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Judge Dan Mancini's Blog
• Location: Tucker, GA
Re: "Re: Lock and Load"
In answer to the esteemed Judge Profancik's question, for being such "stupid" animals, dogs are incredibly adept at assisting the blind and disabled, predicting the onset of seizures in epileptics, and all manner of other tasks that actually improve quality of life for people. Can't remember ever reading of a cat who could do any of those things.
The ability to use a litter box is hardly a sign of genius. ;)
Wow...I'm Really Impressed....(YAWN)
Major League Baseball has busted another middling player for steroid use. Gee, it's beginning to feel like they're trying to create the illusion of a league-wide steroid crackdown without actually cracking down on steroid use.
The policy itself, while an improvement over the old status quo of pretending there wasn't a problem and doing nothing, is a joke. A 10-game suspension? It ought to be a season-long suspension for the first offense, and lifetime ban if you're caught again.
I won't trust MLB's motives until someone high-profile is nailed, someone whose absence could hurt ticket sales. There's rumbling that something of that magnitude is coming, may happen in the next couple of weeks but I'll believe it when it actually goes down.
Who'd have imagined that one of the benefits of technology is quicker, cheaper delivery of the artistic achievements of dead white men?
Yesterday I was at Borders thumbing through the "Deathbed Edition" of Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass. The only Whitman I had in my library was in various anthologies I'd gathered during college. This despite the fact Leaves of Grass is hands-down my favorite collection of poems. It's big, audacious, full of life and humanity, soulful, and as uniquely American a work of art as jazz.
I ended up leaving the tome on the shelf because it was 14 clams, which isn't unreasonable but more than I could justify spending considering I'm already reading three books and have more on tap.
This morning, though, I bought the e-book version on Amazon for $4.95. Less than five bucks, man.
For years, my voracious appetite for reading has stood in direct conflict with my minimalist tastes in home decor. I may have a post-graduate degree in English Literature, but I hate a room lined and cluttered with dusty, old books. The best thing about e-books (other than the portability -- now I can nibble away at Leaves for a year or two if necessary) is that I don't have to find shelf space for them. Nearly 800 pages in a standard print edition, the electronic version of Leaves takes up a paltry 752K of memory. I can store a massive library of books on a postage stamp-sized SD card.
I must say, technology kicks ass.
Rating of the Sith
Slashdot is reporting that the MPAA has officially given the final Star Wars movie a PG-13 rating.
Sounds good to me.
A piece of reader feedback:
I think your to old and square to understand Bully.
To which I respond:
Thank you for you're enlightening feedback! Clearly, your a fan of Larry Clark. While I am not, its always nice too hear from someone passionate about film. Don't take my negative remarks about Bully to seriously. It was among the very first batch of films I reviewed for the site, and I was no doubt a smidge to hard on it, though I still don't like it. For the record, I doubt I'm to old too understand the film. Roger Ebert loved it, and he's a hell of a lot older than me. I'll concede the possibility I'm to square, but I did all that crap when I was a punk-ass kid, to (well, except for the stripping at gay clubs, the phone sex with middle-aged men, and the murder). Clark's exploration just rings false too me. Kids was closer too reality, though I can't say I dug that flick to much either.
More From an Ossified Old Turd
And I agree with Mitchell...about the whole Iggy Pop thing, that is. I didn't even think of that. I dig Trainspotting and everything, but the tsunami of whoring of Lust for Life it initiated is grotesque and soul-crushing. Iggy shouldn't be a huckster, and you'd think a song with lines about stripteases and hypnotizing chickens would be safe from auto manufacturers' marketing departments. Apparently not.
Speaking of The Clash...
I saw about five minutes of the VH1 Storytellers featuring Green Day the other day. Wow, that Billie Joe Armstrong really wants to be Joe Strummer, huh? He was even singing with a faux cockney accent at one point.
Apparently I'm an Ossified Old Turd
It's official. My youth is dead.
Last night while watching the Braves game, I was bludgeoned by the horror of a Coors commercial set to "Mountain Song" by Jane's Addiction. A staple of my youth is now a Coors commercial...'cause Coors is brewed in the mountains of Colorado. Get it?
To the Coors Brewing Company, I say this: rape John Denver's catalog all you want, but leave Jane's Addiction alone. I beg you.
Cash in now, honey
Those lyrics ended up being sort of prophetic, huh?
It sucks badly enough hearing The Stones or The Who used to peddle consumer goods, though they're bands of my parents' generation. It's worse hearing The Clash or Ramones because I hit adolescence when their careers were still rolling, though they'd been around a decade or so. But hearing a Jane's Addiction song in a beer commercial represents a whole new and exquisite variety of hurt. I was way ahead of the curve on that band. I've seen them play in a gymnasium, man.
I should have seen this coming, really. My wife and I went to see them live about a year-and-a-half ago, and we bailed about two-thirds of the way through the show. They'd turned into Motley Crue -- all flash and glitzy smut. Their shows used to be a free-for-all, spontaneous, semi-dangerous because you never knew what kind of weird-ass thing Perry Farrell might do, and the mosh pit could easily degenerate into a skirmish. This last show was an arena event, carefully staged and lighted. It was safe, pre-fab, innocuous rebellion, wrapped in a shiny bow...for the kids...'cause they like to purchase corporate-sponsored anarchy with their parents' hard-earned dough. I felt like I was watching a special presentation by MTV.
If Black Flag or The Butthole Surfers show up in a television ad, I'm going to slit my wrists. I'm not kidding.
After the opening-day beatings dished out by the Yankees to Boston, and the Cubs to Arizona, the Braves found themselves on the receiving end during their opener, losing 9-0 to the Marlins, who scored 5 of their runs in the bottom on the first inning.
Most disturbing is the fact that future Hall of Famer John Smoltz was the Braves' starting pitcher, making the transition from closer back into the rotation. Man, it was painful to watch. It'd be foolish to make judgments about a 162-game season based on a single game, but this feels like a bad omen.
Seduced by the Dark Side
I broke down and paid five bucks to download the Microsoft Reader version of Revenge of the Sith: The Illustrated Screenplay to my iPaq. A supreme act of movie geekiness, I know. I read it last night, but I'll spare you any spoilerific information.
I will say this: there are about four or five scenes that, taken together, lead me to believe this officially published screenplay purposely omits a major revelation. I'm talking about a Vader is Luke's father-sized surprise. Each of the scenes in question points to a twist of plot that would completely alter one's perspective on some of the most annoying conceptual stuff from the first two prequels (let's just say it involves midichlorians), as well as clarifying some character motivation in the late stages of the Holy Trilogy. But the revelation itself is conspicuously absent. The screenplay leads you to the threshold, then slams the door shut on you.
I'm extremely curious now to see the finished film, to see if I'm correct.
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