alex wayne

RIP, Lucky

2010-05-16T12:10:00.002-04:00

We called her Lucky because of the way she came to us. One day about 13 years ago, my mom's assistant was driving someplace when the very evil person in the car in front of her flung a bag out the window. The bag moved. The assistant hit her brakes, collected the bag, and found a puppy inside. Lucky.

We debated what to do with her for a week or so, while she lived at my mom's office, but it was pretty clear Lucky was going to be my parents' dog.

She was one of the ugliest dogs I've ever seen. My friends joked that she was a tauntaun, from Empire Strikes Back. We often called her Poopie Dog, for some reason. Maybe because of the farts she'd let slip while laying next to us. But she was beautiful.

Lucky loved to chase squirrels (and a few times, when she was young and spry and really lucky, to catch and eat them), go for long run-walks, and eat human food. Roast beef drove her crazy. One Christmas dinner, while the family all had our backs turned, Lucky managed to leap up on the dining room table and suck down almost half of a big plate of prime rib, all in a matter of seconds and without making a sound. One minute there was leftover prime rib. The next there was an empty plate, and a very content and sleepy dog.

She was clever. Dad had to repeatedly re-design latches on doors in the house before he finally figured out a mechanism that Lucky couldn't open, to keep her out of the cats' litter boxes and the bedrooms. She was too smart for fetch -- it bored her quickly. Her absolute favorite game was tug-of-war, I think because she sometimes won. She and I would play tug-of-war for 10 or 15 minutes at a stretch. Sometimes she would grip the rope so tightly I could lift her off the floor by her jaws.

Though she lived with my parents in Florida, I always thought of her as my dog -- the only one I ever had. The last time I saw her was Christmas of 2009, when she was slow to get up but still game for a couple minutes of tug-of-war. Until the end, we all thought her problems were just arthritis, not a tumor.

I'm told she died peacefully in her sleep and was in no pain. We should all be so lucky.

The endorsement: "District 9"

2009-08-28T00:39:00.004-04:00

Best sci-fi movie I've seen since ... uh, well, Wall-E. Still, this flick has everything: humor, heart, and most importantly, brutal and disgusting gore and violence. Makes Watchmen look like The Sound of Music.

The girlfriend didn't like it much.

By the way: You know who needs a cute alien boy who saves the day, Will Leitch, you heartless douchebag?

THIS GUY.

P.S. -- So it's been a while. Explanation, offered with no apology: I keep friends and aquaintances more up-to-date via Facebook these days.

The alexwayne.com review: Watchmen

2009-03-08T22:46:00.002-04:00

Apparently, Watchmen did about $55 million in business this weekend, good enough for first place but not really spectacular or anything. This doesn't surprise me. Most of that money must have been made Friday and Saturday, because at my 5 p.m. Sunday showing, the theater was better than half empty. And at least ten seats were taken up by some teenage girls who giggled throughout the movie. I strongly suspect they had not read the graphic novel.

I have, which gives me a certain perspective on the movie. I thought it was very good, not excellent. As I suspected would happen, some of the dialogue that seemed cool in the comic book didn't translate so well to the big screen. Parts of the movie seemed a little hokey. And the soundtrack was just terrible. At times, it was as if the director had chosen songs in order to deliberately make already, uh, delicate scenes seem even more hokey. Example: An impotent character finally manages to have sex with the female lead. Musical accompaniment: Some kind of Marilyn Manson-ish remake of "Hallelujah." Seriously. Bottom-level creativity there.

Anyhow, I wonder what folks who hadn't read the comic thought about the movie. About midway through, one of the major characters disappears from Earth, reappears on Mars, and proceeds to build this giant glass clock/spaceship thing and float around for a while, pontificating on the nature of man. It was a bit disconcerting even to a fan of the comic. I suspect that stuff like that contributed to the non-spectacular gross.

There's been a lot of debate about the ending of the movie, which is completely different in practice (though not in effect) from the book. But here's the dirty little secret of Watchmen: The book's ending is kind of stupid. I didn't love the ending of the movie, either, but it does make a certain kind of sense that the book didn't.

There was one pretty tremendous acting performance that deserves mention: Jackie Earle Haley as Rorschach. Far and away the best performance of the movie -- although he admittedly has the meatiest role. (Jeffrey Dean Morgan did a great job as The Comedian, too.) Nobody in film today plays a creep as well as Haley -- if you've seen Little Children, you know what I mean. He has a curious bio on IMDB -- from 1993 until 2006, he apparently did not work in film. Nobody ever said Hollywood is smart.

(Speaking of: the Oscars this year were a complete fucking farce, aside from Heath Ledger winning Best Supporting Actor. And since it's been like forever since the Academy Awards and I'm late to this conversation, I'll leave it at that.)

Anyway, I cautiously recommend Watchmen. Be aware that it's not a typical superhero movie and also that it is, like, hyper-violent. Some of the gore even took me aback, and I'm not easily taken aback. And if you haven't read and enjoyed the comic, I think there's a pretty good chance you won't like the movie.

Is that still a recommendation? Eh, go see it.

Been a while, eh?

2009-02-07T17:10:00.002-05:00

Some things that have happened since last we spoke:

1. My alma mater won another football championship. We rule. However, I sympathize with people who say that Utah, or USC, or even Texas (a far weaker argument) ought to be recognized as the "real" national champions. Florida is merely the BCS champion. Which is still more than the Utes can say, so suck it.

2. Charlie LeDuff wrote the best piece of journalism I've read so far this year. LeDuff is an interesting story. He won a Pulitzer at the New York Times for writing this. Then he left the paper, under kind of myterious circumstances, and landed at the Detroit News. I like to think that he figured a city as awful as Detroit can't help but be full of great stories.

3. We got a new president. I was on the Mall for the inauguration (working, I'm afraid). It was crowded and very cold. And to those folks who say there shouldn't be money in this "economic stimulus" bill to fix up the National Mall, I say, have you seen the place lately? It looks like a bomb went off. Is that what you want the nation's premier national park to look like?

What an idiot.

2008-12-14T21:07:00.002-05:00

I don't know who this Charles Blow moron is, but this is the most facile thing I've read this weekend.

Unless it results in unsafe sex (and Blow concedes from the outset that "hooking up" doesn't), who gives a shit about youth social relationships, beyond a puerile or academic interest? Of all the things I worry about today, the "demise of dating" doesn't even make the fucking list. I'm ashamed that the Times gave him space to write.

Although they did manage to get me ranting about it, so I suppose that might count as a successful op-ed...

Also: Unless they've been living in a closet the last twenty years, anyone under the age of 45 -- not 30 -- probably knows all about "hooking up." Your correspondent most certainly included.

For of such is the kingdom of heaven...

2008-12-09T23:27:00.002-05:00

A pair of my friends attend a lovely church in Greensboro, N.C. that recently made the front page of the paper there. (My former employer.)

The church runs a program in which it fills backpacks full of food, and every Friday, hands them out to poor children in some of the schools in the city. The idea is that the kids get free food for themselves and their families, and because it's in a backpack and is discretely distributed, the kids aren't stygmatized for accepting charity.

It boggles my mind that people in this country actually still go hungry. No one in the richest country in the world should ever want for food, no more than they should want for air.

I am not a religious man. Or even a faithful man, sadly.

But stories like this one make me appreciate and envy those friends and loved ones of mine who are. Most are Christians. They are not the sort of Christians who try to tell the rest of the world what to do, and who to do it with; they wouldn't be my friends if they were. They are, rather, the sort of Christians who are unswervingly kind and generous and understanding.

God bless them, if there's a God to be handing out blessings. And give some money to your local food bank this season, if you can spare it.

Our financial crisis could be way worse.

2008-11-17T23:27:00.003-05:00

We could be seeing riots in the streets over rampant pyramid schemes gone bad. Awesome.

Remember when I said I love Somali pirates? (By the way, those badasses stole a fucking 1,080 foot Saudi Arabian supertanker the other day.) I love Columbia for similar reasons.

Back to normal nonsense

2008-11-12T20:18:00.002-05:00

Apologies for the boring inside-baseball aside, below.

So I came down with kind of a nasty cold this week. Thanks to Google's cool new tool, I know I'm not alone in DC -- apparently there's some kind of bug running around the city that's nasty enough to cause lots of people to Google "flu symptoms," or the like.

New York Times has a good story explaining how it works.

See, there's this guy Jeff Jarvis, and he's kind of an asshole...

2008-11-12T12:29:00.004-05:00

Most people I know probably don't care much about the future of journalism as an industry, and I don't blame them; there will always be news, from somewhere, produced by someone, so from the point of view of a consumer, who cares who the someone is?

But those of us who work in the industry kind of obsess over crap like this:

I have heard about this dude Jeff Jarvis for a while, without really paying close attention to what he actually says. He is one of a growing body of "new journalists" who say, generally, that print is dead (probably true) and that all the old ways of doing journalism are defunct (not so sure about that).

People like Jarvis promote things like "citizen journalism," which basically involves news organizations recruiting people off the street to report for them. (For free, of course.) An easy example is CNN's "iReporter" thing, where they encourage viewers to send them video of car crashes or fires or whatever disaster happens to be going on in the neighborhood.

That's fine, as far as it goes. But it's no replacement for professional journalism.

Anyhow, I've long had an uneasy feeling about Jarvis and his acolytes. I wasn't sure why; it just seemed to me, a working journalist, that this dude Jarvis, a former journalist turned consultant, was more talking down to the industry than working with it. While he seemed to know what was wrong with journalism (people don't read papers anymore, duh), he didn't seem to know so much how to fix it, or what was still right with the profession.

"Citizen journalism" ain't the answer, put it that way. It ain't even part of the answer, best I can tell.

Ron Rosenbaum puts my uneasiness into sharp focus in this Slate piece.

My favorite part is this little bitch-slap:

It makes you wonder whether Jarvis has actually done any, you know, reporting. Particularly when he tells you that in doing his book on the total wonderfulness of Google, he decided it would be better not to speak to anyone who works at Google, that instead he's written about the idea of Google, as he construes it, rather than finding out how they—the actual Google people—construe it. What he's done, Jarvis claims, is to "reverse-engineer" the reality of Google. This means deducing how Google got to be what it is and do what it does by conjecturing about its effects from the outside.
Allow me to make a conjecture: Did Jarvis sound out Google informally and get rebuffed, prompting him to "decide" he wouldn't talk to them "on principle"? Of course, I could ask Jarvis about this, but that would be mere "reporting"; it's more fun to "reverse-engineer" his decision.

Jarvis has responded on his blog. And in the first paragraph, his response really crystallizes, for me, everything unlikeable about the man:

I am the honoree of an attempted hatchet job by Ron Rosenbaum in - what’s the name of that site? Salon? no, Slate (I always get them confused).

This crap is straight from The Politicians' Guide to Responding to Criticism.

Step 1: Adopt a haughty, better-than-thou attitude ("I am the honoree...")
Step 2: Dismiss the criticism as a personal attack, or "hatchet job."
Step 2: Denigrate the critic, in this case by pretending you don't know what publication he's from.

What an asshole.

P.S.:

Here's what's wrong with journalism today, in my view. Back in the early 90s, the geniuses who run most of the nation's newspapers -- still the primary source for most of your news, no matter where you think you're getting it -- made the fateful decision to give away everything they produce for free on the Internet.

Now, the entire public is conditioned to getting its news for free. And surprise, surprise, it turns out that giving away everything you produce for free isn't a very viable business model.

Here's my suggested solution: Every newspaper in the land should start charging one cent to read each article it publishes online, or perhaps even just a fraction of a cent. Condition people to understand, like they used to, that news isn't free; it's a product like anything else, and you've got to pay for it if you want it.

Otherwise, good luck with your "citizen journalism."

Update: This guy Simon Owens sent me a nice e-mail the other day with the subject line, "Alex, a news tip for your blog." I am sucker for any kind of tip, news or not. Anyhow, Simon has ripped Jarvis at his own blog and also sends along the work of a colleague, who wrote about something called "crowdfunding" for journalism.

I don't know about this "crowdfunding" stuff as a business model for an entire industry, but I do think that there's a strong possibility all the best journalism in the country will be produced by nonprofits in the near future.

Also: very cool that people other than my mom and sister occasionally read my blog. Not that I don't appreciate my most loyal readers, but still. Thanks, Simon.

My piece of history

2008-11-05T01:09:00.005-05:00

I'll try to keep this as apolitical as possible.

So I'm in a bar called Lucky Strike tonight, watching the election returns. It's an upscale bowling alley/bar in Washington's Chinatown neighborhood, which is less China and more The Gap.

When I get there at seven p.m., it's a racially mixed crowd. The returns start rolling in. Every time Obama wins a state, there's applause. So clearly, there's a partisan bent to the place, as you would expect in Washington DC.

When CNN calls Ohio for Obama, there's loud applause.

When CNN calls Virginia for Obama, there's crazy applause.

I look around. Most of the white people have left. The bar crowd is 80 percent black.

I remark to my one of my friends: "I doubt these people have ever cared very much about election returns."

It's a generalization and maybe an unfair one. I don't know.

Shortly after Virginia is called, the polls close on the west coast. CNN calls the presidential election for Obama.

The place goes nuts. There is applause, screaming, an impromptu chant of "yes we can."

A friend of mine goes to the bathroom. He comes back and reports that two grown black men are in the men's room, crying over Obama's election. Crying.

As historic as this moment is, I wonder if something has gone under-noticed here. This is huge for black America. Probably bigger than the media has realized; certainly bigger than I realized.

I walk home from the bar, across the city, up the National Mall and past the Capitol. The Capitol is lit up and is as beautiful as ever. The Mall is quiet. But all around me, in the city, car horns are honking, people are cheering, and the city is alive; it is electric.

It is an amazing feeling.

Addendum: For what it's worth, I thought John McCain delivered one of the most gracious and touching concession speeches I've ever heard last night.

Addendum two: I deleted a piece of information from this post; someone I love and trust thought it might get me into trouble. I disagreed, but removed it anyway. Better safe than sorry, I suppose.

Avast, ye scurvy dogs!

2008-10-31T20:00:00.002-04:00

I've come to a conclusion. The reason the world isn't doing anything about the rampant piracy off the coast of Somalia is because pirates are awesome, as this New York Times article clearly agrees.

Every time a seized ship tosses its anchor, it means a pirate shopping spree. Sheep, goats, water, fuel, rice, spaghetti, milk and cigarettes — the pirates buy all of this, in large quantities, from small towns up and down the Somali coast. Somalia’s seafaring thieves are not like the Barbary pirates, who terrorized European coastal towns hundreds of years ago and often turned their hostages into galley slaves chained to the oars. Somali pirates are known as relatively decent hosts, usually not beating their hostages and keeping them well-fed until payday comes.
“They are normal people,” said Mr. Said. “Just very, very rich.”

I can't get enough stories about Somali pirates. (Aside: What idiot sends a freighter full of fucking TANKS through Somali waters without arming the crew?)

Don't ever change, Somalia. I mean, except for all the starving people. That's not cool -- you should change that.

The perils of reporting from Congo...

2008-10-29T20:38:00.002-04:00

The New York Times' man in Congo seems to have been carjacked by Congolese soldiers.

Several residents said that vanquished Congolese soldiers were looting shops on their way out of town. A band of fleeing soldiers commandeered a car that had been rented by a team of Western journalists and threatened the journalists at gunpoint to drive them west, away from the rebels. At one Goma hotel, the manager demanded payment for the room up front.

I SO should've been a foreign correspondent.

I agree wholeheartedly

2008-10-22T21:22:00.003-04:00

... with this story. This dude Swansburg is my kind of curmudgeon.

Let's take it a step further, though. Let's outlaw all restaurant outings among groups of ten people or more who are unrelated, except under the following circumstances:

The dinner is held at a restaurant that utilizes paper napkins; and/or
said restaurant sells beer in cans; and/or
said restaurant has a jukebox; and/or
a mechanical bull; and/or
something other than a fork or chopsticks is used to eat food (i.e.; hands, wooden mallets, shovels).

As a corollary, by the way: If you know of a restaurant that features all of those amenities, you should never go there in a group of less than 10.

C'mon, congressional Democrats -- let's making banning awkward and expensive dinners part of the "Nine for '09 Agenda."

My annual observations on the State of Las Vegas

2008-10-18T12:08:00.005-04:00

The state of Las Vegas is strong, my friends.

It's 8 a.m. at Treasure Island, and we did not get up early.

Maybe it was just me and the booze, or maybe fat people just can't fit on planes anymore, or maybe America's actually wising up a bit about its disgusting obesity. Regardless, it was a pretty good-looking crowd in Vegas this year. (VERY good looking, in a few notable circumstances.) Setting aside the degenerate gamblers and assorted desert trash chain-smoking at the slot machines, of course.

Also, it turns out there is an upside to the rotten economy: cheap(er) blackjack tables. All kinds of $10 blackjack tables around, especially at Planet Hollywood (my favorite gambling joint, for the time being).

I was dismayed to see that auto-shufflers have launched a new offensive on the city, however. Please, if you see anything like one of these horrid things crouching on your blackjack table:

Just turn and walk away. Or if you MUST play (confession: I challenged the damn things a few times), be sure to complain loudly to the dealer about how your shitty luck is all due to the auto-shuffler. And for God's sake, don't tip.

So there's some clamor for me to post something

2008-09-21T00:54:00.005-04:00

I get that. So here's my latest screed:

I hate old people. More specifically, I hate nearly every employee or former employee of the Long Island Rail Road, who have been egregiously abusing the nation's and New York state's disability systems.

And if you're thinking, "so what, it's New York, I don't live there, it doesn't affect me," you are flat wrong.

The L.I.R.R.’s record also raises questions about why the Railroad Retirement Board approves nearly 100 percent of disability requests from all the nation’s railroads. The board is funded through taxes on railroads and their workers, but Social Security had to contribute $3.6 billion last year to cover expenses.
“Everyone in America is going to contribute to that,” said Rick Lifto, assistant vice president of general claims for B.N.S.F., a large freight railroad. B.N.S.F.’s disability rate is lower than the L.I.R.R.’s, but even so, Mr. Lifto said, disabilities still cost his company millions of dollars.

By the way, this is just one more reason why the New York Times is the best source of news in the nation, regardless of what you might hear from certain political quarters.

I'll post something more fun about my summer vacation(s) soon. Also: suck it, Phil Fulmer.

UPDATE: I totally lied about posting anything about my summer vacations. Here's the short version: I went to the Adirondacks, paddled around in a canoe, camped and went on a brutal hike. I also went down to Florida and got caught in a tropical storm. Yawn.

Blow up the Olympics

2008-08-14T23:10:00.003-04:00

So my uninformed assumptions about the Olympics have largely proved correct. Nonetheless, I have found myself watching some of it. The swimming is great. The rest of it, eh. (Synchronized diving is a particularly stupid "sport," I've decided.)

But especially bad is the "women's" gymnastics.

Let's call this for what it is: "prepubescent girls'" gymnastics. It's obscene and shouldn't be an international sport, as Buzz Bissinger explained pretty convincingly in the New York Times. Worst of all is this Chinese "women's" gymnastics team, which clearly doesn't include a single athlete who would qualify as a "woman," under generally accepted principles of womanhood. They are girls. If any of them are 16 years old, I'm 25.

Go beyond stripping the Chinese of their team gold medal, which absolutely should be the result of their cheating. Get rid of the sport entirely. Or at least raise the minimum age of participation to 18 -- generally accepted as adulthood -- and enforce it by requiring documentation more substantial than a passport.

If it's going to be called "women's" gymnastics, require the participants to BE women. I'd feel a lot more comfortable watching them prance around in makeup and leotards.

Taking down the Olympics

2008-08-05T01:59:00.003-04:00

I'm not a big fan of the Olympics. Honestly, I'll probably be paying more attention to preseason NFL activities and plotting my fantasy football drafts than I will to NBC's tape-delayed, inevitably obsequious and credulous broadcasts of the Beijing Olympics.

But I do enjoy an outraged rant about how the International Olympic Committee and its corporate partners have sold their souls (as if they had any, duh) by staging the games in a pollution-choked city where the government is apparently cracking down harder than ever on its political opponents.

Sally Jenkins of the Washington Post delivers. Hey, if she wants me to respond by boycotting NBC -- no problem. As long as a football game isn't on.

We're #1

2008-07-28T19:28:00.003-04:00

The University of Florida is the best party school in the country, again.

As a graduate of the place, I wonder how we don't win this thing every year.

In the news

2008-07-26T13:36:00.003-04:00

Yet another edition of stuff I'm reading and enjoying.

For some reason I like articles about crazy, indulgent parents and their spoiled children, a seemingly growing phenomenon. The Weekly Standard calls the country a "Kindergarchy." The article's long and tedious, to be frank, but I'm with this Joseph Epstein guy: What happened to just having kids and letting them grow up? Nowadays, they're pruned and pampered like showdogs, to the detriment of both children and parents.

Going to the Olympics this summer? You might want to read up on how to use the local facilities. "Rule One: Exhaust all other possibilities." I started laughing hysterically at that sentence and didn't stop until the end of the piece. A friend of mine who's in the Marines was kind enough to send me a picture of one of these from Iraq; I'll be kind enough not to post it on the blog. Suffice to say: Nasty. And he reports that he did, in fact, have to use one.

The National Enquirer claims to have caught former Sen. John Edwards (D-N.C.) visiting his "mistress" and "love child" at a Los Angeles hotel. This story raises all sorts of interesting issues for us in the so-called MSM. First, is it believable? The Enquirer isn't exactly known for its truthiness. But in this example, they appear to have legitimately caught Edwards skulking around a hotel late at night where a female acquaintance of his was known to be staying, and where he was not a registered guest. Edwards had no ready explanation for his behavior and freaked out when confronted. Given all that, the second issue for us MSMers is: Should we pursue this as a news story? Edwards holds no public office and is no longer a candidate for one. I say it's a story because he is a public figure, though not an elected one. Third, how do you pursue such a story? "Illicit sex" stories are notoriously difficult to report. I doubt Edwards, his wife, or his lady friend are talking, and I doubt he'll be caught in circumstances like these ever again. So short of citing the Enquirer's work -- which most news organizations are loathe to do -- there are few sources to work with. That's why you haven't read much about it.

My brave quest to procure ... an iPhone

2008-07-24T21:04:00.003-04:00

Readers will recall my regret last week over not lining up with all the other idiots outside my local Apple store on July 11 to buy an iPhone 3G the day it came out.

I'm happy to report that my quest is complete. I have acquired an iPhone.

It was an arduous, yet heroic journey. It began late on July 18, when I saw on Apple's Web site that the store at the Fair Oaks Mall in Fairfax County, Va. would have iPhones in stock the next morning.

I woke up at 7:15 on July 19, thinking the store opened at 10. I got there at 8:30. A line of roughly 250 people stretched out the door. The store had been open since 8. They sold out by 9, but thought they might get another shipment. An employee finally told the crowd at about 9:30 that "if you're in line here" -- gesturing to about where I stood -- "you're probably not getting a phone today."

I left, despondent. For the next two days, Apple's Web site showed that every store in Virginia and Maryland was sold out. But I read some message boards. People were saying that the Web site wasn't correct -- that stores sometimes got shipments early in the day, after the Web site was updated. You had to call.

On Tuesday, I called the Clarenden store. They had iPhones. The line was about 20 people long. I dropped what I was doing and ran to the Metro. I missed the train to Clarenden. Heartbreak. Plan B: I took the train to Rosslyn, then got off and flagged a cab to Clarenden. I ran to the store. The line was only maybe a dozen people long. The store employees told us that they only had one model in stock: black, 16 gigabytes. Exactly what I wanted. I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

An hour-and-a-half later, I bought an iPhone.

A friend of mine who's too smart for these stupid lines and instead ordered an iPhone from an AT&T store (delivery takes about two weeks) asked me for a review today. Here's roughly what I sent him; warning, it may bore you if you're not a gadget freak:

So it goes without saying that the iPhone is the greatest advance in personal communications technology ever, and it makes my six-month-old BlackBerry (top 'o the line at the time) feel like a goddamn pager.

It's an amazing feeling to have your music, your phone and your e-mail all on one device -- and to have an Internet browser and GPS thrown in there too, and to have it all run on a fairly quick network.

The good:

Phone clarity is fine, much better than my Razr, and reception in DC seems to be pretty good. Deep inside buildings and elevators, the signal goes out, but everywhere else I have at least a few bars, including, crucially, my basement apartment.
Music sounds fine, as good as any iPod, even on the tinny earbuds that are provided with the phone.
The maps function works pretty well. For a while the phone was convinced that I was in Six Flags over Georgia, near Atlanta. Don't ask me why. I instructed it to look for me in DC a few times and that problem seems to have cleared up.
The apps I've played with so far are okay. There are some crucial apps still missing, like a good chat client (AIM for iPhone sucks, apparently) and a voice recorder that allows you to download recordings. I haven't been blown away by any that I've downloaded, so far. I do have this funny one that makes use of the accelerometer to slide a pint of beer down a bar (called iPint), but I wouldn't say that it's real useful.
AT&T's 3G network isn't broadband, by any means, but it's reasonably fast. NYT Website loads in maybe 15, 20 seconds; Google in maybe 5 seconds, tops.
Safari browser is okay. Size is a severe limitation; even zoomed in on Web pages, it's difficult to read on an iPhone -- you have to constantly move the page around with your finger, AND you have to be careful not to click on any links or ads while doing so.

The great:

Size and weight is perfect. Fits in a pants pocket fine, and feels great in the hand.
The touchscreen is simply a piece of art. I could swipe through my contacts or my music all day long.
The e-mail client is tremendous. Takes gmail or Yahoo!, both fine e-mail clients by themselves, and scales them down without losing any functionality that I notice, except for gchat. I prefer using Yahoo! mail on the phone, in fact -- it's faster than Yahoo!'s interface (one reason I'm trying to migrate most casual e-mail to gmail).
Texting is easier on this thing than on any other phone I've owned. And the text interface is pretty cool.
The phone can sync with my Outlook calendar and contacts at work, and with my music at home. Calendar and contacts work great.

The surprising:

The keyboard is smarter than I thought. I had a lot of problems typing on it when I first got it, but either I'm improving really fast or the thing is actually somehow learning to adjust to my finger pokes and produce more accurate results. It's also got a built-in, on-the-fly spellchecker that works well, once you put your trust into it. I don't think I'll ever type as fast on iPhone as I can on a BlackBerry, but it's possibly not going to be as painful as I thought.
Battery life hasn't been a problem. I intentionally ran the battery down to zero yesterday, and to do it I had to leave music running most of the day, even when I wasn't listening to it, and needlessly surf the Web and send e-mails even when I was sitting in front of my computer. 3G was on all day long, as was wireless network detection. It finally konked out at about 6:30 p.m., and it hadn't even been charged the previous night except while I was transferring music.

The bad:

No Flash or Java. That means no StatTracker. [A little Java applet by Yahoo! that tracks NFL stats in real-time on Sundays -- ed.] Sucks.
No copy-and-paste is a pain for things like filling out contact info.

The really bad:

[Here, I went on a long and profane diatribe about a little problem I'm having with my employer's IT department, the upshot being that they inexplicably won't let me connect my iPhone to the company's Exchange server and thus I have to continue to use my BlackBerry to fetch my corporate e-mail when I'm out of the office. It's a real pain.]

So for the time being, I'm still stuck carrying two devices around. Major bummer.

In the news

2008-07-22T00:10:00.003-04:00

A round-up of good stuff I read today. Enjoy.

Comeuppance: I remember reading about this douche bag a few years ago and immediately hating him. Now he's broke, and that's awesome. No surprise; first expense he ditches is child support. Jackass.

Would you buy a house from this man? One thing I love about mafiosos is how they always complain that they're just being stereotyped because of their name and their nationality and their appearance. It's never because they're engaged in slimy, criminal-sounding activity.

Here's a story on people who are saddled with massive amounts of consumer debt. No doubt, credit card companies are largely evil, predatory enterprises that don't give a damn about their customers' financial well being. But I'd be a lot more sympathetic for people caught in the current economic downturn if they didn't do things like buy houses they couldn't afford or whip out the plastic every time they saw a knick-knack on QVC.

Enjoy, and good night.

Blown away

2008-07-20T17:51:00.002-04:00

My 15-second review of the latest Batman movie:

"The Dark Knight" is the best summer action movie I've ever seen, and should at least be nominated for Best Picture in next year's Academy Awards (right now, it just barely beats WALL-E on my scorecard). Heath Ledger is a shoo-in for Best Supporting Actor. Aaron Eckhart might deserve a nomination in the same category.

Also, it's nice to know that they'll never have to re-make the Joker-Batman movie again. Christopher Nolan's version is the definitive one.

Go see it, if you haven't already.

Bathe it, and bring it to me

2008-07-15T21:13:00.002-04:00

I want an iPhone 3G. I want one so bad my teeth hurt. But I can't get one. Why? Because every single store in Virginia and Maryland is sold out of the model I want (16GB, black).

If I had known THIS was going to happen, I might've been crazy enough to do THIS last Friday:

Photo credit: ABC News

But I didn't. So now all those crazy fuckers have iPhones, while I -- who thought I was sooo smart for waiting a couple days, when I'd be able to stroll into an empty store and grab a new phone -- I'm sitting here with my thumb up my ass and a shitty, three-year-old Razr in my hand.

Don't I feel stupid.

God bless Southwest Airlines

2008-06-20T14:35:00.002-04:00

I don't like flying Southwest much more than flying generally, but it's sure no surprise that they're the only airline not losing piles of money ...

Smart.

The alexwayne.com endorsement: Ray's the Steaks

2008-06-18T21:15:00.004-04:00

That, dear readers, is the Ray's the Steaks "cowboy cut" ribeye. It is at least 28 ounces of muscle and fat and bone. It does not fit on the plate. It is not to be trifled with. It is delicious.

Washington is a city of steak. Most of our top restaurants -- places you've heard of, like The Palm and Charlie Palmer Steak (duh) -- revolve around beef. That's probably why there's so many fat men here.

But the best steakhouse in town isn't even in Washington proper; you'll find it in Arlington, just west (or is it south?) of Rosslyn on Wilson Avenue. Ray's isn't a secret, really -- all the local pubs have written fairly glowing reviews. But if you ask me, these reviews aren't glowing enough.

Ray's makes the best steak I've ever had. And I make a pretty mean steak myself. Yes, it's loud and there aren't any pictures on the walls to look at. So what. The service is better than most places in Washington, which is a town of shitty service. Add in the fact that it's relatively cheap -- like $30 for their best cuts -- and it's like the Greatest Restaurant Ever.

Okay, that's hyperbole. But still: if you come to Washington, and you want steak, forget Morton's or Ruth's Chris or Smith and Wolensky or whatever and just go to Ray's.

Only thing is, they don't take reservations. So here's what you do: Go by about 3:30 in the afternoon and wait for them to open. Walk inside and there'll be a nice woman with a pad of paper and a pencil standing at the hostess station. Tell her what time you want to eat. Come back a little before that time.

And be sure to do two things: save room for dessert, and take home leftovers.

P.S. Why the random post? Because my girlfriend is actually nagging me to blog more often. Sheesh. You'd think she'd nag me to go to they gym or something.

New York City in (cold) spring

2008-03-31T19:14:00.007-04:00

Here's another collection of photos, this time preceded by restaurant reviews.

Over the weekend I visited New York City for the first time. (Yes, I'm too old to have never been to New York. Call me provincial.) I did what is probably the usual walking-eating-seeing tour ... hit the Empire State Building and the Met; wandered through Central Park at night and didn't get mugged; rode the #6 subway line; stumbled on a taping of a "Law & Order: SVU" episode. (Look for Robin Williams to guest-star later this spring.)

Quick reviews:

We stayed at the Club Quarters at Rockefeller Center. Small, but really quite nice, and well located.

Sarge's Deli in Murray Hill is fantastic. I never knew what New York deli food was about -- I figured big sandwiches and soups, ho-hum. Sarge's has all that, but also this crazy beef brisket on a potato pancake with gravy thing that probably upped my cholesterol 30 points. "Sarge's favorite," it's called. Sarge probably did not live a long life.

Hatsuhana (warning: annoying Web site) in midtown served me the best raw fish I've ever had, and I understand it's not even the best sushi joint in New York.

Swift in East Village is a cool little Irish bar. Apparently regulars are starting to turn on it because the bartenders don't give away enough free drinks, or something. All I know is after the bartender messed up my food order, he gave me and my buddy a free round without us asking. Nice.

Josie's on the Upper West Side is to be avoided. Their schtick is organic ingredients. Whatever. They made a decent steak for me, but the "smashed" potatoes sucked, and everybody else at my table left food on their plates. Here's a tip, Josie's: salt and butter are good things, even crucial things.

The Algonquin hotel is a fine place for a $16 cocktail. Some famous writers used to drink there. Comfy and quiet and damn near empty. Couldn't be the prices, I'm sure.

Ray's Pizza is probably not representative of NYC pizza, but we were on our way out of town and hungry. It served. (We went to the location at 8th and 51st; unclear whether it was "Original" or "Famous," but didn't taste like it.)

Some pictures ...

Central Park, just north of the zoo looking south

Seward Square, with the most famous building on Earth in the background

Central Park, at the duck pond on 5th south of the Met looking north

Some ski pictures, to leaven my half-drunken rants about modern journalistic practices

2008-03-18T00:07:00.002-04:00

I've decided that I love skiing. (To clarify: In snow, for my Floridian/southern fans out there.) I'm not very good at it, mind you. But it's a blast nonetheless.

This year, I made two trips to a place called Whitetail, in southern Pennsylvania, and one to a joint called Timberline, in nowhere West Virginia. Here are some pics:

Whitetail is really more of a hill than a mountain. Surprisingly steep, though.

From the top of the biggest "green" slope (=easy) at Whitetail, clearish.

Same slope, in fog.

Base of Timberline. It's almost a genuine mountain.

Top of Timberline, looking over the Canaan Valley.

Top of Whitetail, on the second trip.
I'm about to ski my first-ever Whitetail "blue" slope (=intermediate), behind me.
I did not fall.

What is wrong with the public discourse?

2008-03-15T00:16:00.002-04:00

This post is going to brush right up against -- but, I think, not quite violate -- the rules I've set for this blog.

(See to the right, about how I won't opine on Congress or the president, etc.)

So here goes:

Since when did presidential candidates have to bear responsibility for every last word that ever sprang from the mouth of anyone even tangentially connected to their campaigns?

For the last couple weeks, it seems like the only campaign "news" -- I use the word lightly -- drawing attention from us media is when some campaign flunky or another says something stupid. The result is predictable: a two-day story, followed by the person's "departure" from the campaign.

To recap:

First we had what's-her-name, some Barack Obama "advisor," telling a Scottish newspaper (aside: hell, I don't even know where to begin -- why is she talking to a Scottish newspaper, for starters) that Hillary Clinton is a "monster." Two-day story, and she quits the campaign.

Then we had Geraldine Friggin' Ferraro, making "news" for the first time since 1984, speaking some kind of gibberish that some people took as racist. Two-day story, and she quits the campaign.

Back to Obama, where we've got his former pastor, who apparently said some mean things about white people and Clinton on tape, quitting Obama's campaign. It's not even really clear to me that he was a substantial part of the campaign. But whatever, now he's off, and Obama is turning cartwheels "distancing" himself from the guy, as they say.

Who gives a shit about any of this?

There is some serious shit that we media could be discussing in our campaign coverage. Like I don't know, how exactly are Clinton and Obama going to make good on promises to withdraw from Iraq? Or how are any of the candidates, McCain included, going to get the economy righted? Or literally a hundred other serious policy issues, with health care and education and crime probably leading the list.

Instead, we're focusing on dumb statements by people who don't fucking matter, and forcing the candidates to waste time "denouncing" or "distancing themselves from so-and-so" or whatever. Seriously: Geraldine Ferraro is completely fucking unimportant in the scheme of things. And she's probably the most important of any of these people who have said dumb shit.

So I'd like all of this to stop, please. Unless it's the candidate him or herself saying dumb shit, I simply don't care. And I don't think anybody else does either. (Probably not even the reporters covering it.)

Worst. Local. Commercial. Ever.

2008-02-16T14:39:00.005-05:00

I consider television commercials for local businesses an art form all their own.

In Washington, D.C., the local car dealer chain Eastern Motors has pretty much owned the genre, with a long-running series featuring players from the Washington Redskins lip-syncing the firm's theme song (At Eastern Motors / Your job's your credit, credit) and generally looking stupid. The spots feature all the hallmarks of a superior local commercial: dumb catch song, famous-for-the-local-area celebrities, senseless narratives and mildly offensive. Here's an example:

However, we have a new contender in Washington for worst local commercial. In fact, these guys might just have produced the worst local commercial EVER, anywhere.

For those of you not hip with the kids, the owners of the store attempted to set their diddy to the tune of "Back That Azz Up," by Juvenile. The spot obviously takes incomprehensible and offensive to whole new levels, but I think filming the lead actors/owners shirtless really iced the cake.

Hello again

2008-02-11T19:41:00.000-05:00

Due to popular demand (i.e., my mom and my sister), I'm back.

Apropos of nothing, here is John Travolta's giant-ass airstrip near Ocala, Florida, where he lands his personal 707.

Photo by Marty Wayne aka Dad

Travolta's house is in the background, in the little square of trees off the taxiway.

I skipped work on Friday

2007-11-06T00:42:00.000-05:00

And instead went up to the Skyline Drive to check out the foliage. Here are some pics:

Some kid, looking southwest, I think.

The creek at the end of Piney Branch trail.

Happy belated Halloween

On the way home, we hit a couple Virginia wineries.

The first, Grey Ghost, makes excellent chardonnay. This being Virginia, the reds were all heavy on the cab franc and overpriced. But the tasting was free (always a plus), the tasting room was beautiful, and the woman pouring, a daughter of the owners, was friendly and gave out some tips for a trip to Napa I'm planning in the spring. (Hit Sterling is the one I remember.)

The second, Unicorn, was quite a surprise. The place is pretty much a glorified industrial shed next to a mini-storage compound, and tastings are $5. But there are a bunch of wines, many of them rather unusual and quite good. Yeah, they had cab franc and it wasn't terrific, but they also make a red called Petite nacional that's one of the best I've had in Virginia. Nice and dry and spicy. And their dessert wine is simply the best I've ever had (an easy call for me, because I usually hate the stuff).

I apologize

2007-10-21T01:30:00.001-04:00

I'm in a terrible dry spell, obviously, blogging-wise. Here is one excuse: I've been covering this at work. You might have heard about it. It's kind of a big deal.

(I found that Web site by Googling "alex wayne" and "schip," incidentally. I'm cited twice, which is kind of cool. Also, I've been on this show a lot lately; there are Web feeds and pod casts, if you're into that kind of thing.)

For the hell of it, here's a quick round-up of my pop-culture diet of late:

I'm reading George R.R. Martin's "A Song of Ice and Fire" series. It's fantasy fiction, but it doesn't suck. Probably the best of the genre that I've read since Lord of the Rings, which says a lot about the genre.

I just defeated "God of War II" on the PlayStation 2. Fun game. Some annoying puzzles. It's slightly more difficult than the first "God of War," I'd say, because the designers took away some important moves from the first game that made fights easier.

I saw "The Kingdom" recently. I was largely disappointed; it's pretty trite. The last 15 minutes comprises a pretty spectacular action sequence, however.

The television show "Heroes" has taken a serious nose-dive, and threatens to jump the shark (just in case the phrase still requires definition).

My favorite new show is "Life," Wednesdays at 10. Takes your average crime procedural and turns it on its head, anchored by the work of the lead actor, Damian Lewis. Impressive stuff. NBC, however, did a terrible job marketing the show. (The new Wednesday show that NBC spent a lot of time and energy marketing, "Bionic Woman," isn't nearly as good. Though I do enjoy the Battlestar Galactica references, and the work of Katee Sackhoff, who regularly pwns the lead actress.)

Ever want to see me half-naked?

2007-09-12T20:35:00.001-04:00

Of course you have. Behold the bronzed splendor that is me in a bathing suit. (Click on pics for bigger versions.)

Archaeology is in the blood.
(Our house is behind me.)

I mentioned that I was at the beach a couple weeks ago. Duck, N.C. Looks a lot nicer than the last time I was there. Still pretty much suburbia, though ... with sand and ocean.

And sand means ... sand castle time.

I am a drip castle architect.

Castle Wayne, in its monumental glory.
(Our house is to the right.)

Mostly, we did a lot of this:

Good Christ I wish I didn't have to work for a living.
(From left: Jen (obscured), Dan's back, Mark B., Kristin, Kimberly, Elisa, Fiona, Mark Y.)

Here's down the beach in the other direction:

Hurricane bait.

On the way home, we stopped here:

Kimberly on the Wright brothers monument, Kill Devil Hills.

And at a farmer's market / tourist trap:

I'd have made a GREAT redneck.

And now we're back here:

Not all of D.C. is terrible.

Are you ready to talk at length about some football?

2007-09-06T00:09:00.001-04:00

Fantasy football, to be precise.

It's the most wonderful time of the year again, and I've got two fantasy football teams about to kick off on Thursday. In an almost certainly erroneous assumption that someone else might be even faintly interested in my teams, here are the rosters. If you slog through to the end, or just scroll down, I'll tell you who I think the 10 best players in fantasy football will be this year.

To say I'm excited is an understatement. To say I'm a giant nerd is also an understatement.

League One

My first league is mostly co-workers; I'm the commissioner. Twelve teams, each starting one quarterback, two wide receivers, two running backs, a tight end, a "flex" position (either a running back or a wide receiver), a kicker, a defense and five bench spots. Here's my team, Fred Taylor's Groin; the number in parentheses indicates the pick where I took them in our draft:

QB: Phillip Rivers, San Diego (67)
WR1: Donald Driver, Green Bay (43)
WR2: Calvin Johnson, Detroit (78)
RB1: Joseph Addai, Indianapolis (6)
RB2: Thomas Jones, New York Jets (30)
TE: Antonio Gates, San Diego (19)
Flex: Marion Barber III, RB, Dallas (54)
K: None, yet
Defense: Jacksonville (150)
Bench: Tatum Bell, RB, Detroit (91); Bernard Berrian, WR, Chicago (102); Michael Turner, RB, San Diego (115); Leon Washington, RB, NY Jets (126); Rex Grossman; QB, Chicago (139); Dennis Northcutt, WR, Jacksonville (free agent).

I liked this team better when I drafted it, on Aug. 19 (nearly three weeks before the season begins, something I'll try to avoid in the future).

Indianapolis and San Diego will be two of the highest-scoring offenses in the league, again, so I like Addai, Rivers and Gates. Beyond that, there's a lot of uncertainty.

Driver historically has been undervalued, but he's like 33 years old and already nursing an injury. Calvin Johnson is the hotshot from Georgia Tech that Detroit drafted second overall this year, but he hasn't cracked the starting lineup yet. Thomas Jones is also nursing an injury; glad I have his backup, Washington. Marion Barber III gets goal-line carries in Dallas and so scores a lot of touchdowns, but even though he's more talented than the starting running back on that team (Julius Jones), he's officially the backup. So annoying.

On my bench, I don't have much faith in Tatum Bell, who's probably going to lose his job sooner than later. Bernard Berrian might be great or pretty mediocre, probably depending on how awful "Sexy Rexy" Grossman plays this year. I picked up Northcutt after drafting a wastrel, Reggie Williams, who was supposed to be the starting wide receiver in Jacksonville but nearly got his ass cut in training camp for being lazy.

I didn't draft a kicker. Kickers are all pretty much the same -- except for one or two guys each year who manage to kick a bunch of field goals. Problem is, you can never predict who those guys are going to be; in each of the last two years, it's been someone who went undrafted in my leagues. So I'm going to pick someone up off the waiver wire on Thursday, who probably will replace either Northcutt or Bell (I was hoping someone would break his leg before the season started, to make that choice easier).

League Two

My second league is a bunch of friends, mostly from D.C. There's only eight of us, meaning it's a stacked league -- all the teams are very good. We start two QBs, three WRs, two RBs, a TE, a kicker and a defense, with five on the bench. Here's my team, Noodly Appendages:

QB1: Matt Hasselbeck, Seattle (37)
QB2: Eli Manning, New York Giants (60)
WR1: Larry Fitzgerald, Arizona (28)
WR2: Donald Driver, Green Bay (44)
WR3: Santana Moss, Washington (53)
RB1: Joseph Addai, Indianapolis (5)
RB2: Brian Westbrook, Philadelphia (12)
TE: Antonio Gates, San Diego (21)
Kicker: None, yet
Defense: Dallas (108)
Bench: Adrian Peterson, RB, Minnesota (69); Edgerrin James, RB, Arizona (76); Joey Galloway, WR, Tampa (85); Ronnie Brown, RB, Miami (92); Rex Grossman, QB, Chicago (101); Tatum Bell, RB, Detroit (117).

This is a weird league. In most leagues, including my work league, running backs are considered far and away to be the most important players to draft. They touch the ball the most of any position, after the quarterback, meaning more opportunities to score fantasy points. But unlike quarterbacks, who pretty much all score a lot of fantasy points in every game -- unless they're simply awful, like Grossman last year -- there is an elite cadre of running backs who score way more points than their peers. Plus, in most leagues you have to start two running backs and just one quarterback, further reducing the relative value of QBs.

Not in this league. Not only do we start two quarterbacks -- unheard of in most fantasy leagues, and of course something you would never see on any real football field -- we have to start three wide receivers, as well. I hate wide receivers; they're horribly inconsistent. Consider Santana Moss, my third wide receiver. In three games last year, he caught 17 passes for 364 yards and five touchdowns, including a three-touchdown game. But he had less than 50 yards receiving in nine different games, and caught just six touchdowns all year. He was my top receiver last year in this league, and he killed me. I'm not totally certain why I drafted him again, except that he's far and away the best receiver on his team and I expect Washington will be improved this year.

So anyway, what happens in this league is that quarterbacks and wide receivers are valued far more highly than in most fantasy leagues. The result is that many top running backs -- guys like Adrian Peterson, Edgerrin James, and Ronnie Brown -- slide to the end of the draft. I've seen all of those guys go as high as the second round in other leagues, including my work league. I'm happy to have gotten them so late in this league, although I don't have anywhere to play them, and if they wind up sucking -- highly possible, especially for Brown -- they'll have little trade value.

My only real holes on this team are my quarterbacks. Hasselbeck is old, as is the rest of his team, and Eli Manning is the crappy Manning brother. I'm hoping one or two of my reserve running backs is awesome enough to draw a better quarterback in a trade; if they aren't, I'm probably going to have a bad season.

The 10 best players in fantasy football

Keep in mind that fantasy football is a weird game, where guys who have tremendous value in real life (like offensive linemen) have zero value, and the guy who's clearly the best player in the NFL (Peyton Manning) is drafted, like, 10th or later in a lot of fantasy leagues.

1. LaDainian Tomlinson, RB, San Diego. A no-brainer; he likely set all-time fantasy football scoring records last year and could approach them again.

2. Steven Jackson, RB, St. Louis. Second to Tomlinson in running back scoring last year, but scored a lot of his points late in the season, perhaps too late to save some of his fantasy owners.

3. Larry Johnson, RB, Kansas City. Third in running back scoring last year, but is thought to have been a bit overworked and might wear out this year. He might also be awesome.

4. Joseph Addai, RB, Indianapolis. Splitting carries with another guy last year, he was the eleventh-highest scoring running back. He's got the Indy backfield all to himself this year and I expect him to be awesome.

5. Frank Gore, RB, San Francisco. In his first full (uninjured) year in the pros last year, he was the sixth-highest scoring running back. He's young and only getting better, but has a scary injury history.

6. Peyton Manning, QB, Indianapolis. The only player other than Tomlinson to score more than 400 fantasy points last year. The reason he's not ranked higher is because if you take him in round one, you're getting a subpar running back in round two.

7. Brian Westbrook, RB, Philadelphia. Twelfth-highest scoring player in all of fantasy football last year. If both he and Philly's QB, Donovan McNabb, stay healthy all year (a longshot), they will both put up tremendous numbers.

8. Willie Parker, RB, Pittsburgh. I drafted this guy in my second league last year, then stupidly traded him for a lesser running back and a receiver who ended up a total bust. (Burn in hell, Chris Chambers.) He's great.

9. Shaun Alexander, RB, Seattle. Two years ago, he was better than Tomlinson. Last year, he was hurt most of the year and killed any fantasy owner who drafted him (except for the guy who won my second league; I'm still scratching my head over that one).

10. Drew Brees, QB, New Orleans. Others might put Reggie Bush, RB, New Orleans, in this spot. They're crazy. Bush is sharing playing time with another excellent running back, Deuce McAllister. Brees, on the other hand, was the fourth-highest scoring player in all of fantasy football last year, and has a shot, I think, at surpassing Peyton Manning as the best quarterback in the game this year.

Administrative thing

2007-09-06T00:07:00.001-04:00

I got a very weird (and long!) spam-like comment on the last post (now deleted), so I changed my settings so that you now have to go through a word verification thingamajig before you can post comments. Sorry 'bout that, but spam sucks.

We now return to our regular, irregular programming.

Vaca

2007-08-26T06:19:00.000-04:00

No new posts for a week; I'm off to the beach. Last time I was there it looked like the picture off to the right; that'd be Hurricane Isabel. Hoping for better weather this time around.

I'm a "Not Yet Replied"

2007-08-17T18:47:00.000-04:00

I am here not to praise Evite, but to bury it. I have had quite enough with the ubiquitous invitation service, and quite enough with my friends using it to organize even the most modest of functions. I now receive Evites for backyard barbeques and weekday drinks. From people whose e-mail addresses I have memorized.

E-mail, I think, is vastly underutilized. You may have thought that was impossible; I did, once upon a time. And then along came Evite. I say we go back to sending party invitations via e-mail. It's simple; you can be just as clever; it does not require your invitees to be clever in response, the most repellent feature of Evite.

Why do I hate the service so? Time for a list.

I do not like the name. The cute trend of prefacing a common word with an 'e' began, I suspect, with electronic mail, a usage which makes so much sense there's no reason to dislike it. But it has since proliferated to "Emachines," "Epinions," and "Evite," just to name a few, all of which are grating.
I do not like the spam. Whenever I am added to an Evite, I can be assured of receiving at least a half-dozen future e-mails, kindly reminding me of the event and notifying me that my response is "not yet replied" (my standard reply to an Evite). Also, I strongly suspect that Evites are mined for e-mail addresses by other spammers, or that Evite flat-out sells information to third parties. Note that I have absolutely no evidence for that baseless allegation, but I lodge it nonetheless.
I do not like the graphics. Apparently, when you compose an Evite (I've never done it, incidentally), you're required to choose from a limited selection of background templates. These invariably do not match the theme of your party. For instance, a friend of mine is throwing a rock-and-roll-themed party this weekend. He is planning to dress like Angus Young. The text of his Evite references "doing blow off a stripper's ass.

The background art: A cartoon Elvis, in front of the words "The King" in lights. I assume that my friend did not have the option of choosing an Angus Young cartoon, or a picture of a stripper doused in cocaine. But sadly, the net result is that the invitation makes no aesthetic sense.

I do not like composing a positive response. There are some people in this world who are very clever Evite responders. They don't just respond "Yes" or "Maybe;" they come up with something funny to say about the party or the person throwing it, or what they're going to do at the party. I am not one of these people, and yet I feel compelled to try. The results are more often than not pathetic.

I do not like composing a negative response. Sometimes, I'm waiting to see if there's something better to do that night. Sometimes, I just don't feel like going to your fucking party. But I can't write either of those things. And because of the clever Evite responders in the world (see above), I can't simply respond "No" without some additional explanation. Hence, my frequent "not yet replied" reply. Most of the time, it's not that I haven't seen your Evite or haven't thought about whether I want to go to your party; it's that I don't fucking feel like coming up with some clever goddamn response

So I'll be a permanent "Not Yet Replied."

Virginia is for lovers of bad red wine?

2007-08-13T10:20:00.001-04:00

This weekend, I drove out to Oasis winery in Virginia with some friends for a tasting, some cheese and crackers, the usual fru-fru bullshit.

The winery's a bit on the redneck-slash-industrial side -- no caverns here, or classical music. We sipped wine on your standard wooden deck to the dulcimer sounds of Coolio as two dogs growled at each other nearby. It was beautiful, however; about 85 degrees, and a view of vineyards sweeping up to the Blue Ridge mountain.

The trip, though, continued a pervasive trend that I've noticed with Virginia wineries. They can't make good red wine. Of any varietal. And what they can make, they can't sell for less than around $20 a bottle.

Oasis, for example, makes excellent champagne, of all things, two pretty good chardonnays, and a drinkable blush (95 percent Riesling, 5 percent Cab sauvignon). The Riesling alone was disgusting -- it tasted like tonic water, and shouldn't have been served. But the two reds, a Cabernet Sauvignon and a Merlot, were the most disappointing of all. Neither was very full-bodied or complex. They were almost indistinguishable, in fact; the winery had used 7 percent Cabernet Franc to cut both wines, and the Franc predominated in each. And Oasis wanted $20 for its Cab and $25 for the Merlot.

Let us pause for a diatribe. I suppose there are good Cabernet Francs made someplace, but I haven't tasted one worth the money Virginia wineries want to charge. It's a boring grape, in my experience -- completely non-complex (meaning none of those plum or blackberry undertones that wineries like to brag about) and a bit watery. Yet it seems endemic to Virginia, as if it's the only red that vineyards in the state can manage to grow.

Like every other Virginia winery I've ever visited, there were no Pinot Noirs or Zinfandels to taste at Oasis -- two of my favorite varietals.

So this is what I'm getting at: For reasons of soil or climate or vine age or something, is it simply impossible to make a decent red wine in Virginia? And is Cabernet Franc the only thing that grows with any success?

If you know a place in Virginia to find a good indigenous red, let me know. Or if you know why there are no good reds in Virginia, let me know that too.

Jason Rojas is an American hero

2007-08-06T22:47:00.000-04:00

I exaggerate: he's merely a University of Florida hero. My school should erect a statue in his honor. Does he have a legal defense fund? I want to contribute.

This month's pop culture endorsement

2007-08-05T15:51:00.001-04:00

"'The Bourne Ultimatum."

As several reviews have noted, Paul Greengrass has emerged as simply the best action movie director working today. Do note this rather contrarian review, by Stephen Hunter of the Washington Post -- he hated the movie, but writes an entertainingly negative review.

My take: It's the second-best of the three Bourne films. (Chris Cooper and Clive Owen give the first movie a little more gravitas, plus it was fresh at the time.) "Ultimatum" is really just a continuation of the "Supremacy" narrative -- Bourne's still trying to figure out who he is and why people are periodically trying to kill him; it even starts where the second movie leaves off. This movie is more conclusive that the second, however; they can make a sequel if they want, or they've got things pretty neatly tied off if they don't want. And I think the locations and action sequences are just a bit more dramatic and spine-tingling than in the second movie; a sequence in Tangier, noted in every review I've read, is breath-taking.

As Hunter notes, however, the title of this movie doesn't make sense. I guess it's in keeping with the sequence of the Ludlum novels, which I either haven't read or read so long ago -- I think my parents have them laying around their house in paperback -- that I've forgotten them. But there's no ultimatum involved. In the first movie, we were introduced to the Bourne identity, and in the second, Bourne certainly reigned supreme. The titles made sense. This movie should have been "The Bourne Revelation" or "The Bourne Source," something like that.

Anyhow, go see it.

So if I throw a Bible in a toilet ...

2007-07-30T19:58:00.000-04:00

... I'm committing a hate crime?

I'm inclined to agree with Chris Hitchens on this one. This is ridiculous and outrageous; the next thing you know, I won't be able to publish images of Muhammad in my newspaper without inspiring riots.

Also from the Dept of Muslims Practicing Bad Public Relations: The Council on American-Islamic Relations recently kicked a reporter out of a news conference -- held at the National Press Club, incidentally -- because CAIR doesn't like her articles.

I won't defend her work, or the Washington Times, which is not my favorite paper. But I'll defend her right to cover a news event open to other journalists, hosted by an organization that practically embodies the First Amendment [disclaimer: I'm a member of the press club]. Every other journalist at the event, including those serving on the panel, should have gotten up and left when Hudson was escorted from the room.

Six-foot-twenty, fucking killing for fun

2007-07-29T22:11:00.001-04:00

I went out to Mount Vernon today, which reminded me of the funniest thing I've ever seen on YouTube.

My first time out there. Went by boat, which is ... well, slow. Some notables:

Old GW had a helluva view from his place. I should have taken pictures, but I was lazy. Next time.
Either American tourists have lost weight, as a group, or fat people just don't want to hike all over Colonial estates. Either way, I was pleasantly surprised.
George Washington suffered a terrifying and excruciating death (in short, he got a really bad case of strep throat and suffocated). That makes me sad.
His plantation produced a hell of a lot of whiskey. That makes me happy.
We don't seem to know a heck of a lot about the man, despite some 20,000 letters. The museum at Mt. V, appropriately, features some hand-wringing over his attitude toward slavery. (He owned more than 300 slaves; that's bad. Yet he seemed to realize late in life that slavery as an institution might be a bad idea, and freed his upon Martha's death; that's good. Yet he also buried the slaves that died on his estate in unmarked graves; that's ... callous? The frogurt is also cursed.) But aside from the slavery stuff and some mention of his military failings (surrender at Fort Necessity), to believe the museum, everything else in Washington's personal and public life was pretty peachy. Maybe he was just that awesome, but I dunno ... maybe that YouTube masterpiece up there is not only hilarious, but also an astute bit of commentary on American mythology.

Update: My mom, an archaeologist, says that slave graves were often marked with headstones made of wood, or with "conch shells, deliberately broken pottery or glass, and other cultural items which may or may not remain today." So maybe GW wasn't a callous old bastard. Although mom also reports that recent research indicates that Washington used to rotate his house slaves out of his presidential home in Philadelphia regularly, because under Pennsylvania law they were free after six months residency in the state. Hmm.

The most expensive a man can get

2007-07-26T00:37:00.000-04:00

I found myself in the market for razors the other day, after I left my trusty Mach 3 at a lady friend's house.

Before heading up to the neighborhood Crappy Variety Store, I thought I might try out the Gillette "Fusion," the successor to the Mach 3 and its varietals. There have been a lot of really bad advertisements for it, and a friend of mine gave it a strong endorsement, so I figured why not. Plus, I'm pretty sure that Gillette was inspired to design it by the funniest Onion column ever.

"Well, fuck it," I thought. "We're going to five blades."

Until I saw the price tag.

For $22, I can buy 12 replacement blades for my good 'ol Mach 3. You know what $22 gets me in the Fusion line? Ninety-nine cents short of eight blades, that's what.

This is bullshit. This is a travesty, an insult. For $2.88 a blade, this goddamn razor had better wipe my ass, clean the bathroom and make me a sandwich. And if it cuts me, even once, I want my money back.

So instead, I went with this:

$1.50 a piece. Now that's what I'm talking about. Here's a quick review: Except for the blades, the razors are made entirely of plastic, so they feel awfully light and flimsy. It feels like you're putting some kind of child's toy to your face, rather than a fucking tool, as with the Mach 3. The first shave is a little rough; the blades are a bit too sharp. But shaves number two and three are just fine -- quick, smooth, painless. Shave number four nicked me; the Xtreme 3 Comfort Plus doesn't wear as well as a Mach 3 blade. But that's okay, because they're marginally cheaper.

So in sum, the Xtreme 3 Comfort Plus gets the coveted alexwayne.com endorsement.

And Gillette can kiss my hairy ass.

Best mugshot ever? And not in a laughable way.

2007-07-25T00:45:00.001-04:00

I hope I look half as good as Lindsay Lohan if/when I'm ever arrested.

Seriously, she looks almost put together here.

Probably the best-looking alleged coked-out drunk I've ever seen.

All right, agreed, some mighty lame posts since I "returned." They'll get better eventually, I promise.*

*Not a promise.

Sign me up

2007-07-21T14:50:00.001-04:00

An iPhone on Google's wireless network? Yes, please.

But if you suspect that the established phone companies pull a little more weight in D.C. than an upstart search engine and, oh, millions of U.S. consumers ... well, I don't have time to do the research at the moment, but I strongly suspect you are correct.

I'm back, baby!

2007-07-18T22:48:00.000-04:00

My friends and family keep telling me that I'm funny and they like my blog, and why don't I write more.

I tell them: Because I'm lazy.

I've decided that's not a good excuse. Even though I really have nothing interesting to say about anything -- at least, anything that I don't write about for a living -- I have made a July 18 resolution to blog more often.

So to kick off my new old habit, here are some bullet-pointed items about big events in my life. Everyone loves bullet points -- it's a rule of journalism.

My friend Tim has started a boxing blog. It's called "Seven Punch Combo," which sounds like something I could never pull off in Streetfighter II, and that's cool. The actual URL is not as cool. Anyhow, apparently I partly inspired the thing -- I told him once he oughta try writing about boxing, in addition to his day job (same as mine), because no one gives a shit about that sport anymore and he's a great writer. So far, he's meeting expectations.

Mike Vick has been indicted. This is huge. I have a fantasy football draft coming up on Aug. 19, and last year, Vick was, believe it or not, the third-highest-scoring quarterback in the fantasy world. (In the real world, with 13 interceptions and three lost fumbles, he pretty much sucked. But I don't care about that.) So now I am faced with a dilemma: Where to draft him? Pre-indictment, he's the fourth or fifth QB off the board. But now? I think I have to assume he'll be in court, if not imprisoned, by the end of the season. That's if he isn't suspended even sooner. (For what it's worth, I think the NFL has to suspend him. I buy the Humane Society's argument: What's the point of having a conduct policy if you're going to wait for the legal gears to turn?) And even if he plays, surely he can't be any good. I say he goes undrafted.

Also, Vick needs his ass kicked. Not that I'm gonna do it, no sir. I nominate Ray Lewis.

There are some changes around here. Apparently they've added some new features to blogger, and asked me to update my blog to take advantage of them, and so it turns out they don't have my old template anymore, which I'm pretty sure I liked better than this one. Alas.

My nation of prudes

2007-05-17T23:23:00.001-04:00

I'm sick and tired of people who don't like sex, drinking, gambling, sex, drugs, drinking and fun in general running this goddamn country.I'm going to make my sick and tiredness of sticks-in-the-asses a running theme of this blog, should I ever start blogging in earnest again. (Unlikely.)

At right: A slutty nun, which somehow illustrates my point.

Anyway, today's Morality Police story involves Anheuser Busch. It's not my favorite company; it makes a lot of pretty shitty beer. But last time I was in Florida, I went down to good 'ol Busch Gardens Tampa and pretty much drank my way through the amusement park. At one point, me and my friends dropped in on the Busch beer-tasting attraction. And one of the things we tasted were these "Spykes," which were sort of flavored, low-alcohol shots you add to beer to spike it, I guess. Kind of stupid, but they weren't half bad. I didn't see the harm. Probably the sort of crap frat boys and sorority girls would drink, and more power to them for it.

But now comes a bunch of assholes who've made such a stink that Busch feels they have to pull Spykes off the market. What's really going on here, I suspect, is that Spykes simply didn't sell, and so Busch has found a convenient excuse to ditch them. But still; the story pisses me off.

The Endorsement: Boxed Wine

2007-05-15T00:03:00.000-04:00

I'm the kind of guy who likes to drink a glass or two or three of red wine several nights a week. It's good for the heart, I say. I'm a drunk, you say. Whatever. Point is, I go through a lot of wine -- three or four bottles a week, at $7 to $12 a pop, usually.

But the other day at the Greatest Grocery Store in the World, I made a monumental discovery: decent boxed wine. Along with the Franzia-type crap on the bottom shelf, the Teeter was selling a boxed cabernet called Trove and two boxed whites by Fisheye, a pinot grigio and a chardonnay. What the heck, I drink a lot of wine, might as well try it for economies of scale if nothing else. Plus both wines claim to keep for a month after opening.

The reviews are in:

Trove 2004 cabernet sauvignon, three liters, $18.99. Good spicy aroma, strong legs. Robust cab flavor; hints of plum and strawberry, or something. A perfectly acceptable everyday red, one I wouldn't be ashamed to serve at a large party. Here are two external reviews, one okay and one bad. Fucking snobs.

Fisheye 2006 pinot grigio, three liters, $17.99. Strongly citrus, almost overly acidic. But dry and light; fine for summer afternoon drinking. A perfectly acceptable everyday white, one I wouldn't be ashamed to serve at a large party. Here's a press release from Fisheye, which calls itself a "premium" winery.

Your results may vary.

Pop culture recommendation of the week -- er, month. Or year. Whatever

2007-05-02T20:59:00.000-04:00

Jericho.

I'm a sucker for post-apocalypse stories. Did a book report on The Stand in high school; loved the Fallout series of games; can't get enough plagues, alien invasions and zombies in my pop-culture diet.

And I generally consider CBS the geezer network, so it's a surprise that CBS, of all networks, would do post-apocalypse so well. Of course, when George Hearst is your lead actor, it's hard to go wrong.

Anyhow, they're about to wrap up the first season of Jericho, and it's a nail-biter. What could be better than two small Kansas towns going to war with each other after 24 American cities have been nuked by terrorists and the government has collapsed? Nothing, that's what.

Please watch, because otherwise CBS is probably going to cancel it.

Update: (Caution, spoiler ahead.) They killed off McRaney. I understand how his character's death advances the plot, but jeez, he was by far the strongest actor on the show. Not sure that was the best way to go.

This guy needs his ass kicked

2007-04-10T23:29:00.000-04:00

I might make a regular feature of this on alexwayne.com (promises, promises.), because there's just so many stories like this one.

Jason Wahler, whose claim to fame is the absolutely dreadful MTV show "Laguna Beach: The Real Orange County," needs his ass kicked. (I tried to watch the show, once, but gave up after about five minutes -- even though pretty much all the girls were in bikinis -- because I couldn't understand what the fuck the kids were talking about. It was like they were speaking a foreign language. God I'm old.)

I mean, just look at this guy. Even if he weren't an asshole -- and he is most definitely that -- he'd need his ass kicked.*

*To be fair, this would've been applicable to the author at 20 years of age, too.

Read this story

2007-04-09T22:27:00.000-04:00

One of the most entertaining writers at the Washington Post convinced a famous and brilliant classical violinist to take his Stradivarius and set up shop at a Metro station during rush hour, incognito and unannounced, just to see what happened.

I'd like to think that I would have stopped, but I'm not sure. It's an amazing story -- at turns depressing and uplifting and surprising. The video clips are cool, too (the violinist, Josh Bell, is amazing). I suspect the story will win a Pulitzer next year. The writer said in an online chat that he's received more than 1,000 e-mails from all over the world, and more than 100 people told him the story made them cry, a response that surprised him.

I can't quite put my finger on why someone might cry over the story, or whether they would be tears of joy or sadness or both, but somehow I understand that they could. I didn't, of course, being a big tough guy and all, but the story kind of left a lump in my throat. Again, not sure why.

I was going to send out a blast e-mail to a bunch of people about it but then I remembered, hey, I've got a blog.

Do not tease Joakim Noah

2007-04-04T01:11:00.000-04:00

This is what happens in my office when you hate on the leader of the greatest college basketball team since Bill Walton's Bruins.

My college is better than yours at men's sports

2007-02-24T15:41:00.000-05:00

Hey, I have a blog. And my alma mater is winning national championships left and right. I should say something about that. Or better yet, post a picture of me abusing a friend of mine who happens to be an Ohio State fan at halftime of last month's game.

That works nicely. Go Gators!

John Mellencamp is a whore

2006-11-05T20:51:00.000-05:00

I say that because his damn song, "Our Country," is getting played during every commercial break of Sunday night football tonight, and it's driving me crazy.

But seriously, letting Chevrolet sell trucks using your treacly, faux-patriotic "rock" diddy? Whore.

Self-promotion

2006-06-08T09:23:00.000-04:00

I'll be on C-SPAN at the cruel and unusual time of 9 am Saturday to talk about student loans, of all things. It's a live call-in show, so, you know, harass me if you want.

This month's post....

2006-05-24T00:08:00.000-04:00

Is about Las Vegas, which I just visited. Entirely pleasure, no business.

The airline: American. Better seats than Delta, at least -- and I saw that big crater in the Arizona desert on the way there. Cool. Hottie stewardess ("Doris") on the way back; too bad I was catatonic.

The hotel: Luxor. The whole pyramid thing is starting to feel dated, and it's obviously appealing to your lower class of Vegas visitor. Like, well, myself. But the pool's great and you can't beat the blackjack, where it's never hard to find a $10 table for you and at least one or two of your buddies and late surrender is allowed.

The food, in order: Sam Adams beer place at Reagan airport (good fries and beer); Bellagio dinner buffet (excellent); Luxor lunch buffet (not excellent); Fatburger (not bad for slow fast food, one cabbie says In-N-Out is better); Luxor breakfast buffet (a little gross); Chin-Chin at the NY-NY (very good Singapore noodles); Chili's at the St. Louis airport (I wanted to sleep).

The drinking, from what I can remember: Nefertiti's Lounge at Luxor (surly waitresses, way overpriced imitation Red Bull and vodka); Island Lounge at Mandalay Bay (hilarious band, equally hilarious prostitutes, silly drunk girl trying to score); $1 beer at O'Shea's casino (terrible blackjack rules -- to be avoided); the Wynn sportsbook (awesome place to watch a game); Ghostbar at The Palms casino (either the greatest or second-greatest bar ever, as I told the cabaret dancer; no celebrity sightings); back to Mandalay Bay (more prostitutes and bachelorette parties, and no, I didn't); margaritas and Coronas and Patron shots at the Luxor pool; nap time; back on the vodka tonic train at Chin-Chin; Mandalay Bay again, after winning $100 at blackjack.

The gambling: Couple quick points -- never play craps unless you have a shitload to spend; video poker is a stupid but easy and inexpensive way to kill a half-hour and $20; blackjack is my game. Linda at the Wynn kicked ass, even though she took my money, and so did Donald at Luxor, who didn't.

Pics to come.

P.S. -- My buddy Ben has completed a much more detailed and amusing report on the weekend's activities, which I post with his permission, sans his last name, because apparently he's got enemies who would use his reckless gambling and drinking against him ...

Subject: Vegas: An Appreciation

We all had our moments. Alex almost became a pedophile in the pool, Ben discovered names for his fantasy football team and his first-born son, Rommie redefined what it means to pack light, Emily took Rommie to meet the Muppets, Ryan managed to dance with a woman named Alex, and Dan opened our eyes to the joys of monorail.

I had to write this down. I want to remember it. I want to re-live it. I want to be at a blackjack table right now. Has it already been a week since the trip began?

What follows is a recap of our adventure. Follow along if you like. We will be doing this again.

Thursday:
_ Noon. DC crew meets at Reagan Airport. Ryan declares he's not making any decisions on this trip. Alex says he can only deal with Vegas every 3 to 5 years.

_ 6:15 p.m. Vegas time. We check in at The Luxor. Rommie shows up in a plaid-shirt/khaki pant combo. We would all come to know it very well.

_ 7 p.m. The much hyped Bellagio buffet does not disappoint. Alex "four plates" Wayne, Ryan and Dan all enjoy the good eats but fail to give props to [Ben] for suggesting the idea 27 times. Ben does not get pissed until Dan beats him to the only bathroom stall in the restaurant.

_ 9:30 p.m. Neffertitis time. Rommie tries to sing Ben the "thong song" but fails to connect when all he does is shout, "Thong! Thong!" Ryan starts itching to gamble and struggles to avoid leading a charge to the casino. "I'm not making any decisions on this trip," he reminds us.

_ 10:33 p.m. The first round of gambling at the Luxor. Ben splits a pair of nines, then splits again when he gets a third nine. Dealer slaps down three glorious face cards in a row - 19, 19, 19. Ben is feeling it. Then dealer draws to a 20. A new name for all things bad is born: Triple 19 Ass Fuck.

_ 11:44 p.m. Emily inexplicably heads to bed after being up all day and night, ensuring her fate as the woman who always misses the good shit at Mandalay Bay. A drunken woman named Alex asks Ben, "Who did you vote for?" Annoyed, Ben passes her off to our man Alex, who makes up shit about being a gay Canadian, and Ryan, who becomes her dance partner -- twice. We all watch as a band member dances and pumps his right arm like Milli Vanilli in epileptic shock.

_ 2:45 a.m. Back at the Luxor, Ben hits a long lucky streak at roulette, erasing an early $160 deficit. Then he cleans up at blackjack, pocketing a tidy $320 profit. In his 7th trip to Vegas since 1999, he remembers that Vegas has a way of taking a punch and coming back fighting before the weekend is out. Ben chooses to ignore this and thinks he owns the town.

Friday:
_ Noon. We make it just in time for the breakfast buffet to miss breakfast.

_ 1:22 p.m. Ben considers buying an ugly $177 orange tie-dyed shirt to go clubbing at Ghost Bar. "There's always a first time," the salesman woos. The group wisely talks Ben out of it, leading him over to Urban Outfitters, where he settles for a $10 pink shirt like a Rhinestone Cowboy. Alex finds a flask that says, "What wouldn't Jesus do." He decides may 3 to 5 years is too long to wait for his next Vegas trip.

_ 2:26 p.m. We head off for a tour of the Strip. In 94 degree heat, Rommie shows up in the plaid shirt and khakis, saying he hadn't thought to bring shorts to a trip to the desert. Dan, in a precursor of monorail things to come, takes us on a misguided search for the MGM sportsbook. We head to a pit of a place called O'Sheas, looking for midgets who pour shots down your mouth. Instead, we see Ryan's spirits lift when he wins by listening to Dan and letting it ride on black.

_ A strange period of time ensues. We travel by the Dan Walter monorail south on the Strip to head north to the Wynn, where we take a shuttle to get in. Emily looks at a tired Rommie and declares, "He doesn't do well on vacations."

_ 4 p.m. The female dealer pegs Rommie for a software accountant. When told what Rommie really does, she takes one look at him and says "An entertainment reporter? YOU?"

_ 4:22 p.m. A jolly man from Southern California joins the table and wins big. Ryan takes a picture and dubs him "San Diego Splits."

_ 6 p.m. Ben, Ryan, Dan and Alex watch the end of the Pistons-Cavs game in the epic Wynn sports book. The basketball quickly becomes an afterthought to the sublime, leggy cocktail waitress. Dan aptly points out that it is hard to no where to look at her first. Ryan insists the waitress is too good looking to even exist.

_ 6:04 p.m. Ryan reminds us he isn't making any decisions on this trip.

_ 7 p.m. Nancy the cab driver takes us on the fatburger express. Someone asks what the thing is we're passing. "That's supposed to be a projector," she said. "I ain't seen it project shit."

_ 7:08 p.m. Nancy rides up on the ass of a wimpy Prius driver from California, who responds by meekly flipping us the bar. Alex, with gusto, flips him back. Nancy pleads with us to make sure Fatburger does not give us any precooked patties. "Tell them to make it fresh! FRESH!"

_ 8:14 p.m. Dan falls in love with their free sample of Coke Blak on the walk back to the Luxor. Alex, with a Red Bull in his other hand, does the same. Caffeine + Caffeine = Good.

_ 9:22 p.m. One cab to the Ghost Bar gets there in minutes. The other, containing Ryan, Dan and Ben, gets stuck in hellish traffic on the Strip. Ryan challenges the cab driver's decision-making, drawing only mutters and silence. In Ryan's mind, if he were making decisions, we would have been there by now.

_ 9:33: Ben's efforts to get on this lGhost Bar list, via Dave Austin and Dan, pay off. Sort of. We are ordered to wait in an embarrassing holding pen of red plastic rope lines. A mutiny starts. Ben, at the front of the line, starts feeling the heat from his buddies. He eagerly offers his ID, some paperwork, whatever will get the bouncer's attention. He is ignored.

_ 9:45: Bouncer lets us in. "This is only to jump the line," he warns. "You still have to pay."

_ 9:53 p.m. We're in. We like it. We would soon love it. The drinks flow. The shots arrive. The view is grand. The women dance with themselves in ways we should have to pay for. Emily takes pictures. Dan likes the music. Ben decides to name his first son Ghost Bar. "We'll call him Goby," Ryan says. Alex asks a Cabaret dancer if this is the best bar ever or the second best bar ever. This makes no sense to her but she still warms to him. Ghost Bar lives on forever.

_ Midnight. Seeking change of venue, for some reason, we cab over to the Mandalay Bay. It is not as good as the night before, but at least Emily is with us this time, until she and Rommie go their own way for what they describe as room service. We are drunk. We try another bar. Alex checks out the Cougars.

_ 12:43 a.m. Ben loses money at blackjack at the Luxor. His friends seem to keep winning. Ben gets a little jealous. He is so tired that he falls asleep during the middle of a hand. Showing unusual maturity, he calls it a night and heads off. To a roulette table. He loses more money.

Saturday:

_ 10:45 a.m. We make the buffet in time for breakfast. Under repeated questioning, Rommie cracks and admits that the show he is going to with his wife on Friday night involves puppets. We mock him. Emily comes to his defense. "It's supposed to be riotously funny," she says.

_ 11:23 a.m. Ryan clarifies that he is allowed to make decisions for himself on the trip, just nothing that affects the entire group.

_ 11:58 a.m. Alex, Dan, Rommie and Ben go to the MGM Grand sports book and make fun of the oddsmakers for giving the Cavs nine points against the Pistons. Three of us put money on this. The Pistons would end up winning by 18 or so. Vegas quietly laughs at us.

_ 12:14 p.m. The fearsome foursome heads off on a long, hot search for the perfect blackjack table. No room at Paris. No affordable tables at the Venetian. We finally find it _ exactly where we started, the Luxor. We are so excited to see empty seats at a $10 table that we don't notice Rommie is already sitting there.

_ 12:15 p.m. Ben asks Rommie why he is wearing a "Luxor Las Vegas" T-shirt. "As we've established," Rommie says, "I packed too light."

_ 12:42 p.m. Ryan snaps at Alex for asking questions during a round of craps. Alex employs the guys' method of conflict resolution: Whatever, dude.

_ 2 p.m. The crew, sans Rommie, is all at the pool. Ben asks why we have a three-hour layover in St. Louis the next day. Dan and Ben begin debating how we could spend the time. This somehow ends up with plans for Emily to get an associate's degree in truck driving. We are all deliriously overtired.

_ 2:38 p.m. Emily gets the hiccups. Alex says he can help. He encourages her to ignore all distractions, including the hot women leaning against the edge of the pool. Noticing that a girl nearby heard him, Alex says, "Not you. You're just a kid."

_ 3 p.m. Ben waits in the line to get drinks at the pool. A chatty guy tells him that Barboro broke his leg in the horse race that day. "Is he going to have to be killed?" Ben asks. Dumbfounded, the guy says, "I'm not a vet."

_ 8:10 p.m. The DC crews gets Chinese food at New York, New York. Full of noodles and no sleep, Ben decides to take a nap before.

_ 9:18 p.m. Alex snaps at Ben for not coordinating his nap schedule. The whatever dude defense works well again.

_ Midnight: Ben wakes up so he can downstairs and lose for a final time in blackjack. Emily shows up. Asked about the quality of the puppet show, she says, "It was riotously funny, or whatever."

_ 2 a.m. The men go back to Mandalay for the last time. They see a fight outside the House of Blues. It never really seems to end. Unfortunately, the trip does.

_ 4:11 a.m. DC guys take a cab to the airport. The cab driver tells us a vivid story about a woman servicing a guy in his backseat. Asked several times if he has cleaned the seat since then, he finally says, "It's been cleaned up by the asses of the last 50 people who sat back there."

_ 4:38 a.m. We wait for our 6 a.m. flight home. Alex goes successfully hunting for a screwdriver. He comes back with a double. He begins plotting a trip to Vegas for a football weekend this fall.

_ 4:40 a.m. There is nothing left to stay. Still, Ryan comes up with this gem: "I like Rommie's hair."

I wish I were in Gainesville tonight

2006-04-04T00:49:00.000-04:00

My football-school alma mater just won the NCAA national basketball championship.

My hometown is gonna burn.

I'm stone sober.

This ain't right. And yet it's so very right.

For fellow Gator fans' entertainment: the national championship game discussion thread at Fark. My favorite line:

UCLA wins "most made to look like girly-men in a final" award

Directions to the House of Laughter

2006-02-27T22:51:00.000-05:00

My good friends Matt and Nancy Cravey just had a baby, which they named Isaac even though they're not Jewish. They are funny, however, so there you go.

Check out the adventures of the helmet-headed child at Matt's blog.

Since Hamlet, anyway

2006-02-07T19:09:00.000-05:00

I don't know much about this ridiculous controversy over these Muhammad cartoons, but I do have this question: Who figured that they could prove Islam is a peaceful religion by burning down an embassy?

Oh, and also: Is this Denmark's 15 minutes of fame? Discuss.

Sticking up for James Frey

2006-02-01T00:52:00.000-05:00

Yeah, he's a lying jerk, but this is just stupid.

Now I'm just a simple caveman reporter, and all your modern ways confuse and frighten me. But don't plaintiffs have to prove, like, damages, to win lawsuits in this country?

Sorry you've got to pay a lawyer to get this silliness dismissed, Mr. Freyed. I suspect life's bad enough as is for you right now.

Disclosure

2006-01-31T23:03:00.000-05:00

I deleted a recent post. No one asked me to do it, but a friend suggested it might be a good idea. I decided the friend's advice was sound.

Now playing on my computer

2006-01-29T16:16:00.000-05:00

Battlestar Galactica. Another one of those shows I hope doesn't get cancelled because of my neglect.

I remember it, vaguely, as a super-cheesy, late '70s Star Trek/Star Wars knock-off. And I guess as the inspiration for the name of the best coffee in the world.

But this dude Ronald D. Moore took that old, crappy show as inspiration to create the best sci-fi series on television today -- by far -- and one of the best dramas. It's like the West Wing in space, with better writing and acting and the best CG effects I've seen on TV (better effects, in fact, than a lot of movies). Puts to shame shit like Andromeda and Stargate: SG-1 (yeah, I love MacGyver, too, but that show absolutely sucks).

Anyway, BG is recommended, if that's not obvious. I'm working my way through the first season, courtesy of iTunes...

Oprah is my new hero

2006-01-26T23:21:00.000-05:00

I haven't seen the show. But from all accounts I've read, Oprah Winfrey apparently made like an Abu Ghraib interrogator on James Frey and got the little bitch to confess to lying, straight up. Not only that, he admitted that The Smoking Gun report on his "memoir" was accurate and that the reporters "did a good job." This, after his lawyer had threatened to sue them.

(Aside: Remember what I said about threats to sue. Next time you see anything like it in any news story, assume that the party "threatening to sue" is guilty of whatever they're alleged to have done.)

My favorite graf from the AP account:

Winfrey, whose apparent indifference to the memoir’s accuracy led to intense criticism, including angry e-mails on her Web site, subjected Frey to a virtual page-by-page interrogation. No longer, as she did last week, was she saying that emotional truth mattered more than the facts. “Mr. Bravado Tough Guy,” she mockingly called the author whose book she had enshrined last fall and whose reputation she had saved last week.

You go, Ms. Winfrey.

Maybe I should give Frey some credit for finally fessing up, and on national television, no less. But I don't think so. This comes only after weeks of either silence or utter bullshit from him and his publisher. Only when Oprah finally dragged him back onto her show -- probably by threatening to revoke her endorsement of his book otherwise -- did he give it up.

(Aside: Frey's site, bigjimindustries.com, wasn't password-protected as of a couple weeks ago, when I went looking to see what he had to say. Interesting.)

Oprah, on the other hand ... wow. It's not a small thing to weigh the evidence, consider the facts and decide that your earlier position on an issue was incorrect -- and then publicly admit that you were wrong. That takes a big person. Just consider how often it happens in Washington.

Really a stunning turn of events. I saw a promo last night for Oprah's show today where she said she'd be talking to James Frey and his publisher again. I figured, more apologists massaging the fuckhead's ego. I wonder if he was as surprised as I was to find out exactly how the conversation would go.

And from what I've read, Oprah asked really good questions. I mean, if this whole talk-show thing doesn't work out for her, I think she has a future in investigative reporting:

"We asked if you, your company, stood behind James's book as a work of nonfiction at the time, and they said absolutely," Ms. Winfrey said (to Nan Talese, Frey's publisher). "And they were also asked if their legal department had checked out the book, and they said yes. So in a press release sent out for the book in 2004 by your company, the book was described as brutally honest and an altering look at — at addiction. So how can you say that if you haven't checked it to be sure?"

Ms. Talese replied (according to the New York Times) that while the Random House legal department checks nonfiction books to make sure that no one is defamed or libeled, it does not check the truth of the assertions made in a book.
Ms. Winfrey replied, "Well, that needs to change."

So that's a nice denouement for this whole sorry episode. Unfortunately, I suspect this will only result in more book sales for Frey, and more fabricated "memoirs" from the publishing world.

Although the AP reports that Frey's publisher is now hanging him out to dry...

Frey’s career will likely never recover, although so far he has not suffered for sales. His book, a million seller thanks to Winfrey, remained in the top 5 Thursday on Amazon.com. A second memoir, “My Friend Leonard,” was in the top 20.
He must still answer to his current publisher, Riverhead Books, an imprint of Penguin Group USA. In a statement Thursday, the publisher said there “very serious issues” with “My Friend Leonard,” which refers to the jail term he never served, and “we are treating them that way.” Regarding his recent two-book deal, Riverhead said, “The ground has shifted. It’s under discussion.” A novel is scheduled to come out in 2007.

You know your reputation's in the shitter...

2006-01-24T20:11:00.000-05:00

... When an occasionally funny comic strip is making fun of you. (Thanks, Mom.)

In other news, the New York Times is picking up where The Smoking Gun left off at revealing James Frey as a total ass-clown and liar.

Frey's enabling publishers, in response, offer up a pair of "witnesses" to The Times to vouch for the book. Some unsolicited public relations advice for Random House: in the future, you might want to run a cursory background check on your "witnesses" and, hell, I don't know, ask them a question or two before tossing them to The New York Friggin' Times.

One is a Louisiana state judge who is about to be sentenced to up to 20 years in prison for mail fraud. The other is some dude named "Richard" who refuses to give the Times his last name. And even these two sterling sources can't confirm specific events Frey described.

I've been called out...

2006-01-24T00:55:00.000-05:00

... by Lex. Probably because I haven't been posting often enough. Reminds me of once upon a time when I worked for the guy .... [shiver]

So, five odd things about me that I don't mind posting on a blog occasionally read by strangers, sources and co-workers. This ought to be some great reading.

1. I save all of the notebooks, documents, trinkets and other junk I've ever produced at every newsroom I've ever worked in three big plastic crates stacked in a closet. I call it the Wayne Archives. Why? For my memoirs, of course.

2. I know that I will never read any of that shit ever again and it will all probably burn up in a house fire or disintegrate from old age. I like having it anyway.

3. I incessantly twist and pull at my bangs when I'm deep in thought. I'm doing it right now. I fear I'm losing my hair because of it.

4. I used to incessantly pick and chew all of my fingernails down to the pink. I quit doing that cold turkey one day when I was 20. That's about when I started the hair thing.

5. I don't like to think of how many hours of my life I have lost to video games.

I don't know five active bloggers, off-hand, that I would sic this upon. So instead, if you're one of my five daily readers and you have a blog, consider yourself tagged.

Book publishers are worse than journalists!

2006-01-11T08:46:00.000-05:00

The New York Times reports that James Frey's publisher has issued a statement about its author's fabricated and deceitful memoir:

"Recent accusations against him notwithstanding, the power of the overall reading experience is such that the book remains a deeply inspiring and redemptive story for millions of readers."

Wrong. So wrong. The power of Frey's book stemmed entirely from its supposed truth. Without truth, it's a story about a fictional thug who goes into rehab and rejects 12-step therapy. That might be an interesting story, but not an inspiring or redemptive one -- and, I suspect, not one that would sell 3.5 million copies.

Here's the difference between book publishers and publishers of journalism. Had Frey worked for a newspaper, something like this would have happened in the wake of The Smoking Gun article:

Frey would have been put on paid leave.
The paper would launch its own investigation of his work.
Frey would be required to co-operate, and if he didn't, he'd be fired.
There'd be some kind of editor's note published, acknowledging the accusations against Frey and announcing the paper's investigation.
The paper, no doubt, would quickly find that The Smoking Gun's report is accurate.
The paper would publish a lengthy correction of the story, or perhaps, given the extent of the fabrications, just retract the thing altogether. Frey would be fired.
The paper would publish a lengthy story detailing its investigation of its own writer and analyzing what went wrong. Editors might resign or be fired.
The larger journalism community would be a-twitter, with independent analysis, investigation and criticism.

But in the book publishing world? We get Doubleday's spokesidiot telling The Times, "This is not a matter we deem necessary for us to investigate."

In other words: "We got your money already, so screw you."

Update (a couple days late): Lying is okay with Oprah.

Double update: Scary. Michelle Malkin and I agree on something.

Triple-dog update: Seth Mnookin, who says he was a legit junkie, tears apart Frey and his crappy book. I'm starting to wonder why I liked it in the first place. The excerpts Mnookin cites are pretty terrible writing.

Too easy

2006-01-11T00:49:00.000-05:00

D.C. councilmember Marion Barry apparently doesn't merit the "former crackhead mayor" title I've assigned him.

Turns out that there's nothing "former" about the crackhead part.

This would be really, really funny if it wasn't so very sad. Only in the District of Columbia ...

Thoughts on Lost: Whoa

2006-01-10T22:11:00.000-05:00

I spent last weekend holed up in my apartment with beer, popcorn, Chinese food, my new coffee grinder, and the first-season DVDs of the television show Lost.

I'm not good about watching TV. There are a lot of shows I like -- Nip/Tuck, The Shield, Arrested Development, Family Guy, The Simpsons, Scrubs ... the list goes on. But I don't watch any of them regularly. I just forget. I'm a bad TV fan, I guess -- Arrested Development, a great show, is probably gonna get canceled because of people like me.

So in summer 2004, I started seeing these previews of this Lost show. Endless clips of Dominic Monaghan saying, "Guys. Where are we?" And something about a plane crash on a desert island inhabited by a monster. Sounds stupid, I thought. I didn't watch.

So yeah. Turns out it's not so bad. In fact, it's friggin' genius. In fact, I watched all 25 episodes in a row over two nights and two days -- broken up by occasional eating and sleeping and football -- and woke up Monday morning wanting more. The episode where Sawyer tells Jack about meeting Jack's dad in the bar nearly choked me up. Movies rarely nearly choke me up. Television shows never nearly choke me up.

How did this show not sweep the Emmys this year? How did Terry O'Quinn not win a damn thing? I mean, I love William Shatner, don't get me wrong, but his work in Boston Legal couldn't possibly have outshadowed John Locke.

Also, it has the best-looking female cast of any current show. Emilie de Ravin (especially sans prosthetic tummy), Yoon jin-Kim, Evangeline Lilly, Michelle Rodriguez, Cynthia Watros, Kimberly Joseph -- I love you all. Though de Ravin could cut back on the hysterical screaming.

I watched the season premier this year, but otherwise missed pretty much every episode. Which had me pretty glum this week ... until a friend told me that I could download them and watch them, for $2 a piece, from iTunes.

That, friends and neighbors, is one sweetheart of a deal. God bless you, Steve Jobs. I'm off to watch season two, episode eight: "Collision."

Update: Damnit all, the reunification of Bernard and Rose nearly choked me up again! (Alright, DID choke me up!)

The District of Columbia sucks

2006-01-10T09:14:00.000-05:00

Not only is this city not safe for former crackhead mayors; it's apparently just as dangerous for respected journalists.

Last year, I covered the Social Security debate here in the Capitol, so David Rosenbaum and I would occasionally find ourselves covering the same news conferences, staking out the same secret meetings, chasing the same senators down hallways, that sort of thing.

For a decorated journalist working for the most influential publication in the land, Rosenbaum was a remarkably nice guy. The first time we wound up hanging out together outside a secret meeting, he introduced himself to me. Turned out he had once worked for my current employer, so he shared some stories and told me how much he respected our work.

One day in the summer, a couple of congressmen called a news conference to announce a Social Security bill. The studio the House of Representatives has built for news conferences is way too small, so there were probably 30 of us, plus cameras and what-not, stuffed into the room. The congressmen were running late. Five minutes went by, then 10, then 15 -- no congressmen.

So all of a sudden, Rosenbaum I guess decides that he has had it. From the back of the room, he yells at one of the congressmen's flacks: Where is your boss? He's running late, she says. We don't have time for this, he tells her. She goes scurrying out of the room, then pops back in. He's right outside, talking to another member, she reports. Get him in here! Rosenbaum barks.

God bless Rosenbaum for having the temerity to voice the frustration we all felt. Needless to say, Mr. Congressman hurried into the room and got things underway.

I wish I'd gotten to know Rosenbaum better. Rest in peace, sir.

Update: Rosenbaum's alleged killer turns out to be -- not surprisingly -- a bonehead.

James Frey is (allegedly) a giant asshat

2006-01-09T20:27:00.000-05:00

As I was leaving beautiful Greensboro, N.C. in 2004 for the nation's Capitol, a good friend gave me a lovely parting gift. "A Million Little Pieces," a book by a fellow named James Frey, who claims it's a memoir.

It's a great read. Frey tells a grisly, detailed story of his life as a young crack fiend, bad-ass tough-guy criminal, and all-around asshole, and how he found redemption and love in a Minnesota rehab clinic. I was touched. I recommended it to friends. I gave it a place of honor on my good bookcase -- the one in my living room where I show off all my "good" books.

Unfortunately, looks like everything about Frey's story except the asshole part was, at best, embellished, and at worst, completely made up. His worst criminal convictions were some DUIs. He was never investigated by the FBI for selling cocaine. No mafia and federal judge buddies he met in rehab leaned on hillbilly prosecutors in Ohio to get him out of a long prison sentence. And in the most vile fiction, contrary to his claims, he had nothing to do with a train accident in his hometown that killed two young women. All bullshit, according to The Smoking Gun.

It's a heck of a piece of journalism -- a lesson in how to root out documents and parse the truth. I recommend the story; I no longer recommend Frey's piece of shit book. It's not even worth my back bookshelf, the one where I keep old textbooks and sci-fi.

Frey has "threatened to sue" The Smoking Gun, according to the Associated Press. Here's the thing about "threatening to sue." Some editors I respect once told me not to bother writing news stories about people "threatening to sue." It's as easy to threaten to sue someone as it is to turn your boring, sorry, fuckhead life into a best-selling memoir.

Update: The New York Times reports on The Smoking Gun's report. Let the echo chamber begin! I'm very curious to see how Oprah reacts to all this. My prediction: after getting burned by two dickweed contemporary authors, Oprah will never name another one to her book club again. You reap what you sow, silly publishing industry.

Welcome to DC, 2006

2006-01-04T09:28:00.000-05:00

Where even a former crackhead mayor isn't safe.

In other news, I met a candidate for mayor of this fine third-world city the other day. I'm sitting at my computer Saturday afternoon, minding my own business, when a pretty girl walks up to the door and knocks. Says she's an aide to Fenty, and that he's just down the street, and would I like to meet him? Why not. He strolls up a few minutes later. Nice enough guy. Acknowledges that the schools here suck. Says he'll fix them. Sure he will. Wants my vote. I'll keep an eye on him, I say.

Pretty girl gets my name and email for their mailing lists, but no, I don't want a "Fenty for Mayor" sign for my window.

The election isn't until next November. Gotta give him credit for hustling, anyway.

Is it too late for Christmas?

2005-12-28T09:51:00.000-05:00

Because I forgot to put this on my list.

Santa should take note for next year.

Great, but ...

2005-12-21T10:08:00.000-05:00

Old news, and I'm late to the party: A federal judge in Dover, Pa. has ruled, basically, that the school board there that required its teachers to preach the merits of intelligent design in science class was a bunch of morons, and that intelligent design is not a scientific theory.

That's all well and good. But unfortunately, eight of the nine idiot school board members were cast out of office this fall. The new school board is comprised of folks who are apparently not religious fanatics. So sadly, they're not going to appeal the judge's ruling.

That's unfortunate. Because while it's nice to have a guy in authority -- and a George W. Bush appointee, to boot! -- saying that intelligent design ain't science, Judge Jones's decision sets no legal precedent.

So the next time some backwater hillbillies -- or perhaps some frontwater hillbillies? -- decide to put God in science class, we'll have to go through all of this all over again.

On the plus side, that means that goofballs like Michael Behe will have plenty of opportunity to continue saying dumb things in public, and I will continue to have plenty of opportunity to make fun of them. Still, that's starting to feel like picking on the slow kid, y'know?

Death to prom!

2005-12-10T11:14:00.000-05:00

I'm certainly no moral crusader -- certainly not. But this strikes me as a refreshing trend.

Proms suck.

My first prom, my date was an ex-girlfriend who had dumped me (I think, details are hazy) to date some geek at her wacky right-wing church. His mom wouldn't let him go to prom. So she took me. I was a sophomore at the time and thought it was a Big Deal that a junior girl had invited me to prom. What a dumbass. Anyway, the highlight was making out with the girl afterward and convincing her to drop her loser churchboy to get back together with me. A couple months later I dumped her because I got sick of hearing about church. Like I said, no paragon of morality here.

Skipped prom my junior year, basically because I didn't have the guts to ask out this girl I'd pined for off-and-on all through high school. Caused me no small degree of angst. Fortunately, most of my friends were losers too, so if I recall, we gathered together to play Pictionary and watch Saturday Night Live. These were the days when it was still worth watching.

Senior prom remains the worst date of my life. I wasn't going to go at all, mostly for the same reasons I skipped junior prom, until a classmate asked me out, pretty much out of the blue. Can't hurt, I figured. Wrong. Turns out this girl had zero conversational skills, didn't like to dance and had a midnight curfew. Which actually turned out to be a blessing.

So sure, if my parents had been cool and had rented me a limo and a beachhouse and encouraged me to drink and screw all night, I might have a different perspective. But no -- they had to be, like, responsible and stuff.

So fuck prom.

A confession

2005-12-09T08:39:00.000-05:00

After much soul-searching and quiet contemplation, I'm ready to make a life-changing announcement to my friends and family. Steel yourselves. Here goes:

I want to see a movie about gay cowboys.

I can't tell you how good it feels to say that. It's like I'm 1,000 pounds lighter. I mean, I thought I might want to see a movie about gay cowboys, but I wasn't sure. It seemed crazy, at first: How could I -- me, Alex! -- possibly want to see a movie about gay cowboys, especially one with such a ridiculously suggestive title? But then I started experimenting ... you know, reading about a movie about gay cowboys (although the NYT review, frankly, is pretty silly -- it was a review in Esquire magazine, headlined something like "The best gay cowboy movie ever," that really swayed me) picturing myself at the theater watching a movie about gay cowboys, that kind of thing.

Oh, and also: That Heath Ledger is just sooo dreamy.

At first I felt dirty. But gradually I've grown to accept it. I hope you can too.

Satiation

2005-11-24T22:19:00.000-05:00

So the turkey wasn't "classically" beautiful, and maybe the stuffing was a tad dry, but I didn't hear any complaints.

As Cartman would say, "Get your bitch ass back in the kitchen and make me some pie!"

This concludes my Thanksgiving liveblogging, such as it was.

Happy holidays, folks.

Not exactly the way Mom does it

2005-11-24T22:07:00.000-05:00

Remember Christmas Vacation? When Chevy Chase carves the turkey and it lets out this horrible "hissssss" and splits wide open, meatless?

My turkey was something like that (left).

Not really. Although I did bake it upside down, apparently. So it turned out more like a pig pickin' than your traditional fancy-pants thanksgiving. No matter. Delish.

Out with the bird. In with the stuffing.

2005-11-24T18:32:00.000-05:00

Continuing with the lamest "live blogging" ever ... in fact, it's not even so live anymore.

Anyway, that's a turkey. It tasted as good as it looks right here.

Interim

2005-11-24T18:18:00.000-05:00

Two things going on at this little gathering. Me: Slaving away at the stove. Guests: Not so much. Last Thanksgiving for a while that I fuck with this stuff, let me tell you.

Pictured above: No-good guests; very good cornbread and crab stuffing ( yes, I know it's not actually IN the turkey, but that's the way mom does it).

Turkey, oven. Oven, turkey.

2005-11-24T15:38:00.000-05:00

In she goes. And only one phone call to my personal Butterball hotline (mom) thus far.

I'd tell you the recipe, but I think it's a family secret. Rest assured, it's yummy.

My Thanksgiving schedule

2005-11-23T20:40:00.000-05:00

8:45 a.m. -- Awake. Drink OJ, throw on clothes, grab water, cleats, jacket.
9:30 a.m. -- Play football. Probably poorly.
12 p.m. -- Home, hopefully. Shower, change. Jump on Metro.
1 p.m. -- Pick up sister at airport.
2 p.m. -- Home, again. Turn on football. Commence drinking. Begin turkey prep.
3:30 p.m. -- Turkey in oven. Continue drinking.
6 p.m.ish -- Eat. Continue drinking.
8 p.m.ish -- Go out. Continue drinking.

I'm thinking about "live blogging" all of this. Or at least the hours from 2 p.m. to 6, which should be the most amusing.

Back in business

2005-11-20T12:16:00.000-05:00

The new computer is in town. For my return to posting, I of course have to make fun of something. And this Washington Post story is just too rich a target.

It's a great, groundbreaking piece -- in 1997. Seriously, I bet even my mother, who pretty much hates computers, has bought things on the Internet.

Coming soon: Pictures and vital statistics on my new machine. Now isn't that exciting? Bet you can't wait. As well as more crap from Italy and more poking fun at both my mother and Italians.

In the meantime, read about how my friend Pete nearly severed his thumb. It's great writing, but I don't recommend taking it with a meal.

In case anyone was wondering ...

2005-11-02T22:48:00.000-05:00

The Italy slide show has been indefinitely delayed. I suffered a catastrophic computer crash a couple weeks ago, and have put off blogging until I figure out how to deal with the issue (most likely, by sucking it up and buying a new laptop, damnit all).

Until then, I'm using a work machine, and you'll forgive me if I want to keep as much personal stuff off it as possible.

How I spent my summer, Ch. 2: Rome

2005-09-29T00:56:00.000-04:00

Rome is cool. Rome at night is cooler. Putting a big Puma ad at the top of the Spanish Steps (right) isn't so cool. One little piece of Americana I wish we hadn't exported.

After spending nearly a week in Rome in August, I've decided that DC is the most touristed place on Earth. The crowds of tourists around the Colosseum were pretty bad, but they've got nothing on the hordes I have to wade through just to do my job between June and September.

Oh, and let me dispel one myth right here. There are no pickpockets or thieves in Rome. No one ever attempted to rob me or Mom (who was equipped with a theft-proof -- albeit awfully ugly -- purse, just in case). We didn't see any crowds of gypsy kids swarming around tourists on the Forum. And I felt a helluva lot safer walking all over Rome at night than I do DC.

So quit writing about it already, Rick Steves.

Photo credit: Me.

Back to the slide show momentarily...

2005-09-28T18:47:00.000-04:00

... but first, a rant against Creationists.

Why is this trial even necessary? Why can't these people simply acknowledge one FACT -- inarguable, inescapable: "intelligent design" is not science.

There's no way to test whether an "unidentified intelligence" -- as many reporters seemed to have been conned into calling it -- created life. (I would call it "supernatural being," if I were the reporter on the story -- which I probably will never be, given my quite biased view of the subject. But kudos to AP reporter Martha Raffaele for consistently and accurately referring to ID as an "idea," instead of a "theory.")

If it can't be tested it's not science, and if it's not science it doesn't belong in biology class. The end. Is there a lawyer in the house -- why wasn't this case won on summary judgment?

While we're on the topic of myth and science, this is very cool. Almost as good as catching the Loch Ness Monster on tape, in my book. Shame, though, that they had to badly wound the thing in order to film it.

How I spent my summer, Ch. 1: Flying

2005-09-27T19:30:00.000-04:00

Steerage is for suckers.*

We went business class, baby. Which actually wasn't as relaxing as I anticipated. Good food and free booze and stewardesses who asked, about every two minutes, whether you needed more of said booze. And good movies, too -- no "Miss Congeniality 2," thank you very much. "Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" on the way over and "Sahara" on the way back, plus bits and pieces of "Kingdom of Heaven," television, and video games. ("Guide" is great. "Sahara" is dumb fun, but a bit of an insult to Clive Cussler.)

But I didn't sleep an hour either way, even with all the extra leg and ass room. And I still sat in fear that I would be stricken by deep vein thrombosis.

Anyway, above is The Alps from the plane window. Most impressive mountains I've ever seen, not having ever seen the Rockies.

Photo credit: Me.

*Suckers whose moms didn't buy their plane tickets, that is.

How I spent my summer vacation: Prelude

2005-09-27T00:20:00.000-04:00

Let's get this out of the way: More than one person has bitched recently that I haven't been posting often enough and my blog is "boring." You know what? If you want to read my shit every day, buy a subscription to my employer's publication. Otherwise, you'll get it when I feel like it and not a moment sooner.

I feel like it.

At right: Me and my mother on the edge of the crater of Mt. Vesuvius. The Bay of Naples is behind us. Sorrento, where we would spend a harrowing two days (more on that later), is way back there to the left of my head. Capri is to the right of Mom's head.

This was my finest accomplishment of two weeks in Italy: dragging my mother to the top of the most dangerous volcano in Europe. At a few points I thought I might have to administer CPR. Which is really sad, considering that you can drive almost all the way to the top.

(Pause to let Mom curse me a bit.)

Hey, but I'll grant you, that last half-mile or so is a real bitch. Nice that the Italians sell beer at the summits of their volcanoes.

So anyway, now that Blogger has made it reeeeal easy to post photos, I'm going to be industrious-like and post a regular series of items about Italy. Oughta keep certain people off my goddamn back.

Photo credit: Some German dude that Mom thought was hot.

Really, I am ready for some football

2005-09-07T22:01:00.000-04:00

The 2005 NFL season kicks off tomorrow night. Time to meet my fantasy team: the Noodly Appendages. Imagine a big inflatable flying spaghetti monster at the entrance to the tunnel to the locker room, as well as a bunch of slutty Creationist cheerleaders, and out they come...

At QB: Jake Delhomme, Carolina and Byron Leftwich, Jacksonville, backed up by David Carr, Houston.
At RB: Tiki Barber, New York Giants and Chris Brown, Tennessee, backed up by J.J. Arrington, Arizona.
At WR: Randy Moss, Oakland; Terrell Owens, Philadelphia and Lee Evans, Buffalo, backed up by Rod Smith, Denver and Marcus Robinson, Minnesota.
At TE: Antonio Gates, San Diego, backed up by Bubba Franks, Green Bay.
Kicker: Jeff Reed, Pittsburg.
Defense: Washington Redskins.

Fittingly, the Appendages' strength is the receivers and tight ends. Or at least until Randy Moss gets his leg broken tomorrow night by the New England Patriots' Rodney Harrison, as one of my coworkers has forecast. I'm not wild about my running backs situation. And Delhomme and Leftwich better have the break-out seasons everyone's predicting, or I'm dead in the marinara in this two-QB league.

Update (9/27/05): Three games into the season, the Appendages are one of two 3-0 teams in the league and are third in scoring. The receivers are carrying the team, as expected. Also, I snapped up (Fast) Willie Parker of Pittsburg and Cadillac Williams of Tampa after the first weekend, significantly upgrading the RB corps. Delhomme was killing me until this weekend, when he threw for 3 TDs. I could care less that it was a losing effort. Carr, Brown, Arrington, Robinson, Franks and Washington's D have all been handed their walking papers.

Sick of my infrequent posting schedule?

2005-09-07T21:51:00.000-04:00

Then check out my friend Pete Wagener, who is free to write about stuff I can't go anywhere near. Also, he's cool because his site runs on software he wrote.

It's crossed my mind, too

2005-08-30T19:42:00.000-04:00

A friend of mine has decided to retire from personal blogging for the time being, apparently because his site is pointless.

Which is a pretty good point.

The only reason I continue to half-ass it, really, is as a substitute for something quaint like keeping a journal. Someday when I write my memoirs I can look back through my blog and recall all my pointless ruminations about Creationists, fantasy football, crappy drivers, movies, music and friends. Won't that be useful.

Anyway, stay tuned for posts about fantasy football, crappy Italian drivers and maybe some pictures, if I can figure out how to do it.

Even less to see here than usual

2005-08-13T18:10:00.000-04:00

I'll be in Italy for two weeks with my mom, probably without access to email or phones or football. On the plus side, mom sprung for business-class on the flights, so I should be drunk by about 2 p.m. Sunday and not sober again until Aug. 27. Arrivederci...

I am, like, sooo ready for some football

2005-08-08T00:46:00.000-04:00

NFL training camps have opened, we're in the last month of summer, and Florida State football players are getting arrested. The most wonderful time of the year is upon us!

So here's how the first round of my fantasy football draft is looking this year. Advice is appreciated:

1. Peyton Manning (4,600 yards and 49 TDs in 2004. 'Nuff said.)
2. LaDainian Tomlinson (had him last year; he struggled with his groin -- heh-heh -- but still produced.)
3. Shaun Alexander (big numbers last year; contract year this year.)
4. Daunte Culpepper (with 4,700 yards and 39 TDs in '04, I'd place him higher -- if he hadn't lost Randy Moss.)
5. Randy Moss (still the only WR worth a first-round pick, I think.)
6. Willis McGahee (a monster in the last half of 2004, and no competition for carries this year.)
7. Donovan McNabb (looks a lot better with Terrell Owens on his team.)
8. Priest Holmes (I'm really hoping I'm not in a position to draft Holmes. At 32, and after a pretty steep drop in production last year, I don't trust him.)
9. Edgerrin James (like Alexander also in a contract year, but has to compete for TDs with Manning.)
10. Tiki Barber (led RBs in our league in scoring last year. A fluke or the emergence of a star?)

Guys I'll be looking to steal later. Suggestions are welcome:

1. Jake Delhomme (had him last year; consistently produced and should be better.)
2. Drew Bennett (Tennessee's number one WR with Derrick Mason gone; put up great numbers the last half of '04.)
3. Byron Leftwich (traded for him last year and didn't regret it. Plus he's the hometown guy.)
4. Jermaine Wiggins (if I can't get Antonio Gates or Tony Gonzalez for my TE. Culpepper will need someone to dump to, now that he can't just wing it in Moss' general direction.)
5. J.J. Arrington (who I think will be the best of the rookie RB crop -- he's the only one of the big names who doesn't have to compete for carries.)

Guys I'll be looking to avoid like the plague. Again, feel free to advise:

1. Mike Vick (Ron Mexico simply can't throw, and killed me on a couple occasions last year after I took him in the second round.)
2. Jake Plummer (got him late in the draft last year, but because Vick sucked he became my number one guy. Sometimes looked like Brett Favre. Sometimes looked like Mike Vick. No telling who was going to show up.)
3. Tom Brady (a couple of games a year, he has these 99-yard, zero-TD performances but still manages to win, leaving the t.v. guys to all hail his "leadership" and all his fantasy owners fuming.)
4. Torry Holt (drafted him third round last year; he disappeared in more than one game.)
5. Chris Brown (awesome first few games last year, but then seemed to stub his toe in every game and leave in the third quarter. Irritating, and now he's competing with Travis Henry.)

Why the creationists are winning

2005-08-03T09:58:00.000-04:00

In part, because the New York Times identifies their creation myth as a "theory" on par with evolution.

I've pretty much resigned myself to the fact that this nation is slowly devolving into a theocratic idiotocracy. But Jesus H. Christ, Elisabeth Bumiller, you don't have to help the process along.

Gentle reminder: a theory stands up under the scrutiny of scientific testing. Myths, like "intelligent design," do not, and so it is inaccurate to call them theories.

Update: For some guidance, Bumiller could read her own editorial page, where Paul Krugman spells out what's happening.

Double update: I shouldn't pick only on Bumiller. The Washington Post is also guilty. Its reporters at least wait until the fourth paragraph to call creationism a "theory," but then attribute the lack of scientific evidence to a claim by "opponents."

This is a situation where journalists should educate themselves on the subject matter and write with authority: "There is no peer-reviewed science that supports the idea of 'intelligent design,' which is called creationism by many biologists." The end. And when the creationist assholes call to complain, tell 'em to show you the science.

A gifthorse that almost got looked in the mouth

2005-07-24T23:12:00.000-04:00

I made my first visit to Greensboro's new "First Horizon Park" on Saturday.

Spent a lot of my time in the Grandstand, the re-make of the bar of the same name that was integral to the city's old baseball stadium. The new bar, like the new stadium, is pretty much superior in every way. Better beer, more room, more seating. Only downside: it's no longer staffed by college hotties. Can't have everything, I suppose.

The rest of the stadium is equally pleasant. A nice wide concourse with your usual assortment of junkfood dealers. Comfortable seats. Good colors, and little architectural flourishes, like the green lamps ringing the outside of the brick facade. A good view of the game from everywhere. Plenty of beer vendors. A playground for the kiddies. A beautiful view from the third base line of Greensboro's skyline, such as it is. Clean, uncrowded bathrooms. It's a gem, pretty much. I bought a Grasshoppers hat. My friends got a free Jim Melvin bobblehead doll, which was really funny if, like me, you happened to have reported on the construction of this stadium. A couple years ago, it might as well have been a Satan bobblehead.

Here is where I almost launched into a lengthy, boring post about how ludicrous it was for a healthy proportion of Greensboro's citizenry to oppose the construction of this stadium, even though it cost taxpayers peanuts, if anything, and has clearly helped revitalize downtown.

(Some context: Washington, DC is about to build a $500 million stadium for its new baseball team, and every penny will come from taxpayers' hides. Now there's a scandal.)

But hey, water under the bridge. The stadium has made a nice town better. Enjoy.

Arrivals

2005-07-21T23:40:00.000-04:00

Two very good friends of mine in Greensboro, NC are about to have their first baby. The husband -- I believe in order to vent his mounting panic -- has taken to documenting the experience in a series of often funny, sometimes heartwarming emails. Perfect kind of thing for a blog, but he says he's too lazy (in a city sort of famous for its blogging). Anyway, because I have nothing else to write about, here's an excerpt (plus, I'm a contributor to this one):

Last night, I just watched Nancy’s belly move and squirm. Isaac is
already very smart. He has figured out a series of kicks and punches to
communicate with us, we just haven’t learned to interpret them yet. The
obvious visual comparison is the parasite in the movie Alien, but I
also thought of ol Bugs Bunny cartoon when someone ate dynamite and would
quiver, ready to blow at the slightest jostle.

While I was enjoying the “Wavy Belly” Show, Nancy told me she felt a
contraction. My first instinct was to raise the Delivery Awareness
Level from “Orange” or “Guarded” to “Red” or “Active Delivery Phase”. My mind
quieted down when I looked at Nancy. She’ll know when it’s time.

Here comes the science…..For those of you haven’t been exposed to
making babies (except for rolling over and going to sleep afterwards)*, the
cervix is a thick muscular ring at the base of the uterus. The baby’s
head is slightly pointed to push though. “Contractions” are actually
the muscles in the walls of the uterus practicing for the big day. Normally
the cervix looks like the neck of a turtle neck sweater, but when it
effaces, it stretches and thins out. It also dilates from 0 cm
(completely closed), to 5 cm (ouch this isn’t fun), 8 cm (you son of a
bitch I never wanted kids), 10 cm (baby time).

I’m sure you’ve seen skeletons before. Next time you look at one, look
at the bones in the pelvis. A baby has to get through that hole. Oh
yeah, bone doesn’t strech by the way. When the baby’s head is level
with the bottom of the hip joints, they are at “Zero station” Any higher,
and the are rated at Zero -1-5 (-5 being the highest). Any lower and the
are rated Zero +1-5 (anything higher than three, and the baby is crowning).

Two weeks ago, Nancy was 50% effaced, and 1 cm dilated.

Big Matt.

* Thanks for the joke Alex

You're welcome. I still don't know what all the science stuff means, though.

Notable aside: For my readers/friends in Greensboro, I'll be down there this weekend, visiting Matt and Nancy on what could be their last weekend as DINKs. If you'd like to catch up, I'll probably be at the 'Hoppers (?) game on Saturday. Haven't seen the new stadium, but I'll bet there's a bar, and that's where you're likely to find me.

Alternatively, you can email me, and we might actually, like, plan something.

Quick movie reviews

2005-07-14T00:33:00.000-04:00

Seen a couple very good flicks recently that should be plugged. Warning: mild spoilers, but probably nothing you didn't already figure out from trailers and reviews.

1. Batman Begins. Easily the best edition since Michael Keaton and Jack Nicholson, and maybe even better than that one. Christian Bale is totally Batman. Liam Neeson is a badass. Morgan Freeman steals every one of his scenes. So does the batmobile. Katie Holmes looks like a girl in a woman's role (Angie Harmon, who has convincingly played a prosecutor, perhaps should have gotten a call). Also could have done without some of the mystical ninja mumbo-jumbo that burned up the first third of the movie and nearly chased my girlfriend from the theater.

2. War of the Worlds. I sure hate Tom Cruise, but damn if I don't love his movies. I would offer that this movie features the greatest "arrival" scene in the history of extraterrestrial cinema. Like, they come from underground, man! How cool is that? (We'll overlook the logical questions, such as: If they could plant awesome war machines under the Earth's crust thousands of years ago, why didn't they, uh, just invade the planet back then?) Dakota Fanning, who plays Cruise's daughter, is one excellent little actress. How many 10-year-olds have comedic timing, for Christ's sake? The scenes in the basement are some of the most tense in an alien movie since Sigourney Weaver was trapped in the lab in Aliens. Stephen Spielberg is simply a genius. Although the Martians look kinda dumb -- like wimpier Aliens. My only real problem with the flick is something Spielberg couldn't do anything about: the ending of War of the Worlds has always been unsatisfying. I want something like Will Smith and Jeff Goldblum blowing up the mothership in Independence Day, only not so stupid. Instead we get: the flu. At least there's a cool Morgan Freeman voiceover.

Mastered:

2005-07-07T23:14:00.000-04:00

On banjo, the opening verse of "Dueling Banjos."

(The verse you might feel compelled to whistle when, say, crossing from Florida into Georgia, or from Guilford County N.C. into Randolph County, or from Arlington into Fairfax.)

It is my finest musical achievement. Bow to me, hillbillies of the world.

State of the fart

2005-06-25T12:07:00.000-04:00

The first sign of a Great Society, I believe, is fancy shitters. Still, I'm not sure why I'd want my toilet to look like a hatbox. Seems like that'd just make it harder to find when I'm drunk. Especially when I read this line:

... freeing designers to place the Purist where toilets have never been placed before.

Like ... where? Next to the couch? Nonetheless, I'm a big supporter of advances in toilet technology. I envision a day when we don't even need "bathrooms," a day when toilets blend in with the scenery and no one bats an eye when I drop trow in the middle of a dinner party.

All I want for Christmas...

2005-06-25T11:11:00.000-04:00

... is this t-shirt. And for the Kansas school board to be impeached. (Thanks, Lex.)

Tooting my own horn, again

2005-06-23T20:15:00.000-04:00

Check me out on NPR's "Talk of the Nation." I'd have announced it in advance, but I didn't want any of you suckers asking me about crazy shit again. And they only gave me about three hours' notice this morning.

Criticism is welcome. It's the only way I can become the best pundit I can be.