Archive for September, 2012


First and foremost, there’s this. Sometimes I think that old Jon Stewart, the one who existed before he drank his own kool-aid, is still there to be had. And I’d like to meet him again. I really would. This kind of thing gives me hope.

I can’t help but be reminded of one of the best Daily Show investigative reports…

So, I have this thing for Joaquin Phoenix. He’s weird as hell and not quite handsome — kind of short and hairy and clearly, CLEARLY, negatively affected by his youth in that strange cult his parents were part of — but I dig him. A lot. I think he’s crazy hot, painfully talented, and he brings out that mom instinct in me where I just want to put him to bed and check on him every few hours to make sure he’s still breathing. In any event, I’m glad to see he’s back with what’s being already hyped as an Oscar-worthy turn as a disillusioned former member of a cult of personality (reportedly based on Scientology). Now, perhaps it’s not a stretch for Wocky (that’s what I call him to myself) to play a character like this (see above) but he rocked out Johnny Cash in a way that was eerie and amazing so I think he’s got the chops to play different from his own experience. Although I think my favorite role of his is the washed-up baseball player in Signs. No one loves that movie but me it seems. And I think it’s profound. He’s just the right mix of skeptic and believer in that film. I suspect we’ll see more of that in The Master.

Speaking of Scientology, isn’t the episode of South Park that deals with Scientology — Trapped in the Closet I think is the episode name — a bit like the Democrats’ platform in as much as Kyle doesn’t realize he’s depressed until the Scientologists tell him he is and we don’t realize we’re all a bunch of victims until the Dems point it out? Also, after watching the party of Occupy turn into the war party last night before my eyes, I’m more and more convinced that the Dems really are the party of the hopelessly uncreative. I mean, they just seem to steal ideas and rhetoric if it appears that the voters are gravitating toward those particular ideas or rhetoric. They seem incapable of coming up with anything on their own. Like the Gretchen Wieners of Politics. Mean Girls is just all over me lately…

Alright that’s all I have. The DAWGS are playing the newly SEC-ed Missouri team tomorrow evening so I’ll be there at 18th Amendment, hoping I see good signs for the future of our little Southern Conference and my Red & Black. Catch ya in a few days…


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So, this image was taken from this lady’s regular Wednesday Facebook post “Hump Day Hotties.” She’s profiling 80s hotties and admits that this is a newer image of said hottie because he’s like exponentially hotter now than he was in the 80s. And, seriously, there’s right, and then there’s that kind of right. Yowza.

Anyway, moving along. The headline for this was taken from here. I have no comments. I know where I stand. Do you?

The new book is fairly fascinating. The author got an undergrad degree in English (like yours truly) but always had a fascination with physics (also like yours truly) and, after working as a writer and editor for 6 or 7 years (also also like yours truly), went back to school and got a graduate degree in physics (mine was in public administration but I try to stay abreast of breaking developments in my hobby field). He also loves — LOVES — magic. He is, in fact, a magician. So far I can’t tell if he’s any good because he opens the book with an anecdote of humiliation and loss at the Magic Olympics. But one part of the book led me to have all kinds of crazy dreams last night — he mentions that magicians love mystery. Physicists love mystery as well. They are both interested in determining the “tells” of how people (in the case of the magician) or the world (in the case of the physicist) behave. The magician wants to be able to use that behavior to fool the person. The physicist, to understand the world. But here’s the part that I went to sleep thinking about: both disciplines love the mystery of how things work, but neither is really all that good at accepting the infinitely mysterious. This is not a fully formed notion. I just know that this idea is examined some in one of my fave films The Prestige and that a great many physicists — with some notable exceptions who are among some of my favorite people and thinkers — tend to think they have it all figured out. So, I’ll digress with that. But the book is pretty good. So I may ramble on about it at a future date.

So another cool thing: I got a birthday card from my sister-in-law and she requested that I write my 6-year-old nephew Gabriel back and that we attempt to start a pen pal kind of thing with each other. I’m so excited! Gabriel and I have a cool relationship — I’ve actually had fairly long conversations with him on the phone and he’s just a cool kid. My sis-in-law tells me he’s recently been asked to join the gifted program in his school so we’re kindred spirits that way. Two nerds masquerading as cool kids. As an aside, my gifted program (Discovery) provided me with some of the best memories I have of my youth. We took all these great long weekend trips. To Alabama’s Space Museum, to Gatlinburg, Tenn. (where I’m pretty sure I jumped off the side of a mountain on a glider attached to a zip line. Awesome.), to Savannah, Ga. And one of my former Discovery mates recently wished me a happy birthday on Facebook and all those memories came flooding back. I’m so excited for Gabriel. Can’t wait to hear all about it in a letter and to share some of my experiences with him. Most definitely a good.

Speaking of, my High School principal passed away. He was a nice man. And he was from here. I see signs in that kind of thing, but they aren’t always readily apparent…

Evil, evil capitalist pig.

This was an interesting read. I don’t know if I agree with all of it, but see if it’s something you can relate to.

I think I may need to just switch to bourbon for the month.

Here’s something I don’t really get: for all the smarty-pants intellectuals who love the guy, this, as my mother is fond of saying, “does not compute.”

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