All hail our new Saturnian overlords

Titan has a 300-mile-wide infrared "bright spot" on its surface.

Now, I'm no scientist, but it's pretty clear that this can be nothing other than the heat from an underground alien metropolis.

F you, Lucas

I have successfully resisted going to see "Revenge of the Sith" (just doesn't have the same ring as "Return of the Jedi," no?) for its first weekend.

I've seen some good reviews. I've seen some not-so-good ones. The most important, however, came from a good friend, a ridiculous movie buff who also despised the first two movies. He reports -- as I suspected -- that as with the first two, the special effects ain't so special, the dialogue sucks and Hayden Christensen and Natalie Portman are terrible actors. (Hayden Christensen as Darth fucking Vader? Who's stupid idea was that?)

So, I don't care if it made $158.5 million so far. None of it was mine.

By popular request ...

... or at least by the request of one dude -- and yes, I found it annoying:

Total volume of music files on my computer: 9.85 GB, in 1,964 files. (All of them legally acquired, of course.)

Last CD I bought was: (together, via BMG) Bruce Springsteen, Born in the USA; David Bowie, Best of Bowie; The Doobie Brothers, Best of the Doobies; Weezer, self-titled (the green album).

Song playing right now: Well, let's see what Jenna randomly selects tonight ..."I Can't Stop It" by the Mighty Blue Kings. Goddamn I love this thing.

Five songs I listen to a lot lately, in no particular order:

• "Island In The Sun," Weezer
  
• "Under Pressure," David Bowie (with Queen)
  
• "Givin' Up The Nappy Dugout," Ice Cube
• "Ring of Fire," Social Distortion
• "Shut Up," Black Eyed Peas

Because I've always believed in killing chain letters, and yet have wound up pretty lucky in life nonetheless, I'm not bothering to suggest anyone else complete this exercise. Fascinating as it may be.

Happy birthday, pops

My dad, who turns 59 today, is like the far-right conservative conscience every left-leaning weenie journalist like myself ought to have. Just one of the reasons I love the guy.

Example: during the birthday phone call tonight, the conversation veers -- as it pretty much always does -- into politics. My dad is not a big fan of the State Department, it turns out. Colin Powell, he believes, was "co-opted" by all those conciliatory wusses at Foggy Bottom. Condi Rice hasn't shown herself to be much better, in dad's eyes.

"You know who'd be perfect for the job?" he says, and I can hear him grinning a mile wide on the other end of the phone.
"John Bolton," we say in unison, laughing.

Don't worry; only one of us was serious, and he doesn't write for an influential Washington news organization.

Correction: Mom notes that I forgot Dad's age. Gave him his year back accordingly.

Almost too ironic for words

Yeah, yeah, been a long time, I know. Life's been hectic, or something. But sometimes you read something that you just HAVE to blog about, even when your blog has stringent rules about commenting on people or issues you might encounter in your profession ....

So, with a minimum of commentary, I link to this report: "White House slams media role
in Quran furor." The lead is classic:

The White House said Tuesday that the U.S. image abroad had suffered irreparable damage from a now-retracted Newsweek article alleging that American interrogators at Guantanamo Bay desecrated the Quran, the Muslim holy book.

I mean, not to suggest that Newsweek didn't totally fuck up here, or that the media shouldn't seriously reconsider how we use anonymous sources. But was this incident worse than, hmm, I dunno -- a bunch of dipshit American soldiers stripping Iraqi prisoners naked, piling them into pyramids and pretending to wire their dicks to car batteries?

Journalism 101

Welcome to alexwayne.com's first-ever section of Journalism 101. Open your books to page one. Our first lesson, boys and girls, is news judgment.

News: Our military is stretched perilously thin.

Not news: A "runaway bride" who nobody knows wasn't killed.

Any questions?

If you don't like football, go away

Because it's time for the alexwayne.com NFL draft analysis.

Worst draft: Denver. With their first three picks, they took cornerbacks. Unless I missed something, they still have a fellow by the name of Champ Bailey on the roster. Two of the three weigh less than 190 pounds; none are taller than six feet. And then they pick Maurice Clarett in the third round. Even though he apparently spent his two years away from football doing nothing but eating ding-dongs and talking shit about Ohio State. Runner up: Detroit, everyone's pick for worst draft. Last thing they need is a third stud receiver on the roster, but they take Mike Williams at 10 anyway. Meanwhile, Detroit's running backs suck. There were three great running backs taken in the first five picks of this draft. Just about every team in the top five was trying to trade down. Hello? Second runner up: Every team with a crappy/questionable QB -- and there's too many to list, but starting with Tennessee and Arizona -- who passed on Aaron Rodgers, resulting in ...

Best draft: Green Bay. Drafting 24th, they get Brett Favre's successor in poor Aaron Rodgers, the Cal QB once projected to go number one. He only threw for about 5,500 yards and 43 touchdowns versus 13 interceptions in two seasons as the starter. Green Bay drafted 11 players total in seven rounds. I have no idea who most of them are, but who cares? Half of them can totally suck and it'll still be a great day. Runner up: Miami. Handily replaced Ricky Williams with Ronnie Brown, the best of Auburn's two stud backs. I'll be looking to pick him up late in my fantasy draft, come August. And then the Fins got my boy Channing Crowder in the third round. Crowder was Florida's stud middle linebacker last year; basically, he almost single-handedly made Ron Zook look less stupid. Then he foolishly decided to leave school early for the draft. I saw him projected to go in the mid-first round at one point; too bad for him, but good for Miami. Second runner up: Minnesota. Filled all kinds of needs. A possible replacement for Randy Moss? Check, in South Carolina burner Troy Williamson (Daunte Culpepper makes every other WR look good; why not this dude?) A couple of stud hogs for the defensive and offensive lines? Check, in Wisconsin's Erasmus James and Mississippi's Marcus Johnson. Another great-but-dumbass Florida player who thought he'd go in the first round? Check, in fourth-round RB pick Ciatrick Fason. When Crowder wasn't saving Zook's ass, Fason was.

Good lord, the fantasy football season can't come too soon...

Update: It was pointed out to me that the New York Jets didn't even have a draft pick until the second round, and with that pick they took a kicker. I may have anointed Denver the worst drafter too soon. Still, he was the best kicker in the draft ...

Next to stories about natural disasters and man-eating animals...

... I can't get enough stories about raging hemorrhagic fevers.

Also: I think this is the most dangerous assignment a journalist can undertake. Iraq is a cakewalk by comparison. If you're not in a situation where you have to worry about being sneezed on, you're a puss.

The usual memories

So I'm totally lazy and haven't posted jack or shit lately -- haven't even visited the site in quite a while -- but I'm idly checking comments today, and who the hell should show up but Will Morgan.

I can't tell you how huge this is.

Someday I'll scan all my old college photos into the computer and post an illustrative one here. The story of Will Morgan is best told visually. Mostly because I can't remember much of it. Something about a malt liquor party ... Will passed out on the lawn outside my apartment ... a legendary night of drinking shots of tequila and hot sauce that I only heard about ... none of us ever getting any chicks ... some disco parties ... Sugar Bowl, '97 ... so hazy.

And like that -- puff! -- he was gone. Underground. No one has ever seen him again. He becomes a myth, a spook story that drunks tell their kids at night. Rat on your pop, and Will Morgan will get you.

One of the year's greatest sporting events ...

... is upon us: The NFL draft.

Why is it so good? Readers love lists, so here's one:

1. Late April is otherwise a sports dead zone. What have we got -- Roidball (MBL), Thugball (NBA) and Arena Football. And unless it involves a congressional hearing or a brawl in the stands, I'd rather watch the latter. Oh, and we have golf. Oy.

2. Fan participation. In a scant four months, some of us nerds will be conducting exhaustive research in preparation for our own fantasy football drafts. This totally gets us in the mood. (Tough draft this year, but I'd take Auburn RB Ronnie Brown number one, were I SanFran. Braylon Edwards number two. Let the QBs fall to the 8-10 area, if you ask me.)

3. It weds together the two best professional sports leagues in America: the NFL and college football.

4. Excessive, ridiculously in-depth coverage. NFL writers otherwise are on long vacations. They come back for a few weeks and have nothing to do but write the occasional star-player-bitching-about-his-team story or draft profiles, draft predictions, draft analysis, and draft post-mortems. It's excellent.

San Francisco, you're on the clock.

Man do I hate George Lucas

He gets me every time. Creates an absolutely kick-ass trailer, then produces an absolutely wretched movie.

I know Episode III is going to reek. I know it. But this trailer has got me hooked.

I hate myself.

Making politics of coincidence

I expect Crazy Christians to be linking the deaths of Terri Schiavo and the Pope in 3 ... 2 ... 1 ...

Thank God they didn't both go on the same day, at least. My head would've popped with the insufferable comparisons.

Public service announcement

It's the beginning of tourist season here in the nation's capital -- or as I like to call it, the season of People Standing on Both F'ing Sides of Metro Escalators.

In the interest of defusing in advance potential nasty confrontations between us Blue-State snobs and you Red-State rubes visiting us, I offer this helpful advice: stand on the right.

It's just like driving back in your semi-developed wilderness of a home state. If you're a slow (i.e., bad) driver -- which, if you're standing on the left, I'd wager you almost certainly are -- you stay in the right lane. When you poke along in the left lane, the people behind you get upset.

We will generally ask you politely, once, to pardon us as we walk up or down the escalator. Failing that, we will demand that you move your fat, lazy Red-State asses to the right, and will push on by. If you are holding a conversation with your dipshit teenager, who is slouched on the left side of the escalator in ill-fitting, over-priced imitation hip-hop clothing, we will push between you and will attempt to deliver an elbow to his ribs in the process.

Thank you for your attention.

Sisters are useful

I'm not so good with remembering important dates. Or putting them in Outlook. Or even on a calendar. So it's nice to have a sister to keep track of these things for me.

I thought I would go ahead and remind you of the following important dates!

4/18/05 Mom & Dad Married 36 years

5/17/05 Dad's 59th birthday

5/8/05 Mother's Day

6/8/05 Mom's 58th birthday

6/19/05 Fathers Day

7/23/05 your very sweet and kind and wonderful sister's 28th birthday

She also conveniently reminds me that I have two years to plot my mother's 60th birthday embarassment. Mom thinks I might forget about it, and about what she did to mark my 30th birthday. Not with sis around.

Proof that exercise can kill you

Saturday was the finest Saturday we've had here in the Capital, temperature wise, since like October. So feeling industrious, and a little chubby, I threw on the running shoes and set out to make my first circuit of the National Mall since fall.

Pretty good run. Until I got hit by a car.

I'm in the home stretch, at 7th street heading east, waiting for the crosswalk light like a good pedestrian. Light turns to walk. I look right, look left, then look at my feet and take a big breath and launch myself into the crosswalk and out of the corner of my eye see an SUV that -- holy shit! -- isn't stopping.

Frequent readers will recall that the one thing I learned from snowboarding is how to fall, a lot, without hurting myself. Turned out to be a useful experience.

I turn toward the SUV, a dark green Chevy Blazer. It's slowed to maybe 10 or 15 mph by the time we make contact. My hands hit the hood, its bumper hits my shin, I spin to my right, out of the street, its bumper glances my other leg, and I land in a sort of crouch.

I'm not sure who's luckier -- me or the idiot driver. I wasn't hurt too bad -- a nasty bruise and scrapes on my shin. So I pick myself up, walk up to the driver's window (I'm pretty sure he almost kept going), and let fly with some profanity.

Guy says he's new to the country, didn't see the light, very sorry, blah blah. We go our separate ways; I didn't see much reason to get the cops involved.

The moral of the story: when you're on foot in D.C., jaywalk. It's safer.

Yeah, but...

Surely Seth Schiesel could have found a source or two who would speak to the benefits of a nation blanketed by open wireless networks? Speaking for myself, I look forward to the day when I can plop down in the neighborhood park, fire up my laptop, and get onto the Internet through whatever network happens to be convenient. And if that makes it more difficult for The Man to track what I'm doing online ... well, frankly, I consider that a nice little fringe benefit.

Next, on Fox: Introducing the I.F.O.C.M.E.!

If there's a news story I like better than the massive natural disaster variety, it's anything involving man-eating animals. I can't help myself -- I eat this stuff up. [insert rim shot, groan]

Speaking of, this thing is like the Takeru Kobayashi of man-eating animals.

I so wish this wasn't a congressional issue

I'm not nearly as free to speak publicly about what I think of the sad, sordid and ghoulish tale of Terri Schiavo as I would like. (Let's just say that I didn't find anything Michael Schiavo's lawyer said at his news conference yesterday to be at all outrageous.)

But pictures like this one scare me.

I see Christian fundamentalism on the rise in this country, influencing all sorts of public policy debates, and I wonder if it's not much less dangerous than the rise of Islamic fundamentalism elsewhere in the world. Fundamentalism is fundamentalism, no matter whom you pray to. It breeds ignorance and intolerance and it's incompatible with secular democracy.

Quite frankly, these people give Christianity a bad name. And if I were a Christian moderate -- is there such a thing anymore? -- I'd be pretty damn concerned, and I'd be pretty damn loud about it.

Point of clarification: While I can see how someone might draw the inference, I didn't intend to conflate some religious fanatics advocating for Congress to intervene in a family dispute with the 9/11 hijackers. I intended to conflate them with Creationists and Ann Coulter.

Mockery is the highest form of flattery

Something called "The Daily Howler" didn't think much of my performance on C-SPAN the other day. (And really doesn't think much, apparently, of the other reporter who was on the show.)

But hey, he or she calls me a "major journalist." That's pretty sweet.

I won't go back and watch the tape for myself right now, but just for the record: I have read the memo. I mean, it's not that long. Nor is it hard to find. But whatever.

A pundit is born

Well, that was fun. Early reviews indicate I didn't make a total ass of myself. Tim Russert, have your people call my people -- or, er, me. But look, folks: when I say "stump Alex Wayne," I'm joking. I don't have a damn clue how much fraud takes place in Social Security, or whether elderly immigrants fresh off the boat can collect from the program. Sheesh!

Careful observers will note that I am owed $1 ...