This Remembrance Day goes to 11

'Round these here parts, we call Remembrance Day "Veterans Day." It' a convenient catch-all term that ends up meaning nothing. Maybe if the US had been in World War I longer the day would have as much significance here as it does in England or Canada, but no; America's involvement was the equivalent of a semester abroad, and how significant are those? And hey, that's a really flippant remark that denigrates the sacrifice of the 116,708 Americans who lost their lives making sure Europe wasn't overrun by a pointy-helmeted fashion craze. And hey, that's a really flippant remark, too.

The BBC had a great headline today:

Million poppies dropped over QE2

For a split second I did think the story was about a million poppies being dumped on that old bag's head but the story was in fact about the boat QE2, not the monarch QE2. Alas, alas.

The video on that page -- http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/england/hampshire/7720966.stm -- is notable for a few reasons:

1. In a true tribute to Spinal Tap, the volume goes up to 11
2. In a truer tribute to Spinal Tap, there is no compelling sound worth going up to 11; someone left the mic on and you can sort of hear some people having a conversation in the background
3. In a so-true-it-blows-your-mind tribute to Spinal Tap, I'm not sure that's the right video for that story. It's 14 seconds long and there is nary (indeed, nary) a poppy to be seen. The caption reads "The QE2 docks in Southampton ahead of its final voyage on Tuesday evening," which is, you know, fascinating in a not-fascinating, I-came-here-to-see-poppies way.

Thanks for your sacrifice, BBC Employee Who's Now Getting Made Fun Of By His Co-Workers. And soldiers: Thanks for your sacrifice, too. Don't blame all young people for the internet.

It's like watching a bunny try to do calculus

Greatest movie ever?

For your consideration, the back-of-dvd text for "Shark in Venice," a direct-to-dvd movie starring Stephen Baldwin (the born-again Christian Republican Baldwin brother) and a pan-European cast of pan-European nobodies:

The seemingly tranquil waterways of Venice are terrorized by the perfect killing machine. In search of his father who has mysteriously disappeared diving in the city, David stumbles across the cryptic trail leading to the long-lost fortune of the Medici. As the unwitting pawn in a Mafia plot to recover the treasure, David’s girlfriend is kidnapped at gunpoint, plunging him into a desperate race against time. If he has any hope of saving her he must enter the deadly waters. Can David out-gun the Mafia assassins and survive the voracious sharks laying in wait beneath the surface, or will he succumb to the same fate as his father?

Yeah ... what? Sharks and the Mafia and the Medicis and it takes place in Venice. The first sentence, "The seemingly tranquil waterways of Venice are terrorized by the perfect killing machine": that's your movie right there. Sharks in Venice? OK. If you say so. But then to add in all that crazy shit about treasure and the Mafia and kidnapping and scuba diving? It'd be like "The Earth's core has stopped rotating, so Aaron Eckhart has to pay off his gambling debts, get custody of his children, and solve his brother's murder while getting the Earth's core to resume rotating."

The Amazon description is pretty grand, too, despite the movie being re-titled to "Sharks in Venice" for maximum terror plurality:

Traveling to Venice to investigate the mysterious death of his father, David (Stephen Baldwin), a famous archaeologist and diver, unearths a killer secret that lies beneath the Venetian waters. When a ruthless mob boss discovers his findings and kidnaps his girlfriend, David must brave the dangerous, shark-infested waters once again to recover the treasure and rescue his girlfriend. A dark and mysterious chase ensues and secrets are revealed in this sci-fi thriller.

Is "secrets are revealed" really a selling point for a movie? "Ya know, I liked that 'Godfather' movie ok, but it was really lacking in the 'revealing secrets' department."

Blah, whatever. I don't know.

To be honest, I'm finding it hard to get enthused about anything these days. I think it's because Blossom Goodchild's prediction that a UFO piloted by the Federation of Light would materialize over Alabama on October 14 was wrong. Yeah, holy shit, right? That's an amazingly detailed prediction, especially coming from someone named "Blossom Goodchild" (ie, someone who is perpetually high). All the same, my hopes were pinned on it coming true. I mean, it could have forced Disclosure! But no. Nothing. I was crushed. I am crushed. Music is joyless. Food is bland. The Happening wasn't very good (really, I couldn't watch more than twenty minutes of it). Thanks, Federation of Light, for being massive UFO-teases!

Blossom Goodchild has apologized in one of the most poignant vlogs I've ever seen:



She answers the questions we all have, except one: When will I be able to love again?

Dear John McCain ...

You deserve to lose because your supporters are incompetent assholes, especially when they have blatant conflicts of interest and end up getting me in trouble at work because they don't give me back the proof pages in a timely manner. Seriously, fuck you and your supporters, with a extra special fuck you to whoever sent us a fax telling us that "Ukrainians have a moral obligation to never vote for a ... Marxist Nigerian chimp."

I suck at current events

When I saw the headline

Peter Cook Sex Tape Surfaces

I thought

Fig. 1: Eww.

I read the story and saw that it was not about that Peter Cook, who it ends up has been dead for 13 years. No, the sex tape Peter Cook is the one who has divorced / is divorcing Christie Brinkley. Uncool name, sex tape Peter Cook. It's a lot like "Kevin Smith Dies in On-Set Accident," but they were talking about the actor from Xena: Warrior Princess and not the director of such films as Jay and Silent Bob Waste Their Time and Yours.

Say what you will about people – ok, celebrities – naming their children whatever they see in their bowl of Alpha-Bits that morning; at least the interestingly-named won't confuse me when they appear in a sex tape or die suddenly, or preferably appear in a sex tape and die at the same time. Remember the Gene Simmons sex tape from a few months ago? (I do, because the shame lingers.) How awesome would that sex tape have been if, at the end of the sex part, the roof caved in on Gene Simmons? "This awesome," Dave said as he held his hands two meters apart. "Though I wish my arms were longer."

You know how to hold a grudge

Is it because I introduced myself to you at the WFMU marathon in March? I'm really sorry, Ted Leo. I've never done that before in my life, but you were on a list of two people I'd introduce myself to, given the opportunity. Now that I've got you off the list, it's down to one: Amy Sedaris. And maybe also the guy from "The Fall" because that movie was awesome, but I don't know, I'll have to think about it.

And they live in Detroit, not NY or Brooklyn or wherever

You know who doesn't have a problem with me seeing their shows, Ted Leo? The Dirtbombs. They're playing Maxwell's on October 15 and I'll be going, which will mark their fourth consecutive show at Maxwell's that I've attended.

An open letter to Teddy Rockstar

Dear Ted Leo,

Your performance at Webster Hall this Saturday will be your fourth consecutive NYC-area concert which I am unable to attend. I am starting to become annoyed. I am tempted to drive down to Washington DC on December 13 to see you perform at the Black Cat because I have nothing planned that day, but Washington DC is scary and according to the Supreme Court they can have all the guns they want so I think I'll give you one more chance to do a NY show before I get really annoyed again and give you a few more chances after that.

Rock'n'roll dreams'll come through,
Dave Bushnell

Salivating towards Bethlehem

Wednesday is order-in lunch day. I kinda hate it because we need to reach a consensus on which local eatery will be our lunch provider, and that means way more talking with co-workers than I find tolerable.