Karin and I were watching the excellent popcorn flick Independence Day, arguing the pros and cons of basing the defensive systems of a UFO mothership around a UNIX core, when this flashed on the screen:
If Woody Harrelson and Ted Danson ever got busy and made a love child together, I have every confidence that this would be the disastrous result.
File this under “news to me”, but while running around this past weekend I slammed smack dab into a vending machine that catered to the “desperate parents” set:
Now, I know that Japan has been kicking our collective asses when it comes to funky vending machines, but I’m glad to see that America is finally stepping up and providing such critical services so far away from any tourist locales and airport lounges. Of course I won’t be happy until I can simply press a button to purchase a live Maine lobster named “Zoe”, a 1750ml bottle of Jack Daniels, and a three-pack of previously worn tighty whities. I have very…errr, specific tastes…
Oh, and in case you hadn’t heard, Patrick Swayze has died. Goodnight, toughman. The roadhouse won’t be the same without ya, my friend… 
With all the hoopla and hullabaloo over the passing of Michael Jackson, this statue housed in the Field Museum in Chicago has been getting a lot of attention lately:
Could Michael Jackson have possessed ancient mystic, arcane knowledge which granted him power over space and time? I contend that the undeniable, unshakable proof has been staring us in the face all this time…
Hope everyone has a great weekend. See you Monday!
At what point does the adulation and idolization become just a bit too much to bear? Could it be the 24 hour television news coverage? Perhaps it’s the print media overzealously picking the bones of the celeb-du jour clean? Or maybe it’s when you want to listen to the radio but the AM/FM stations are simulcasting the Michael Jackson memorial, then rebroadcasting them in repeat? Whatever that tipping point it, I think we’ve surpassed it long ago and are committed to desperately hanging on to this tumbling, frenzied, thrashing beast we call “news” until we crash head first on to the jagged rocks below.
If the media would quit feeling each other up for just one minute and dedicate a tenth of the energy they’ve spent on covering the Michael Jackson circus towards useful news about, oh…say the financial mess our nation is in, and what exactly is each of our elected officials doing to resolve it. I mean, camp out at their homes, stalk them into their offices, shout out towards the heavens, press the issue, and don’t back down from these dogs who should be doing the will of the people.
Let’s turn this car around and start focusing in on what’s really important. It’s time to ask the tough questions and get people involved. Question the government. Question special interests. Question pork/pet projects. Question the illegal issue. Question the tax issue. Question the bailouts. Question why the government hemmed and hawed when the banks wanted to pay the money back. Question the partisanship. Question why we’re even paying politicians if they can’t do their damned jobs. I want to see ABC / CBS / NBC / TMZ / Cable news and television shows asking why we can’t get our collective heads on straight, and why we can’t shake ourselves out of this financial mess.
If it were up to me, I’d throw open all the books and have independent analysis of the numbers run. Post everything on the Web. Find out exactly where the money is going, and what we’re getting for it in return. I want to know how much they spent on coffee, pencils, and office parties. I want to see the receipts, and if the receipts are missing, I want to know exactly why they’re missing, and whose job was it to save them? Then I want to ask that person who their boss is, and I’ll want to then question that person about said receipts. I want to treat the government in the same spirit that the IRS treats us. Then, have each and every one of these jackals responsible for this mess answer to the American public. No spin. Just the truth.
…Forgive me if I sound upset, but I think our whole system is shot to hell and something needs to be done about it. We’ve become so distracted from the truth that we’ll swallow anything the media dishes out with no questions asked.
I think it’s time that we woke up from our celebrity-induced stupor. No more distractions. We have work to do.
This is all becoming a bit too much. Mr. Billy Mays has died.
The consummate pitchman with stubble bequeathed from the very gods themselves passed away Sunday morning. No longer will I hear his dulcet tones hawking everything from cheese graters, to Oxy-Clean, to Mighty Putty.
Oddly enough, when I poked around Sunday morning looking for Billy Mays information, I repeatedly found myself a victim of the dreaded 404:
I didn’t have this issue when surfing for Michael Jackson info last week. Perhaps Billy Mays has a bigger fan base than previously thought?
It’s also notable that Billy Mays died at the same age as Michael Jackson: 50. Is 50 becoming the new 27?
And to think, I was placing bets that Patrick Swayze was going to be the next to go. Who could have foreseen that Mays was going to steal Swayze’s thunder? If it’s true that these things happen in threes, then we need just one more celebrity death to make that hypothesis mathematically divisionally true:
1- David Carradine
2- Ed McMahon
3- Farrah Fawcett
4- Michael Jackson
5- Billy Mays
6- ??? Profit!
As for me, I’m currently on the Abe Vigoda deathwatch…
