Clint Eastwood, what have you done?!

Herewith begins the alexwayne.com campaign to derail the Oscar hopes of "Million Dollar Baby." Join with me; spread the gospel. This is a movie that sucks ass.

Clint baby, I love you to death. "High Plains Drifter;" one of my favorites. Everything with The Man With No Name; genre-defining. "Unforgiven;" deserved everything it got. I even love "Dirty Harry" and its sequels, and "In the Line of Fire" and "A Perfect World." But to tell you the truth, I haven't seen much of your work since, and maybe with good reason. This latest thing is just terrible.

Let's start with the title. Awful. It's got no ring, man. I wince to say it. And what's it mean? Is it describing the combination of Hillary Swank's medical bills and physical condition by the end of the flick? (Oh, by the way, if you haven't seen the movie, I'm going to spoil the whole goddamn thing for you. Consider it a public service; I'll save you a few bucks.)

Next, the characters. Every goddamn one of them a cliche. Grizzled old-school trainer. Washed-up almost-champ sidekick (Morgan Freeman, basically reprising his role from the far, far superior "Shawshank Redemption" -- complete with Morgan Freeman narration, for Christ's sake). Hopeful hick-chick boxer with a family that came out of central casting's definition of "white trash." Trailer park? Check. Tatoos? Check. Welfare mother? Check. No redeeming virtues whatsoever? Check.

Then the dialogue. Swank's character has this habit of calling Eastwood's character "boss." Didn't bother me until we got to this line: "They took my leg, boss." I think I wasn't supposed to laugh.

The plot, in short (and trust me, short is all you want): Eastwood loses his stud boxer to a rival manager. Swank pleads and pleads -- in her stupid, totally affected "southern" accent -- and proves herself to be a really, really hard worker and finally convinces Eastwood to train her. She of course turns out to be an awesome boxer -- knocks everybody out in the first round. Then she fights the Russian champ -- er, sorry, the German champ -- who kills her former-rival-turned-best-friend -- wait, I'm mixing up my boxing movies again -- who sucker-punches her and breaks her neck. Yeah, it's cheery. We spend the rest of the movie, some 45 of the most excruciating minutes of my life, watching Swank play a quadriplegic, plead with Eastwood to kill her, smoke out her straight-out-of-central-casting family's attempt to rip her off, and finally bite her own tongue off. No joke. Mercifully, Eastwood eventually kills her and puts an end to things.

Lots of people seem to think that this is some kind of great movie. Sports Illustrated called it the best boxing movie ever. Sure, if you hate boxing. And all of a sudden it's eclipsing "Sideways," a movie that I enjoyed but didn't really think was worth a Best Picture Oscar -- until I realized that this clunker is its opposition.

So take to the streets, loyal alexwayne.com readers, lest we suffer yet another "Forrest Gump."

Impulse-Buy Sunday!

So I bought an iPod today.

I've named it Jenna, after the porn star, because just looking at it, just handling it -- no, caressing it -- no, her -- makes me want to make sweet love to it. Her.

It's been said a thousand times over that Apple committed a masterstroke of design with this thing. But seriously: no machine that I've ever encountered in my life has so ... aroused me as the iPod. The perfection of its weight and size, the off-white plastic on polished aluminum and most of all, the intoxicating clickwheel. Oh man. It can't charge fast enough.

By the way: I'm no investment expert, but I'd suggest Apple stock at any price. I'm a PC guy, always have been. The iPod might convert me.

It's all in how you sell it

People who've been on them tell me they're fun, but I've never really seen the appeal of a cruise.

For one, I don't much like being around lots and lots of other tourists -- they tend to remind me how disgustingly fat this country has become. Nor do I like the idea of sleeping in a windowless room beneath the surface of the ocean, the only way the things approach affordability. Nor does it seem like a lot of fun to ride around for a week on what, in essence, is a floating monopoly, where you get screwed on everything but the free food -- and so all the fat tourists feel compelled to gorge themselves as often as possible.

So I think cruise lines should bill Norwalk virus as an amenity.

Are you a disgustingly fat American? Do you want to lounge around in the sun, ignore our gym, stuff yourself with free food, drink as much of our overpriced booze as you can suck down and do it all worry-free? Well you can! Because on the good ship Petri Dish, the passengers you can't see will have you puking and shitting out all those excess pounds inside a week!

Bon voyage!

Not that I own any, of course...

... but does this mean I can wear assless leather pants to the next presidential news conference?

Sarcasm is not beneath the U.S. Congress

Rep. Jerrold Nadler, D-N.Y., weighs in on the SpongeBob SquarePants controversy.

On snow and football

For my money, there's not much better than watching football played in snow -- except playing football in snow.

Washington just got socked with a little winter storm, leaving us with a six to eight inch blanket that makes things a bit inconvenient but is otherwise a delight. I got up at 9 this morning -- a rare, rare happenstance for a Saturday -- and played some four-on-four football as the snow started to fall. Sure, I jammed my thumb a bit, and yeah, I'm going to pay for the experience in muscle pain for the next week. But there's no activity I can think of suitable for a family-friendly blog (meaning my family, who have apparently started reading this) that's more invigorating.

Mom says I'm crazy. She just wishes she wasn't living in sunny, 64-degree Florida.

An explanation

My blogging has been slack of late. There are two reasons. One is that I haven't felt very creative (my banjo is also feeling neglected). The other is that one of the subjects on my beat at CQ is Social Security, which you may have noticed is something of an issue right now. So I'm a little busy. I'd apologize, except that you people don't pay the rent.

"Republicans have a big tent; why can't we?"

Today's lesson: Why covering politics is fun.

I've barely a notion of who Tim Roemer is, and I could care less who wins chairman of the DNC, but I do find the story within a story here interesting. In short, the Democratic establishment is having fits over the idea that the DNC chair might go to a guy who's anti-abortion. (Never mind that Senate Minority Leader Harry Reid, D-Nev., identifies himself as opposed to abortion and has the voting record to prove it.) You think the Republicans would let an internal fight like this go public? You think the GOP just might concern itself more with finding a party chairman who could, I don't know, win an election or two?

Don't gas, don't tell

So this is what Don Rumsfeld means when he says he wants to transform the military. I don't think Jerry Falwell would approve. My question: if enemy combatants are turned gay, can they get married at Guantanamo?

Why this site is nothing but pointless nonsense

Interesting piece on reporters who blog. Ed Cone and Instapundit make the point that I ought to be able to, say, criticize the president's proposal for Social Security here, then turn around and cover said proposal for CQ.

I disagree.

Funny business, journalism. No profession, I'd offer, places more explicit and implicit restraints on one's personal life. Government employees have more freedom to engage in democracy than me. I can't contribute money to or volunteer for candidates, political parties or causes. While any of my friends and family are well aware of my political beliefs, I wouldn't dare write about them here, even though blogs aren't something explicitly covered in CQ's employee guidelines. One of my good friends, a reporter for the AP, won't even talk politics privately; to this day I don't know whether he voted for Bush or Kerry. The executive editor of the Washington Post says he doesn't vote at all.

I suppose Cone and Reynolds would say we're disengenuous. I say we in the news writing business -- this doesn't apply to Paul Krugman -- owe our sources the presumption, at least, that they're going to get an open mind when they talk to us and a fair shake when we write about them.

Anyway, if it seems like I've gone a stretch without posting anything new -- like earlier this week -- it's because I'm wrestling with these weighty issues, wondering if I've crossed some ethical line simply by joking publicly about supermodels and tsunami.

Okay, not really. It's probably because I'm too hungover or too tired. But occasionally I do think.

Update: Another journalist, Mark Binker, has more ruminations on the subject here. He's also got a link to something about sleepless Russian bears, for you non-journalists who could give a shit about our angst.

I'm quite familiar with 'the trailer park'

Sound advice here for the gents who, like me, worry about the long-term health effects of spooning.

The alexwayne.com music review, vol. 1

Another soon to be occasional feature. Our subject today: "Contraband," by Velvet Revolver.

First, some background. Velvet Revolver = (All of the former members of Guns 'n Roses) - (Axl Rose) + (Scott Weiland, formerly of Stone Temple Pilots). This is their first and -- given Weiland's well documented and apparently complete inability to resist the sweet siren song of smack --probably final album.

I'd grade this album in comparison to Guns 'n Roses "Appetite for Destruction" even without the ties to the band, simply because it's a Rock album and Appetite is the most rockingest Rock album ever. This latter contention is not subject to debate, alexwayne.com readers.

So, how does it grade? On a scale of one to 10, where one is Boston's "Boston" and 10 is Appetite, this ranks about 6.5.

I had high hopes for this album, based on the band's lineage and the first single, "Slither," which sounds -- as the whole album should -- like it was written after Slash had gotten drunk, banged a couple groupies, sacrificed a goat to his and Duff McKagan's guitars and then dragged Weiland straight out of the methadone clinic. So it's a major disappointment that I can't score the entire album higher on the Appetite scale.

For one, I'm pissed that the album comes with some stupid copy-protection mechanism that prevents it from being ripped to the mp3 player or music-stealing service of your choice.

But the bigger problem, I figure, is that they let Weiland write a few songs. So we wind up with diddies like "Fall to Pieces," which features the lyrics:

It's been a long year / since you've been gone ... I keep a journal of memories / I'm feeling lonely, I can't breathe / I fall to pieces, I'm falling

Listen up, Weiland: Nobody from Guns 'n Roses keeps a goddamn journal; they aren't ever lonely; they don't fall to pieces over anything -- especially chicks; and even if they did, they wouldn't write a song about it; and even if I concede they might write a song about falling to pieces over a chick, they sure as hell wouldn't sing it in public.

I remind my readers that Axl's idea of a ballad was "Rocket Queen," featuring the lyrics:

I got a tongue like a razor / a sweet switchblade knife / and I can do you favors / but then you'll do whatever I like

So the bottom line is that Velvet Revolver just reminds me that goddamn, Guns 'n Roses was a Rock Band and I totally miss 'em. No kidding -- I'm putting Appetite on the stereo right now.

We now return you to unopinionated nonsense

From a site called Muskrat News, with which I wasn't familiar until a friend sent me this. The bold part was written by Mr. Branigan, the rest not so much. And just for the record, this is not intended as my personal commentary on the administration or Mr. Gonzales. I bet he'd even find it funny.

By William Branigin
Washington Post Staff Writer
Thursday, January 6, 2005; 12:42 PM
President Bush's nominee to head the Justice Department in his second term, White House counsel Alberto R. Gonzales, pledged today to preserve civil liberties as the nation wages war on terrorism and vowed to aggressively pursue those responsible for the abuse of U.S.-held prisoners.
Appearing before the Senate Judiciary Committee for his confirmation hearing, Gonzales also said he does not view the Geneva Conventions as either "obsolete" or "quaint" -- words that appear in a 2002 memo he wrote to Bush referring to some of the convention's provisions. He condemned the abusive and degrading treatment of prisoners held by U.S. forces at Abu Ghraib prison west of Baghdad, saying photos of the abuse had "sickened and outraged" him. And he vowed that he "will not tolerate torture" of detainees by U.S. captors.

Gonzalez’s initial answers were somewhat muffled, as his head was encased in wet towels, onto which water was dripped between questions to simulate drowning, in a process known as “waterboarding.” However, the Senate panel soon moved onto other forms of question-asking, by subjecting Gonzalez to repeated electrical shocks and, at one point, inserting lit cigarettes into his ear.

Some Republicans on the panel objected to the mock executions that Patrick Leahy (D-VT) subjected Gonzalez to, with Sen. John Cornyn (R-Tex) suggesting that it would be sufficient to simply slap the nominee and keep him awake for long periods under blinding light and repulsive music.

When White House Spokesman Scott McClellan complained that the Senate interrogation was “tantamount to torture,” Senator Arlen Specter noted that Gonzalez had declined to state that such practices were illegal when used against detainees at Abu Ghraib and Guantanamo, so “We have to assume they remain available to us.”

Outside observers agreed on the need for “moderate physical pressure” when interrogating Bush Administration detainees, noting that the White House was a notoriously secretive organization whose operatives were trained to resist questioning. “Besides,” said one Freedom of Information Advocate, “It’s so rare than one falls into our hands – we really have to exploit such prisoners for all they’re worth, if we’re going to prevent more acts of terror directed against the Constitution and other norms of civilized behavior.”

The UN appeared to agree, noting that the Gonzalez had justified excluding al-Qaeda from the protections of the Geneva convention by calling them “an enemy that does not wear a uniform, owes no allegiance to any country, is not a party to any treaties and -- most importantly -- does not fight according to the laws of war.” The official noted that Gonzalez himself did not wear a uniform, appeared to be loyal to Mr. Bush rather than the laws of the United States, did not consider the U.S bound by Treaties, and was willing to condone fighting methods that were outside the laws of war.

Asked if it intended to investigate the abuse of Gonzalez, the International Red Cross was silent for five whole minutes as it slowly buffed its fingernails. It finally said “We’ll strongly consider looking into it some day.”

Jayson Blair's a saint...

... compared to this asshole.

I'm going to wax serious for a moment here. Journalism, as a profession, is getting more and more fucked up by the day. Thanks to Mr. Williams, I can't blame anyone for wondering, whenever they read a news story or op-ed favorable to the government, if the writer was bought off. It's no longer unimaginable. And I don't blame the administration -- Clinton's people are probably kicking themselves for not thinking of it. Or perhaps they just didn't get found out. Anything's possible now.

This is way more damaging to my line of work than jerks like Blair and USA Today's Jack Kelley making shit up. In fact, I don't think it's hyperbole at all to argue that this incident extends beyond journalism; it's damaging to the very republic. When reporters aren't even publishing fiction independent of the government, well, we're truly screwed.

I need more drinks than usual.

Whoring myself out, or at least my little corner of the Internet

One of the subjects involved in this dispute asked the woman I'm dating to ask me to link to his band's Web site.

I'll do better. I'll plug 'em.

The band is called No Second Troy (don't ask me). I know the fuzzy drummer dude in the very back of the picture. Shame he's so out of focus, because, ladies, I'm secure enough in my incredible heterosexuality to tell you that he's the best looking dude in the band. I'd totally do him, if I weren't so incredibly heterosexual.

Anyway, they've got this kind of cool gig coming up: on Feb. 5 they're playing at some kind of Battle of the Bands thing where the winner gets to perform in the SXSW (South by Southwest, for the tragically unhip) festival in Austin, Texas. Well, maybe not exactly in it, but at least during it. Or something.

So if you're one of my two or so readers who live in the D.C. sprawlopolis instead of Greensboro, N.C., come out to Continental in Arlington (never been there; dunno if it sucks) and get drunk and yell louder than the other bans' fans. I can't say the Troys rock in, like, a Guns 'n Roses sense, but they're a good, fun band that plays music chicks like to dance to, and I dig that.

I'll be there whether I like it or not as the woman I'm dating is a wannabe groupie for the band. Wannabe, as in she's not a groupie in the Biblical sense of the term. To my knowledge. That would be so hot. Speaking of, hopefully I won't like any of their competition better than them, or all the goodwill and special attention that I'm expecting from certain parties thanks to this post is probably out the window.

EXCLUSIVE -- must credit alexwayne.com

Sources at ABC, speaking on condition of imagination, tell alexwayne.com that next year's college football national championship halftime extravaganza will feature Ashlee Simpson and Jamie Lynn Spears in a duet performance of the entire Thriller album.

Viewers can expect plenty of random shouting and pelvic thrusting coupled with a disconcerting feeling that these chicks really ought to be more attractive and hey, why can't they just hire their much hotter older sisters to like, make out on stage?

Insolence

The woman I'm dating is better looking than me, smarter than me, funnier than me and makes more money than me. None of this will surprise anyone who knows me.

However, she's starting to think she knows football better than me. And this cannot -- I say cannot -- stand.

Either Friday night or Sunday afternoon, something like the following conversation occurred. There may have been someone else involved. The circumstances of the weekend make details a wee hazy.

Woman I'm Dating (who is a Steelers fan): And just think, if Pittsburg hadn't lost two other quarterbacks to injury, Roethligsberger would never have had a chance!
Me, or a Buddy: One quarterback.
WID: ??
M,oaB: Yeah, Pittsburg only lost one quarterback. Maddox.
WID: Are you sure?
Me, or us: Oh yeah. Now go back to looking pretty and fetching me or us drinks.

Days pass. Then this email exchange:

-----Original Message-----
From: xxxxx
Sent: Tuesday, January 04, 2005 2:06 PM
To: Alex Wayne
Subject: a-ha!

see, i was right that roethlisberger got his starting job after TWO guys went down with injuries. boys never believe the girl when it comes to sports...

< http://www.post-gazette.com/pg/04226/361183.stm

< http://www.sportsline.com/nfl/story/7571788

-----Original Message-----
From: Alex Wayne
Sent: Tue Jan 04 14:08:26 2005
To: xxxxx
Subject: RE: a-ha!

you've been spending all week looking for this, haven't you?

-----Original Message-----
From: xxxxx
To: Alex Wayne
Sent: 1/4/2005 2:16 PM
Subject: RE: a-ha!

Well, not all week, but possibly all morning.

Isn't that adorable. Apropos of nothing, would it be rude to dump a girl by blog?

Do I hear one BILLION dollars?

The tsunami aid auction goes on. Some Euroweenie suggests that it's all somehow unseemly:

The fresh outpouring of generosity appeared at times to be almost like a bidding war and raised questions about whether rich nations were using tragedy to jockey for influence on the world stage and with hardest-hit Indonesia, which has a wealth of natural resources.

Louis Michel, the European Commissioner for development and humanitarian aid, urged donors not to engage in one-upsmanship. "We have to be careful and not participate in a beauty contest where we are competing to give higher figures," he said.

But U.N. humanitarian chief Jan Egeland, the man who riled Washington by complaining that wealthy nations were often "stingy," said Tuesday: "I'd rather see competitive compassion than no compassion."

Michel also said too many countries were making pledges that may not be honored.

A little over a year ago, donors promised Iran more than $1 billion in relief after an earthquake killed 26,000 people there. Iranian officials say only $17.5 million has been sent.

Your school sucks. Unless it's Harvard

When your sports teams decide to take a dive one year, I guess the nerds might as well take over:

With BC-SOU--Merit Scholars-List

GAINESVILLE, Fla. (AP) - The University of Florida has more National Merit Scholars than any other public university in the nation and is second only to Harvard University among all universities, according to the not-for-profit group awarding the scholarship.

Florida also is the top-ranking public institution in recruiting National Achievement Scholars, a program recognizing high-scoring minority students, and is fourth among all universities.

In the 2004-2005 school year, the state's flagship public university recruited 259 National Merit Scholars, while Harvard's freshman class included 312. They scored in the top one-half percent of the seniors in their state on a qualifying exam.

Florida's No. 2 overall ranking improved from fourth in 2003.

Forty minority students recognized as National Achievement Scholars attended Florida last fall, compared to Harvard with 85, Yale University with 61 and Stanford University with 57.

Joe Glover, interim provost and senior vice president for academic affairs, credited the recruiting success to the school's academic environment, faculty and student body.

Alex Wayne, former marginal journalism student, credited the wealth of bars and chicks -- even the ones who would never give a National Merit Scholar the time of day. And believe you me, that was most of them.

(Courtesy MGB)

Yeah, well, I've got news for you, Ms. Bullock

Think you're better than me, huh? Well, Demolition Man sucked. So take that.

Okay, not really. It kicked ass. But that was because of Sly Stallone and Wesley "Always bet on black" Snipes. And I didn't even watch Speed 2. So there.

I'll see your $350 million...

And raise you $150.

Sure, that U.N. guy who criticized developed nations -- meaning the U.S. -- for not initially giving a blank check to the tsunami countries was sort of an ass. But he was also sort of right. And his criticism seems to have sparked some kind of relief bidding war. This is good, I suppose, but also strikes me as somehow unseemly. Or perhaps it's just in the way the media is reporting it ("Japan tops U.S. tsunami aid pledge.")

Mark Binker points out that the value of the aid that really only the good 'ol U.S. of A. is capable of providing -- like parking an aircraft carrier full of food and helicopters off the coast of your wrecked third-world nation -- is pretty much incalculable. (Or at least "not quickly calculated," as I've seen the caveat described by some reporters.)

The details of my New Year's Eve are quite inconsequential.

My drunkenhood was typical; wine and vodka with Indian food, gin and tonic. In the evening we had tequila shots. When I was insolent I was put to bed by myself and forgot where to pee; pretty standard, really. At the dawn of Jan. 1 I received my first headache. At 7 p.m. I left the house for the first time to ritualistically eat Mexican food. There really is nothing like a crab-and-shrimp enchilada on a crushing hangover; it's breathtaking. I suggest you try it.

(Apologies to Mike Myers.)