David's Amazing Adventures

The car is one thing, yes--



But I've simply got to meet the people who own it.
 

Yesterday, I had a meeting to have my taxes done. But I'm not going to talk about my tax refund. I'm going to tell you about the revelation I had.

Yesterday, I found out that you can actually enjoy making a phone call on your cell.

I see some of you spasming in disbelief. Believe me, I share your amazement.

During my meeting, I had to make a call to my broker. He wasn't in. (It was after hours, but that's hardly an excuse. Investment bankers these days should be sucking up to you at all hours.) But when I ended the call, I realized how clear the ringing of his phone had been. Yes, all the rings--every one of them. No breakup. No grainy sound. And out of curiosity, I looked at the bars on my phone's display. They were lit up like a Christmas tree. It turns out my tax man is one of those lucky souls who works in a bubble of excellent signal reception.

I thought of hitting on him. But then it occurred to me that he only works in this building, he doesn't live there.

If I were to move again, the dealbreaker--and I mean dealbreaker--would be to whip out my phone and test reception, probably dragging the realtor back at different times during the day and night just to be sure. If all my bars are illuminated and the call sounds loud and clear--I repeat, loud and CLEAR--then if everything else about the house checks out, I've found my new home.

You see, I still remember my old land line with longing. The clear sound over the headset every time. The roll of my eyes when I'd realize by the other party's voice breaking up that he must be a cell phone user. "What idiots," I'd think--paying more for reduced service and quality, just to have the latest fad.

Don't look at me that way. "Who's the more foolish--the fool, or the fool who follows him?" Obi-Wan Kenobi, you were my only hope. Thanks a heap.

If NASA wants a new direction, it should stop building vehicles that get stuck in holes on Mars (I don't suppose these guys thought of digging a hole here on Earth to test these things before launching them) and focus on improving our technology here. For one thing, it would stop the racket coming from Alexander Bell's grave as he pounds at his coffin in frustrated anger at cell phone designers. "NO, you fools," he cries, "that's not how you do it!" The signal at my house is lousy. The signal at my office is practically nonexistent. Thank goodness for e-mail, or people would never hear from me. I'm taking my car in for service this morning--and I set up the appointment for it online.

Yes, folks, I've never been prouder to own a cell phone. It's changed my life. But they never said anything about having to change my zip code.
 

Frank Rich's column in The New York Times today remarked on the curious silence from the usually foaming-at-the-mouth right on the proposal of ending the "Don't Ask/Don't Tell" policy which prohibits gays and lesbians from disclosing their sexual orientation while serving in the military. Following Admiral Mike Mullen's testimony on Capitol Hill expressing his support for ending the policy, you could have heard a political pin drop in the camp of Republicans and, by extension, Fox News. Rich proposes that the reason for this silence is that this push to end the policy is happening in an election year--and for Republicans, who have been trying to change their image in the eyes of the public out of political expediency, after having been so badly trounced in 2006 and 2008 (though arguably only the image, rather than the root), the debate on this issue threatens to reveal old prejudices and bigotry that still cling to the Republican party like canker sores--uncomfortable reminders to voters that this political party is still the same party that once held George W. Bush high upon its collective shoulders and made "divisiveness" a weapon to be used to make fools of all of us.

Mullen, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff--together with Defense Secretary Robert Gates--presented a powerful picture in their testimony last Tuesday in front of the Senate Armed Services Committee. As John McCain made use of in 2006, one of the talking points of the right has always been to follow the lead of military commanders on this issue--i.e., the policy should be repealed if the military leadership felt it was in the best interests of the service. With two such figures as Mullen and Gates putting the issue on the table, a Republican response across the board was expected. Yet in 2010, when it is so critical for Republicans to bring voters back into their camp before midterm elections--voters increasingly sympathetic to gays and lesbians, to say nothing of equal rights for all Americans--it could well be political suicide for Republicans to let loose their old prejudices for all to see. McCain, as clueless as ever when taking an obstinate stand on something, has already conveniently spun his 2006 statement to effectively nullify it.

To this day, opposition to certain groups of Americans confounds me. America has this image of welcome and inclusion dating back to when immigrants were processed at Ellis Island--yet with our own natural-born citizens, we cannot offer the same acceptance and support. Jews. Gays. Hispanics. Blacks. Lesbians. On and on the list goes. "With liberty and justice for all." What a joke. The caveat to that should read, "But no one said we had to like you." Apparently being an American means that you must adhere to American beliefs and values--if, that is, we could only come to consensus on what those are. Have a look at the tea party movement, a movement presumably based on taking government out of the hands of politicians and giving it back to the people--yet its various factions can't come to agreement on the specifics of just what it is they stand for, or against. They just know they're angry, and fed up, and they want to lash out. Sound familiar?

Now, with their increased visibility and acceptance into the mainstream, it's gays and lesbians who must wade through the insults and the viciousness and the prejudice--and the attempts to stifle their liberty. Think how abhorrent the myriad state constitutional amendments and statutes now in place defining gay rights (or more accurately, the lack thereof) would read if they instead applied to blacks or hispanics. And to add insult to injury, most people in political positions will claim that they're friends to the gay community--that they don't have any problem with gays or lesbians, that they personally know people who are gay, have many gay friends, that they don't dislike gays at all. That is, until it comes time to issue policy. Behind closed doors, these people become a virtual Jekyll and Hyde when it comes to their sympathies; so any legal document bearing their stamp of approval would be a public contradiction to their true feelings on the subject.

The elephant in this room, of course, is religious belief stoking these feelings--a point which few will attest to, lest their objections to gays and lesbians be dismissed as fears from Bible thumpers. Perish forbid we should make that assumption. It would make those objections terribly easy to dismantle; but, like political fears, it would also shine an uncomfortable light on inconsistencies in the Bible, a pick-and-choose book of religious instruction that the more closed-minded people of faith literally swear by. By all means, let's bring the Bible into this debate--as long as it's understood that other parts of this book are also fair game. You'll find it's a debate that Christians are not eager to have--because it would illuminate far more of the so-called word of God that this book professes to hold than just the passages they wish to take to heart.

As this issue unfolds, obstructionists will attempt to make the case that allowing gays and lesbians in the military to dislose their sexual orientation without fear of reprisal is complicated, and shouldn't be rushed into or decided without more extended talks with military commanders. What they will take great care not to say is that it represents a significant step toward increasing public awareness and sensitivity in granting gays and lesbians the rights and privileges that other Americans enjoy--and that is something that those who harbor bigotry against this group are very mindful of. The words "Don't Ask/Don't Tell" carry a great deal of irony, as a result. Not only do they represent the status quo between the military and the gay men and women who nevertheless choose to serve their country--but to those who strive to keep their hatred and disgust under wraps, they've become words to live by.
 

My recent post on the Mona Lisa made the point of how popular the image of this woman remains, to this day.

Yeah, you might say that.

How about a facsimile made from 3,604 cups of coffee?



And there's always about Mona Lego:



And why not trim Mona into your yard?



Old train tickets?



And yes, even buildings:



...and sidewalks.



What--no Mona whitening toothpaste? You mean Brooke Shields hasn't pitched that yet?
 

I apologize profusely for not alerting you to the fact that ABBAWorld, the exhibition devoted to the 1970s singing group ABBA, opened in London on January 26.

This is probably because I couldn't have cared less.

Have you ever heard a song that, once heard, you can't get out of your head for the entire day? Even a song you like can become annoying when it permeates every brain cell all day. As you may have caught on to by now, the music of ABBA doesn't fall into the category of songs I like--so that should tell you something about my state of mind after a day of having an ABBA song do an endless, sanity-destroying loop through my head.

Therefore, this resurrection of their music doesn't please me. And I'm looking at YOU, Mamma Mia!.

One commenter on the opening of ABBAWorld does a good job of bottom-lining ABBA: "...sappy pop arrangements, blatant pandering to each European country, and atrocious lyrics..." Nor was ABBA exactly a dynamic performing group--basically you saw a lineup of four people, standing in place, singing. You might see the occasional shimmy or even a slight knee bend if, somehow, they were moved by a particularly rockin' part of their song--which, as you might guess from a glance at their discography, was a rare day. And their group name wasn't exactly something that would light your fire. It was simply the initials of their members: Agnetha, Björn, Benny, and Anni-Frid (jeez, I can see why they abbreviated). Though even the abbreviation needed tweaking to remove some of the blandness:


Didn't help much, did it.

But ABBA's music was probably meant to be heard and not seen, which is why radio play and disco clubs were the primary venues for hearing it. And believe it or not, both...

...

I'm sorry, but I have to pause here, because I'm hearing that music right now. In my head. "Dancing Queen." Over and over. It's been playing in my head ever since I started this post. I didn't even have to hear the song played--I just had to see the word "ABBA" to have that song begin its loop of doom through my mind. Insidious. And I can assure you I'll be hearing it long after I've finished. Probably even when I swim later. Picture a swimmer hearing "Dancing Queen" over and over as he's doing laps back and forth in a lane. Ha ha. How comical it would be if people up on deck could somehow tune into the thoughts of the people who were swimming, and they happened on this guy swimming to "Dancing Queen." I may come to a point where I just open my mouth, inhale, and drown myself. Though I'm not convinced this song wouldn't follow me into death.

On a related note, there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that there are souls suffering in Hell now who are not writhing in agonizing sulfuric fire pits, but instead are strapped to a chair with a set of headphones piping ABBA songs through their heads for eternity. Imagine having to plead for periodic dips in the fire and brimstone pools, just for a brief respite from that.

ABBA is slated to be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame on March 15. (Good call, search committee. After all, nothing could epitomize "rock and roll" more than ABBA.) I don't know if that honor and the spectacle of ABBAWorld will tempt ABBA to reunite and start recording again. At the 2008 Mamma Mia! premiere, the male band members appeared to definitively close the lid on the possibility. I'll try to contain my profound disappointment. Because frankly, I was looking forward to having new material to swim to.



Former ABBA members Bjorn Ulvaeus (right) and Anni-Frid 'Frida' Synni Lyngstad,
standing by caricature puppets at the ABBAWorld exhibition

(click to enlarge)
 

One of NPR's longest running shows is hosted by jazz legend Marian McPartland, who has interviewed and played with hundreds of jazz artists on Marian McPartland's Piano Jazz. Her show recently turned 30 years old, and NPR has made a tribute page of some of her interviews with the greats--Diana Krall, Tony Bennett, Eartha Kitt, Sarah Vaughan, Mel Tormé, Dave Brubeck, and others. McPartland has such good chemistry with her guests--and, an excellent pianist in her own right, she sometimes accompanies on one or two intimate numbers during the show.

Do check it out--you'll feel as if you're in the same room, rubbing elbows with these legendary artists.


 

Even with its macabre, gory elements, it wouldn't be accurate to liken Hush...Hush, Sweet Charlotte to a horror film. Yes, it has other elements that qualify it as such--the swinging axe severing body parts, the dead carcass returning to take vengeance on its murderer, the shadows and dim lighting of a large house which has a history of scandal and murder. But this 1964 classic, though it features the trimmings of a horror film, is really more of a murder mystery. The only difference is that this mystery isn't being played out in the light of day, with learned minds taking it step-by-step--but in the isolated company of those who are reliving their own tainted history.

And director Robert Aldrich has chosen just about the perfect ensemble cast to comprise this vicious little circle. Agnes Moorehead, the housekeeper, Velma, who watches the back of her employer and friend; Joseph Cotten, the physician and close family friend, Drew; Olivia de Havilland, the poised cousin Miriam, whose calm veneer bears scrutiny; and of course Bette Davis, the spinster, Charlotte, wandering the halls of her house in anguish over her dead lover. The latter three are the core of this mystery; and like any core, it takes some digging to reach the answer.

Though we probably wouldn't be seeing the mystery resolved at all, were it not for the clever way it's dredged up--by, of all things, a current-day bulldozer threatening to bring down Charlotte's house, and thereby covering over her entire story before it can be exhumed from the past and dealt with. Yet from our tearful introduction to Charlotte in the opening credits, we know that her story is too rich to be so swiftly swept under the rug (or, as it happens, bulldozer). I mention those credits for a reason: because the sequence actually does a wonderful job of introducing us to the title character, just by watching her in a vulnerable moment. And Davis, without saying a word, nails it.

( Though if you watched closely, she did make one blunder. )

Charlotte is her own self-contained mystery from the beginning. We get a sense that she is an innocent in this story--or at the very least, someone who isn't fully responsible for her actions. But though she seems held hostage by her sadness, we're shown early that she has a quick temper, and the resolve to exercise it, which serves to remind us that perhaps we don't have her quite figured out. That uncertainty goes double for Miriam, her cousin, who arrives at Charlotte's request to intervene for her with the county authorities who have arranged to build a highway through her property. Miriam's task is futile, though, as she well knows; she's come, instead, to help Charlotte vacate the premises. Charlotte, her capacity for reasoning having steadily faded through the years, takes this news as well as you might expect, in a dining room scene that peels the facade of politeness and cordiality away from this reunion and begins to reveal these characters and the history between them.

The part of Miriam is well-known to have been originally cast with Joan Crawford in the role, making Hush...Hush, Sweet Charlotte a follow-up to the successful pairing of herself and Davis in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? just two years earlier. Crawford was replaced by de Havilland partially through production, presumably due to extended illness (though rumors abound as to whether or not Crawford had ulterior motives for holding up production). A part of me will always be curious as to how the film would have played with Crawford's stamp on the role, as most reports have her initial scenes being played competently and well; but de Havilland was nevertheless a marvelous choice to replace her. She plays Miriam as if it had been tailor-made for her. The dining room scene unfortunately doesn't convince us that her character was raised on a Louisiana plantation, given the half-hearted attempt she makes at a southern speaking style, but that's a quibble.

And there are other jewels in this film. Victor Buono, another alumnus from Baby Jane?, who plays the stern patriarch, Sam Hollis; Bruce Dern, playing Charlotte's adulterous beau, John Mayhew; veteran Mary Astor, who had been acting in films since silent movies, as John's wife, Jewel Mayhew (Charlotte was to be her final film role); character actor William Campbell, as a photographer for a sleazy horror rag; George Kennedy, just eight years into his career, as foreman of the highway crew who tangles with Charlotte and barely walks away to talk about it; and the distinguished Cecil Kellaway, as Harry Wills, an insurance claim investigator who plays an integral part in unravelling this mystery.

You'll find in deciphering the mystery of Hush...Hush, Sweet Charlotte that half the fun is getting there--because as well as the backstory we must take into account, there's so much good theatre we must sift through in order to assemble the pieces of the puzzle. Jewel Mayhew, perhaps the centerpiece around which Charlotte and the entire Hollis scandal orbit, with little screen time yet apparently with key information we need; Miriam, of course, here on an errand of kindness, but whose eyes and demeanor indicate something more at work; and then there's Charlotte, a mystery within a mystery, one solved with the other. Her anguish has been lingering for almost four decades--and perhaps her guilt, as well. Whether both are justified will only be known when she learns the truth for herself.
 

The original Lady Gaga.



Bette Midler,
during the final performance of her show, "The Showgirl Must Go On"
at the Colosseum at Caesars Palace in Las Vegas
 

For those of you who think you're "runners"--you're wussies. Try signing up for the Tough Guy Race in Perton, England. Held every winter and summer, the course includes fire, tunnels and swamps, among over 100 other obstacles. The race bills itself as "the world's safest, most dangerous taste of mental and physical pain, fear and endurance." Sub zero lakes... fire walking... electrical prods... barbed wire... try injecting those into your little pansy marathons that make you wheeze across the finish line. You'll drop like a safe.




 

Kanye West, where are you when I need you??

I'd never heard Taylor Swift sing before--so when I tuned in last night's Grammy Awards show and she was about to take the stage, I thought, "Oh, good, this will be a good chance to see what all the fuss is about."

To say I was disappointed would be a fucking understatement.

Let's try a few other adjectives, shall we?

   FLAT
   AWFUL

And I think there's room for one more:

   OVERRATED

And did I mention:

   FLAT???

She sounded like some kid who was having fun in a karaoke bar. If she had gone through the American Idol process, I think the judges would have booted her off during auditions.

And because I'm dying of curiosity, how much money did her agent throw at Stevie Nicks to get her to appear on stage with her? (Though I must say I'm grateful, because at least there was one person behind the mic who was on key.)

Please, Miss Swift, stay in the studio. You need every bit of polish the wizards behind the boards can give you.
 

This painting remains an object of intense scrutiny and curiosity to this day.



Please explain. Because my reaction is mostly "meh."

Painted by Leonardo da Vinci sometime around 1503-1506 (we can't even get the year pinned down), Mona Lisa is arguably the most speculated-upon piece of artwork in history. Who is she? What is she thinking? And that famous wisp of a smile--what caused it? What I wouldn't give to find out that she was simply some passer-by that da Vinci happened upon, who tolerated his request to pose for him--and then afterward went about her business. "Don't bother me anymore," she probably said, waving him off as she left.

How she would have leaned back in raucous laughter at being told her painting would have an assessed worth of $100 million. "Honey, you be sure to send me my cut," she might have said, bemusedly shaking her head.

The current-day musings about Mona Lisa demonstrate how rampant speculation has truly become, as illustrated by the picture at right--an undated self portrait of da Vinci side-by-side with his famous painting. A group of Italian scientists is seeking permission from French authorities to dig up da Vinci's body to conduct carbon and DNA testing in order to solve the mysteries of how he died, and whether--get this--the Mona Lisa was actually a self-portrait in disguise. Yes, that heavy clunking sound you heard was the French person dropping their phone headset on their desk in stunned shock. And I'm guessing "You want to what??" were probably the first words they uttered back, once they were able to recover some semblance of control and pick up the phone again.

So it's come to this: we're exhuming a dead body from its grave of nearly five centuries in order to hopefully pick up some clues toward solving the identity of a woman in a painting. And no slight to the Italians, but I'm pretty sure that I can live with the distinct possibility that da Vinci died of, well, old age.

Look, maybe I can save us all a lot of time. It should be obvious to anyone that Mona Lisa was:



Morticia Addams in an earlier life.
 

Meet Lidia Tumasova, 81, from central St. Petersburg, Russia--
going for a dip in the frozen Neva river.

I wouldn't look too happy about it, either.



Miss Tumasova has been swimming in the Neva every day for the past 24 years.

Think about that the next time you dip your toe in chilly water and run away like a wussy.
 

Okay, cuteness overload.



A 14-day-old cape penguin is held by a staff member of Sunshine International Aquarium in Tokyo.

I really should quit my job and get a position working with animals--
talk about a job that gives back!
 

Throughout the Silver Age of Marvel comics, which ended around 1970, comic book readers were blessed for the most part with cover art which was free from distracting captions or word balloons. Mainstay artists like John Romita and Jack Kirby were gifted with the ability to sell a comic based on the drama they could impart to its cover art alone. As a result, this period of Marvel comics produced a library of outstanding and memorable covers, which have made their respective books still in demand today.

When Kirby left Marvel in 1970, Marvel's cover art became less bold and dramatic, and began to be more representational of the pages and action within the books. There were exceptions, of course--but on the whole, while Marvel still relied on its covers to sell the books, there was much more "selling" added to them.

During this time, there were two noticeable debates going on in comics fandom: (1) the constant use of exclamation points in character dialogue, even for the most routine sentences, and (2) the seeming proliferation of word balloons appearing on the covers. You see, we comic book readers are a funny breed. We know we're reading comic books--but we're not reading Archie comics. There's less prejudice in that differentiation than you might think. I read a few Archie comics back in the day, and enjoyed every one of them; but comics with super beings in them involved more serious issues than anything Archie and his one-dimensional gang would have dealt with. The former was passing the time--but the latter involved reading. And it kicked the enjoyment factor of comic books up a considerable notch.

So when word balloons began appearing, it felt like Marvel was dumbing down these books and stories we'd invested a great deal of time and interest in. (And this was before "dumbing down" even became a catch phrase.) With characters on the covers now mouthing selling hooks like "I can't do it--I CAN'T!" or "You're all going to DIE!", comics were on the verge of becoming "kid stuff," a phrase we thought we'd left behind with Betty and Veronica. We knew, of course, that inside the cover we'd find the same stories we'd been reading all along--but aside from a business standpoint, we really couldn't grasp the necessity of cluttering up a cover with unnecessary exclamations. If the cover artwork was lousy, we probably wouldn't even care; but there's a reason when you hear the words "cover art" that there's a special meaning to the phrase. In terms of comic books, it seals the deal for you, the reader. It not only frames the story for you, right from the start--it also serves to show you, at a glance, at what point in this series you're at.

And it's also some damn beautiful artwork--where the artist puts their best foot forward in regard to their work for that issue.

Here's a good example of what I mean by word balloons being unnecessary, either to heighten the mood or to sell the book. Take a look at this cover of Fantastic Four, side-by-side with its cover sans balloons:



Thanks to artist John Romita, I'm pretty sure you can grasp the situation here without a play-by-play from the characters. The caption even helps you, with "The Monster Stalks the Streets!" Dangerous super-being, who seems to have the FF on the ropes. (Though at this point in the FF's career, Sue was always looking helpless and at a loss no matter what the threat.) Of course, in the story, mankind wasn't doomed at all--just New Yorkers within a certain radius of blocks. My point is that what the FF characters say on this cover really does nothing to add to the tension and drama already evident in the artwork.

Here, try another, just because I like playing with images:



Look at all of the clutter in the first cover. I'm guessing "To DIE in the Negative Zone!" is pretty much all we need to know, don't you? We see three of the FF (with a helpless and at-a-loss Sue staying behind, of course) heading into that zone to face that winged guy, whose threat level isn't heightened with the addition of his vague words. And what in hell do the Thing's words add to our expectations? Don't they look like they're about to get in range? Though I suppose I could have left in the caption which gives this villain's name--I just took it out because I think "The Living Death Who Walks!" stacks the deck in terms of his villain cred. Besides, think how vulnerable it makes him in a fight, if he has to say all of that: "Fools! I am Annihilus--Annihilus, the Living Death Wh..."  *POW*

Word balloons aren't so much a factor in comics anymore, though they didn't go gently into the night. They were with us through most of the Bronze Age of comics (until about the mid-80s). I'm not sure why Marvel feels no need for them nowadays, though I'm certainly not complaining. Comics today are smaller in size than they were during the Silver Age, which leaves less room to fit everything in--and that would possibly mean placing the word balloons over significant artwork, rather than slightly off to its side. Whatever the reason(s), I'm very pleased for the artist--who I hope takes as much pleasure and satisfaction from creating cover art of the story inside as I do from the moment I see it on the store shelf.
 

My God. Just rip my heart out as I sink to my knees in tears of gratitude, why don't you.

A frightened, shivering dog was rescued after floating 75 miles on an ice floe down Poland's Vistula River and into the Baltic Sea, officials said Thursday. The thick-furred male dog was found adrift Monday 15 miles out in the Baltic Sea by the crew of the Baltica, a Polish ship of ocean scientists carrying out research.

Researcher Natalia Drgas said Thursday the rescue was difficult and at one point it seemed the dog had drowned. "It was really a tough struggle. It kept slipping into the water and crawling back on top of the ice. At one point it vanished underwater, under the ship and we thought it was the end, but it emerged again and crawled on an ice sheet," Drgas said. At that point, the crew lowered a pontoon down to the water and a crew member managed to grab the dog by the scruff of his neck and pull him to safety. Too weak to shake off the frigid water, "Baltic" (named after his rescuer ship, the Baltica) was dried and wrapped in blankets. After he warmed up, he was massaged, fed and soon got on his feet to seek company, Drgas said.

Once in port, the brown-and-black mongrel was taken to a veterinarian, who found him in surprisingly good condition and estimated his age at around 5 or 6 years old. Veterinarian Aleksandra Lawniczak said the 44-pound dog was clearly frightened but in strikingly good shape and had suffered no frostbite. The research team is prepared to adopt Baltic if his original owner is never found.

In a word: Yayyyyyyy!!!

"Baltic," alive and well

"I can tell you there's nothing controversial about it, there's nothing political about it. It is simply a very inspirational 30 seconds about celebrating life and celebrating families."

-- Gary Schneeberger, spokesman for conservative Christian group Focus on the Family

Schneeberger is commenting on the upcoming 30-second anti-abortion ad that Focus on the Family is sponsoring during the Super Bowl. The ad features University of Florida quarterback Tim Tebow and his mother, Pam. The two talk about her choice not to abort Tebow when she became ill during her 1987 pregnancy on a mission trip in the Philippines. Doctors urged her to end the pregnancy for medical reasons, but she refused.

Now don't scoff. There is absolutely nothing political about (a) airing an anti-abortion ad, (b) picking a time slot where 93.2 million people will watch your anti-abortion ad, (c) tailoring your anti-abortion ad for the Super Bowl by pulling in a high-profile Christian college quarterback fresh from a winning season, and (d) investing $3 million to air your anti-abortion inspirational ad.

Aren't you ashamed for being so suspicious.
 

Question:

How do you type and hold the iPad at the same time?
 

* sound of "Taps" *



The now-stationary Mars rover, "Spirit"

With two of its wheels nonfunctional, and mired in a sand pit since March, NASA has declared the Spirit forever stuck. The Spirit is now a non-roving science station--but its days may be numbered. If mission managers can't figure a way to get more power to the rover, it's likely the upcoming Martian winter (which begins in May) will exhaust its batteries.

I vote that we suspend all federal spending so that we can put a tow truck on Mars.
 

This morning, while picking Harry up and petting him, I...

I found myself doing that "bouncing" thing that parents do with their infants when they want to relax them and keep them from squirming and being distracted. This both delights and disturbs me.

No, I did not try to burp him. Shut up.

Yes, I did start singing to him. Shut UP.