AP:
With all the attention Obama's visit has generated, about 2,500 police officers from all over the Nordic country have deployed to Oslo. The Norwegian military has also contributed support in the form of helicopters and sharpshooters.

Last week, city maintenance crews welded shut over 400 manholes in downtown Oslo, and police said they will remove all downtown trash cans on Wednesday afternoon to eliminate potential hiding places for bombs.[...]

Police and city work crews spent much of this week erecting barricades around Oslo's compact downtown to help control the crowds expected to surge into the capital when Obama arrives.

On Wednesday morning, Norwegian police armed with machine guns guarded the Grand Hotel as hotel workers installed bulletproof glass to protect the president during Thursday evening's procession.

Reminds me of my last state visit in 2003, although I believe I stayed at the Continental. They welded 400 manhole covers shut? I hope the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles weren't down there--or if they were, let's hope they at least had a stockpile of anchovy pizzas to wait out the surprise imprisonment...


*a Monty Python joke I hope at least three of you understood...
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Fat Friday Vol.2

As the holiday season draws ever-nearer, I feel it is my duty to remind you, among other things, not to eat so much that you become this guy:



Especially if you're on my flight home.

Finding it hard to relate because you're a home-schooled young buck yet to be teased so mercilessly you eat even more, as if that will solve your problem? Go look in the mirror and see if you look like one of these sick little Big Boys:

Midwestern mealtime!

Miami mealtime!

If you do, then trust me--you need to lose weight fast or monsters will eat you first since you are more flavorful than the lean boys in town and, luckily for us non-fatties, monsters are not yet health-conscious enough to discover the importance of a compromise between flavor and calories.

[As soon as they do, we are all as good as dead, since rather than fight back we will all be trying frantically to coerce each other into end-of-the-world sex. We are a sadly predictable species... - Ed.]

On the other hand, please don't get so afraid of becoming fat that you push it to the other extreme and start looking like this equal-but-opposite unsexy beast:

The monsters enjoy eating these guys out of spite.

Fair warning, world...

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Item: High-End Realtors No Longer Go Anywhere Without Liverwurst in Their Pockets

The gorgeous and supremely-talented Candy Spelling, the useless widow of phenomenally-wealthy television producer Aaron Spelling (who never cheated on her, I swear, or she totally would have left his filthy-rich ass) and mother of never-quite-sexy-enough Tori Spelling, is desperately trying to sell her home in LA.

The asking price? $150 million

Yes, it is ridiculous--but so is the house and so are many of the people who could afford to purchase it. Situated on 4.7 acres of prime real estate in upscale Holmby Hills, the house has over 100 rooms--including one devoted solely to wrapping presents. Jealous?

Televised-Trash Mogul Aaron Spelling

The house was built in 1991--after tearing down the legendary home of the far-cooler Bing Crosby--using the riches Aaron Spelling squeezed out of the working class via such TV shows such as Loveboat, Dynasty, Charlie's Angels, 90210, Melrose Place, and Charmed, among others.

It is the largest house in LA County and the most expensive home in the country. [FYI--My research indicates that this also puts it in a dead heat for the title of Most Expensive Home in the World, since a six-story mansion on Belgrave Square in London is also for sale for $150 million.--Ed.]

The Manor, as seen from my stealth chopper, Goodtime 1

Can you imagine the commission on this bitch? Can you imagine how many realtors want a piece of that solid-gold pie?

Now, under any circumstances, selling a home like this would require some real craftiness--where do you advertise? Whom do you court? How negotiable is the price tag? How many (and what ethnicity/age) prostitutes do you send to the corrupt Russian tycoon in your attempt to persuade him before you give up and move on to the next one?

In the current economic climate, the successful marketing of this monstrosity is tantamount to a work of art.

How does one choose the proper dreamer for such a task? Copious research into the credentials of the best in the business? Haha--you just betrayed your plebeian roots and demonstrate why you belong in the minimum-wage service industry.

The correct answer is that you let your dog smell the prospective agent.

A soft-coated Wheaten Terrier, but probably not the one in question

Courtesy of Huffington Post:

Spelling told The Associated Press that she let her dog Madison, a soft-coated Wheaten Terrier, help pick out the best real estate agent for the task. She had her security bring the dog into the room every time she met one of the candidate agents and watched how the dog reacted. If Madison didn't like them, Spelling crossed them off the list.

Prospective buyers won't have to worry about passing such scrutiny, Spelling jokes.

"Not at all," she says.

Ha ha ha...as if she would have her dog chose the buyer! That would be ridiculous...

Not that she'll ever answer them, but I have a few questions for Ms. Collagen Repository:

1. What the fuck is a 'soft-coat?'
2. Why is this an important detail when describing your dog?
3. Since the house has been on the market since at least the end of March, have there been any repercussions for Madison's poor taste in realtors?
4. Specifically, have her champagne and caviar rations been reduced?

Should I hear back from her people, you will be the first to know.

Developing...

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Roman Polanski's Gravest Sin

Roman & Robert Evans, back in the day (photo: Goodtime Charlie)

No, it has nothing to do with rape, Daisy-Dukes, or Robert Evans' gloryhole, but something much, much worse:

Jim "I still wish I was my brother, even though he's dead" Belushi

Roman's new movie, The Ghost Writer, was recently picked up for US distribution by Summit Entertainment (yes, they of Twilight/New Moon fame), in an interesting move from a PR standpoint what with him being in jail right now, and also stars Pierce Brosnan, Ewan McGregor, Tom Wilkinson, Timothy Hutton, Kim Cattrall, and Olivia Williams.

Here is an exceptionally brief synopsis of the movie, courtesy of imdb:

A ghostwriter hired to complete the memoirs of a former British prime minister uncovers secrets that put his own life in jeopardy.

Here is a better synopsis, courtesy of Movieline:

The movie thriller tells the story of a former British Prime Minister, Adam Lang (Pierce Brosnan), who is holed up on an island off the Eastern seaboard of the U.S. in midwinter, writing his memoirs. When his long-standing aide drowns, a professional ghostwriter (Ewan McGregor) is sent out to help him finish the book. The anonymous ghost writer is quickly drawn into a political and sexual intrigue involving Lang’s wife, Ruth (Olivia Williams) and his aide (Kim Cattrall). Hanging over Lang is the threat of a war crimes trial and a mysterious secret from his past that threatens to jeopardize international relations. The cast also includes Jim Belushi, Robert Pugh and Tom Wilkinson. Alexandre Desplat scored the film.

Here's to hoping The Other Belushi plays naught more than a bumbling, farting clown pushed into the ocean after failing to entertain Pierce Brosnan's five-year-old grandson at a birthday party in Martha's Vineyard and never seen again, even in real life.

Perhaps Roman's got it right and it's the role he was born to play? Why second-guess the master behind Chinatown and The Tenant...

Polanski in drag, in his best movie you've probably never seen--The Tenant

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Just to Set the Record Straight on Chi-town:

Chicago doesn't even make the top ten in the United States.

It is called the Windy City because of the political windbags that filled the city with gusts of hot air back when people used to say 'windbags.'

So now you know...

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Twilight Fans Unite!

For one of thine own hast fallen:



Anyway, let's all meet behind the Pinkberry on Main Street--the newer one, not those shitty older ones on the other side of the street--at 8am tomorrow and beat the shit out of Marc and his asshole hater friends on the way to class!

Yay!

Oh--remember to bring your official Hogwarts magic wands, Wolverine gloves, and vampire teeth. Might as well go all out!!! LOL!!!!

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No Shit

Talk about stating the obvious...

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A Little of the Old In-Out, In-Out

It pleases me to report some good news on the economic front, friends, for Great Britain has struck a mighty blow for the little bloke!

Alistair Darling, the U.K.'s Chancellor of the Exchequer -- sort of like a Treasury Secretary, but with more pluck -- announced today that he will impose an immediate, one-time 50-percent tax on bonuses of more than 25,000 pounds (about $40,800). That's on top of regular income taxes.

The New York Times calls it"the most direct attack on bonuses anywhere in the world."

(courtesy Huffington Post)

Indeed! And rightly so, all things considered.

Meanwhile, as Goldman Sachs tries to hustle through their $16.7 billion bonus pool and Lehman Brothers...oh, yeah--they died without our support...nevermind, President Obama and the fine fellows in Congress have responded with...silence.

Nobody is even half-heartedly saying something, testing the waters, or making hollow promises to look into it. Nothing.

Huh? Is this not the perfect situation for a bandwagon ride? Like dominoes, these bonuses should fall, but our government is too afraid of their pinstripe-suited master, and so, once again, a grand opportunity for change will pass.

Hey, Obama--remember this?


It should be more than just a sexy graphic, you know...

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Happy Pearl Harbor Day, Everybody!

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Giorgio, you didn't!

This just in:

In July 2007, Giorgio Armani told Time Magazine that viewing PETA materials “convinced me not to use fur." However, according to PETA, Armani’s Fall 2008 collection included fur coats for babies, floral printed furs, fur-hemmed skirts and fur-trimmed jackets. The animal rights group has contacted celebrities such as Tom Cruise, Katie Holmes, and Glenn Close asking that they not wear Armani-designed clothes.

(courtesy wikipedia.org)

Floral-printed furs? Fur coats for babies? What sort of rich-get-richer-and-ever-more-obscene sort of world are we living in? Oh, yeah--this one:


When you can't count on vain, billionaire fashion designers ($5 billion, to be exact) to keep their word, on whom can you count?

Well, PETA, I guess...I mean, they did make two phone calls to help their cause...

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Warning: Scary Photos Ahead

I forget how I found this one online, but I must say I like their politics more than their costumes:


For some reason, it reminds me of a billboard I saw in Michigan several years ago:


I guess both images are just extremely unsettling, especially because the sun is out. Trust me: it doesn't matter how long you stare at them, there is no comfort to be found, only fear.

Interesting that part of what makes them both so frightening is their whiteness, not their darkness. Is white the new black?

Somebody alert Giorgio Armani before it's too late--he must have this information before anyone else. While you're at it, give him some money from that stupid Social Security fund--trust me, Giorgio Armani S.P.A. needs it far more than we do, America. They are too big to fail.

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No, Thank You

I know it must be hard to make a buck in China, but still...

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Fat Friday

In honor of Fat Friday, here are two scary photos to stop you from binge-eating this weekend:





Poor little things, just trying to get by on fourteen pizzas a day and the good Lord had the cruel nerve to curse them with voluntary obesity...they didn't have a chance!

Instead of eating food this weekend, please make a difference by donating your hard-earned money to the National Association to Advance Fat Acceptance.

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For Those of Y'All That Ride Bikes

Check this shit out:





Yikes! Remind me never to ride my bike in China, in the rain, while holding an umbrella. Also remind me to never hit a pothole and remove all the skin from my abdomen.

So that's two things to remind me of, if you're keeping track...

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What On Earth...

...is Steven Seagal doing on A&E? Do they even remember what those letters stand for?

His movies have grossed more than $2 billion worldwide. He is an expert martial artist with a 7th-degree black belt in Aikido. He's considered to be in the same class of action hero as Sylvester Stallone and Arnold Schwarzenegger. However, Steven Seagal isn't just an action hero in the movies. For almost 20 years, Seagal has been working as a fully commissioned deputy with the Jefferson Parish Sheriff's Office in Louisiana. In addition to going out on patrol, Seagal is an expert marksman who has worked with their SWAT team and has instructed Jefferson Parish officers in firearms and hand-to-hand combat.

Steven Seagal Lawman will allow fans to ride shotgun with Seagal as he and his hand-selected elite team of deputies respond to crimes in progress. Then, when Seagal goes off duty, the cameras will continue following him as he pursues his many ventures, including musical performances and philanthropic efforts in Jefferson Parish and New Orleans.

AMC brought us Madmen and this is A&E's response? A bullshit Cops knockoff starring a loser actor "considered to be in the same class" as better examples of the same type? Every movie he has made since 2001 has gone straight to video for a reason, kemosabe! He was an actor and not a cop for a reason, swanfeeder!

Madmen v. Lawman...hmm...it's is like a community bank offering free farts instead of toasters, and pretending they are comparable enticements for potential new customers. Thanks for the fart, ABC/NBC/Hearst!

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The trimmings:

My favorite Steven Seagal quote, courtesy of wikipedia:

"I am hoping that I can be known as a great writer and actor some day, rather than a sex symbol."

Talk about a PR maestro! Seriously, has anyone ever wanted to have sex with this guy? The idea seems fundamentally preposterous...and he's rich! I know he has seven kids, but millions of dollars and blackmail can often get you what you want. Besides, he was also married to a woman for three years before it was annulled and, thanks to Arrested Development, we all know that means it was never consummated.

While you're at it, check this out if you want a laugh.

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The Smiley Face Is the New Fuck You

So I was told recently by a group of friends that I am too negative, that my glass isn't even half-empty, but broken. "Why don't you just slit your wrists?" one of them sai

I tried to explain that just because I believe mankind’s Achilles heel is its own human nature, that a world full of 95% beatific lovebirds would unfortunately be enslaved by the other 5% with guns and no conscience, that there is no way to fix the American/global political/economic system, does not mean that I find my own existence hopeless.

Convincing them proved impossible. Was it because they weren’t listening, just acting on their own instincts and jumping to conclusions? Was it because I wasn’t clear? Was it because I am wrong and I do want to kill myself but just don’t know it yet?

Fear not, loyal reader who stumbled upon this site when Googling “Real Dolls”"Face Fuck" (it works--try it!), my end shan't come by mine own hand. I am not that kind of guy.

You see, I want nothing more than to live, to experience as much as I can while I can. Life is an adventure that I wish could last forever, but it can't--I will die some day. It is inevitable.

Equally as inevitable is the fact that while drinking in the endless beauty in this world, I too-frequently choke on a spot of sewage. Hey, whoa, whatever--sweetness and shit...that's life, right?

Right. Which was really the only point I was trying to make--no matter what we good people do, no matter how many wonderful happy things there are in the world, there will always be evil lurking. Always. And much like in Star Wars, the Dark Side is far more powerful, far wealthier; less like Star Wars, we have no Jedi on which to pin our hopes.

It is not pessimism that leads me to such a conclusion--it is realism. A common excuse, I know, but hear me out. Have you optimists not studied your history? Have you optimists not been reading the paper the last...since you've been alive? Has our government--or any government, for that matter--ever not been corrupt? Have there ever not been wars? Have many of these wars not been fought for religious reasons, of all hypocrisies? If we can't even trust our monks to not rape our children, whom can we trust?

(check this out)

Unfortunately, groups of people need leaders or nothing good ever happens (what does that say about us, by the way?). Have you ever gone to Las Vegas with 13 people who are "just there to have some fun and don't really care what they do?" I have--they do nothing. Or they do 13 things for five minutes each and spend the entire weekend in a taxi, stopping only to pay covers. Either way nobody has any fun or gets anything done and that's my point. They need a leader.

Whether that/those leader(s) is a monarch, a Parliament, a triumvirate, a President, or a Chieftan, it makes no difference. Those in power will eventually exploit those not in power, whether for sadistic or materialistic reasons.

If you are lucky enough to be a citizen of the Western World, your politicians smile and make promises, purport to be moral--all the while doing whatever is in their own best interests, which almost always makes your life worse and usually involves one of two ploys:

1. Talking a lot and doing nothing, when not in a hotel room with a prostitute (or sometimes even when they are in said hotel room, it makes me smile to say). This is a great tactic if they don't want their opponent in the next election (which they need to start thinking about as soon as they win the last one) to be able to say they supported a nefarious cause.

2. Blowing with the evil wind as they Kowtow to the quasi-legal bribes--campaign contributions, vacations, consultancies post-term, and/or favors for their otherwise inert offspring--offered by corporations through lobbyists (who I think we should just start referring to as Hessians), when not in a hotel room with a prostitute, because this not only makes them wealthy, but greatly aids their reelection since they will never want for campaign funds against a more honest candidate. Besides, if everybody else in their party is doing the same thing, it's hard for somebody to stand out as a bad guy--it just becomes 'party politics.'

If you are a citizen of the rest of the world, if you don't join them, you had better do as you're goddamn told or they kill you--or put you in a dungeon for the rest of your life. Your choice!

But just as there are happy people in China who lead good, honest lives beneath the shadow of an oppressive regime, I lead a good honest life in America. Just because I am aware that history has my back on the whole 'power corrupts' angle (and the whole 'the corrupt seek power' angle, while we're at it) doesn't mean that I let it bring me down. Much like the farmer in China, I simply am aware of the menace and try to avoid it at all costs while I do my own thing in a bubble of relative contentment. It's what I do.

It's what we all do--when we walk by a homeless man sleeping on the sidewalk in the freezing cold, when we pay $12 for a beer at a basketball game, when our second consecutive governor is indicted, when the first four stories on the news involve grisly murders and rapes. We pretend it didn't happen, that it couldn't be as pervasive as it seems. It must just be the media exaggerating things, it couldn't be true that these problems were actually worse in the era before cameras, fingerprints, DNA tests, democracy, laws, the internet...right?

We bury our heads in our asses and get on with our lives.

But every time I come up for air, I find the world smells even worse than I remember, upon close examination of its inhabitants. Whether or not we like to admit it, the beauty that we know and love has a dark side that is something fierce and eventually it will swallow us whole before sashaying off as if nothing happened.

This will not happen in my lifetime, nor yours, nor that of any lawmaker, which is why many of them act as if they don't care about global warming, a fair distribution of wealth, or education--they are greediest when there are no direct consequences. As are most of us.

The reason we don't admit this to ourselves is because it is much better to imagine that our instincts are pure, the world will go on forever, good will triumph over evil, and there are only tiny pockets of problems in an otherwise gorgeous Garden of Eden. This is a comforting thought. Most people believe in God or follow a religion for the same reason--it is far easier than being burdened with the truth, that there is no meaning of life, that we are just here as one of many quirks in the universe, much like the badger, or bacteria.

Ever since I was younger than I should have been to know what a CEO was, I wanted to be one. I was a smart kid with lavish dreams and I wanted to be fabulously wealthy. CEOs are paid obscene amounts of money for decision-making and never have to break a sweat; it made sense.

I had a brain for business, as it turned out, and things were looking good. In high school, my favorite electives were Intro to Business, Business Law, Business Management, Accounting...I even won an accounting trophy! (Don't ask) I entered Northwestern University as an Economics major, but one of the reasons I went there over other schools was that they offered many more options should I change my career goals--top journalism, music, and theater programs, as well as a great film program (although not these days).

This was important because the more I learned about how to succeed in business, the less I wanted to be in business. To the detriment of mankind, good business decisions are rarely good decisions.

Fire a talented, loyal employee because you can pay a replacement less money? Done. Demand that your $20,000/year secretary have at least a master's degree and five years' experience? Done. Cancel your employee pension plan because the overpaid executives made too many bad decisions and your stockholders reaped too many dividends too soon? Done. Pay slave wages to Asians toiling in horrific work environments and pollute at will, in order to compete with all the other companies doing the same thing? Done. Bribe the government to let you keep making money at the expense of the health and happiness of the world? Done.

Once I gave up on my businessman dreams, I went searching for something that I would enjoy doing, something I was good at and felt good about doing.

I flirted with journalism, but realized that I did not want to spend ten years writing about PTA meetings at the fifth-grade level, a helpless puppet of some vast, self-serving media empire that wears its politics in its wallet. Political science? Yeah, right--try getting ahead in politics while still being able to look at yourself in the mirror.

Eventually, I realized that the most fun I ever had was making movies for class projects in high school, despite the fact that I spent easily 100 grueling hours to create a 30-45 minute low-budget costume epic that could have been a 5-minute unedited piece of shit shot in my kitchen by a dad with the shakes.

For better or worse, the fates and I chose the arduous path of the idealistic artist, easily the least-lucrative career I could devise. Especially if you have a bit of a motivation problem.

Once entrenched in the film industry in Los Angeles, however, I quickly confirmed that the film business is little more than a business these days, even for respected artists. Great movies still get made, but they are so rare it is embarrassing. Most movie ideas come from untalented film executives worried about their jobs at Must Have More Profit At Any Cost Corporation, Inc. And so P.T. Anderson struggles to get a movie made because easily-frightened investors would rather shell out for Shrek 4: His Shit is Green.

If Mr. Boogie Nights/There Will Be Blood has that much trouble, as an established auteur, what would it take for me to break in and how would it be any different once I got there?

There needs to be a game change if the movie biz is to survive, one which I believe is nigh. Nigh, I tell you! Online video is clearly the future, but its ultimate channels of distribution remain chaotically unclear. The necessary revenue streams are not yet visible. The art of cinema is in flux and, unlike photography, painting, and sculpting, movies are not only crazy expensive but require much more manpower. I can make it for the web, but how does this help me eat and pay rent? I can make it for the theaters, but how would I get a 1970s character piece without a love interest distributed by the big guys in a marketplace overrun by vampires, romcoms, and children's toys?

This continues to be a disheartening revelation. Short of moving to upstate New York and selling handcrafted furniture out of my garage as I fill the basement with banker's boxes of unpublished fiction and philosophy tomes, what the 'F' am I gonna do with my life that I can feel good about?

As much as it sucks, I guess I need to be an artist who works outside of the system, even if that means nobody notices, and I need to be really productive without encouragement, even if I never make any money. Besides, how many artists died penniless, only to be revered centuries later, when rich men start measuring their dicks with VanGoghs and Latrecs?

I don't have a figure, but I'm sure it is a lot, or too many, at any rate. So the next time you see one, hug a starving artist--especially if he seems depressed. Hell, give him a few bucks while you're at it--he's way more lovable than your average bum or banker and you just might melt away a bit of his disenchantment with the world.

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