Raise Your Hand If You're Undefeated

(Raise two if you and your teammates broke a few other records in the process.)

Christmas Came Early for Satan, Y'all

Even though Britney Spears already has two FederSpawn walking the Earth (or at least being dropped on it repeatedly) and a rumored third on the way (courtesy of another high-quality inseminator), the Prince of Darkness apparently wasn't confident enough that their existence, along with that of their parents, would guarantee the End of Days...so he's gone and hedged his bets by blessing Britney's 16-year-old sister Jamie Lynn (star of Nickelodeon's "Zoey 101", although probably not anymore) with a country bump all her own.

Who knows what wonderful contributions Jamie Lynn Spears' unborn child will one day bring to the world. Will it cure cancer? Become President? Win so many Nobel Prizes that the Nobel Committee will be compelled to change the award's name to the "Chester Cheetah McWheelie Spears-Aldridge Edible Chocolate Novelty Medal of Excellence" (or perhaps a variation therein)? We'll just have to wait and see.

Right now, the only thing we do know about the kid--if these pictures of 19-year-old father-to-be Casey Aldridge are an accurate depiction of its gene pool--is that it's probably not going to have a forehead.

Old Long Since

The decidedly unhip, nostalgia-fueled soft rocker Dan Fogelberg has depressed us one last time not only by dying on Sunday at the age of 56, three years after being diagnosed with prostate cancer, but also by doing so right around the time of year as the story in his most famous song--"Same Old Lang Syne"--takes place.

Completing the hat trick, now the world is left with only Kenny G to perform the tune.

Andy Pettitte Wants You To Love Him Again

Choosing a tactic opposite that of some Major League Baseball players who were outed as performance-enhancing-drug users in the Mitchell Report released Thursday, a mere two days later, New York Yankees pitcher (and author of a book that encourages kids not to do drugs) Andy Pettitte fessed up to using Human Growth Hormone.

That general admission of fact is where the Integrity & Purity end for Pettitte, however, as trailing it was a freight train of rationalizations: "it happened five years ago", "I only did it twice," "I did it because I was injured", "it wasn't against the rules", "HGH isn't steroids", "I didn't inhale", "Jesus is my co-pilot"...etc.

Maybe some people will buy Pettitte's sob story that "two days of perhaps bad judgment should not ruin a lifetime of hard work and dedication", but I am not among them. The way I see it, Bruce Banner only exposed himself to about two minutes of perhaps gamma radiation...but that doesn't make him any less of the Hulk.

Corbin Bleu In: 'Door Trouble'

The rabid, prepubescent female fans of High School Musical star Corbin Bleu may be lacking in gaydar, but--if his latest music video is any indication--they certainly possess a highly refined sense of comedy.

"Run It Back Again" is the theme song to the upcoming Disney Channel movie Minutemen, which (according to IMDb) is about "three high school kids who invent a time machine to spare others just like them from the humiliation they've endured." The makers of the video have cleverly seen fit to depict Corbin Bleu enduring--and then undoing--his own humiliations, having taken what must have been at least 14 seconds to devise (and perhaps all of another 2 minutes to shoot) such diverse embarrassments as: Falling Out Of a Car Door, Encountering a Locked Door, and Hitting Yourself In the Face With a Door. (I wonder how often the video's director defensively explained to crew members: "You don't understand comedy! Door bits kill!")

Thankfully, the Corbin Bleu "story" only lasts for the first third of the video before giving way to segments of the film being promoted, which--given that there does appear to be a single door-related gag therein--I find myself somewhat anxious to see.

Well played, Disney Channel.

Boys and Girls, Your Baseball Heroes

The Mitchell Report--a.k.a. the Baseball Hall of Fame Bucket List--was announced on Thursday, tarnishing forever the reputation of many current and former Major League players, activating armies of lawyers and public relations personnel, and, most significantly, befouling the innocent souls of confused and weeping children throughout the world.

Confirming rumors that circulated beforehand, New York Yankees Roger Clemens and Andy Pettitte are two of the biggest names revealed to be steroids users (the inclusion of Barry Bonds on the list is about as surprising as if he were not voted "World's Most Pleasant Sports Personality")--which is just about all I, as a devout Boston Red Sox fan, could have asked for this Christmas (although that's not to say it wouldn't have been nice to see A-Rod's name, too); another relative bombshell is Miguel Tejada.

Given that George Mitchell sits on the Red Sox' board of directors, many had been curious as to whether that fact would influence his investigate panel's findings. Though it had been rumored that the report would name undead burn victim Julian Tavarez and team captain Jason Varitek (my dismay at the latter possibility was worsened by the fear that I may have unknowingly predicted it [first photo caption]), the only recent Red Sox players on the list are pitchers Brendan Donnelly and Eric Gagne...neither inclusion representing any skin off Sox fans' backs because (1) Gagne is on the Brewers now, (2) he was terrible during his one partial season in Boston, and (3) nobody cares about Brendan Donnelly.

The Red Sox win again!

[To save you the trouble of slogging through the full, 409-page report, Deadspin has helpfully compiled the list of named names.]

World Pie-Eating Championship Might Want To Rethink Its Security Procedures

Hey 1995 World Pie-Eating Champion Dave Williams: Congratulations on being entrusted with guarding the pies for this year's contest.

Maybe next time, though, don't bring your dog. That might reduce the chances of it eating all the pies and causing the event to be canceled.

Hypocrisy, Thy Name Bears a Similarity to 'Vagina'

One probably would have to have been following sports extremely closely to have even heard the news, but back in the first week of the NFL season, the New England Patriots were caught illegally videotaping the New York Jets' sideline during a game at the Meadowlands. Jets head coach Eric Mangini--a former protege of Patriots head coach Bill Belichick who pretty much owes his entire career to the man, whom he'd already stabbed in the back by taking the job with New York--reported it to the league; as a result, the Patriots were fined $250,000, Belichick was personally fined $500,000, and (now that they've made the playoffs) the team lost a first-round draft pick for next year.

While the Patriots have gone on to be undefeated thus far this season (handily beating the Jets 38-14 in the 'Spygate' game), the scandal has, for many predisposed to be jealous of New England's spectacularity™ and Tom Brady's handsomeness, given fuel to a belief that the franchise's legacy of three Super Bowl victories in six years is tainted, that--should the team go 16-0 (or 19-0, counting the postseason)--the accomplishment should carry an asterisk in the record books. Jets fans--whose team has been something slightly less than perfect since Week 1--have of course been as vocal in this opinion as anyone.

Perhaps they'll quiet down some, now that Newsday is reporting that the Jets were caught illegally videotaping the Patriots' sideline during a game at Gillette Stadium last year.

Whoops!

On Tuesday night, the Jets admitted that such an incident took place last season, and--even better (or worse, if you're a Jets fan)--a team source claims that it was during a playoff game. (Insanely, a Patriots' source is actually disagreeing with that assertion, claiming that it was a regular-season contest.) Perhaps even more telling is the fact that Patriots didn't say a peep about this matter during the investigation into their own misconduct this year...which sort of pokes some holes in the currently popular belief that they are an ethically questionable organization (or at least more of one than any other NFL team).

With the league watching the Patriots like a hawk since Week 1, there can be no question that no impropriety has taken place during New England's quest for a perfect season, currently at 13 weeks and counting. I doubt anyone's been watching the Jets, though...so the question for Eric Mangini is: How can you cheat all the time and still suck that much?

What Is a 'Myocardial Infarcation'?

Although I'm equally if not more surprised to have learned that Alex Trebek no longer wears a mustache, most people might currently be more interested in the news that the 67-year-old "Jeopardy!" host has suffered a minor heart attack. According to Access Hollywood, Trebek is "resting comfortably in a Los Angeles hospital" and will be "back in the studio for the next scheduled tapings in January".

Funny that the report doesn't mention any possible cause of the pulmonary event. Perhaps Trebek's people don't want to admit that the constant badgering by Sean Connery finally got to the syndicated-television mainstay.

They'll Make You a Serve You Can't Return

Either John McEnroe is crazy or organized crime isn't what it used to be. The former is suggesting that the mafia has infiltrated tennis, fixing matches by bribing players and threatening their families.

Really, mafia? Tennis? Was the racket of grade-school piano recitals too impenetrable?

Steeler's "Guarantee" of Victory Over Patriots Contains More Caveats Than an NFL Contract

Pittsburgh Steelers defensive back Anthony Smith made headlines Wednesday night when it was reported that he guaranteed his team would beat the undefeated New England Patriots in their upcoming matchup Sunday. Upon closer inspection, though, it turns out that headlines are the only thing Smith actually made.

While it's true that Smith did say--as reported by SI.com--"I can guarantee a win," he's got nothing on Broadway Joe (or, for that matter John Goodman, star of the only visual evidence to date that Babe Ruth ever "called his shot") in the ballsy-prognostication department, for he immediately went on to qualify his declaration with "as long as we come out and do what we got to do" and then all but retract it by saying "we've got a good chance to win."

Is this the paltry level to which smack-talk has descended in the world of professional sports? "I GUARANTEE that we will defeat our opponents...unless they score more points than we do"? It's heartbreaking.

One can take solace in the possibility that Smith was less interested in throwing down a genuine gauntlet than he was in garnering some publicity for himself. He certainly has a better chance to achieve the latter than the Steelers do to defeat the Patriots...something to keep in mind as we consider the words of New England safety Rodney Harrison, who--when told about the so-called "guarantee"--remarked, "Never heard of him."

UPDATE: Hey, whaddya know. Smith's prediction turned out to be somewhat less than accurate.

ESPN Might Want To Just Rerun That Last Game Every Monday Night for the Next Few Seasons

ESPN's "Monday Night Football" broadcasts (just as they did when they were shown on ABC) usually turn out to be one of two things: a blowout or a sleep aid...and unless you're a fan of one of the teams involved in a blowout, they're often both. The latest matchup, before it began, appeared to be an exemplary case for more of the same, pitting the seemingly unstoppable New England Patriots, deep into a quest to become the second team in NFL history to go undefeated in a season, against the Baltimore Ravens, well out of the playoff race and losers of their previous five contests.

Lo and behold, the lowly Ravens didn't just "hang in there" against the Pats, they played like the better team for the majority of the game, controlling it on both sides of the ball and putting themselves in an excellent position to pull off an inconceivable upset...until the final minutes, when a freaking cartoon broke loose. Multiple botched chances by the Ravens to win simply by converting late in the fourth quarter...the Patriots getting do-overs on would-be game-losing failed fourth-down attempts--one of which came courtesy of a Baltimore timeout...Tom Brady being his ridiculously calm-under-pressure and handsome self all the way to a review-inducing touchdown with 44 seconds left to play...bizarre penalties from the Ravens that they're going to be kicking themselves about for a while because--even with the yardage it cost them at the start of their final possession--they came three yards short of winning the game on the very last play with a Hail Mary pass (y'know...like in Tecmo Bowl)...it was madness on a level one would not believe if it were scripted. End result? Patriots won, 27-24. And I didn't even mention the part where Ravens head coach Brian Billick blew angry kisses at Patriots safety Rodney Harrison.

As a Patriots fan (a real fan, for the record--one who still bears (pun accepted) the emotional scars of winning his third grade class' "Squish the Fish" (re: Dolphins, in the AFC championship) picture-drawing contest only to see his team be humiliated in their first-ever Super Bowl by these jackasses), I'm obviously happy with the outcome. But even if you're one of the rapidly-growing number who hate the still-perfect dominant force from Foxboro, I've got to believe that every football fan--every sports fan, even--is at least a little bit happy to have seen that, in these days of ever-compromised and disappointing professional sports, a game as dramatic and unpredictable as Monday night's can still take place.

(Ravens fans probably aren't feeling that way right now, though. They're probably going to be pissed for a while.)

UPDATE: I have no qualms whatsoever about saying I told you so, ESPN.

Jihad-a-Bear

A British teacher at a school in Khartoum, Sudan, was arrested on Sunday and could face 40 lashes or six months in prison if formally charged and convicted. What terrible offense did this woman commit?

She allowed a group of 7-year-olds to name a teddy bear.

Gillian Gibbons' students voted to call their class bear "Mohammad", an option put forth by a boy of the same handle. The trouble for Gibbons is that "Mohammad" is not just the name of that little egomaniac, but also the Prophet of Islam...and rumor has it that Muslims tend to have fairly strong opinions about its use and application. Parents complained, Gibbons was arrested, and the school ("Unity High School", naturally) has been closed until January.

Whenever I learn of such heartwarming and perfectly reasonable occurrences like this one, I can't believe that there are people in the world--not too many, praise the Holy Ghost--who think that religion is a bad thing.

They Want You Back

Without clicking through to the article below, how many members of the Jackson Five can you name? I'll play along:

Obviously, Michael. After that, everybody knows Tito, because he had the funniest name and is the go-to reference when making fun of the obscurity of the Jacksons who aren't Michael or Janet. La Toya? No, wait, I already said Michael. I think there was a Jermaine in there...and maybe a Marlon? No--Keenan Ivory. And lastly, let's say...Action. That's five, right? Pencils down.

Time to check your score as you learn that--according to Jermaine (hey, one right so far!)--the Jackson Five is going to reunite.

(What? One of them was named "Jackie"? Jackie Jackson? That's ridiculous.)

Unless this story merely represents a desperate attempt by Jermaine to seek attention (which is unlikely because he was just on the British version of "Celebrity Big Brother", after all), fans of broke and/or allegedly child-molesting middle-aged men trying to relive their teenage years through song and dance better start clearing their calenders. As Jermaine told BBC Radio, a reunion is something that the Jackson Five "owe[s] to the public"...and that's a pretty mean thing to say about you.

He Got the Hook-Up

As we all learned from Hoop Dreams, athletic ability can be the key to escaping a life of poverty and opening the doors to a brighter future for African-American youths...but even for the most talented among them, this is still far from a guarantee.

As we all learned from Black Supaman, Master P doesn't know how to spell "Superman".

How are these two things related? The son of the aforementioned one-time rap impresario and multi-millionaire, Lil' Romeo--himself once a somewhat successful hip-hop performer--has been awarded a basketball scholarship to the University of Southern California [FUN FACT: USC is Metroville's alma mater, of which he only becomes ever more proud]. According to SI, Romeo, currently a senior guard at Beverly Hills High School, signed his letter of intent "at a news conference held at a posh hotel near Beverly Hills".

So it was pretty much exactly like Hoop Dreams...except with insanely rich kids with ridiculous stage names instead of impoverished kids who struggle to afford shoes, Beverly Hills High School instead of the Chicago projects, and an infuriating happy ending instead of a depressing realistic one.

Let me hear you say UUUUUGH! (Na-na, na-na!)

The Internet? Never Heard Of It.

If there is one upside for me personally to the Writers' Guild of America Strike (currently at eight days and counting), it's that it has given me a perfectly reasonable-looking excuse for not updating this blog. It's a phony excuse, sure, but it's reasonable-looking nonetheless.

In lieu of any original content (unless you're counting this paragraph and the one previous), enjoy the above video from unitedhollywood.com, which quietly suggests that the Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers maybe are being something less than completely honest with their claims to the WGA that there is no money to be made from online content.

Sox on a Plane

Full disclosure: I have been posting about the Red Sox way too much lately (I even managed to tastefully work them into a Robert Goulet obituary). After yesterday's mention of Jonathan Papelbon's less-bananas-than-expected appearance on Letterman, I figured that would be the end of the assault for a while.

No sooner has I made that prediction when, lo and behold, in my inbox arrived EXCLUSIVE! candid photos taken inside Tom Werner's plane as it transported a number of the Red Sox players from Denver to Boston following the team's World Series victory over the Colorado Rockies.

What am I supposed to do? Not post the pictures? They are "exclusive", in capital letters, and with an exclamation point. My hands are tied.

I’m pretty sure David Ortiz isn’t following FAA passenger regulations, here, but who’s going to tell him? And how did Jason Varitek get those guns past security?

Barack Obama is not averse to public displays of affection. Oh, wait--that’s Julio Lugo.

Mike Lowell, Trophy Hog.

Professional Athletes—They’re Just Like Us! They collect autographs! (Or at least the rookies do.)

Sleep tight, Kevin Youkilis. You earned your nap.

"Hate Does Enter Into the Equation"

While I was watching Game 2 of the World Series with a group of fellow Red Sox fans, my friend Dave hypothesized that the inside of Jonathan Papelbon's head was "a swirling nightmare."

I was somewhat hesitant to watch Papelbon's appearance on "Late Night with David Letterman" Wednesday night for fear that the Red Sox closer might have said something that proved Dave's (my friend, not Letterman) theory to an unsuspecting national audience beyond that of baseball. To my relief, Papelbon handled himself with surprising restraint (even his inevitable dance was brief and relatively low-key), not even letting a real hint of his madness slip out until halfway into the interview (you'll want to jump to the 5:00 mark in the above clip if you don't have time to bask in the whole enchilada).

Despite what the world beyond Red Sox Nation may now think of you now, Jonathan (and there's a fair guess as to where Yankees, Rockies and Indians fans already stood)...we still love you.

You batshit insane sonuvabitch.

The Thing You're Staring At: The Movie

From The Net to Hackers to Pulse, I think we can all agree that movies about the internet are both awesome entertainments and virtual guarantees for box office success. But one thing that's always been missing from the genre is a film that focuses specifically on blogging, arguably the most cinematic activity in which a person can engage.

Thanks to Nora Ephron--living proof that having a hand in one decent romantic comedy equals a free pass for churning out two subsequent decades and counting of soul-deadening claptrap (including her own contribution to the fine canon of films that deal with people sitting in front of computers)--the cavernous void of blog-movies ("bloovies"?) is finally set to be filled with her adaptation of Julie Powell's book Julie and Julia: 365 Days, 524 Recipes, 1 Tiny Apartment Kitchen...in which Meryl Streep will play Julia Child.

While the idea of Meryl Streep playing Julia Child--although not necessarily appealing--is, at worst, strange, and certainly not sphincter-tensing, it appears to have nothing whatsoever to do with blogging. Not so fast. If you merely glance over the above-linked Variety article, you might miss this bone-chilling aspect of the film's plot:

"[The] frustrated temp secretary...chronicles her trials and tribulations in a blog that catches on with the food crowd."

You see, it's not just a movie about cooking. It's a movie about blogging about cooking. If I had to take a shot in the dark, I'd wager that it also might include a few montages set to bouncy music featuring Amy Adams' voiceover saying the things that she is typing while an ever-increasing amount of the aforementioned "food crowd" stare at computer screens in various locations and look amused.

If that prediction hasn't activated your gag reflex, you're probably my mom. Enjoy the movie, Mom!

Make Sure Nothing Happens to Frank Drebin While He's Gone (So He Can Have the Pleasure of Killing Him Himself)

RIP, Robert Goulet. I wasn't exactly a fan of yours (I wasn't not a fan, either; I really had no strong opinion either way), but a lot of the casual media coverage regarding your passing Tuesday morning has compelled me to point out that even people like me--who weren't really tuned in to your Broadway or recording career--know that there was more to you than a Will Ferrell impression.

(Not to mention the fact that you performed at the Red Sox home opener this year--major points for that. Baseball fan or no, I hope you were tickled by how their season ended.)

She Definitely Didn't Have To Go

There are many things that could be said about Anthony Merino, the 24-year-old lab technician at Holy Name Hospital in Teaneck, N.J., who was arrested on Sunday after he was caught having sex with the corpse of a 92-year-old woman inside the institution's morgue...but perhaps no words are more fitting than the lyrics of the song that, at the time of this writing, is currently playing on Merino's own MySpace page [in the likely event that Merino soon alters his page, see screenshot below for proof]--Rihanna's "Don't Stop the Music":

It's gettin' late
I'm making my way over to my favorite place
I gotta get my body moving shake the stress away
I wasn't looking for nobody when you looked my way
Possible candidate (yeah)
Who knew
That you'd be up in here lookin' like you do
You're makin' stayin' over here impossible
Baby I must say your aura is incredible
If you don't have to go, don't

Do you know what you started
I just came here to party
But now we're rockin' on the dance floor
Acting naughty
Your hands around my waist
Just let the music play
We're hand in hand
Chest to chest
And now we're face to face

I wanna take you away
Lets escape into the music
DJ let it play
I just can't refuse it
Like the way you do this
Keep on rockin' to it
Please don't stop the
Please don't stop the
Please don't stop the music
[Repeat]

Baby are you ready cause its getting close
Don't you feel the passion ready to explode
What goes on between us no one has to know
This is a private show (oh)

"Oh", indeed...as that was probably the first of two words that came out of Merino's mouth once hospital security guards interrupted his private show.

In this time of personal crisis, perhaps Merino himself can turn to his MySpace page (his handle: "playboygtr")--in particular, his current profile quote, courtesy of Ralph Waldo Emerson [again, see screenshot]--for a guideline to the intense soul-searching he has no doubt already begun:

"What lies behind us and what lies before us are small matters compared to what lies within us."

ANSWER KEY: (a) Police; (b) The nude corpse of a 92-year-old woman; (c) Shame.

Thanks to the hard-rocking "Jesse" for the tip.

The Red Sox Can't Stop Firing Grady Little

A long time ago, when the New York Yankees were a competitive baseball team, Grady Little got himself fired as the manager of the Boston Red Sox when, with his team on the cusp of defeating their aforementioned historic archnemeses in Game 7 of the 2003 American League Championship Series, he opted not to remove his clearly-out-of-gas starting pitcher Pedro Martinez in the eighth inning with the Red Sox leading 5-3. The Yankees went on to tie the game in that very inning and win it in the eleventh, thus bringing the total number of consecutive years that the Red Sox had gone without winning a World Series to 86. While the Yankees went on to lose in the World Series to Josh Beckett, Mike Lowell and the rest of the Florida Marlins, Grady Little was run out of Boston on a rail.

During the four years since, the dynamic between the Red Sox and the Yankees has, to put it mildly, changed. The Red Sox have won two World Series titles while the Yankees haven't even appeared in one championship contest. The Sox' most recent playoff success was due in large part to the effectiveness of their ace, Josh Beckett, and RBI machine Mike Lowell, who was crowned the 2007 World Series MVP. Meanwhile, the Yankees barely even made the 2007 playoffs (as the Wild Card), in the first round of which they were soundly trounced by the Cleveland Indians 3 games to 1. The responsibility for this unequivocal failure was placed squarely on the shoulders of longtime Yankees manager Joe Torre; as a result (and taking into account the fact that, during his tenure, the Yankees hadn't won a World Series title since the previous century), Torre was essentially fired by means of a deliberately insulting contract renewal offer. (Adding insult to injury for Yankee fans, on the very night that the Boston Red Sox closed out their second world championship in 4 years, the Yankees' star player, Alex Rodriguez, opted out of his contract extension, unceremoniously severing his relationship with the organization.) Given the history between the Red Sox and the Yankees, it can reasonably be inferred that Joe Torre didn't lose his job just because the Yankees had failed to live up to expectations for so many years...but also because the Red Sox--during the same years--had so roundly exceeded their own.

Yesterday it was reported that Joe Torre--the man who lost his job in large part as a result of the success of the Boston Red Sox--is going to be hired as manager of the Los Angeles Dodgers. And who will he be replacing?

Grady Little. The man whose career is destined to be defined by the failure of the Boston Red Sox under his watch...the man who is now out of a job once again as a result of that very team's performance.

Does all of this amount to a fair shake for Grady Little? I cannot objectively answer that question, for I am a Red Sox fan. As far as I'm concerned, I'd be happy to see Grady Little punished for leaving Pedro in back in 2003 every day for the rest of his life. Two World Series titles since or no two World Series titles since, it doesn't change the fact that that was a completely dumbass decision.

Au revoir once again, Grady. Apparently, you shall never be forgiven.

Lance Bass Chooses to Embrace Ugly Stereotype of His Own Lifestyle

Remember how, at the height of *NSYNC's popularity, any time you would hear one of their songs on the radio or stumble across one of their videos or find yourself staking out their hotel when their tour came to your town, you'd reflexively bat down any confusing feelings of pleasure and/or jealousy by remarking, "Those dudes are so gay"?

Turns out Lance Bass would have agreed with you.

Doing his part to try and reverse what little progress homosexuals have made in contemporary culture, Bass has told GQ that he once thought the majority of his bandmates were friends of Dorothy.

I understand that you've got a book to sell, Lance...but I question the wisdom in doing so at the expense of playing right into one of the biggest fears of homophobes, i.e.: Every gay person wants everyone around him to be gay so he can have gay sex with them all the time. Additionally, partnering your predictable namecheck of Justin Timberlake (in that he's the only former *NSYNC'er anybody gives a crap about anymore) with the supremely non-famous Chris Kirkpatrick (better known as Spider Head) on your "I kinda thought he was gay" list, while a somewhat clever ruse, ultimately does not distract from the reality that--just as I predicted back in March--when it comes to promoting your own relative celebrity, you know that everybody else knows exactly where your bread is buttered.

On the plus side, though, Spider Head--as evinced by his fervent participation in the above-linked Access Hollywood story--seems pretty excited that someone has actually remembered his name. So at least some joy has come from all of this.

(Obligatory Post Regarding the Red Sox' World Series Victory)

I have nothing to say about the Boston Red Sox' sweep of the Colorado Rockies to win their second World Series title in four years (the previous having followed an 86-year drought, natch) last night that hasn't already been/won't be said more eloquently on countless other locations throughout these here internets. All I can say is that I am very, very happy.

Not 2004 happy, mind you...but very happy nonetheless.

The one and only downside to this occasion? The bandwagon that started forming around 2003 is about to tip over. We real Red Sox fans know who you are, grotesque poseurs who don't know and will never know what it is to suffer a lifetime (in my particular case, a birth-to-late-20s-time) of near-victory, and we hate you more than the fans of any other team do...including Yankee fans. But at least those guys have a future of cheering on A-Rod to look forward to--

Oh, wait. What? They don't?

Well, that's a shame.

(Tee-hee!)

UPDATE: Okay, so now they do...as well as a guaranteed minimum of 10 years before their team wins another World Series. My "(Tee-hee!)" stands.

Metroville's Movie Corner: 30 Days of Night

DAY 1: "Let's all settle in for 30 straight days without sunlight in our remote Alaskan town. What the fuck--vampires? Let's hide."

DAY 7: "Okay, a lot of us got eaten by vampires over the last week. Let's all try to do a little better at hiding."

DAY 18: "I'm not so sure that the fact that progressively fewer of us are being eaten by vampires is a reflection of our improved hiding skills so much as it is of the fact that there are increasingly fewer of us for the vampires to eat. Percentage-wise, it's pretty much a wash."

DAY 30: "All right, just one day of night left! Anybody seen the hero's love interest? What? She's outside, hiding underneath a car with some little girl none of us had seen before who just popped up in time for the climax while the vampires burn the town? Sonuvabitch."

DAY 31: "Well, 5 of us survived...out of 160-plus. Let's call it a moral victory. And hey--we can be thankful that even though the hero turned himself into a vampire to save his love interest, he didn't eat any of us or her for no good goddamn reason other than apparently he was just that heroic."

The end.

Disney Wants to Have No Clothes and Fire Them Too

Donald Duck, as seen in the picture at left, has been running around with no pants on since 1934 and his employer, the Walt Disney Company, has never once taken issue with his behavior. Last month, nude images of another Disney employee, High School Musical star Vanessa Hudgens, surfaced on the internet [sorry, pervs, that link isn't to the actual pictures--for all anybody knows, she could be 14 years old in those things] for the first time ever...and she's already been shitcanned from her own franchise as a result, as OK! Magazine (a news source you know you can trust because they have an exclamation point in their name) is exclusively reporting that Disney has decided not to invite Hudgens back for HSM 3.

One can only speculate whether this egregious double standard of the Walt Disney Company is a result of sexism, humanism, non-cartoonism, visible-genitaliaism or perhaps all four; regardless, until Disney establishes a consistent policy regarding the acceptable level of nudity for all of its talent, I call upon fans of Vanessa Hudgens, nakedness, and/or well-tanned and spontaneously-synchronized teenagers to boycott all Disney Channel movies that don't involve time travel...because time is of the essence when it comes to the Walt Disney Company making up its mind:

They've got to either pull their pants up or take them off altogether.

UPDATE: The Orlando Sentinel is reporting that a Disney Channel spokeswoman has dismissed OK!'s story as "a false and old rumor". Looks like my work here is done...unless the Orlando Sentinel doesn't know what the hell they're talking about. Which is a possibility, given that they tagged the linked article "Discovery Channel".

UPDATE 2: The denial has been confirmed by a comparatively "reputable" news outlet, that being Access Hollywood. Even though their name doesn't contain any exciting punctuation, I'm inclined to hold "Access" in at least the same regard as OK!.

Even Orlando Bloom's Car Accidents Are Boring

For years, Orlando Bloom has rendered moviegoers comatose with his ineffectual screen presence. Now he's taken his flavorless act to the streets (quite literally), becoming involved in possibly the least-interesting celebrity vehicular mishap ever early Friday morning.

No drugs or alcohol. No speeding. The car he hit was unoccupied and parked.

It's almost as though Bloom were reviving his role in the Pirates of the Caribbean movies in the form of bad driving, essentially serving as filler while the world waits for entertaining celebrity car accidents--i.e., Johnny Depp--to resume.

Cardiac Arrest Wit'cha

Bobby Brown had a heart attack Tuesday night. (Don't worry, the one person with a ticket to his vaguely described "scheduled performance" on Saturday, he survived.) According to his attorney, doctors are attributing the incident to "stress and diet".

I don't mean to be cruel, but it's my prerogative to state that every little step of this story leads me to suspect that Bobby Brown's heart attack might have had something to do with his well-documented history of cocaine abuse. Or maybe I'm just humpin' around.

Roni.

Oldest Hanson Brother Even Older Than You Think

According to this report on Isaac Hanson--of the brothers/band Hanson--undergoing surgery for venous thoracic outlet syndrome, he is 26 years old.

According to me, bull crap. 26-year-olds don't develop venous thoracic outlet syndrome. This was Hanson's (Isaac, not the whole band) second surgery necessitated by a blood clot, and he's already got a third procedure to have a rib removed in the interest of opening up a vein on the books.

If Isaac Hanson is anything under 40, you can name more than one Hanson song off the top of your head.

Let This Finally Be the Death of the Molestache

See that guy in the picture? He raped a 3-year-old. Of course, you didn't need me tell you that; all you had to do was take a look at the mustache.

If the world gleans nothing else from the truly appalling tale of absolutely deplorable scumbag Chester A. Stiles (certainly not to be confused with Rupert "Stiles" Stilinski, friend to the hirsute teenager and a non-raper of children) (in addition to the knowledge that the world is a terrible, terrible place), let it be a definitive understanding among all men who voluntarily sport a wispy track of hair along their upper lips that doing so makes them look like child molesters.

It doesn't matter if you're 14 or 104: if you are unable to grow a full mustache, don't wear a mustache. That thing under your nose that looks like it could be easily removed by splashing milk on it and having a cat lick it off (I'm looking at you, 95% of the male employees of every Taco Bell in the Los Angeles area) isn't what you think it is. It's a Molestache. (If you are able to grow a full mustache but are not (a) Tom Selleck, (b) Sam Elliott or possibly (c) a self-amused ironic hipster (and I've learned from experience that one is still really pushing it in the latter case)...you still shouldn't grow a mustache.)

I'm not saying that all potential sex offenders wear mustaches--just look at the above-linked CNN article and the picture of Darren Tuck, the guy who held on to the videotape of Stiles raping a 3-year-old girl for five months before turning it over to the police; he's rocking the goatee but no 'stache (a style choice that, unfortunately, strengthens his resemblance to Boston Red Sox utility man Eric Hinske). What I am saying is that when people are looking for potential sex offenders, a good place to start is under the nose.

And if that isn't enough to make a man reconsider his Molestache...let me add that I have it on good authority that the look doesn't exactly drive the ladies wild.

Tom Cruise Totally Killed a Guy*

David Hans Schmidt, the controversial publicist who agreed to plead guilty to attempting to extort over $1 million from Tom Cruise for stolen photographs taken at Cruise's wedding to Katie Holmes that were allegedly compromising, was found dead in his Phoenix home on Friday of an apparent suicide.

A loss of any life (except for maybe Hitler's or anyone's in that vein) is tragic, especially in the case of an apparent suicide. One could argue that Schmidt's death would have been made even more unseemly, however, had the circumstances surrounding it in any way raised the slightest bit of suspicion that Tom Cruise could have somehow been involved...which he apparently clearly was not, because the cause of Schmidt's death was apparently suicide.

And the fact that Schmidt never ended up dead after he tried to auction off Paris Hilton's diaries, sell both a Dustin Diamond and a Tonya Harding sex tape or claimed to possess topless photos of rescued U.S. Army POW Pfc. Jessica Lynch should in no way cast any bit of doubt whatsoever on that apparent finding.


*In a movie I saw once where both Tom Cruise and the guy he appeared to kill were actually portraying characters other than themselves and nobody really died.

Yankees Officially Commence Pretending That the Wild Card Is as Impressive as a Division Title

Taste the flavor, A-Rod.

For God's Sake, A-Rod...

Baseball is still a family game, despite the fact that the Yankees have eked into the playoffs. You really ought to reserve such behavior [pictured in a very small scale so as to reduce the risk of traumatizing the innocent casual reader] for the privacy of your own home, where maybe there aren't so many photographers around.

(And why does the above-linked ESPN headline read "13th straight playoff spot" as opposed to "10th straight division title"? Oh...that's right.)

Bill O'Reilly Wants You to Know That a Lot of Black People Are Like Regular People

Who would have guessed that Fox News pundit Bill O'Reilly was such a daredevil? He certainly proved as much when he recently ate dinner at a restaurant run by black people...in Harlem, where I understand a lot of black people live. Not only has O'Reilly stared death in the face in such a manner and lived to tell the tale, he has returned to enlighten the rest of the world of the fact that--get this--black people behave just like regular people in restaurants.

O'Reilly described his experience in Sylvia's as "like going into an Italian restaurant in an all-white suburb in the sense of people were sitting there, and they were ordering and having fun...and there wasn't any kind of craziness at all."

They were sitting? They were ordering food? And there wasn't any kind of craziness? At all? No murder, rape, or even one stolen television?

If your jaw isn't already on the floor in total surprise, you ought to wire it shut before you read this next bombshell: according to O'Reilly, "there wasn't one person in Sylvia's who was screaming, 'M.F.-er, I want more iced tea.'"

Not one! Naturally, this revelation is hard to swallow...but Bill O'Reilly saw it with his own eyes, so it must be true.

Thank God (who I'm still going to assume is white unless Bill O'Reilly tells me otherwise) that there are people like Bill O'Reilly in the world, selflessly venturing into untouched lands of mystery like Harlem and Anita Baker concerts (where he discovered that sometimes black people wear tuxedos! just like regular people!) in the name of racial tolerance and understanding so we don't have to.

O'Reilly said that the experiences have made him believe that black Americans are "starting to think more and more for themselves." If there is veracity to that belief, it's a bittersweet truth...for it means that black Americans will never watch Fox News and learn of all the great strides Bill O'Reilly is making for them.

Die Hard 5 to Pretty Much Write Itself

If I may be so bold as to predict John McTiernan's pitch for his next project, a return to the action franchise he helped build:

It's Christmas Eve and John McClane's (which family member hasn't he rescued from a hostage situation yet? his son?) son, who is a rookie corrections officer in a Los Angeles-area prison, is taken hostage during an inmate uprising. In order to infiltrate the facility and heroically save his boy, McClane enters a guilty plea--even though he TOTALLY ISN'T GUILTY--to charges of lying to the FBI about something he actually didn't have anything to do with. Seriously. He hardly even knew that disgraced private investigator. But he gets sentenced to four months in prison anyway--which is bullshit, right? So while McClane is on the bus to jail, his lawyer successfully appeals and the sentence is overturned. The end.

While acknowledging that the story has some third act problems, I've got to believe that such a film would at least be better than that Rollerball remake.

Tom Brady--Whereabouts Unknown--Is a Father

The good news is that Bridget Moynahan has given birth to Tom Brady's superbaby. (The bad news for the NWFA is that it's a boy.)

But the just plain curious element of this story is that--at least according to SI.com--at the time the news went public, Papa Brady himself was unaccounted for. It wasn't confirmed whether of not he was with Moynahan in Los Angeles, and he definitely wasn't at the Patriots' practice. While these combined factors might lead one to conclude that Brady was en route from the latter to the former, allow me to suggest a forth possibility as to where Tom might be reached:

Brazil.

"Black Four! I Mean Black Balls! I Mean Ball Four!"

From the University of Texas at Austin comes more good news for baseball this summer: According to a study performed at the school, home plate umpires are racist. (But don't worry, it's not what you think. They're racist towards pitchers, not batters. Or, wait...is that still bad?)

Having analyzed 2.1 million umpire calls between the 2004 and 2006 MLB seasons, the researchers working under Daniel Hamermesh, a professor of economics, "found that umpires call strikes more for pitchers of their race and balls more when the pitcher is of another race" (according to Time magazine via MSNBC.com). If you guessed that the lowest percentage of strikes were called when the pitcher was black and the umpire was white...congratulations! You hold at least the vaguest grasp possible on the reality of American culture!

On the plus side, though, Hamermesh and his team found no bias regarding the race of batters and no bias at all--towards batter or pitcher--in three instances: on a full count (good for you, otherwise racist umpires), when the crowd was large (ha! fraidy cats), or when the umpires' calls were being monitored by the QuesTec system.

That last mitigating factor only serves to reaffirm what most of us already know: One day, umpires will be replaced by robots. In a hasty attempt to maintain a degree of humanity in the game of baseball, these robots will be programmed with racism. This will inevitably lead to the Robot Race Wars of 2012, which will in turn bring about the collateral destruction of all human civilization on Earth as we know it. At some point during the gradual rebuilding of a mankind that our children (and their children and so on) will never know as we knew it, there will be erected a Thunderdome. And then, finally...I will be able to walk around in public wearing revealing leather-strap-and-metal-spike- based outfits without people automatically assuming it's a sex thing.

So there will be somewhat of a happy ending to this situation after all.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO...

...OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Boooooooooooooo...

...oooooooooooooooo.

...And Justice for Rich Republicans Who are Friends with the Vice President

It had been touch-and-go in the month since Dick Cheney's former chief of staff Lewis "Scooter" Libby was sentenced to 30 months in prison for his involvement in leaking the identity of CIA agent Valerie Plame back in 2003, with President Bush appearing to waver on the question of whether or not he would pardon him. In the eleventh hour, our commander-in-chief has heroically stepped up and commuted Libby's sentence--effectively though not technically pardoning him because Libby will still have to pay a $250,000 fine and serve two years of probation--thus reconfirming his standing as Arguably the Most Corrupt and Incompetent President in America's History.

Happy Birthday, U.S.A.!

Magical Douchebag Conjures Obvious Puns

While he was most recently busy dedicating lame stunts to Cameron Diaz, it turns out that magician Criss Angel--a.k.a. "Mindfreak", a.k.a. Christopher Sarantakos (hmm, funny how those names get progressively less badass)--has sort of been kind of secretly married for five years and now his estranged wife is suing him for abandonment.

During a break in a court hearing on Friday, Sarantakos displayed his consummate showmanship and blazing originality when he gestured to his wife's lawyer and remarked, "I can make him disappear."

Get it? Because he's a magician! Presto shazam!

[Ed. note: pictured is an illusionist far more talented than Criss Angel.]

Monkey Desperate to Avoid Working with Emile Hirsch

MSNBC.com is reporting [Ed. note: or, I guess, "scooping"; I'm told that "Jeannette Walls delivers the scoop"] that PETA is up in arms over confirmed reports that a chimpanzee on the set of the upcoming live-action Speed Racer adaptation bit an actor, leading to allegations that the animal has been beaten. (Unless directors Larry and Andy Wachowski have opted for an all-chimpanzee cast, one has to assume that the simian in question is portraying Chim-Chim.) The film's producers have responded with assurances from the American Human Society that no animals in the movie are being abused, but PETA remains unconvinced.

Both sides are apparently choosing to ignore the most obvious explanation for the chimp's behavior: he was merely trying to demonstrate for the movie's lead actor, lifeless slouch Emile Hirsch, how to properly emote.

Find the Classiest Thing in This Story

(A) Alex Rodriguez's wife wears (B) a tanktop with a swear word on it to Yankee Stadium; (C) the New York Post goes bananas.

If you chose 'A', 'B' or 'C', you're wrong. The correct answer is: (D) the Boston Red Sox currently lead the Yankees by 11 games in the AL East.

K-E-Y... Why? Because He Resisted the Jew's Attempt to Take His Land

Try as I might to make this story funny, the AP's rather dry take reigns supreme:

"A Mickey Mouse lookalike who preached Islamic domination on a Hamas-affiliated children's television program was beaten to death in the show's final episode Friday."

Gangbusters.

Back in May, a Mickey Mouse knockoff named "Farfour" (complete with falsetto voice) made international headlines for being the star of a Palestinian TV show, "Tomorrow's Pioneers", that preached to kids such basic lessons as teamwork, identifying shapes and colors, and how to kill a Zionist Jew.

On the series' final episode, Sara, Farfour's teenage human co-host, was left to explain to her viewers--who had just watched their presumably beloved giant mouse expire at the hands of an "Israeli"--that Farfour "was martyred while defending his land" against "the killers of children".

That's entertainment...albeit not without flaws. On the one hand, "Tomorrow's Pioneers" went out the way it came in: spewing racist propaganda and inciting violence, which is kind of a bad thing. On the plus side, though, it offered a more satisfying conclusion than "The Sopranos".

It's Up to You, ___________, to Renew My Interest in the Boston Celtics

Throughout my childhood, I was a diehard Boston Celtics fan. Somewhere after the retirements of Larry Bird, Kevin McHale, Robert Parish, Dennis Johnson (R.I.P.) and Danny Ainge (who's currently, um, kind of hurting the team as its general manager), the death of Reggie Lewis (again, R.I.P.) and before the time when the Celtics became of one the worst teams in the NBA, I lost interest. Go figure. (And after the (actual) retirement of Michael Jordan, I all but lost interest in the NBA entirely.)

But the Celtics did so poorly last season that I couldn't help but start rooting for them again...rooting for them to lose so that they'd get the top pick in the 2007 draft and maybe give Celtics fans past and present something to cheer about.

They managed to screw that up, breaking an 18-game losing streak that--had it gone one more--would have guaranteed them the number-one spot on draft day. In the draft lottery last month, the Celtics came out with Number 5--a rather deep pick for a team as bad as them.

And moments ago, with the fifth overall pick in the 2007 NBA Draft, the Boston Celtics have selected...

NOBODY.

Before the second pick (which was Seattle's; they selected Kevin Durant) was announced, the Celtics traded their pick (along with Wally Szczerbiak and Delonte West) to Seattle--giving them #2 and #5--for 32-year-old Ray Allen.

Thanks for nothing, Danny Ainge.

(I wonder if there's any room on the Supersonics bandwagon...)

They're Bigger Than Lip-Syncing Jesus

For six long years, the world has been without music. In December, the deafening silence will finally be broken...when the Spice Girls go back on tour! [Ed. note: Girl Power!]

While Ginger Spice is implicitly trying to take credit for disbanding the group back in 2001 (she left in 1998 and the Spice Girls' one Gingerless album, 2000's Forever, did not sell very spicily), making the reunion all about her by likening the four other Spices to a collective husband she's been divorced from, you may be a bit surprised to learn who was the one true holdout:

According to ABC News, it was Sporty Spice, who remarked about the reunion, "I've always said, 'I don't want to do it.'"

Sporty Spice was the one who needed to be talked into this? Not Married-to-David-Beckham Spice, Eddie-Murphy-Paternity-Suit Spice, or the aforementioned Pretended-to-be-Princess-Diana-for-a-While Spice? (I would have even pegged Not-Much-Going-On-Either-But-at-Least-Way-More-Attractive-Than- Sporty-Spice Spice as somewhat less motivated to get back on the horse.) You think you know the Spice Girls...

In any event, the important thing is that the ladies will soon be entertaining the world (or at least 11 cities) again with their signature brand of high-kicks and flexing and jumping up and down while some songs play.

(Also, they're re-releasing their movie.)

Pat Coyle and the Cone of Safety

As if I weren't already ashamed by the simple fact that I have been neglecting my blogging-related responsibilities as of late (it may stun you to learn that I don't get paid for this), I have returned to the fold to discover that not only has my man crush Pat Coyle been diligently maintaining his own blog on a daily basis, but, two days ago, he successfully manipulated his Sports Marketing/Indianapolis Colts/English Writing Clinic website into a platform for a debate on the hot-button issue of human genitalia.

You think you've got balls? You don't. Pat Coyle's got balls.

(As well as something called a "cone of safety"...inside of which, I guess, is the only place one is free to talk about balls.)