An Informed and Reasoned Rebuttal/Nerdgasm

On the porch of my plantation house, we slowly rocked, we sipped our mint juleps, we twirled our ivory-handled canes, and Tison and I had a genteel discussion regarding the design of the bridge of the Enterprise.

We discussed the finer points of the captain's chair, and as previously written, he was not taking Federation starship design into account. See, there is a hundred years of design and progress between the original Constitution class USS Enterprise NCC-1701 captained first by Robert April, followed by Christopher Pike, and finally, and most famously, James T. Kirk and the Galaxy class USS Enterprise NCC-1701-D captained solely by Jean-Luc Picard. Let us discuss how the design of the bridge in both ships requires a swiveling captain's chair on a Constitution class ship, and precludes such a feature on the Galaxy class.

Built on 2254 above earth (in the Star Trek reboot movie of 2009, this was changed to a planet-based shipyard in Iowa, homestate of James T. Kirk. Riverside, Iowa, to be exact...), the USS Enterprise NCC-1701 is one of the most famous and storied ships in Federation history. She and her crew saved the galaxy on more than one occasion. The crew of the Enterprise are legendary. But we're not here to heap praise on these brave men and women; we're here to discuss bridge design.

USS Enterprise NCC-1701

The bridge of a starship is the nerve center of the entire ship and it's operations. Command and control functions are routed through the bridge. On the Constitution class Enterprise, various stations were dedicated to specific functions. In an arc along the back wall are the science station, communications, engineering, and other auxiliary stations. In the front of the bridge is the viewscreen, which displays sensor information as well as a view of space outside the ship. Also set to the front are the helm and navigation stations. In the center stands the captain's chair. It makes sense, as the captain is the center of the crew. In this design the captain of the ship can receive information from all sides in order to make decisions. Being alone in the center of the bridge, he can swivel his chair to have a better view of various screens and stations. The swiveling post under his chair affords him 360 degree rotation. As you can well see, the design of this bridge allows swiveling.

Starship design changed little for the next 70 years. New advances were made in the interfaces and aesthetic of the command deck, but the basic layout of two stations to the front, stations circling the back wall, and the stand alone captain's chair in the center remained constant. Until we come to the Galaxy class USS Enterprise NCC-1701-D. Built at the Utopia Planetia Shipyards on Mars, the Galaxy class ship (like her predecessor) was the flagship of the fleet, and the most technologically advanced craft built up to that time. Able to achieve speeds in excess of warp 9, this Enterprise was in every way a better ship than the Constitution class of a bygone era.

USS Enterprise NCC-1701-D

You can see, on this Enterprise, the design of the bridge stays basically the same, save for two features. On this ship, there are three chairs, the center one being the captain's chair, of course, and he is flanked by the first officer to his right, and usually the ship's counselor to his left. This allows for more personnel on the bridge, which of course leads to more advice and expertise the captain has at his disposal. Behind the captain, Starfleet designed a horseshoe shaped tactical station. This is where the tactical officer monitors ship security as well as carry out his duties during battle. The tactical horseshoe rises high above the captain's chair, supported by a wide pylon coming up from the deck. This is important, because AS YOU CAN SEE the captain has a virtual wall behind his chair, as opposed to previous starships. This makes it extremely bothersome to have a full rotating chair, as its needs would be limited to say the least. On many occasions, Captain Picard can be seen sitting forward in the chair, and turning around to address the tactical officer, but he does not swivel, because this would mean looking at a wall...plus, where would his legs go?

My friend makes the point that if a ship can travel faster than the speed of light, then it should have a swiveling captain's chair. This is patently specious and irrelevant. The design of the bridge has zero impact on warp design. He also asks starship designers to design a more swivel-friendly look for the bridge. This has already been answered.

In the film "Generations", the NCC-1701-D was destroyed via a warp core breech. For hundreds of years the Federation flagship has been named Enterprise, and the next one was no different. The NCC-1701-E is a Sovereign class ship, capable of much more than even the vaunted Enterprise-D. Now, the Sovereign class of ship was not discussed during our debate, but I will address it here anyway.

USS Enterprise NCC-1701-E

You can see, the three chairs remain in the center of the bridge, but the tactical horseshoe has been replaced by a standard station back and to the right of the captain. Even in this drawing, you can see the captain's chair swiveling. (Also, in a deleted scene in the movie "Nemesis", a seat belt system was installed in the captain's chair, the first seen.) So Tison: your prayers have been answered. The future of the Federation is well guarded by Thomas Jefferson's most important invention. Besides democracy, of course.

Oh, and just to drive the point home that I am a loser with no prayer of a normal life, I wrote that entire essay from memory, with the only bit of information looked up being the date of the original Enterprise from the ex astria scientia site where I found the drawings. I've never felt so proud/depressed in my life...

A Chair by any other Name

Mine swivels. Does yours?

The other day, Russell and I got into a polite argument over whether or not the captain’s chair on the USS Enterprise from the TV shows and movies Star Trek swiveled or not. We also expanded on that notion to include the reasoning behind why they did not swivel, if indeed they did not.

Had human science taken us to a place where everyday creature comforts, like not having to turn your neck to look all over the bridge when trying to command whatever it is that might need commanding on the damn ship, no longer held importance? Did people not suffer from neck strains and sprains, or whip-lash in the future?

It seems to me that they get into some pretty heavy shit in the future and I would think that a swiveling captain’s chair would be a minor, but important, detail for the always in peril Federation captain.

As it turns out I found evidence that the chairs do indeed swivel, but only on the Enterprise NCC-1701. Now, I had no idea what the hell that actually meant at first but according to Russell it was the ship that Captain Kirk was commanding way back in the 1960s.

So apparently this does not count because, according to Russell, we were quietly discoursing on the USS Enterprise NCC-1701-D, which didn’t have a swiveling chair for the captain. I hate to be redundant because as I am sure everyone knows this, but this is actually the ship that Captain Jean-Luc Picard commanded on the 1980s series Star Trek: The Next Generation, which we were watching at the time.

There are two important facts that I think are worth mentioning here:

A) A)I was not aware that we were intelligently and quietly discussing that specific ship.

B) B)I do not know the difference in terms of technology or whatever. I assumed that all the ships were roughly the same because once we get to the point where we are going past the speed of light and beaming people up out of thin air while traveling at said speed how much further do we need to advance?

Nevertheless, it doesn’t make sense to me, no matter what generation of Enterprise we are talking about, that there would be no swiveling captain’s chair.

I didn’t even bother to bring up the rest of the crew because if the captain wasn’t afforded a swiveling chair you can bet your ass little ole blind Geordi La Forge isn’t going to get one. Hell, he probably has to sit on a cushion less, backless old potato crate.

Is it too much to ask that the most elite and advanced ship in the Federation’s arsenal did not come with a swiveling chair for the captain?

It makes no sense. The damn thing can go well beyond the speed of light; shouldn’t the captain of such a vessel be free from the inherent risks of neck trauma when constantly having to turn one’s head from side to side while traveling at such speeds?

To make matters worse, and frustratingly more perplexing, only a certain class of the Enterprise had swiveling chairs?

Why?

I mean, was 1980s TV prop technology not on pace with that of 1960s TV prop technology. Why would an earlier version of the Enterprise come with swiveling captain’s chairs but a later, assumedly more advanced version, not?

Did the Federation’s scientist learn that swiveling chairs in deep space lead to trouble for the captain and, thus, the ship as a whole? Is there some canonical Star Trek scientific space reasoning behind this or did the 1980s TV prop guys really just drop the ball?

Perhaps it was the Federation that dropped the ball. If I put my life at risk day in and day out while traveling through the vast emptiness of space, the least I would want is a comfortable chair that gives me some freedom of movement so that I may properly command my ship.

I understand the possible need to make sure that the captain isn’t taking cat naps while on the bridge, but I am not asking for a Laz-E-Boy with a built-in fridge here.

I just think that the guys down at Federation R&D might want to consider swiveling chairs in future incarnations of the Enterprise. You know, for the captains' sakes.

Home Sweet Home

Looks Good!!

I would consider myself someone who likes deserts and sweets but does not love them. My body does not release the slightest tremor at the notion of going weeks without a morsel of cookie or a bite of cake. It saves its tremors for alcohol and cigarettes but barely lets me know when I have gone over a month without succumbing to Sara Lee’s siren song.

That being said, there are times when I enjoy putting a brownie or a piece of cake in my mouth and washing it down with a half gallon of 2% milk. It would almost be inhuman to not enjoy or crave a confectionary treat at least sometimes, but it is never something that I have to cave in to or would really even notice if I didn’t live at home with my parents. But since I do not I find myself mourning the absence of a steady supply of unnecessary and usually undesired sweets.

See at home, my mom would usually have some desert or confectioner’s dream already laid out on the counter for my dad and I to peruse and eat at our leisure, or at least until the next bit of baker’s magic came spilling forth from the oven and into our greedy little hands.

However, now my once in a blue moon craving for sweets goes unheard and unanswered by the neglectful masses of people who are not my mother. (It also helps to mention that since my dad was diagnosed with diabetes she has stopped baking all together so no matter where I rest my heels on this planet my calls for familial desert catering will go unanswered.)

My mom can bake horsehair in a cow shit pie and it will come out tasting like ambrosia from Mt. Olympus. I have noticed that no one else on Earth has this ability save for my grandmother and I sure as shit don’t live with her, so as it stands fresh, home baked deliciousness is not within rifle shot much less my immediate grasp.

I do however, have a girlfriend, a woman I love above all others on this planet, and, as misogynistic as it sounds, I look for her to come up with some form of edible sweet every so often. Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t stand there brandishing my belt and cracking it behind her as she shuffles her bound feet around the kitchen producing various baked goods, but some internal mechanism inside me hopes that she will surprise me with a cake or a pan of brownies sometimes.

I do not know why, it is just there. Like racism or the unavoidable need to stare at someone with a physical handicap. It is innate, everyone does it, and everyone hates themselves a little more whenever it happens. The only difference in this case is I do not hate myself for expecting her to bake; I hate myself for expecting her to bake because she is a woman.

(It seems so much worse written down than it does in my head. Rest assured I am a 21^st century man and do not expect a woman to be baking and cooking and washing and rearing children all day, but I am still a man so stupidity creeps in whenever I turn my back.)

Besides, it’s not like she doesn’t bake for her coworkers or anything. I have seen her do it numerous times. Birthdays, anniversaries, or the first time one of the other woman in her office managed to finish the day without breaking a nail are just a few of the reasons she has strapped on the apron and whipped up desert. She might throw me a bone and do a little side baking for me but it’s not the same.

No matter what the dish, it never turns out the same as the one she packs up and takes off to work with her. The big fancy cake for her coworkers looks moist and delectable and the one she made for “us” looks like a giant shit meteorite landed in a baking pan, she heated it up, and now wants me to eat it. I can’t explain how two of the exact same baked goods could look, taste, and feel so much different.

Is this some test of my resolve for the future? Is she seeing whether or not my love for her comes and goes with the deliciousness of her baked goods?

She sure as shit would be in a lot of trouble if it did. However, as it stands my love for her does not come from the deliciousness of her homemade deserts but from something else entirely.

My love for her comes from her ability to put up with just about anything that I might throw at her, including a blathering rant about her ability to bring the world the most delicious sweets imaginable but to leave me with the negligible dregs of her labors.

It might also be the confidence she projects in herself to know that she is handing me the “special needs kid’ of baked goods and that I am just going to grin, chew it, and wash it down with the entire gallon of 2% milk.

All while wearing the world’s biggest smile and hearing the calls from my already latent sweet tooth become fainter and fainter.

It Is Still Just As Good As It Once Was

You're going to murder me for this, but I feel it's important.

Especially my sponsor for the day, Bachelor Girl. Bachelor Girl: For all your...um...Bachelor Girl needs. (Listen, just go there and tell her how much you love the "masthead". It thrills her to no end, and even if you don't mean it, what can you lose?)

I am going to re-run a post.

I know, I know...its hacky and shitty, and slightly disrespectful to my readers. But I'm going to do it anyway. For 2 reasons.

1) The subject matter is back in my life, and it's something I really want to share with all the new readers to this site.

2) I would like to use this time to highlight my previous work. As I said, there are new readers, and maybe some of them don't know that I've been making amazing content since 2007. Along with Tison (who is still a part of this, just not lately) we began this talking mostly about sports, and sometimes entertainment. Eventually I moved from long form posts to sifting through morning news sites and various websites to distill 5 or 6 stories into the Ante Meridian Eye Openers (AMEO). That was a lot of fun, but it got to the point that I just couldn't spend that time each morning. Apparently my "boss" at "my job" wants me to do actual "work". I don't get it either.

So I took time off. And by took time off, I suppose I mean I forgot about it. Lost the spark. But then, one day, I just felt like doing it again. So I did. And here we are. But seriously, I would like to remind you that there are great things waiting for you in the archives of this site. The list to the right is just a sampling, and I am working on rectifying this. Picking out some of my personal favorites, and I welcome suggestions.

I am going to re-post my entry entitled "This Show Stinks". It is apropos to my life now. because Mr. Tony is back, once again. And just like January 8, 2008 I just re-found it. Some things have changed. I have a new iPod, a 120gb one. I don't listen to PTI or Around the horn on a daily basis. I don't listen to Never Not Funny, although I wish I did. SModcast is still the best; you NEED to listen to Kevin Smith and Scott Mosier. But the rest of it stands.

Thank you, and I hope you enjoy.

A year or so ago, when I didn't have any bills, I bought an Ipod. I had let my XM subscription lapse some time before that, and was bereft of talk radio, which I prefer to listen to at work, when driving, or drinking absinthe with my pet kangaroo. I didn't want to mess around with any Nano crap, so I got one of the big boys, only 30 gb, but still: that's a fairly good amount of data.

Seeing as I had never had a reason to use Itunes before, the experience was new to me. As I was playing around, grabbing up all the Bonnie Tyler and Michael Bolton I could wrap my grubby fingers around, I noticed the large amount of podcasts available for download. For those of you reading this blog from a nursing home, a podcast is just a radio show which is available for download at any time. It's great for those of us not able to dedicate 3 to 4 hours of time a day for listening to the radio at a certain time of day. There are amazing things to be found on Itunes. I never watch the ESPN shows Pardon the Interruption or Around the Horn any longer. I listen to them on podcast. I have my favorite NPR shows, Fresh Air and This American Life. Independently produced comedy shows, including Never Not Funny starring Jimmy Pardo and the SModcast with director Kevin Smith. The great thing is Itunes will download them automatically letting me save those precious calories used moving the mouse around for masturbating in the corner of Banana Republic.

Another Fine Member of the Bearded Brotherhood

Around that time I happened upon an amazing show. Tony Kornheiser, of The Washington Post and Pardon the Interruption had a show on Washington Post radio. This show concerned sports certainly, but was more of an extension of his popular style section column. More about him, his family, his life and what is going on with all things Tony. He is a compelling storyteller, with a not so disguised rage always boiling underneath, not unlike Billy Graham or Mother Theresa. Tison and I both loved his show, and listened everyday, although not together (except for that one time in front of the fire wrapped in the fleece blanket, but that's another story for another day).

One day I tuned in (figuratively) to find out Tony was leaving the airwaves (also figuratively) to do his other other job, third mike in the booth of Monday Night Football on ESPN. I was crushed, and once Mr. Tony left I let the subscription fall from my list. The days turned to night and my world, which was formerly filled with the vibrant blues of a cloudless sky, the blazing oranges of a setting sun accompanied by a tall glass of Iced Tea, and the verdant greens of swaying grass in a cool spring breeze, was only shades of grey.

This brings us to last week. Monday Night Football is over and a wonderful thought popped into my head. "I wonder if Tony will be returning to his radio show." That was the thought. See how wonderful that was? So I crank start my model T computing device and search for Tony Kornheiser in Itunes. Low and behold, the guy who had taken over the show as a place holder was still going strong with new shows. I subscribed once again and began listening. I personally don't like the guy as much; he's a little old school radio, which means unfunny and corny, but he did tell me something which brought the colors flooding back int my dark world: Mr. Tony will be back on the air, 2 hours a day, the 21st of January, the Year of Our Lord Two Thousand and Eight.

So there it is. Your imperative to listen to the Tony Kornheiser Radio Show. Do not shrug this off, for if you discard this information your life will be shorter, your wife will leave you for your best friend's son, and your kids will put you in a 4th rate nursing home and use the profits to buy a better father. You have been warned. Oh, and also, if you're out on your bike tonight, do wear white.

Two Case Studies of My Life

Being, as you well know, a high-functioning drunk, and also having the fastest mouth in the west (if we're using a 1820 map) I've always found it amazing that I have never been in a fight, or thrown from a bar, or any number of cliched drunk-kid situations. For as much trouble as my mouth gets me in, I can usually talk my way out of it.

CASE IN POINT:

I really can't seem to control myself in certain situations. These situations are rare, because even though I might imbibe a toddy or 12, I also have to feel in control. I've found that a logical head, albeit not a clear one, can go a long way to keep friends out of jail. But sometimes the old gumflapper gets away from myself, and I forget that I am in a public place, not the bathroom at a sailor's pub.

About a year ago, I was at an event. An arty event. It was at a local gallery, oh, let's call it "schmart-schmace", and I was in rare form. You see, I had just found Blackbeard's virtual treasure of off-putting, crass, and borderline illegal jokes. And having had a dinner party the weekend before, I memorized as many of them as possible, so as to horrify impress horrify my fellow diners. Thankfully, many of these gems were still swimming in my brain, crashing against the rocky shoals of my mind, yearning to be free.

I'm doing my best Dean Martin, walking around the vast confines of this gallery, pressing the flesh and telling jokes and being the all around gentleman I am. When what to my wondering eyes should appear, but fresh meat: a couple of folks I haven't said hi to. I saunter on over, and make my pleasantries. Soon---a lull in the conversation. I know this is my moment to strike!

So I lay out one of the new ones...it happens to be a dead baby joke. (It doesn't matter which one; if you really care then go here and pick one out. They're all the same.) Their faces flash with a mix of laughter and disgust, which of course is what I'm looking for, when I feel a tap on my shoulder. A man says, "Excuse me, what was that?"

I turn around, and I'm standing directly in front of a table which has been set up for the River Cities Chapter of the Bikers Against Child Abuse.

I'll let that sink in for a second. Here is a picture of a kitten to help you think...

It was one of the few times I have been truly terrified and regretful for what I have done. I can count regrets on one hand, which I was certain was about to be placed inside the business end of a wood chipper any time now. But what else could I do? I had to treat this Mount Rushmore of fuck-ups like I do anything: I had to keep talking. I'm certainly not going to try and bow up against 6 bikers, wearing their biker cuts (watch Sons of Anarchy to get the reference) which proudly display their commitment to a noble cause...a cause I wiped my ass with and threw away right in front of them. So I try to diffuse it with a smile, and get the guy talking...and it's not going well. He calls his buddy over and asks-demands-me to tell it again. To another biker. And who am I to refuse a request from a fan......

Well this happens a couple of times, and by minute 10 it becomes apparent these guys are just toying around with me. Mostly because they say they've heard that one before, (I think that might hurt the most.) but obviously I haven't atoned enough for my grievous mistake. Oh, did I mention, every single guy he calls over is bigger than the last guy? Well, they are. They bat me around like a ball of string for another 10 minutes before letting me go. I have to say, I never lost composure, or let the pressure of the ass beating of a lifetime get to me. I kept the humor up, and everyone stayed easy going, plus I learned about a great cause which is truly no laughing matter.

Sooooooo I tell you that story to tell you this one:

I was physically removed from a bar this weekend.

In Austin, TX for a bachelor party, we partied like it's 1999...well, actually better than that, because we were 16 in 1999. Now do your math, and we really should be going to the more professional clubs and bars they have on 4th st. but don't you worry your pretty little head: we made our way directly to 6th St on Saturday night. A nice sized group of 6 or 7 of us decided to go to the Chugging Monkey, whatever that means.

We didn't really go, so much as we took over. The place was crowded and hot, and the band there must have been advertised as Kanye West fucked Chad Kroeger and that child had a baby with an Eminem cover band. Needless to say, I was not impressed. So that band closes up shop for the night and the music comes on. Good dancing music. Naturally, 2 friends and I take the stage to lead the crowd in what we must have thought were good dance moves. I'm certain we looked like a hummingbird having seizures. Point is, we're having good clean American fun, and giving the bar legal tender for their troubles.

Not us...but close...

Now, I don't smoke, but I enjoy a good smoke break. I go outside to "smoke" with 2 friends, and that is less than eventful. I turn around to go back inside the bar, and the bouncer (let's call him...um...Shithead) says get back in line. Having not been in line, I am understandably confused. I reply with, "Oh, no, I was just in there all night." Shithead says he doesn't care. Needless to say, I think we're playing on different fields here. I am me. I'm better than everyone ever, most certainly him. I've been paying his salary for 3 hours. I'm not waiting in some "line".

Now I will describe the façade of this building from left to right, looking directly at it. Starting at the left, is the door, then three windows which stretch from waist height to the roof. The windows are open, to allow the sultry Austin air to mingle with the sweaty Chugging Monkey air. I calmly turn from Shithead, walk down to the third window, hop through, walk across the stage and go to the bar, to close my tab out. Now, I'm haughty, but I'm not stupid: I did this with the biggest shiteating grin on, because deep down, I knew this wasn't going to fly. And it didn't. Before I could get the attention of a bartender (read: 7 seconds) I feel a pair of arms wrap around me to drag me out. Again, I'm not stupid; I just turned around and walked out. I'm not going to let Shithead (who is an inch taller than I and 40lbs smaller) drag me out like some juiced-up redneck.

I don't really know what this means, but I like it...

I calmly get in line, and when I get to the door I address Shithead as so: "I don't have an ID because it's at YOUR bar with my card, where it's been all night." His solution was simple; "Get a friend to close it out." Shithead and I are just not going to see eye to eye on this thing. He is never going to let me in, and I am never going to stop wishing the 4 Horsemen of the Apocalypse assault his mother at Thanksgiving. So I yell at a friend who is thankfully still in the establishment to close me out, and I take up an advisable position to await my belongings: right next to Shithead. Right next to him.

He wisely decides not to make an issue of this, and I say wisely, because it's entirely possible I would have thrown a hissy fit if he had said anything else. Wait, I don't mean wisely, I mean thankfully. Yes, thankfully he didn't let me embarrass myself.

Any further...

We left, and I made several loud intimations about someone who may or may not "burn that place to the ground", and we continued on our merry way. Made it home, safe and sound.

So, where are we? In the first story, I was able to keep my cool and talk my way out of it. In the second story, I decided to act like a brat. What is the difference? Was it because the bikers were bigger than I and ended up being cool? Was it because I was just hot and worked up in Austin? Well, I guess I don't really know. All I do know is that I hate that bouncer...

I'll leave you with a snippet of a gchat I had THIS MORNING with a friend who was there, after I mentioned Shithead. It's an insight into the mind behind BAF:

Justin: you bitter old man

ha

thats awesome that you are still a little terse about that

Honestly, I'm a little tired of being the Eggman...

Every Sunday night a small group of friends tries to get together for dinner and a movie. We've been doing this for over a year now, and it's been going off without a hitch. The dinners are great, the company equally {insert your own adjective}. We have the same taste in movies, and if we don't that night then the people who are wrong (not me) just shut up about it and get themselves a little culture (whatever I brought).

Up until recently we have attended what is simply called "sunday night" at one couple's house. And while they are the consummate hosts, between fantastic food and learning the best place to ride out the inevitable attack from teeming hordes of the living dead, it's the perfect way to end the weekend, and begin the long, awful wait 'till the next one. But lately we have been pulled somewhere else. It's hard to explain. Almost like a supernatural force has wriggled itself into our souls, making mere television bitter. It makes great movies as boring as anything with Matthew McConaughey, Jennifer Lopez, or Matthew Broderick after 1992... It lights up a child's eyes with wonder; it grants every adult their wildest dream.

It's called Japanese Anime Porn.

Shameless excuse to put Kristen Bell in a bikini in this post? Yes, but if you click the pic, you'll see the other google image search results for "wildest dream". And don't worry, it's the moderate safe search...

Oh wait, no, it's called Rock Band. Rock Band is a superduper video game. It's really just the bee's knees. Rock Band allows you to actually play your favorite songs!!.. and by play, I mean push color-coded buttons in time with a pattern set by the game. Now, I've never been very good at video games. I grew up with them, but they never really set in. I maintain that it's because of playing Mortal Kombat with my brother.

My brother is very good at video games. Like, a subscriber to Nintendo Power magazine good. So a typical round of Mortal Kombat would be me as Scorpion and him as Little Miss Muffet or Estelle Getty or whichever was the weakest character in the game. Once the round begun, he would kick me to the ground, and then continue to kick and punch until I was dead, never really giving me the opportunity to get up. But by that time I already had my hissy fit, thrown my controller, and stalked from the room. So my natural inability, combined with negative reinforcement, caused my video game development to stunt considerably. Friends ask if I've played the new Halo. What about the new wii mario kart? I'll save you time: if it's solitaire, spider solitaire, or freecell, then I've played it lately. "Oh, Assassin's Creed? Does that have red and black cards in it? No? Then no, I've never played it."

But not Rock Band! Rock Band opened up a new world of possibilities for me. In Rock Band I have a choice between drums, guitar, bass or vocals. And up to 4 people can play. It's like you and your friends are an actual rock group!! I mean, not really, of course, but you can see what I mean. Once you choose your song (and let me tell you, buddy, there are a ton. Between Rock Band and Rock Band 2 and the downloadable songs I'd estimate you could play 6,500 songs...maybe not. But there are a lot), and which instrument you wish to play you then get to choose your difficulty.

This is key. Do you have good hand-eye coordination? Then go ahead and bump that sucker on up to medium; soon you'll be working on hard. I on the other hand have two choices: easy and medium. And come on, even easy kicks my ass sometimes. That guitar can really make your fingers cramp up...of course that may just be my terrible body, but I choose to blame it on some undefined reason not in any way related to me...

So what I end up doing most of the time is vocals. It only requires I make noises that correspond to the "notes" it's looking for. (see above screen shot) And I mean noises...you really don't even have to sing those words, or be anywhere on key. This is a critical part to learn: somehow it doesn't know you're embarrassing the ever living shit out of yourself. This is key to your outcome. Of course, just being awful will get you an 80-90%, but to really get up in the upper 90's you have to actually know what you are doing. Already knowing the song is key to getting that 100%. Having it somewhere in your vocal register is also good. Which brings us to last night...

We played a few warm up songs, and I wasn't burning Capitol Records down or anything, but getting high 90's. Which is when we decide to make a 6 song playlist. And the good part is we just pushed the "down" button for a while and pressed "x". This had the benefit of a pretty random playlist. This list included The Trees from Rush, Heartbreaker from Pat Benatar, Young from Hollywood Undead (no clue about this one, all I know is it's awful...real bad), You Oughta Know from Alanis Morisette and 2 others I can't even remember. I even went through this list looking for them to no avail. And I got a full blown 100% on two of them.

I'll give you time to think which ones...



Yep. You're right: Pat Benatar and Alanis Morisette. So don't ever say I didn't use the internet to permanently embarrass myself in full view of the entire world, minus the Middle East and China, because they don't really have anything we would consider "the internet" or "rights".

I'll use the bottom to do a little product placement...well, more than has already occurred. We have also played the new Beatles Rock Band, and I'll tell you: this game has robo-bee's knees. It's the terminator-cat's pajamas. Just a ton of fun...I got a few 100's on this one as well (George Harrison, whatWHAT?!?). So if you own Rock Band but have not purchased the Beatles version, I suggest you do that.

I'll leave you with the crazy trailer thing from the Beatles Rock Band game. Make sure you have had your hit of acid. Of course, if you sat down to read this, you are probably already rolling pretty well, so happy travels!

Remember to Study Hard and Get Good Grades...

So around about 10 this morning my friend and I decide to go find some porn.

Wait.

Maybe I should back up.

Almost a year ago exactly the reigning Miss Teen Louisiana was arrested. Seems Lindsey Gayle Evans looked good in a swimsuit and wished for world peace, but ended up with a police record and no more pot. Miss Evans (can I call you Miss Evans?) decided to go on a night on the town with her friends and her purse. Her purse meanwhile brought his good friend marijuana. When Miss Evans decided she was finished eating, she must have really been finished eating because she walked out of the fine establishment (read: shitty chain restaurant with even shittier food) without her purse or paying the bill.

But don't worry, someone had their job covered: her purse held right on to Mr. Marijuana so that when the cops were called on this dime bag dine and dasher (god I'm proud of alliteration) they had a handy map to the suspect's house-her driver's license.

Who smiles in their mugshot? One who knows she's gonna be rich 'cause of it...

Of course we here in the Great State of Louisiana don't cotton to our whores breaking the law, so we stripped her of her title (I believe Miss Teen Louisiana is somewhere between Secretary of Health and Hospitals and Elections Commissioner in the order of succession) and sent her packing!

Right into the arms of a boat load of money and Hugh Hefner.

So fast-forward a year and her spread in the pages of Playboy is on newsstands (which is a lie, because no one sells porn around here; thanks jesus) and my friend, let's call him Liberace, and I decide to go pick up a copy. Because who's going to pass this up?

After sitting around the hospital waiting on my niece to be born (what a selfish person; I have stuff to do) I meet up with Liberace and we head on down to the Hustler Club.

The Hustler Club has a store beside it which sells all manner of magazines, videos, clothes, toys. Christian Science Reading Room, this ain't. After snagging their lone copy of the periodical of record, we take a tour. For the purposes of this blog, I don't think we need to go into the different machines and devices they sell, but take a look around yourself. I'm just here to provide information.

But wait! One copy? That's not going to be enough for me, Liberace...annnnnnnd the two other people we said we'd get copies for. And since neither of us had any volunteering down at the homeless shelter to do, we decided to really go for the gusto here. I mean, if you can't trust two assholes to get you the least porno-y porno mag available, who can you trust? So we head over to a place called Cindies. Get it!?!? SIN...I'm sorry, I'll let just go sit in a corner.

I'm not going to get all Don Imus on you here, but suffice it to say the entire basketball team of a local institution of higher learning were perusing the goods at Cindies. Now, I don't know if this is a widely used team-building exercise (I quit team sports when I realized cable existed) but if it is, then I predict an undefeated season!

Like this, except on opposite day...

This place was completely out of the magazine in question. Apparently Playboy didn't realize you have to flood the market around here...people watch Mr. Brooks to pick out landmarks...we're proud of our productions, even when those productions are naked women. OK, especially when those productions are naked women.

At this point, we are on a mission. 2 Circle K's and a Barnes and Noble later (I truly thought B&N would have it...I have no clue why) we had our 4 copies of this magazine.

Do you think this issue is about bloodlust?

Upon getting home we gazed down at our El Dorado, the spoils of our long search. And...it's ok...

I mean, she's good looking and all...and naked. Real naked. Surprise! It's a girl who took her clothes off for money. And turns out, not only is she great at showing millions of people her nipples, but she's also a great person. Just take a look at her turn ons:

"Super-sweet, smart and sexy men with goals, manners and money, and they've got to be FUNNY!" {Underline hers; emphasis mine}

Who wouldn't want to grab up this hot, teenage, money-grubbing sexpot with the totally realistic expectations??? I only say this because hundreds of elderly, billionaire men with questionable cognitive abilities read this site every day! But really, porn is porn is porn when it comes down to it, and while the end of the race is a pretty goddamn good checkered flag, it's the expedition that really mattered. Well that, and this criminal's snatch...

Paul was NOT Marilyn Manson...

Rarely do I take the time to just post one video. I usually save good ones to reward you at the end of my interminable ramblings, which are themselves a reward for not killing yourself or others at the end of a long day. But I just ran across this one and felt you needed it now.

Some genius found a little film starring Kevin Arnold himself, Fred Savage, and mashed it up with an appropriate episode of his television series, The Wonder Years. I refuse to give anything away, so enjoy.

On a side note, I'm going on vacation next week. 3 days in Chicago for a Cubs game and a concert with the Allman Bros. and Widespread Panic, followed by 3 days in Seattle for the first LSU game of the season. I will not promise you an update, but I will try my darndest. Not because you clamor for it, but because I wish to give it...

On another side note, if you have any extra cash, think about donating it to the Shreveport Regional Arts Council. They aren't exactly having the best week.

And depression-time is over:

My Latest Phone Debacle

I like to think of myself as an alpha+1 consumer. I'm totally up on the newest and best out there, I'm just too cheap/poor to afford it when it comes out. So it usually takes me a year to break down and not eat for a week to afford whatever gadget I feel I cannot live without. A couple of years ago that "Golden Dancer" (see Inherit The Wind, with Spencer Tracy, Fredric March, and Gene Kelly for the reference) was a smartphone. I felt I needed one, not only because of the tremendous functionality of such devices, but let's be honest: being the only one in your social circle with a particular bauble is pretty darn neat...

So I decided on a blackberry, which was, and still is, one of the standards in smartphone technology. At the time, the blackberry pearl was all the rage. It was small, lightweight, and was the first of their phones to feature the trackball, instead of a scroll wheel or a 4-way directional pad like most other phones.

Oh, a look into the distant past....

The old 8100. The old grey mare. Email, facebook, internet, and a host of other applications kept me in contact with the world like never before. Using the suretype system I could type faster than ever before; search for information like never before. And slowly but surely others began to see the glitz and glamor (glitz and glamor not available in Alaska, Hawaii or Puerto Rico) of a smartphone. I read about them; I learned all I could about the newest applications which might be useful to a guy like me. I became the go-to guy if you had problems with your blackberry. And being wanted for your mind, instead of your body all the time, feels good.

But then, tragedy struck: At the end of last June, I was scheduled for surgery to remove my...um...heart, or something, and my blackberry broke down. The little port that charges the phone just stopped working. I had to spend a week in the hospital without my window into the outside world; do you know how boring life can be with just voice calls and text messaging? On the other hand it gave me lots of time to spend with my newest friends, Law & Order: SVU, Law & Order: Criminal Intent, and intravenous pain killers.

She watched her mom get decapitated; I'm just saying...

Once out of the hospital, I quickly called my service provider, AT&T, and they couldn't have been more helpful. I was about a month away from my upgrade date, and having been a loyal customer for 7 years, they waived that whole business and I upgraded to my newest companion, the blackberry pearl 8110. The next generation of pearl, my new phone had GPS, which as I came to find out, was the newest thing I didn't know I couldn't live without. If I was a pioneer, and I got a new tongue for my Conestoga wagon, I would look upon that tongue with amazement, wracking my brain as to how I even got this far without it.

See the difference!?!?!

So this past year with my bestie, 8110, has been great. We got in some sticky situations, but we always got out, with the help of my thumbs and his uncanny ability to do the things he was designed to do. Until last Thursday night...

I charge my phone each night (because eventually the battery blows goats, and I use way too many applications), and as I plug the phone to it's charger, the little symbol did not appear. No big deal; I try again. That is when I realize that my little charger port (it's called a micro USB port) is no longer particularly attached to anything inside my phone. I'm heartbroken; but confident that since my upgrade is in November, and I've still been a loyal customer for 8 years now, that something will turn out in my favor.

And that was my mistake. Because Polly Anna over here forgot that nothing ever turns out in his favor. The AT&T customer service, and the in person associate in the store both told me essentially the same thing: spend a crapton of money now on a new smartphone, or wait till November and use another phone. So I chose to run over to the old Walmarks and get what is called a "Go Phone". Go Phone stands for "go kill yourself" because this phone will tear your soul apart it is so awful. It truly has the same functionality as the phone I first had in 2001. This thing makes calls and texts, and if you've gotten this far then I don't have to tell you that's just not cutting it.

Illustration of my psyche...

So I look around on eBay, and I really don't feel like dropping that dough either. Then: an epiphany! I took this light bulb above my head and found an establishment which will repair cell phones! Huzzah and Hip Hip!! (Literally as I wrote this I got a call back from this establishment informing me that they can fix it; the new motherboard chip will be a little more expensive than previously thought, but still leagues cheaper than a new phone.)

So all in all, things seemed to work out. A weekend spent in misery and loathing, yes, but I learned what to do first, instead of last. I will have my bestie back in my arms, for a cross country trip I am undertaking next week, and I just know my little buddy with the new brain will guide me well.

Most importantly, I learned to never bet against a Sicilian when death is on the line...but that's another story for another time...

Now, I would be remiss if I didn't include a video for your enjoyment. It's slightly out of date, but I task you with the job of updating it. Let's hear your ideas:



And for no reason whatsoever:

"There's something wrong with the carburator." "Yea, it needs a new tractor on it!"

I've said this before and I'll say it again: the television show Green Acres was ahead of it's time, and is still a genius display of pure insane comedy.

Any other day, that sentence would be enough for you jackals. There is nothing more I can add to it which would expound on the thought that Green Acres was the natural common ancestor of Arrested Development and just about every single show on Adult Swim. What I mean is, anything funny...

Green Acres is populated by a cadre of characters from Hooterville. The spin off from the wildly successful Petticoat Junction, Green Acres was eventually canceled when CBS took the axe to all of it's popular (and money making) rural comedies. Later some were heard to wonder why they would do such a thing, but then all was made clear when the same group of morons were found to have run Fox Studios today.

That's a "fox-makes-terrible-movies" joke...GET IT?!?!?!?!?!?

Green Acres follows the zany mis-adventures (I never get tired of typing that little cliche) of the Douglas', Oliver Wendell and Lisa. Lisa is fairly zany herself, and fits in perfectly in the quiet rural area. Oliver is a lawyer in the big apple, with the dream of becoming a successful gentleman farmer. I don't think it's a spoiler to say that he moves to Hooterville, becomes a farmer, has his air of a gentleman whittled away by the exasperatingly-crazy denizens of the area, and is never, ever successful.

Here is a quick rundown of these crazy assholes:

Mr. Haney is a con man and junk dealer who seems to trick Mr. Douglas about half the time. Mr. Haney sells everything, and nothing is worth selling. The Monroe Brothers, Alf (male) and Ralph (female) are the carpenters hired to build the Douglas' bedroom. I'll leave it to you to figure out if the room is ever finished. The Ziffle's, with their super smart pig, Arnold, live in the farm down the road. Arnold might actually be the longest lasting character in the cultural zeitgeist; did I mention he's a pig... Their hired hand, Eb. lives in the barn and does about as much as work as Mr. Haney does. And there are a couple of handfuls of other characters that cause Mr. Douglas' bloodpressure to climb dangerously high on a daily basis.

Green Acres employed several unorthodox methods, including breaking the fourth wall on occasion, and rapid fire back and forth dialog that had zero impact on the plot. It reminds me, of course, of my heroes: the Marx Brothers.

[I won't lie to you folks: I wrote the above at about 1230pm today. As I was crafting my feelings about the very wonderful Green Acres I was distracted by the offer of lunch with friends and our continuation of the restaurants "around the world" gimmick (where the restaurant has 100 beers and you just mark them off your list till you get a tshirt; tshirts are like crack cocaine.). The was followed by a quiet afternoon with a Chris Rock comedy special, and after that was a birthday celebration at another friend's house.

I tell you all that to tell you this: It's been from 1:15 to 10:15, and I've lost the Green Acres Spark. Not the undying love I have for the population of Hooterville, just the fleeting need to write about them...

So I wish you a fond farewell, and until we meet again, I leave you with a quote from Mr. Kimball: Tomatoes are the dumbest of all plants. Did you know their IQ is hardly above what a 6-year old child's is?]

Seriously, I say this a lot, but you will really kick yourself if you don't watch these clips from Green Acres...

Strap in Kids!!!!!!!

So I woke up this morning-hey, it's not like I had a choice- and seriously, the first thought I had was, "Where is Antonio Banderas and why can't he make another Zorro movie?"

I'd love to be able to say this is just another one of my clever intros where I mention Antonio Banderas but end up writing 4 paragraphs about peach cobbler, but it's not. I truly thought that. And Christ why? Zorro films are entertaining enough, but it's not like that 4 foot tall masked man burned up the pop culture zeitgeist with his swashbuckling adventures in 1998 and 2005. And I think we've satiated our thirst for Banderas himself with those Nasonex commercials, featuring the sultry Spanish heartthrob as "The Cheerios Bee: The Gay Blade"**.

"Seriously, Michael Douglas' dork must look like Abe Vigoda's index finger...", Zorro whispered into the ear of his love.

Now, Tony Danza; that's a vaguely ethnic, dark-haired actor who we need to see more of. Have you ever seen Hollywood Knights, starring Robert Whul, Fran Drescher, Tony Danza, and Michelle Pheiffer? Just a great cult teen comedy, a la American Graffiti, but with more dick jokes and less Ron Howard. And Tony Danza.

Did I mention Tony Danza?

Ok, well my thought process ran dry. I mean, after that mindgasm of America's favorite Italian live-in male housekeeper...where else can we go?

So it's video time. First I bring you one of my all-time favorites. The Opie and Anthony radio show has many great moments due to Anthony's spot on impressions. I implore you to listen to him talk to a fan in line at the Tony Danza Show-as Tony. I'm not going to ruin the ending, but suffice it to say if you are at work, plug in those headphones.



Next up is a nice one from the aforementioned Hollywood Knights. Keep those headphones plugged in. Aren't I a great guy?



**Finally, if you didn't get the starred joke, then you really and truly need to reevaluate your priorities...

There is a counting toes joke in here somewhere...find it!

Those of you who come to this site for an insightful view into the world of sports might have been disappointed lately. Seems I only get the inspiration to write when I'm watching tv or movies, reading about tv and movies or reading about the tv show or movie I'm going to watch next. But I still like to keep up with sports. Otherwise I wouldn't have any clue as to what my friends are talking about, and I'm already digging a hole for myself due to my lack of video game knowledge.

Ohmigawd did you see the new halo, halo 4: halo has roast beef??? Is halo the character, like echo the dolphin? I knew a girl in high school with the last name of Sims. Is that game The Sims about her? Is she naked in it? I don't know anything...

This ain't your grandmother's Mario Kart...

But back to sports, if you value my opinions on anything I have always hoped you take a look at the right side of the page under Linking It To The Streets. These are my every 20 minutes-refresh blogs and I wouldn't feel as free to make rape and hobo-murder jokes without reading them. Lucky you. Lucky me.

I have added a new one today. www.starandclam.com It's not sports porn, nor regular porn. It's about the fledgling UFL.


The UFL, or United Football League, is a new "major" league football operation which will start up in October of 2009. Now, I certainly don't have the space or the inclination to bring you totally up to speed on this, that's what hyperlinks were invented for. I would start with the wikipedia page, like I always do. (I tend to trust wikipedia when it comes to comics, movies--really all things nerd--and sports; these areas have rabid fans who will stop at nothing to present the truth) Also, the uniform "kit" was released today, and you can find that article at my good pretend-friend withleather.

Star and Clam. Are you catching on yet, Gomer?

Now, this is not to say that I'm endorsing, or even really caring about the UFL in more than a perfunctory manner. I'm just gonna watch. It's football, and I'm a male from the south. It's what I do. But I am going to use Star and Clam to catch up and/or learn about the personnel moves, rule differences, and general goings-on in the UFL. I just hope that by sharing this information one day you too can butt into a conversation you have NO business being in and spout off one or two tidbits of knowledge and then walk away. Proud that now you know the UFL isn't an unplugged fluorescent light.

But seriously, unplug your lights: this is a green blog...I mean, not as green as that logo, but......

Looks Like We've Got A Long Night Of Cocaine Ahead Of Us...

If you are friends with me on facebook, and come to think of it, why aren't you friends with me on facebook? What the fuck did I ever do to you? Listen you prick, if I ever see you in facebook, I am going to e-beat your ass so hard...GODDAMMIT!!!!

OK, I'm sorry...I got a little carried away. Getting back on topic, if you had access to my postings, you might have seen an extended clip for the new NBC show Community.

This one looks like a keeper. Starring Joel McHale, from The Soup (No, not him. Not him, either...), Chevy Chase, from The Chevy Chase Show, and John Oliver, from this great podcast and The Daily Show, this series follows a group of...people...who attend Greendale Community College.

Why in the world did this not catch on???

I don't really want to give anything away, because if you really cared you would learn about it on your own.

Oh. You don't care... Then let me shove it down your throat.

McHale stars as a smooth-talking lawyer who has his license suspended until he can earn a real college degree. You know what: this video should help out with the wordy explanation phase-plus there's pictures!!



Our friends at facebook (who aren't your friends, they're mine-I still haven't forgiven you for besmirching my honor earlier) are hosting the full pilot for another 79 hours. Now this isn't 79 hours after you read this post, it's 79 hours after I post it...so either read this more often, or miss out on the chance of a lifetime.

If your lifetime ends before Thursday, September 17, 2009 at 9:30e/8:30c.

I leave you with another movie trailer, starring one of the stars of Community, one Donald Glover. It's called Mystery Team, and I suggest headphones if you watch in the office. Unless your coworkers enjoy the words "fuck" and "cocaine".

We Can Build This Thing Together!

Best movie ever.

These are heady words, and words which should not be used lightly. Best movie ever is a subjective phrase. My taste in cinema is mine, and most likely you and I wouldn't agree on everything.

But I feel we can agree on most things. I think we can agree that Casablanca is a wonderful film. I feel we can all appreciate the ground-breaking imagery in Jurassic Park. I'm sure you and I think that Gene Kelly is an incomparable dancer, and that Spencer Tracy is one of the best actors of his, or any, generation.

Finally, I think we can agree that one movie stands out as the best. The story is tight, the characters wholly believable in their actions. The best movie ever is...

Shit. Yes.

Mannequin is the story of a young artist (Andrew McCarthy) who just can't seem to get it together! When he stumbles into a job working at a large department store, he also stumbles into love, and his life turns upside down!!!!! Kim Cattrall falls in love with him as well, but guess what?? She is a 6000 year old Egyptian princess who was cursed to spend her eternal days as a plastic mannequin, who for some reason, can come back to life sometimes... Along with his flamboyantly homosexual coworker, one Hollywood Montrose (Meshach Taylor), the two lovebirds create window displays that electrify the city and turns McCarthy's poor existence around!!!

This movie has it all. The redemption of a down-on-his-luck guy. Love between two consenting adults. A neon fabric-covered African-American queen. When the "funny one" from Weekend at Bernie's develops feelings for an inanimate object, and then that object turns into the annoying old whore from Sex And The City...let's just say I still think this movie was based on true events. Hemingway couldn't write a better movie. But maybe that's because he wrote novels, and not screenplays....

So I leave you with a couple of wonderful clip from this probable-documentary and what is widely considered by critics, fans, homeless vets, oceanographers, and people who sell Mexican jewelry on eBay, the best movie.

Ever.

Seriously, Wear Headphones When You Listen To This Video At Work...

I didn't post yesterday.

It's not because I was shirking my fake responsibilities, nor was I mad at you, the reader. You know I will always love you, baby. Is that a new perfume? No? Well, you smell great, baby.

I didn't post because I was pretttttyyyyy damn busy at work. I kept my nose to the grindstone basically the entire day, but it felt good to be productive. Would you like to see what I did all day? Ok, I'll show you:


I spent the whole day playing a dice game on facebook. It's called farkle, and it's just the cat's pajamas. You see, the objective of the game is to...well you throw the dice and then...um...well, you bank points...then, um...well...its a fun game!! That's all you need to know.

Third party apps on facebook have been around for tens of decades, at least as long as facebook itself, which as we all know was begun by the WPA to employ computer scientists during the Great Depression. The WPA used this "facebook" to catalog it's migrant workers and find out a little more about them.

Why, Tom Joad himself had over 1000 friends on facebook, mostly owing to his gregarious personality and sweet car.

While some of these apps are entertaining, useful, and well-designed, recently third party apps on facebook have become intrusive and mostly annoying. Programs like Farm Town, Mob Wars and Lil Green Patch are participated in by millions of online users. And I'm sure the excitement of trading sheep and pigs on a fake farm is akin to filming shark week without a cage, but please stop sending me, or asking me, for requests.

I don't like your farm, I don't like your garden, and I sure don't give a shit about your fake criminal empire. Your incessant requests fill up my page and therefore my angremetre (that's my metric angermeter; it's from Estonia).

And I guess I'm tilting at windmills, Sancho, because it will never stop. In fact I don't see a way that unwanted solicitations on facebook, or the internet in general, can be curtailed. It's just something we have to learn to deal with for the privilege of knowing the very most we can about hundreds of people we would never, ever talk to in real life. Hell, most of your "friends" right now are people you've tried very hard to forget actually exist, amirite???

And I'm not the only person who's tired of some of facebook's more "non-intuitive" features. Farhad Manjoo has a few ideas, and it looks like he/her used actual empirical evidence and primary source information to come to his/her conclusion, instead of pure opinion and conjecture. But I will promise you this: Slate might have "integrity", but Bearsuits will always have 63% more dick jokes:

I've got the blues...and reds...and they're tights......

The frozen arctic is a formidable place. Subzero temperatures and deadly wildlife, moving ice and biting winds all conspire to rob a person of their life. But just like the deadliest of animals or the most dangerous of weather phenomenon, the icy north has a beauty all it's own.

In the morning the majestic polar bear stalks it's prey in great loping strides. The sun rises over the north pole, it's warming beams striking the ice and producing a spectacular light show.

In the middle of this expanse stands a great crystal palace. How it came to be, no one knows. In fact only one person knows of it's existence.

Superman rests a weary body in his Fortress of Solitude. There are times The Man of Steel feels the need to return to what amounts to his ancestral home to recharge. Being the protector of mankind takes a physical and emotional toll. Even Clark Kent can feel down at times.

Superman gradually awakes, his senses returning to him one by one. His hearing is first; the slight resonance of the crystal a welcome sound to his Kryptonian ears. He smells the purity of the ice, the frozen water protecting him from prying eyes. Finally, Superman opens his eyes. He is surrounded only by ice, crystal and his thoughts.

It's times like these that animated superman thinks of only one thing. He's tried to talk to Lois about it, but she just can't understand. How can a mere human understand the troubles of the most powerful being on earth? He has powers even the best of humanity will do ANYTHING to obtain. All except one man. And this is the crux of animated superman's psychological problems...

...Animated Batman is far and away 100% cooler than animated Superman.

Hi, I'm dark and mysterious...

Batman: The Animated Series is, in my opinion, the best "superhero" cartoon in history. It's dark and foreboding with well told stories and a sharp take on old characters. Animated Superman is formulaic and, well, happy. Metropolis is a bright neon billboard advertising children's toys; Gotham is the shadows behind the lights. And what good happens in the light of day? Nothing. Everything interesting happens at night.

...Hi, I'm not!

Now, it's well known that I love the early 90's series Wings. But Tim Daly should be flying his plane (call letters: Nevada 121 Papa Papa), not voicing the Man of Steel. Kevin Conroy is layered and downright genius in his portrayal of the Dark Knight. He has voiced Batman over many series, and for my generation IS Batman.

Now this isn't to take away anything from the history or mythos of superman, it's just incontrovertible fact that the animated Batman is a better series than the animated Superman. What does this tell you about me, your intrepid blogger? It tells you that I have watched way too much tv in my life. It tells you that I woke up this morning and the only thing on tv was the animated Superman. It tells you that I've never read an actual comic book, but have spent plenty of time learning about them on wikipedia. I figure I can trust wikipedia in these sort of issues; nerds wouldn't stand for misrepresentation of their labor of love.

In conclusion, I sit here realizing that I just spend 30 minutes writing about cartoon superheroes. So, I'm going to go run a warm bath, lay down in the fetal position and cry until I'm one of the popular kids...