I don't drink...wine - A Rant by the Five Paragraph Bitter Food Critic

That line was spoken by Bela Lugosi in Dracula and became a catch phrase in most of the Dracula films that followed. It's a complex line for four little words. We, the hip audience, know what Dracula drinks, but the poor unsuspecting victims had to wonder what kind of person doesn't drink wine. My mother is one of those people - not the blood-sucking undead vampire, but the non-wine drinking type. She doesn't really drink anything alcoholic other than a random margarita or a Baileys-and-coffee. She's not a prude, but, well, she's definitely not her son. My blood type has a 2001 vintage. My doctor doesn't have a phlebotomist and needles for me, but a sommelier and a corkscrew.

On Mother's Day, we went to Al Tiramisu for an early dinner. The food was fine and the desserts were excellent, but the servers were stunned - aghast, actually - that we didn't order wine, to the point that they asked us at least six times. The first time they asked, Mom politely declined. They asked again...and again...and again, and you get the point. We were only there for two hours! There was a distinct attitude that we were somehow a lower-tipping table because we declined to look at their wine list.

Now, I'm only singling out Al Tiramisu because this was recent. Every other time there I've imbibed and had a blast. They're certainly not the only place attempting to shove wine down our collective throat. It makes sense for places to sell wine. A bottle of wine pads the check, it's seldom returned, and most folks tip properly on the higher total. Given the mark-up - usually 100 to 400 percent - the restaurant owners and servers love selling wine!

Sure, wine can make a good meal great, and it's an obvious, vital part of Italian cuisine. But when the offer is declined, please, dear restaurants, accept it, and move on. It's like a break-up - sure, you can mope a bit about the lost opportunity, but let it go. Put an ad on Match. Be mature about it. Nobody likes a stalker.

The city will nail drivers on DUI even if they're not legally drunk. Tourists visit here from temperate Salt Lake as much as wine-soaked Sonoma. Some people simply don't like to drink, or don't want to offend a dining partner who doesn't drink. People have their reasons; please respect them. A desperate sales approach in a restaurant isn't dining, but is akin to walking past those obnoxious mall kiosks, begging shoppers to try their hand creams, cell phones and jiggly colored pens.

X-Men 3 - Reviewed by the Five Paragraph Bitter Film Critic

For me, the surest sign of summer isn't just the kids running around the mall instead of the schools, or the gentle spring being pushed aside by the bullies of Rising Temperatures and oppressive Humidity. Nay, it's when movies come out with more special effects credits than actors.

Or, more to the point, more script writers than actors, extra, SFX and craft services combined. As we all learned in elementary school, too many chefs spoil the soup, and, as I learned in the restaurant business, the head chef can spoil all the sous chefs. And director Brett Ratner ain't showin' up on Iron Chef America anytime soon.

That's one of the numerous problems with X-Men 3 - The Last Stand. The direction is obviously a step-down from the masterful tales of Bryan Singer in the first two X-Men installments. The music is *way* too loud and *way* too dramatic *way* too early - by the time of the epic battle scene at the end, the audience is spent because we were bludgeoned early with pathos and bombast. The pacing is suspect, and a true dramatic scene involving the beloved Charles Xavier (Patrick Stewart), was truncated to be as moving as a coffee commercial.

For the most part, the actors rise above their lot. Ian McKellan as Magneto is brilliant, the casting of Kelsey Grammer as Beast is genius, and Hugh Jackman once again carries the movie as Wolverine, but all of the cast is hamstrung by dialogue straight from a Choose-Your-Own-Adventure book. When even the most diehard X-Fans laugh at Wolvie's "we stand together....we're X-Men!" line, you know this film won't sit well with the comic geek boys and the girls who tolerate them. I heard better dialogue (well, not by much) in Robot Jox.

Still, it is an entertaining movie. The special effects are fantastic, and there is a lot more hot mutant-on-mutant action - Iceman versus Pyro, Shadowcat versus Juggernaut and a whole bunch of pierced and tatted dudes and dudettes who looked like they were in that rave scene in the third Matrix movie versus a bunch of good guys dressed in black leather. However, with the exception of a jaw-dropping final scene after the credits have rolled (stick to the end, fanboys), the overall direction is flawed enough to make you forget that occasionally, summer movies can be good, like the first X-Men movies.

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16 out of 24 Whammies! This movie would have earned 10 Whammies! for the chance to see Halle Berry (that saved Swordfish, if you ask me) in black leather and Famke Janssen in a cami. However, a Whammy! was added for casting Vinnie Jones as Juggernaut, Dr. McSteamy Eric Dane as Multiple Man, Kelsey Grammer as Beast, and another Whammy! for the line destined to replace "I wish I knew how to quit you" in "I'm the Juggernaut, bitch!" 2 Whammies! were added for the killer ending scene. However, the movie missed Whammies! for each time I heard a young kid laugh at supposedly serious dialogue and the incredibly sloppy credits - watch them roll, and say aloud "Hey, that person wasn't in the movie!" Might they appear in the DVD?
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Angelina's - Reviewed By The Five Paragraph Bitter Food Critic.

All this Mary Prankster talk inspired me to grab some friends and run up to the Land Of Pleasant Living and eat a genuine Maryland-style crabcake. Much like the beloved-yet-retired Mlle. Prankster, we ignored the
Blue Skies Over Dundalk last night and headed straight to the Hamilton neighborhood to Angelina's. Angelina's has been on the short list of top crabcake joints in the region for years. The place has won Best Crabcake Awards from many of the Baltimore-area critics, and in Charm City, that's more important than a lobbyist's Blackberry.

Long-time owner Robert Bufano sold the restaurant in 2005, and the new owners swore that they would maintain Angelina's high standards. They definitely maintained Angelina's high prices. Crabcakes are seldom cheap, usually about $14 for a sandwich and $25 or so for a two-8oz cake platter. That's the going rate for the crabcakes found at G&M, Gunning's, Olive Grove and Timbuktu near BWI Airport, the current gold standards for Baltimore crabcakes. Angelina's charges "market price" of $22 for the sandwich, $30 for a two 5 oz. cake platter, and $40 for two 8 oz. cake platters.

That's a damned expensive market. Like, that market makes Wegman's, Balducci's and the Gucci Giant in Potomac look like a bargain. But in the search of le crabcake parfait, no price is too high.

I was more wrong than Jessica Simpson at a spelling bee. The $29 Steak and Cake Combo seemed the best deal - an 8oz filet, a 5oz crabcake, and a couple of side items. For that kind of money, I was expecting a transcendent marriage of delicate crab, Old Bay and non-intrusive, yet unique filler. What I got was a dried-out piece of fishnet that happened to have some crab and boiled carrots in it. It had all the taste and consistency of a musty dish sponge. The filet, while cooked to the proper requested temperature of medium-rare, was barely above room temperature and had no discernible taste. The side items of wild rice and green beans were lousy, at best, and tasted like they just emerged from a can or boil-in-bag. The only saving grace of the meals was the above-average Maryland Crab Soup, but $4 soup ain't savin' no $29 meal in Balmer, hon.

All of us who schlepped up to Baltimore from the District had the same complaints. The service, while friendly enough, was slower than a little kid trying to tell a long story. It took over an hour to get our entrees, and 30 minutes to get soup. We were the only diners in the restaurant, save for two lone women in search of a late snack. I wish I could say it was just a bad night at the restaurant, but the empty dining room, lousy food and an outdated website hawking their mail-order crabcake business more than the restaurant itself, indicates that Angelina's best days are behind them.

*************************************
10 Whammies! out of 355. 3 Whammies! were awarded to the 3 cups of good Maryland Crab Soup, and 7 Whammies! were awarded to my courageous friends who survived this crap. The 355 potential Whammies! represent our bill, not including gas, tolls and the overall general feeling we shoulda gone to the Old Ebbitt Grill.
*************************************

NEWS ALERT - Rapper Boasts that He Sucks!

From the New York Daily News - Thanks Lloyd Grove!

If Kevin Federline really wants to be a rapper, maybe he should start writing his own rhymes.
Rapper William (Ya Boy) Crawford claims it was he, not Federline, who wrote two of K-Fed's much-hyped rap singles: "F- the Media" and "America's Most Hated" - which goes: "Kevin Federline, I come tight with every rhyme, I built a kingdom down the street from Pepperdine."

During a recent appearance on the popular San Francisco radio show "Strawberry in the Morning," Crawford took credit for both songs - which Mr. Britney Spears has proudly touted as his own.

"Yep, both of those. Yep," Crawford insisted.
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Bragging about writing raps for Kevin Federline... you just admitted to the world that you suck. That's like bragging that you were Charlie Sheen's marriage counselor or Tara Reid's plastic surgeon. Or AA Sponsor.
********************************************************

But he distanced himself from Federline's first single, an ode to female posteriors called "Popozao." Sample lyric: "Toy all your thing on me, baby."

"I didn't have nothing to with that, dog," Crawford said.
****************************************************

Apparently, even rappers begging for attention have a base modicum of taste.

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

Yesterday, Federline's spokeswoman, Marilyn Lopez, tried to put Crawford's revelations in context: "This is not true that Ya Boy has put Kevin under his wing. They do, however, collaborate together."

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

As I close my eyes to imagine this unholy pairing, I am struck with the disturbing scene in Boogie Nights where Dirk Diggler tried to launch a singing career based on his awful singing voice and lousy songwriting. Painful to watch, painful to listen to, and definitely so painful as to be hilarious.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go take my journalism classes from Jayson Blair.

tomorrow's news today!

In response to an article found here:

Washington, May 3 - Congressman Ric Keller spoke on the floor of the House of Representatives today condemning Mexican President Vincente Fox for legalizing drugs.

"Mr. Speaker, Vicente Fox, the President of Mexico, is at it again," Keller stated. "Yesterday, he said that he would sign an irresponsible law legalizing the possession of drugs."

"How much is OK?" Keller continued. "Two ecstasy pills, four joints, four lines of cocaine, and twenty-five milligrams of heroin are now all allowed, according to Vicente Fox."

To follow in the footsteps of such great psychics as Jeanne Dixon, Carnac, Dionne Warwick and Phil Mickelson (he predicted the preseason Super Bowl wins of the Baltimore Ravens and New England Patriots at 99-to-1 odds and 125-to-1 odds), I present to you a new feature here at Obpopcultref:

Tomorrow's news, TODAY!!

In a stunning turn of events, Mexican activists are calling on the government headed by Vincente Fox to close its borders with the United States to stem the flow of illegal immigrants into Mexico.

"Build a wall, string some barbed wire, do something" exclaimed Miguel Valentino, a shopkeeper in Juarez, Mexico, just across the Rio Grande from El Paso, Texas. "Sure, they come into my store, but they just stare at my stuffed lizards and bottles of Patron. They never buy nothing!"

In the month since Mexico relaxed laws detailing the amounts drugs that can be possessed and used within the country, Americans looking for a quick high are heading south of the border in droves.

In the Baja California city of La Paz, the streets are teeming with all sorts of Americans, from Midwestern college kids to inner city gang members to senior citizens looking for a quick treatment for their glaucoma. If the street signs weren't written in Spanish, La Paz could be mistaken for any U.S. city.

Any U.S. city with mariajuana growing in people's lawns and heroin flowing through the sewers, that is.

"All these damned American stoners come down here, they take our drugs from hard-working Mexican people" explained Pablo Argilagos, a gas station attendant in La Paz.

The sudden boom in "opportunistic narcotic tourism" has been a boon to most of the Mexican border cities, as groups of Americans cross the border for a quick fix, and then go back to their homes in the States.

"My taverna has never been busier!" enthused Maria DeSantos, owner of El Perro Americano El Dormir Cafe Y Aljamiento. "I just wish Senor Fox had legalized the drugs earlier!"

Mexico's shocking revision of draconian drug laws has also stopped the flow of illegal immigration to America from such countries as Honduras and El Salvador.

"Why should I go to America now?" asked Monte' Elvista of El Mozote in El Salvador, through a translator. "There are tons of jobs in Mexico now. I just started working at a hash bar in Cabo San Lucas, I get paid well, and I get to take home leftovers."

"The only problem are the damned American college kids," continued Elvista. "Them and their damned Dave Matthews Band music. I don't even speak English and even I know fish isn't spelled p-h-i-s-h. On my dead mamma's soul, songs aren't supposed to last twenty minutes."

In a related story, President George W. Bush and former President Bill Clinton have formed a blue-ribbon bi-partisan investigative panel consisting of themselves to investigate the Mexican drug situation.

"We'll look under every rock with these tiny little mirrors and we'll bring plenty of rolled-up dollar bills to reach into tiny cracks, and we'll sniff those drugs out," said Bush in a hastily-called press conference on the runway in front of Air Force One. "Former President Clinton and I have a duty to protect American citizens from Mexico's actions. It's what we need to do, and we're gonna do what needs to be done, even if we're not sure how much we gotta do now. We know we gotta do it, and it's gotta get done, though."

"Like the song on my iPod says, we're gonna party like it's 1999 or the summer of `69, or it's the dawn of the age of Aquarius, or whatever," said President Bush. "I just hope I remember how to deal with the shakes. Shakes are bad. Nobody wins when you shake. Unless you;re shaking hands with somebody. Then they think you're friendly."

Former President Clinton was unavailable for comment, but was seen wearing a Hawaiian shirt, sunglasses, tanning lotion, and screaming "I'm gonna find the Weapons of Grass Destruction, Dubya!" as he boarded Air Force One.

Mexican President Vincente Fox said he would be happy to have the two American dignitaries in his Mexico City palace as long as they "don't harsh my mellow."

Why is it called "Urban Thai" if it's in the suburbs?

That question dogged my mind the first time I saw this restaurant while driving through inappropriately named suburb of Crystal City last year. It's located on 23rd Street on the Restaurant Row, surrounded by bar and grills, diners and restaurants dedicated to other foreign cusines. Urban Thai has carved out a niche providing delicious, affordable food in a surprisingly attractive dining space. Usually, when one thinks of Asian food in the `burbs, the first thoughts are of Fortune, the dim sum palace at Seven Corners, or one of the fine Vietnamese places like Pho 75 in Falls Church or the previously-reviewed Eden Center. Urban Thai isn't as big as those places, but might be as good.

Last Saturday night, I took a couple of friends to the UT for dinner, and we started off with Thai version of crack, Lemongrass-Ginger Iced Tea. It's a sweet tea, infused with those two flavors, and as refreshing as a Thai Iced Tea, but not as filling. We settled on two appetizers, the Chicken Satay skewers and the Crab Dip. I grew up in Baltimore, where hearty, creamy crab dips are as plentiful as tourists in the summer. Urban Thai does their version differently - it's made with mangoes and what looked like some avacodoes, with fresh backfin crab on top. It's prepared beautifully, served in a big martini glass with wedges of fried spring roll wrap. It looks like a fun beach cocktail, and draws admiring stares from across the 20-table restaurant. The Satay was delicious with a good peanut sauce, but that crab dip stole the show.

Dinner was just as fantastic, with one of us selecting the Red Curry Duck, a spicy dish with coconut milk and pineapples, another choosing the Bourbon Grilled Chicken and sticky rice, and with me trying the BBQ Pork, a series of grilled pork tenders served with a pepper-and-scallion-filled translucent barebque sauce. That sauce may not pass muster at a Texas rib joint, but it's just as good, and doesn't have the sugary taste found in most American sauces. UT indicates the relative hotness of their meals with their cicular logo, ergo, more logo = more heat. However, I've had their three-logo Drunken Noodle with chicken, and didn't find it to be too hot at all. However, if you ask the server, they'll be glad to spice your dish enough to induce tears.

Urban Thai has all the essential Thai dishes - Pad Thai, Prik King, Pad See Eew, Kra Pow - and a group of specialities, like a spicy Crispy Duck and Panang Grilled Shrimp that never fail to impress. Their noodles are wide, not too doughy, with just the right consistency. The servings are just the right size - big and filling enough to let you know you ate, but not too big as to be imposing or nap-inducing. The vegetarian menu is full of fine options, too. The Grilled Salmon and Mango salad, mixed with the ginger honey vinagrette, or the Green Curry Veggie stuffed full of tofu, bamboo, basil and eggplant, are real meals, not just a dish without red meat. Meat eaters will love the Ginger Beef Broccoli and the Kao Mon Gai Tod, a battered chicken breast served with garlic-and-ginger rice and a spicy soy sauce, is fantastic. They also offer a sweet soy sauce that they'll be glad to bring out by request, and it goes well with their milder dishes.

Urban Thai has a full bar, with a selection of low-to-mid-priced wines. It offers a decent array of mixed drinks, including all sorts of things ending with -tini, and starting with mart- and lychee-. Watching my mom get half-crocked from an Urban Thai mango daquiri may be my highlight of 2006. I wish I could tell you about their desserts but I've never had room for any.

Urban Thai is open 7 days a week for lunch and dinner at 561 S. 23rd Street in Crystal City. They accept credit cards, can split and seperate checks, and the restaurant has a handful of seats outside in a covered patio. Take out and some delivery is available. Most dishes are around 7 dollars for lunch and 12 for dinner.

Just be careful with the Lemongrass Ginger Iced Tea. There's no known 12-step program for overcoming that addiction.

so you say you wanna new ballpark...

The DC City Council reached an agreement with Major League Baseball ot build a baseball-only stadium for $535 million. Renowned stadium design firm HOK of Kansas City designed the park, and, according to the artist's renderings, it's...um...it's no Camden Yards. It's certainly no PNC Bank Park in Pittsburgh, currently the prettiest stadium in baseball.

And...for 535 million bucks, I'm not sure if it's even decrepit old RFK.

ESPN.com's Tuesday Morning Quarterback chimes in with this story that masquarades as a sports business story.

Take Me Out of This Ballpark
Recently the D.C. Sports and Entertainment Commission unveiled the design of the Washington Nationals' new baseball park, and the announcement made yours truly glad he does not reside in the District of Columbia. Local taxpayers will be on the hook for $535 million in bonds to support this potential white elephant. Not only is there a strong chance the stadium will flop in the marketplace -- more on that in a moment -- the price tag seems likely to include substantial graft. Consider that Citizens Bank Park in nearby Philadelphia, the Phillies' new home, opened in 2004 and was built for $346 million, only $174 million of it foisted upon local taxpayers. Citizens Bank Park is larger than the planned Washington Nationals park, sits on similar downtown land bought at similar downtown prices, yet cost taxpayers only about a third as much. Recently opened Gillette Field, financed mainly at Patriots owner Robert Kraft's expense, came in at $325 million and is substantially larger than the planned Nats ballpark. The just-announced new Yankee Stadium is projected to cost $800 million, but will be larger than the Washington ballpark and will sit on 22 acres of the most expensive land in North America. Yet taxpayers are contributing about $300 million to the Yankee Stadium project, less than the bill to be handed to taxpayers for the smaller Washington facility.

All yours, D.C. baseball fans, for $535 million -- and don't forget the cost overruns!It's easy to be careless with other people's money, especially with the money of taxpayers, who cannot demand refunds or sue for breach of contract. Gillette Field was built using private funds under market discipline; the Washington stadium will be built at taxpayer expense with no fiscal discipline. Surely that's a reason the price is so high. But another reason may be that some portion of the price is likely to be stolen by cronies of the District's top-heavy, inept government. Indeed, the D.C. Council seemed determined to push the stadium cost well above the price of comparable facilities, in order to assure there was plenty in the pot to steal. George W. Bush, the most baseball-obsessed president since William Howard Taft, has allowed this tax-subsidized pocket-picking directly under his nose, while making no attempt to pressure his pals in the corporate suites of Major League Baseball into building the stadium the free-market way. Maybe the naming rights should be sold to Halliburton. ... Welcome to Halliburton Field, where hot dogs are $6,000 and all overhead costs are billed to the defense budget.


Why might the Washington ballpark lack customers? First, it's situated at one of the worst traffic choke points in the nation's capital -- and that's now, before stadium traffic. Many stadia are hard to get in and out of. Experience shows that customers will bear traffic gridlock for football games, which happen only a few times a year, but won't frequent the much-more-regular MLB games unless access is convenient, and the Nats' field is being plunked down at one of the hardest-to-reach spots on the East Coast. Second, the high $535 million price will include a ridiculously low 1,225 parking places, some of which will be reserved for D.C. government officials. That's one parking space for every 34 seats. The new Yankee Stadium will have decked garages with 10,000 parking spaces, one space for every 5.3 seats. The Arizona Cardinals' new stadium, rising in Glendale, Ariz., will have 14,000 dedicated parking spaces for 63,000 seats, one space per 4.5 seats. No matter how good the Nats might be, suburbanites, who are the core demographic for all professional sports, might come to the new ballpark once, discover traffic is backed up and there's nowhere to park, and never return. When the ballpark project zeroes out the D.C. government's bond rating, please, congressional committees, don't say you weren't warned.


Now, I'm not sure what President Bush has to do with the new Nationals' stadium. He'll probably be out of the White House by the time the building is completed, and, if my memory of the DC City Council and MLB's battles serves me correct, the White House had *nothing* to do with this scenario at all. I don't see what point blasting the President has to do with this story. It clouds the real point of this message - this is a White Elephant waiting to happen. How the hell are people going to get there?

The main roads near the new stadium are I-395, I-295 and South Capitol Street. It'll be a couple of blocks away from the Navy Yard Metro station. I-395 is a parking lot every weekday from 4pm until 6:30pm, and not much better than that at 3 and 7. South Capitol takes a massive amount of traffic because it's a quick-ish way for Maryland-bound commuters to avoid the Pennsylvania Avenue interchange to connect to 295. See, in its infinite wisdom, The Powers That Be never bothered to connect 395 fully with 295. If you want to reach northbound 295, and make a quick exit out of DC towards Annapolis and Baltimore, you have to sit on the Souza Bridge on Penn Ave...and I do mean sit. It literally takes 30 minutes to go 1.5 miles most days. So, poor South Cap takes it on the chin. It'll usually take about 10 minutes to go 1.5 miles on South Cap to 295 - a much better proposition. Still, it'll take a car about 30 to 60 minutes to travel the 3.3 miles from my office to the new stadium.

And then...I'll need to find a parking spot.

For half-a-billion dollars, is it too much to ask for parking (like I could possibly drive there anyway?) or a better transportation situation?

The more I look at the neighborhood, and the transportation mess, the less I like the location of this stadium.

from the "8 Years Too Late" Department

Cindy Margolis to pose for 'Playboy'

from the USAToday

Cindy Margolis, known as the "Most Downloaded Woman" on the Internet, is following up her win on Celebrity Cooking Showdown with a career first — posing nude for Playboy.

The mother of three told The Associated Press that she finally agreed to pose for the magazine when they called on her 40th birthday.

"Thank goodness for Desperate Housewives. You're not dead just because you are married and have children," the actress and model said Monday, on the phone from her Los Angeles home.

After turning down offers to pose for the magazine in the past, Margolis said she accepted this time because she felt posing nude at the age of 40 is empowering.----------------------------------

Once upon a time, say, the Clinton Administration, I would have been overjoyed to hear this news. Her pin-up photos from a younger, gentler time of Internet smut served as a wonderful respite from the masses of silicone-stretched chests and collagen-abused lips. She showed some skin - a little less than the average Sports' Illustrated Swinsuit Issue, a little more than the JC Penney catalog - but always with a certain "girl-next-door" charm that only a charmed few have in their neighborhoods.

She was the Most Downloaded Woman in history, according to her website's bio. She had a TV show and appeared on all the talk shows. She was Brooke Burke before Brooke Burke.

Now, I'm normally pretty psyched to see naked women, especially hot ones. However, Cindy Margolis's explanation of "empowerment" is pathetic, and more transparent than a spring roll. She's still a pretty woman, but she's not the fresh-faced, sun-kissed blonde with just a hint of something naughty in her eyes - she's a 40-ish woman with over-shaped eyebrows and a bad nose job.

But she's realizing something now - the Internet made her a star, and then forgot her just as quickly. Margolis' photos were everywhere in the mid-1990s, and Photoshop experts everywhere examined her photos for Seinfeldian nipple slips the way conspiracy theorists study the Zapruder film. However, with the rise of "amateur" porn, any kid with a decent digital camera and a hot, but easily-duped girlfriend, can make a fortune online selling photos that definitely show what Margolis withheld for so long.

Perhaps...too long?

Playboy will pay her a truckload of money so she can show her body to the masses, yet Maxim will sell more issues with a half-clothed Katherine Heigl from Grey's Anatomy, or what TVGuide can do with Evangeline Lilly from Lost.

She's still hot, but she's got no heat.

Playboy will crank up their publicity machine, and remind the world of just who this Cindy Margolis person is anyway, and, in the end, will be the reminders of former pop star Tiffany, who, like Margolis, waited and waded a few too many years in a pool of obscurity before shedding her clothes before the camera. The result - a heavily-airbrushed photo of a not terribly interesting subject.

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Magic Black Smoke

Death Notice-

"The Device"

Toshiba A65-S1070 notebook computer.

Bought - February 12, 2005

Died - April 15, 2006

Cause of Death - Loss of Magic Black Smoke.

I write here today to celebrate the life and times of The Device. He lived his life in the way few laptops can - doing absolutely nothing of significance. He was a lovely computer - deep blue, with silver and black highlights.

He is survived by his 40GB hard drive, currently trying to find a new life as an external hard drive for a desktop PC.

The Archduke of Austria Killed the Satirical Song Reference

Last night, my friend Sami from Baltimore County drug me to DAR Constitution Hall to see Franz Ferdinand
and Death Cab for Cutie. I had a good enough time - Franz Ferdinand has certainly evolved from a bunch of
sharp-dressed, stationary fashion models to stylish rockers with flair and a sense of drama.

Death Cab, however good and touching their songs may be, has no business following Franz Ferdinand. The
Scottish boys rocked the house with their guitar-based dance pop, both retro and modern at the same time.
By the time Death Cab got up to stage, the crowd at DAR was dancing in the aisles.

And Death Cab promptly started with a piano-based downer of a tune.

I don't hate DC4QT, and rather liked their show. I was surprised at how many of their songs I recognized
and enjoyed. But putting them on after FF would be like being a porn star who's gotta tag a chick after
she just shot a film with John Holmes.

Really, who wants to bat after Babe Ruth?

DC4QT tried to rock out a bit, but it's not in their nature rage against the machine. They're best
enjoyed with a mellower act - Sigur Ros, John Mayer, Tori Amos, perhaps - than sharp snotty Scots with
guitars.

Still, a fine show, and, thanks to the dads and old grey haired dude with the goatee, I totally wasn't
the oldest guy there. The OC quotient wasn't as bad as I'd feared.

How to ruin a diet

So, you say you just wanted a coffee and a small baked good from your friendly local coffee shop...




Serving Size (g) 128

Servings per Item 1

Calories 420

Fat Calories 140

Total Fat (g) 16

Saturated Fat (g) 7

Trans Fat (g) 1

Cholesterol (mg) 40

Sodium (mg) 250

Total Carbohydrates (g) 63

Fiber (g) 1

Sugars (g) 23

Protein (g) 6

Vitamin A 10% RDA

Vitamin C 0% RDA

Calcium 15% RDA

Iron 15% RDA

and then follow that up with a:

Medium Campfire Mocha 16 Fluid Oz.


Serving Size (g) 519

Calories 600

Fat Calories 160

Total Fat (g) 18

Saturated Fat (g) 10

Trans Fat (g) 0

Cholesterol (mg) 60

Sodium (mg) 230

Total Carbohydrates (g) 97

Fiber (g) 0

Sugars (g) 89

Protein (g) 13

Vitamin A 20% RDA

Vitamin C 0% RDA

Calcium 30% RDA

Iron 20% RDA



Congratulations. You just drank a large vanilla malt from Dairy Queen.

I wish I wrote this...or thought of this

From : http://datelinehollywood.com/archives/2006/01/03/lost-episode-to-feature-back-story-of-vincent-the-dog/

Click HERE

‘LOST’ EPISODE TO FEATURE BACK STORY OF VINCENT THE DOG
Critics say producers stalling to reveal island mysteries

Hollywood – Fan websites of ABC’s “Lost” drama are abuzz with word that an upcoming episode will focus on Vincent the dog and will include flashbacks with a detailed back story. While enthusiastic fans are suddenly speculating that the dog may be the key to solving the central mysteries on the show, critics say the upcoming flashbacks for Vincent proves that the show’s producers are struggling with storylines and are stalling to give viewers answers.

Since the first episode, the producers have been using flashbacks to create richer characters, new mysteries and revelations. Each major character has had a flashback scene, partially explaining their pasts. Since “Lost” became such a ratings hit, the producers had to suddenly slow down the pace of the show and not reveal the mysteries with the originally intended timeframes.

“When they came up with the show, it was in the same vein of Fox’s ‘24’ with the answers being revealed at the end of the season,” said TV critic Chesley Martin of the Hartford Journal-Bulletin. “But now they’ve realized they can keep this show going for five years or more. What’s happening now is that they need to keep coming up with other storylines. They’re obviously grasping at straws, and that’s why you’ll be seeing these flashbacks for the dog.”

Fans on the website www.hurleysnumbers.net believe Vincent the dog may hold the answers to the crucial secrets of the island.

“I never thought about the dog. I just thought he was a dog who took a dump once and a while and did nothing else,” wrote Sayidrules23 on a thread. “But it’s starting to make sense now. The dog was there all along, and we didn’t realize his significance until now. What if this was all in Vincent’s imagination?”

According to the fan website www.OceanicAir.org, the upcoming episode will feature three flashbacks for Vincent, all of them will be in black and white as it is believed that dogs see life without color. One of the flashbacks will show Vincent having a brief affair with one of the wild boars on the island. The other flashback will show Vincent as a puppy living in the Arctic with a group of researchers.

“There’s a connection there because of those polar bears that have turned up on the island,” wrote Ekomatters1. “Look to the dog for the answers.”

There’s also speculation about the dog being mentioned in the “Orientation” film shown in an earlier episode this season.

“There were jarring jump cuts in that film,” wrote Ekomatters1. “The character Desmond spliced the broken movie back together after watching it too many times. Those missing pieces will become very important because they will talk about a dog, about the chosen one.”

While speculation runs rampant about Vincent the dog, Dateline Hollywood has obtained new information about the hatch on the show. According to an insider, the idea of the hatch wasn’t created until halfway through the season.

“The hatch was the idea of writer/supervising producer Javier Grillo-Marxuach,” revealed the insider. “Jorge Garcia (Hurley) was supposed to lose like 40 pounds during the filming of the show because of being on the island without proper food, but that guy just got bigger and bigger. So Javier came up with the idea of a hatch filled with food to explain Hurley’s weight in the second season. Then all of these other things developed from the hatch idea. It was brilliant.”

Hurley will also play a central role in one of the flashbacks of Vincent the dog. According to the insider, the flashback will relive a moment early on during the first season when the airline food runs out on the island and Hurley contemplates eating the dog. But as he prepares to catch Vincent, he discovers that the character Jin already has the dog over a barbecue pit. The dog manages to escape both hungry survivors.

_____________________________

This absolutely made my day...mainly because I got depressed at My Death Space, a site that shows deceased people who have Myspace.com pages. The most famous may be Taylor Behl, the young Northern Virginia who was killed last year in Richmond. Her story made national headlines, and served as a cruel reminder to choose your friends in this world wisely. Also, the recent shooting in Seattle has added a couple of Myspace profiles to this slightly morbid, slightly touching site.

The one who registered with me - Dave Seeber, a 21 year old kid from Virginia who went to one of my old schools, Virginia Wesleyan College. Like me, he wrote for the Marlin Chronicle, the campus newspaper, and his bearded picture on his Myspace profile reminds me of another fellow VWCer, Pete Fitzgerald, a.k.a. Artiste. He was burly, bearded fellow who had his choice of football scholarships coming out of high school. He instead chose VWC, a small Division III with no football outside of intramurals. He wanted to draw, paint, sculpt and make art, not run two-a-days, lift weights for ten hours a week, and be considered a dumb jock. Dave's visage reminds me a lot of Artiste - same smile, same beard, same clothing style. As I always liked, and even admired Artiste, seeing the similarities of Dave Seeber made both happy at the good memory, and sad to learn he'd taken his own life. There's no doubt that Dave and I would have known each other at the small school, had I been a decade and change younger.

After reading through all the pages of deaths, seeing everything from suicide, car accidents and soldiers dying in Iraq, it is nice to see these recently-deceased still have a slice of themselves that remains exactly as they left it - playing a favorite tune, showing funny pictures and videos, their blogs whose words will be studied by the living remainder to search for clues in their loved one's passing.

Then, the comments - from friends both in person and via the internet. It's a shame most of them don't find out how much they're loved until after they're dead.

Still, to see these people still alive, most of them so young and filled with promise, bravado or depression, does serve as an effective memorial, and provide a snapshot of the living that a cold gravestone can not.

No Whammies, No Whammies, STOP!

This, for some reason, has just bummed me the hell out. Peter Tomarken was always one of my favorite game show hosts, and the show "Press Your Luck" holds up very well. He was never trendy, but always stylish. Fun, slightly naughty, but always a great host.

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from The Baltimore Sun

A former TV game show host and his wife were killed Monday morning when their small plane crashed into Santa Monica Bay shortly after takeoff on a volunteer flight for a medical charity, authorities said.

Divers called off a search for a third person late Monday after authorities concluded only two people were on board.

The bodies of Peter Tomarken, 63, host of the hit 1980s game show "Press Your Luck," and his wife, Kathleen Abigail Tomarken, 41, were identified by the Los Angeles County coroner's office.

The plane was on its way to San Diego to ferry a medical patient to the UCLA Medical Center, said Doug Griffith, a spokesman for Angel Flight West, a nonprofit which provides free air transportation for needy patients.

Tomarken, the pilot, was a volunteer for the group. The FAA said the plane was registered to him.

The third person authorities initially believed was on board may have been the patient, said Coast Guard spokesman Tony Migliorini.

"We believe the third person was the person they were going to pick up," he said. "When they filed the flight plan, they said three persons were to be on board. That's why we had to presume they had three and did the search."

The plane apparently had engine trouble and was headed back to Santa Monica Airport, located about two miles inland, but went down in about 19 feet of water about a half-mile southwest of the Santa Monica pier, authorities said.

Luis Garr said he didn't hear the engine but heard the splash as the plane "kind of landed into the water."

"It's a big splash, a huge splash. ... Then it started going down," Garr said. "The wings were still floating so I was, `Get out! Get out!' because the door was still available to get out and nobody came out. So the plane kept going down, down, down."

Tomarken's death was first reported by "Entertainment Tonight."

"Press Your Luck" was known for contestants shouting the slogan "Big bucks! No whammies!"

Tomarken's agent, Fred Wostbrock, said his client's first game show was "Hit Man!," which ran 13 weeks on NBC, followed by the four-year hit "Press Your Luck" on CBS. He also was on "Bargain Hunters," "Wipe-Out" and "Paranoia."

"He was always a fun guy to be around, and he just loved the genre of game shows," Wostbrock said.

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I've come to wish you an unhappy birthday

I turned 33 yesterday. There was much rejoicing.

Why do we rejoice? Has anybody ever just gotten joiced right the first time?

Your Birthday - to the tune of The Love Boat:

You, your days flying by
Getting old. You're going to die.
Death, life's sole guarantee.
Gonna crock, it's true for you and me.

Your Birthday! You escaped from you mother's womb
Your Birthday! Another step towards the tomb
You can try to out run it,
but you'll fail, it's true.
and Life...it's slipping away
To a grave...and you'll turn to gooo!.
Yes Death!! It's Death! ! (hey-ah!)

Your birthday!
You escaped from your mother's womb;
Your birthday!
Another step towards to the tomb!
You can try to out run it,
but you'll fail, it's true.
and Life...it's sliping away
to a grave...where you'll turn to goo!
It's Death! It's Death! It's
Death!
Your Birthday! You're Birthday!

Why America doesn't care about the Olympics

1) It was much more dramatic when the US' AMATEUR athletes competed against the world. Our college basketball players were better than the world's pro players. Now, it's almost all pros against pros, and a lot of the drama is gone. The Dream Team was amazing to watch that first year, and then got lousier every Olympics afterwards.

The Miracle on Ice was amazing because those were college kids who beat the Best Team on the Planet. It'd be like Des Moines' Polk High beating the Patriots in football, or Uganda's 14-and-under development team beating Man U in the other football.

Without that potential for drama, it's simply not compelling.

2) 20 years ago, they were the only things on TV. Not the case anymore. The fact that American Idol beat the living hell out of the Olympics says a lot. Either people love Simon Cowell, or hate Dick Buttons.

3) Tape delay - when we were younger, we had the Lake Placid, Los Angeles, Atlanta and Calgary games all in our relative time zones. When the Games are in Australia, Greece, Norway, Italy...it's harder to watch. We want instant access to our broadcasts, not tape delays.

4) The Olympics are every 2 years now. There's not that four year hype buildup. I was actually shocked the Olympics were this year. Coulda swore we just had one.

5) Ice skating was always a big television draw in the old days. Now, skating's on regular broadcasts more often, and less unique. Hell, celebrities skate now.

If you have a loose definition for the term "celebrity."

6) Women's Gymnasts - Please, let's call it what the event is - Pint-Sized 12 Year-Old Girls with Pushy Parents. These girls aren't women yet, PERIOD! End of discussion. Put in an age limit before we start getting dancing embryos in frilly skirts.

7) There's no enemy anymore. When we were kids, it was the West vs. the East. NATO vs. the Eastern Bloc. USA vs. USSR. US vs. Them. The Miracle on Ice.

Now, the veil's been lifted, and we've seen the enemy, and they look like us. It's hard to get amped up over a US vs. Latvia match-up. Even in our current war(s), the Afghani and Iraqi people aren't REALLY our enemy, so, in a way, the competitive level for the bigger nations simply isn't there. "Wow, we beat Togo...wow?"

8) They're predictable. The Nigerian will win the long-distance running, the Americans and Aussies will win the swimming, the Brits win the equestrian, the skinny dude will win the cycling, the Canadians or Russians will win the hockey, the Germans will win most of the shooting events, and the Europeans will snag the skiing medals, and the American and Canadians will get the snowboarding medals. There, I'm 90% accurate and I saved you hours of TV time. Go read a book to celebrate.

9) Hate to break this to the world, but MOST OF THESE SPORTS SUCK!!!!!!! ESPN 8, The Ocho, wouldn't broadcast half this crap. If the biathalon were on TV every week, it'd be lower rated than "Love Monkey." The only reason people watch the luge, bobsled and ski jumping events is because somebody might wipe out spectacularly. And women's figure skating is only viewed by women and lonely, horny men.

If those girls had to put on proper clothing, the ratings would drop like a fat bungee jumper.

Flopsweat!

When I was a baby deejay, my radio station hired a new overnight guy. He was a chubby stupid kid with a lousy voice - about the only guy willing to stay up all night in Ocean City making 8 bucks an hour.

He came on the air after my show, and I tried to loosen him up, because I could tell he was a bundle of nerves. We had MAYBE 100 listeners at overnight, maybe 150, so, he had no need to be nervous, but nervous he was. I was a little peeved he showed up five minutes before his shift, but, hey, I don't pay the checks.

ME: Alright, my time is just about done this evening, but please continue to listen to the X because we have a very talented young man hitting the airwaves tonight. So, Dude (not knowing what his radio name is, I improvised), talk to me. What's your name?

DUDE: Uh.... uh...

ME: Damn, I've stumped him already. How'd those SATs work out for you, negative -200 on the English. What's your name?

HIM: Uh... (he does this for 30 seconds)

ME: Wow...you are a man truly with a gift of speech. You guys working all night at Togo's Pizza are in for a treat tonight (look at me giving a shout-out to the advertisers!!!), so, everybody, enjoy this night with Mystery Man deejay. This is (some crappy alt-rock song from 1995) on X 106 point 9

ME: (turns off mic) : Dude, you are aware that one of the vital things of being a deejay is the ability to speak into a microphone, right?

DUDE: (eyes roll back into head) Um...uh...

DUDE is passed out. On falling, he hits the CD cart machine, knocking it four or five songs in advance. His milkshake pours all over a stack of discs. ME has to get back on the air, quick.

ME: (flipping on mic) That sound is brought to you by Dude, who is simply passed out (ME starts cracking up) I mean, striaght up, this guy was standing next to me 20 seconds ago...and ...he he he... he wiped out ON the desk, and the floor. I wish I had a camera, this is brilliant...(ME really cracks up) Hehehehehehahahahahah!!! This station hired a mute deejay....good Lord...(getting serious) is he even alive? Dude is OUT, and his damned milkshake spilled everywhere. He just nailed the new Supergrass disc...covered in McDonald's milkshake...this is great...this guy...Dude! DUDE!! Wake up! (ME pauses) Oh well, I guess I'm doing overnight shift tonight, call me on the request line at..."

DUDE: ungggh

ME : Dude's coming to!

DUDE: uh...

ME : You alright? You just passed out.

DUDE: ungggh.. my...ouch...

ME: (cues a CD) here's (some other crappy 1995 alt-rock song) and I'll see if Dude's ok.

OFF MIC -
Me: Damn, man. That looked painful.
DUDE: I'm Johnny.
Me: Hey Johnny. First night as a deejay?
DUDE: Yeah.
Me: you need some water, chips? something?
DUDE: Nah, I'm cool.
Me: you ok to go on?
DUDE: I don't know. Little dizzy.
Me: (realizing I'm going to be pulling an all-nighter) How about I hang out with you for a bit `til I know you're OK?
DUDE: Yeah
Me: So, you know how to follow a playlist?
DUDE: No
Me: HUH?!?!?!?
DUDE: What's that?
Me: A list of songs that you need to play. Computer over there shoots it out for us.
DUDE: I don't get to play what I want?
Me: No!
DUDE: Damn
Me: You know how to use a board?
Dude: this thing you're using?
Me: Yeah
Dude: No
Me: DAMN!
Dude: Sorry...
Me: It's ok, I'll teach you. Now, first off, what's your radio name?
Dude : Huh?
Me: GAH!!! You need a radio name.
Dude: Well, what should I be?
Me: Well, what's your name?
Dude: Johnny (somethin or another)
Me : (looks at the milkshake debris and the fact he needs protection...) Condom.
Dude: What?
Me: Johnny Condom. That's your name.
Johnny Condom: Cool.

For the next hour or two, I show him how the control board works, how to read a play list, how to front sell, how to back sell, how to read our weather and news machine. By 2am, I figure he's good to run solo. We start off with just him talking, and I'll run the board.

Johnny Condom : (says nothing)
ME: (whispering) speak...
Johnny Condom : Uh, hi. I'm Johnny Condom. (pauses...then comes a complete halt)
ME: talk more...
Johnny Condom: OK... (stops again)
ME: who played that song?
Johnny Condom: That was Nirvana?
ME: Good! What song was it?
Johnny Condom: I don't know
ME: Read the sheet
Johnny Condom: Oh.
ME: Well, what song was it? Tell the nice audience
Johnny Condom: Uh, it was the one Bowie did
ME: Good enough.

The rest of the evening went a lot like that.

Needless to say, when the morning show guys showed up at 5:30, they weren't shocked to see me still there. Both had listened to this audio trainwreck on the way in to work, and the ironic thing was that one of the morning show guys was also the INCREDIBLY cheap station owner...the guy who hired Johnny Condom.

JJ (aka cheap statio owner) : He's not ready for prime-time, is he?
ME: Nope. He's pretty awful.
JJ: I'm not paying you for the past six hours.
ME: Whatever.

Johnny Condom's radio career lasted three weeks. Other highlights included him breaking the stool in the studio - which I sat on the next night and damned near killed myself in the process - and saying "Oh F*ck!" on the air.

God Bless Johnny Condom

Does an empty museum dream of exhibits? - Reviewed by the Five Paragraph Bitter Museum Critic

I'm branching out, people. Why limit myself to reviewing movies when my bitterness is much, much deeper.

The National Building Museum is a wonderful piece of old brick architecture in the middle of concrete-and-marble Washington, D.C. Soaring ceilings, high marble columns in the grand hall, great sight lines...it's truly something to see.

However, there's next to nothing in the museum as far as displays and exhibits. Some fascinating pictures of the changing of Washington from a quiet government town to a major city, a couple of displays of the Jewish influence in DC...and that's about it. I don't get it - more than half the space is wide-open. I mean, nada. Nuthin'. Zippy. There is thousands of square feet of available display space. They closed a display so they could put another one in the same place...while an identically-sized space across the hall is wide-open.

This place is emptier than the Young Republicans' booth at Wellesley College. I've gotten more substance in a Jessica Simpson music video (on mute, of course), and, after touring the Museum, feel a new-found sympathy for Nick Lachey.

Needless to say, the NBM, while pretty, is now the weakest Smithsonian I've seen.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

2 out of 7 Whammies! - and that's because the Museum looks cool and has a killer gift shop. Five Whammies! were deducted because they have five empty exhibit halls and can be thoroughly scanned in five minutes.

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Chaney's Got a Gun - courtesy of Aerosmith

Cheney's Got a Gun
Cheney's Got a Gun
He's proving he's really dumb
He's shootin' at everyone

What did his buddy do?
To get shot in the head by you?
They said when Cheney was a' shootin'
He would be shootin' at some game
But his man, he had it comin' now that Cheneys got a gun
His lawyer ain't ever gonna be the same.

Chaney's got a gun
Chaney's got a gun
His hunting day just begun
Now everybody is on the run
Tell me now it's untrue.
What did his lawyer do?
He got shot by Dick Chene
The man has got to be insane
They say the buckshot that he took to the midsection and the face
put that 78 year old man in the pain

Run away, run away from the Cheney yeah, yeah yeah yeah
Run away run away from the Cheney yeah yeah
yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Run away, run away, run, run away

Cheney's got a gun
Cheney's got a gun
His hunting day'd just begun
Now everybody is on the run
What did that lawyer do?
To make Cheney fire through?
He had to go quail hunting and put a bullet in his brain
He said 'cause I ain't no quail' but Cheney was a'shootin'
His face ain't never gonna be the same.

Run away, run away from the Cheney yeah, yeah
yeah yeah yeah
Run away run away from the Cheney yeah yeah
yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Run away, run away, run, run away

Cheney's got a gun
Cheney's got a gun
Cheney's got a gun
Everybody is on the run

Cheney's Got a Gun

Proposed Slogans for the Dick Chaney Annual Quail Shoot...



"Giving Shotguns to Nearsighted Senile Politicians Since 1994!"

"For a Different Kind of Facial"

"Where Hot Lead Meets the Chest"

"Quail Shooting Optional"

"Confusing Grown Men for 5 Pound Birds since 2006!"

"I'm Dick Cheney and I'll Shoot Who I Want, Bucko"

"Ability to Aim Not Neccessary!"


Twisted Tune en route...

The Longest Yard - Reviewed by the Five Paragraph Bitter Film Critic

This movie made me look at my home theater, in all of its Dolby 5.1 splendor, and think it was absolutely all bought in vain. For by watching the remake of The Longest Yard at my place, it would be like the Louvre displaying children's fridge art, or the Met doing a retrospective on "Can You Draw Skippy?" It's an understatement to call this the worst movie I've seen since "Day After Tomorrow." This movie isn't even close. The movie has more problems than the self-help section of Border's.

Allow me to explain - Adam Sandler plays Paul Crewe, the role made famous by Burt Reynolds in the original. Crewe is supposed to be the quinessential sexy bad boy that all the ladies love, which was easy for Reynolds to pull off. Sandler, however, has the sex appeal of week-old McDonald's food. He has next-to-no athletic ability - hell, I look more like a NFL quarterback than he does - and really seems to be sleepwalking through this movie. He turns Crewe into a slack drunkard with zero charisma and a bad attitude to boot, and while he's funny when carted off to prison, that's about it. The only reason Crewe Part Deux becomes likable is because the people who run the prison are even worse.

I'm stunned that Texas prisons have Guard football leagues, and I'm stunned that the warden (played by Babe's owner, James Cromwell)would hire former college and NFL players to be in this league. And, oh, they're naughty prison guards, too! They beat the prisoners! They're racists! They take steroids! The warden will use anybody for his political future! But, such stereotypes aren't meant to be realistic, only to push the paper-thin plot past holes the size of Tony Siragusa.

The only delightful thing in this movie is to see the massive amount of cameos and stunt-castings. Former NFL players Bill Romanowski, Michael Irvin, Brian Bosworth, and Terry Crews all get plenty of screentime, and former NFL lineman and pro wrestler Goldberg actually gives a strong performance. I guess all that acting in wrestling paid off. Also, Stone Cold Steve Austin, Kevin Nash, Nelly, Dan Patrick, Red McCombs, Jay Glazer, Peter King, Chris Berman and anybody else without a shred of dignity was in it.

Please, do not see this movie unless you hate yourself or are Mrs. Adam Sandler.

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2 out of 17 Whammies! The only saving graces were Goldberg's surprising ability to act and all the cameos. I subtracted 15 Whammies for each time I said aloud "I can't believe I'm watching this shit." Once again, Chris Rock can't find a decent movie to save his scrawny ass.
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