The Return of the ?-Bound Round-Up

This week's honoree is none other than one Kathy Cox, for her efforts in continuing the state of Georgia's public school system on a "1 step forward, 2 steps back" approach to curricula.

Way to go, Kathy. Barely-literate football coaches questionably employed as science teachers so as to justify having n+1 coaches for a JV squad, let alone varsity, across the state salute you, as they can now simply declare "We didn't come from monkeys!" when it comes to talking about mammals 'n stuff and move on to talking about rocks 'n stuff. Likewise the fundamentalist revivals that are permitted to take place in at least one of the state's public high schools.

Seriously, y'all. Jesus? He weeps.

Is It Possible...

...that this is the best idea for a television series, ever?

...that these girls need to be, oh, I don't know, shot?

Jeg Ælskar Danmark!

Be sure to not have any fluids in your mouth when viewing this because there is a high possibility of, well, "sprayage."

But then afterwards, you find yourself quite bored and return to penguin-whacking.

... and a Shade More Boo-Hiss

1. Ooo! They're all a-flutter about a certain kids' book making the rounds at a cinema near you in the perhaps-not-so-distant holiday season.

2. And isn't libel and slander much more fun when you've millions of dollars to throw at it? And when a good chunk of it is most likely true? (Agreed: fugly is the new retarded. Next!)

Oh, Boo-Hiss

Except for the fact that I agree with a good bulk of it.

Completely unrelatedly, since everyone talking about it today, and far more eloquently than I could perhaps put it, here's a bit of trivia from the vaults:

1. In the 11th grade, I could recite verbatim nearly all the dialogue in Fargo, which is a very, very good movie. So naturally, when I had to change planes earlier this month in Minneapolis, I secretly hoped there'd be a delay and I'd have to be put up in a Radisson near the airport.

2A. In the 12th grade, I used to recite Joan Cusack's dialogue from In & Out, which is a really lousy movie. If I was really bored in the back of the class, I'd throw in some Marcella from Gross Pointe Blank as a kind of 2-for-1 combo ("I don't give a good goddamn!" but moreover that I frequently daydreamed that someone would phone me up, tell me there was some money taped under my desk, and ask me to douse the classroom in gasoline so as to torch it). But all anyone really wanted to hear was "Fuuuu-ck Barbra Streisand!" with an accompanying face-mug.

2B. She's the female Bill Murray. Which is a good thing, surely, prognosticating-ly speaking.

Uh... ?

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Ethnic Credit Profiling

Yesterday, I received in the mail an offer for one of these. Oh, and if I didn't find that it "reflected my ethnic pride" enough, I could also choose this one or this one. And, of course, my last name was misspelled.

Needless to say, I am quite offended that it should be assumed that my heritage would dictate that I'd stoop to applying for a Discover card. I mean, not all of us were shifty tinkers, for chrissake.

Yes, This Bread's a Bit Stale By Now...

...but what the hey. (Also available in a circa-1988-stylee rough draft of a house mix.)

If this thing was decided a la cage match (which I most fully support, and suspect that a good chunk of the populace does, too), it'd be a bit like "Bringing the Power to the People's Elbow," or something.

It's still kind of funny, though... "it's like your favourite uncle being caught in a school playground, masturbating." Which means he's still long-listed, just that he more than likely won't walk away the big winner.

Considering the Whole Place Is Approximately the Size of Maine...

...it wouldn't take all that long to crown yourself the national school slut.

Actually, this could very well not be that funny of a story.

But then again, if it really was a group of kids getting stupid with a camera phone... er, while one might take the high road and say that analog-stylee bathroom graffiti has been transformed into some kind of digital souvenir, the peanut gallery just points and laughs.

I'm Sure There's Some Sort of Virtual Physics Equation...

...that applies to success in whacking the penguin. Doesn't detract from its addictiveness, though.

Awww, I *heart* Danish penguin-whacking games.

Silly FOX...

...using the National Anthem to pimp tomorrow's schedule.**

Although, let us at least give thanks to Philadelphia for its home-field advantage, for Carolina would have undoubtedly provided a version so glory-noted, words would surely not suffice to convey the horror.


**Oh, because Viacom doesn't do the same kind of thing. Oh, no; of course not.

Pay Attention, Kids:

There will be a quiz.

Oh, and One Last Thing I Learned in Las Vegas:

KVBC's Mitch Truswell and The Daily Show's Ed Helms surely must have been switched at birth.

It May Just Be Me...

... but why is it that Kucinich supporters (at least the ones blocking the sidewalk today and handing out shit at the corner of 13th & G; and, no, I'm not linking his site because the comb-over annoys me) look like Jerri Blank?

They also seem to reek of a "wood-paneled 'rumpus rooms'" and Ice Storm-stylee wife-swap parties, but that's a completely different kettle of fish. And I've just eaten lunch and would really like the digest it, so yeah: we won't go there.

Weekend Debrief:

In a representative nutshell:

1. The Palms likes to play the evil "Clocks" on a loop, blaring it far and wide across the casino floor. Followed by Clay Aiken's grammatically-incorrect magnum opus (oh, don't pretend you're not already humming the chorus; as any fule kno, 19 and Arista have colluded with the FCC to add brain-itch in the key of F-major to tap water whether you like it or not... it's the new fluoride).

2. Gary Coleman apparently now has one of these.

3A. Gallagher, unfortunately, is not dead.

3B. Celine Dion, unfortunately, is not dead.

4. Paris Hilton really does look airbrushed, and very Russian Mafia-esque (you know, kinda like the aesthetic of those Eastern European molls who load up on duty-free cigarettes and Burberry at the airport).

5A. Porn-people are, on the whole, quite short. Hence, I would assume, the absurd choices in footwear.

5B. A press pass will get one past more levels of security than a C-list porn-person.

5C. There truly is nothing more pathetic than a C-list porn-person. It's like the famewhore-version of "A Dream Deferred." Which is pretty funny, especially when literally applied to appearance.

6. I still don't understand how to work this. Likewise, hopefully the nice people from Epson stopped by to retrieve it from the hotel. The DVDs were fairly self-explanatory, though.

And to Supplement Feeling Old With a Dash o' Crotchedy:

Hooray! Although it still won't cut the odds of not having my pelvis crushed at the intersection of Connecticut Avenue and Quebec/Porter Streets by a yabbering speeding teenager/real estate agent/diplomat.

Good Lord.

I feel soooo old.

The upside? It provides a vague segue to type the following: Torvill & Dean.

Oh, yes: I was so cool I gave myself chills in 8th grade, memorizing the choreography to "Let's Face the Music and Dance" and the granddaddy of all ice skating, "Bolero." You have no idear.

Um, okay, you can all stop laughing now. On all counts.

So, the Optimum Answer Would Be:

To create a band so as to knock it down, right?

Regardless, kids, the revolution won't be broadcast. Really. So turn off the radio, get out of line at Best Buy, and support your local scene. And if you don't have one, make one. And foster a constructively-critical apparatus for it so as to encourage creative and techincal growth and development.

Pop rockin' soul, minus the diary entries, preferred.

Okay, with a smidgen Eurovision. Because I'm shamelessly tacky like that.