"I could never love a man who was out of his wits."

You know what's sad? I mean, other than child soldiers. Obviously, that's a given. In terms of sadness, child soldiers is sort of the baseline.

Imagine you said, "Child soldiers: Now that's sad." Everyone would say, "Yeah, duh." So we're thinking past that now.

Not that we want to forget the inherent sadness of child soldiers. It's just that sometimes you have to forget the obvious stuff if you want to get anything done.

OK, I just referred to child soldiers as "stuff" ... forget I said that. And you know, I thought the Newsweek-style stories about the loss of American childhood via Larry Clark movies, menstruation at 10, the "hot coffee" mod for Grand Theft Auto, and sexual predators on Myspace was bad enough ... but then this child soldiers thing comes up. Bah. Let's not think about it.

But if we don't think about it, how are we to do anything? Can we do anything?

I hate to be the jerk here, but I really don't think we can do anything. I loved the stories about the two boys in ... Cambodia? ... one of them was named Johnny, I think ... they smoked cigarettes at an early age ... their followers thought they were reincarnated gods ... gah, Trish would know, she's the one who read about them in Tamil Tiger Beat ... anyway, they eventually got captured and I forget what happened to them. I hope those kids are OK.

If they're alive, I'm sure they're OK. Lemme tell ya ... former child soldier: That's like catnip to the ladies. You want a bad boy? Look no further than your local former child soldier. High school dropouts, step aside! Maybe we can ameliorate this child soldier business by telling them that vacuous and increasingly heavyset North American women are waiting for them with open arms.

There, we've solved the child soldier problem, and we've solved it together. That's a lesson to any child, packin' heat or not.

Oh, but to my original question: You know what's sad? Must Love Dogs. You know, the movie about internet dating with John Cusack and Diane Lane.

John Cusack? Cool. Diane Lane ? Scrumptious. Must Love Dogs? Terrible. I've tried watching it with the sound off and that makes it somewhat better; I can pretend the actors are in a good movie, and when they're not talking about Wes Anderson movies and 70's proto-punk they're discussing how Must Love Dogs would have been better if their good friend Dave Bushnell could have been in it with them.

Compared to child soldiers, Must Love Dogs is sort of a minor issue (I'll grant you), but it was on my mind. And now you know how to enjoy it.

Who says the internet is no good? In one evening we've solved child soldiers *and* Must Love Dogs. Let's give ourselves a hand.

All together now ... it starts slowly with just one person, and then eventually we all join in and pick up the pace. Come on, it's easy.

Waking up is hard to do

Yesterday was another production day at the Sheaf, which resulted in the usual delightful endgame at 10pm. Everything on my end which had caused problems in previous issues was dealt with prior to sending the paper to the printer, but there was an obstacle with a full-page ad. That was annoying. And this story I'm telling now? Not interesting.

Here, try my newest ringtone. You can use it; I almost never get calls on my cellphone, so people will think you made the ringtone yourself. Then you'll end up popular, more popular than you've ever been before, but you'll be saddled with a secret so guilty that it will eventually tear you apart and give you the clap.

Fortunately for you, the clap is (apparently) easily treatable with antibiotics, so really, you have no reason not to use my ringtone.

Oops

See, the thing is, I don't feel any particular need to post here sometimes because at those times I have other outlets for the funny.

And then you say, "Since when are you funny?"

And then I'm all, "Touchez."

And then you go, "That's the wrong spelling."

At which point I remark, "Yes, but I don't know how to go all aigu here."

And then before you can say, "I guess you're not trying hard enough," I would say, "And if you think about it, maybe I wanted it to be imperative. Maybe I want to be touched."

If I could get that out, then you'd say, "Maybe you should consider shaving."

And that's patently unfair; you know how terrible I look when I'm cleanly shaven.

California, here we come!

I was feeling all superior while looking at the guestlist for the Hollywood Collectors & Celebrities Show. (It's this weekend at the Hilton Burbank Airport Hotel & Convention Center, which I think is located somewhere near Burbank and an airport, but I can't be sure.)

Really, how can you not feel smug when a bunch of people will be sitting at folding tables all weekend, hoping someone will give them twenty bucks for a picture of them in their younger, more beautiful days. And how can you not feel smug when people will pay fifteen bucks just to get into the room so they can celebrate the 22nd anniversary of Hunter ... with the original cast, hello. (It's almost as sad as a guy allowing comments on his blog.)

We sincerely hope that you won't miss this 'golden' opportunity to see Mr. Dryer & Ms. Kramer together, for the 1st time, at an autograph show.

Oh, that's the page-author's punctuation, by the way. The punctuation throughout is off the hook. Check it out:

Mr. Stevens will also be selling his 'new' book 'King of the Sunset Strip: Hangin' With Mickey Cohen & The Hollywood Mob' at our Show.

Usually, something in quotes means "not really"; "new" means not new, fr'instance. But when a word is in quotes and is italicized and is underlined ... man, I don't know what to think. Maybe it's similar to negatives: single negative is negative, double negative is positive, and triple negative is negative again. Of course, on the website, the word "new" is not only in quotes, underlined, and italicized, but it's also in a different color.

Hollywood? More like Hollyweird. Am I right, people?

This sentence had sweet punctuation, too:

All of our 'Playmates' will charge a fee for their autographs.

It's almost like they're doing a nudge-wink there, like some of the Playmates will charge a non-traditional fee for their autographs. But since "autographs" isn't italicized or underlined, I guess they really mean autographs and not "autographs" ... if you know what I mean.


(I mean sex.)

So yeah, there I was, feeling all superior to Eddie Haskell and Lumpy from Leave it to Beaver, when I saw Yma Sumac on the guest list. Yma Sumac! And then I saw Marc Singer on the guest list. Here, I wrote a little one-act ...

You: Marc Singer?

Me: Donovan!

You: From V?!

Me: And V: The Final Battle!

You: And V: The Series?!

Me: Yuh-huh!

Exeunt omnes.

Yeah, I'm not sure he's worth fifteen bucks, though. I mean, it's not like the actress who played Julie is going to be there, too.

Superman: Deadbeat Dad

Theatrical ending of Superman Returns:

Lois: Will we see you around?
Superman: I'll always be around.

Original ending of Superman Returns:

Lois: Will we see you around?
Superman: I'll always be around. Except when it's time to pay child support.

Honestly, Superman shirking his responsibility at the end would have been really off-putting if I hadn't already been put off by the rest of the [tiresome, undercooked, already-done-better-by-Spider-Man 2] movie.

Do I dare to quote the Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock?

It's the largely incompatible cravings that bug me.

Usually, my gustatory whims are limited to single items or simple combinations: "Hey, chips and salsa would be great right now! Or, failing that, just chips would suit me fine!" Simple things are easily found and consumed, or easily dismissed. If it's just one thing, it takes up only one section of the brain, and it's a simple matter to get the other parts of the brain to gang up and drown out whatever that lone part of the brain is going on about.

That's how I save a lot of money on snacks. (I hope you're writing this down.)

Earlier this evening, though, I got one these: "Hey, a peach would be great right now! Or, failing that, just a beer would suit me fine!" Two things totally unconnected, and thus taking up two sections of the brain. The brain isn't suited for fighting off two urges. It's like a war on two fronts, and one of them has to be the Russian front; eventually, that front is overwhelmed, and you've spent so much brain-materiel in fighting it, that the other front is overwhelmed in due time as well.

Also, I've just compared my brain to Germany. If possible, let's pretend I meant World War I Germany with their fun headgear, and not World War II Germany with their not-fun genocide and war crimes. God, my analogies suuuuck ...

Long story short: I had a beer and a peach, and the double-urge meant that I enjoyed each only half as much. Apparently the double-urge requires double-consumption. While some would define this as alcoholism, what about the other side? What about ... the peachoholism? It's ugly, buster.