Do beetles bite?

No, seriously, that's the question.

I was just finished with my shower and putting my clothes on, and then I felt a low-registering but sharp pain on the left side of my neck. I grab for that area (as we are wont to do, w/o the slightest clue of what-who-how has transpired), pull off the alien and toss it at the sink.

Because it was a beetle, it had that hard shell of yumiliciousness, which means it's harder to kill, say, than a cockroach or an ant. In any case, I emerged the victor.

Or, did I?

My question again, for those of us just joining or not paying attention earlier, will the beetle have the last laugh as I lay gasping for my last breaths in a slow, torturous process of beetle-poison-induced death? I just wanna know.

This is just a test

I just wanna see how many people come to this site for stupid reasons. I just think by next Friday, it'd be interesting to see how many people will come to this site from a poor Google search.

Jessica Rabbit and Homer Simpson are both cartoon characters; some even find them to be Sexy.
Historical books have Images of General Lee; Photography books usually have a Picture of a Daisy.
I believe both Hewitt Packard Bell and Arthur Anderson are familiar with failing businesses.

Love,
jasdye

Let freedom and desserts ring! Let freedom and desserts ring!

A bit of blogging press has recently been inked on blogging's favorite 'news' persona again, Stephen Colbert. This time, it involves Colbert using the tactics of mainstream news (particularly, the sharp, sound-bite montage) to exact revenge on the mainstream news. I thought it was a brilliant twist (whereas the Presidential Press Corps. dinner may have been - although subversively brilliant - out of his league) on how we shape our newsmakers, or rather, how our newsmakers are shaped by the gatekeepers. But, if you read blogs, you've probably heard this argument too many times.

I'm more interested in the dreamsicle.

I Have a Dreamsicle

Draft - "damNation"

what to say?
what can i do?
when the
careless,
carefree,
careful,
consequences of Sins
leads to
the Lean Years -
forlorn, languishing,
lusty, laborious,
hell-scorched and kerosene-lit
Lean Years -
of Lent?

Woke up, fell out of bed. Dragged a comb across my head.

You know, as I'm reminded several times a week, teachers get two months off (and the most beautiful ones at that) each year. Now, earlier yesterday, I stumbled upon this entry of Scot McKnight, where the seemingly perpetually busy author, blogger and professor (remember, he teaches at Trinity Evangelical International University) discloses his regular daily summer schedule. It was upon the point of reading his entry that I came upon a unique idea all my own, I should give a glimpse into the life of a typical teacher (me) via a typical daily summer schedule. So, without further ado about nothing:

6:15 a.m.- Awakened on my bed or couch by cell phone alarm.
6:15:30 - Wonder to myself, "Was it all just a dream?"
6:17 - Begin daily conversation with self about the importance of jogging regimen.
6:50 - After vigorus workout of the will, I hit the showers.
7:05 - On a regular rotating schedule, I either clip the ol' toenails, fingernails, nosehairs or earhairs.
7:10 - After all that activity, and to cool down for the day, take a mid-morning siesta.
10:25 - Wake up. Debate with self about DVD rentals: Tsotsi, Vertigo, Tokyo Story, Rashomon.
10:30 - "The View"
11:30 - "Days of Our Lives"
12:30 p.m. - "I Love Lucy"
1:00 - "Lucy Loves Ricky"
1:30 - Go out for healthy lunch.
1:45 - Yell at manager of McDonald's that the Double QuarterPounder w/ Cheese Meal Deal is McMisleadingly McTasty.
2:30 - Begrudgingly finish my third strawberry shake with Reeses Pieces to offset the four Big & Tasty Meals.
2:32 - Begin my jog home.
2:32:10 - Realize I didn't bring the appropriate jogging shoes, effectively ending my jog home.
2:55 - It strikes my funny bone that y'all are still working during this perfect day.
3:00 - "Judge Mathis."
4:00 "- Maury" Marathon.
6:00 - "Inside Edition."
7:12 - Get into a shouting match with a jerk who keeps eyeing me at Coldstone.
7:19 - Find, much to my dismay, that I'm just yelling at mirror image of myself.
7:45 - My belly says 'Yummy.'
8:00 - Think I'm drunk on the Rum Raisin Ice Cream.
8:30 - Pass out on park bench.
9:40 - Read my bible.
9:41 - Pray.
9:42 - Brush my teeth.
9:44 - Prank call my girlfriend.
9:45 - The gig is up. She knows it's me.
9:47 - Prank call my girlfriend.
10:00 - "Fear Factor" while blogging.
11:00 - More "Fear Factor"
12:00 a.m. - Go to Coldstones for more Banana Ripple.
12:10 - Finding that the doors are locked, throw a garbag can through window of Coldstones.
12:35 - Promptly brought to area police ward.
12:38 - Loudly proclaim that my rights are being violated at area police ward.
12:40 - Promptly fall asleep at area police ward.
Repeat cycle.

Tidbits

Continuing the tract of not really talking about the most important things on my mind at this point:

• I - an unrepentant non-denominationalist - am anxiously awaiting my first Book of Common Prayers in the mail over the next week. I want to thank Eugene Peterson, Lauren Winter, Scot McKnight, Dallas Willard, my mamma and my agent for this new outlook.

• I'm also eagerly awaiting classic ep and lp discs from LA Symphony. Since Call It What You Want is still out of order, gots me the Baloney EP and Composition #1. I would like to thank Pigeon John, Joeay the Jerk, Flynn, Cookbook, my mom, and your mom. Especially your mom.
  

• That's right, she's very nice.
  

• We got a place. It's big; the smallest of the three bedrooms is the size of some of the master bedrooms we were looking at. It's right next to public transportation (like a block away). It has a back patio with a grill some soul just left for us. A common washing machine. First floor apartment. Plenty of Mexican diners and shops and the Cozy Corner (my favorite greasy spoon / breakfast hangout) right next door. Within two miles of the church and school. We'll be moving some of Jen's stuff in on Friday. I'll be moving in... well, pray about that.
• Actual photograph of my actual playing miniature golf. Note the furtive attention and worship the posture. Worship it!
  

• Don't say a thing to me about the White Sox. Don't! Even!

• So, a cab driver offers a free ride to a woman in a rough spot, delivering her from would-be womanizers and possibly even rapists; no fare on top of that. Only, it turns out he's the rapist. Gaw, WTF! Hormones out of whack, gentlemen?

• Been keeping busy at a couple of blogs: Out of Ur (associated with the Leadership Journal aspect of Christianity Today. A lot of theoretical theology meeting with practical street levels and iron-sharpening-iron) and Jesus Creed (by Valparaiso U.- Correction: What I Meant to Say Was: North Park University - Professor Scot McKnight, who also happens to be a fellow moderate Evangelical, if either he or I can be typecast as that). In the Jesus Creed (so-named for McKnight's belief that Jesus and his disciples may have added the passage about loving our neighbor as ourself to the traditional Shema [You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart...] that was to be repeated several times a day by observant Jews) I'm catching up on a summer-long study in Romans.
  

• I hate technical difficulties. It's kept me from making a few links, dropping a few pics and watching the doc Lost Boys of Sudan, not to be confused with the teen-vamps movie.

Until next time, I'll catch you on the outside.

Tidings

Some activity recently got me upset but also thinking about racism and what we refer to as 'reverse racism' as well as hate crimes. (My thoughts are that there is no such thing as RR. Any use of power over another person on the pretext or assumption of race or ethnicity is racism, which is - as Dr. King pointed out - a moral evil and sin. Anyway, this post was supposed to be short...) But just as my collar was getting a bit hot and heavy, I caught the usually observant Mary Mitchell making what I would classify as a great column in the Chicago Sun-Times. If the title "Is 'white boy' a slur? It sure isn't a compliment" doesn't get your attention, I don't know what else could.

Speaking of the Sun-Times, although Roger Ebert is still out of commission, they're still doing good things there. Check out the series on an experimental public school chartered by the U of C with the premise of mixing high-middle class and well-below-poverty-level elementary school kids through a three part series. The reporting, by education reporter Kate N. Grossman, for these perspective pieces was done during the ever-important and formative first academic year in one third-grade classroom. Part 1: One Classroom, Many Classes; Part 2: Doubts Emerge in School Experiment; Part 3: Grading the School Year. Personally, I still have to read parts II & III. Bon apettit.
Josh Hurst of the Reveal Listening Lounge has a review of Gnarls Barkley (as he says) finally posted. I merely disagree in that the mode of using, mixing and mashing pop-culture references was a mode of using, mixing, and mashing so much divergent styles of pop-music, including but not limited to, as he notes, zydeco, gospel raves, hip-hop, Frank Sinatra torches and post-modern disco.

What is it with falling-apart American cyclists and the Tour de France? I mean, it'd be one thing if their wrists were giving them pause or they got a torn rotator cuff. But an arthritic hip that's falling apart and a cancer-ridden scrotum? For a bicyclist, those areas are too close and too chafen to mess with for my money. Seriously, I'm just happy to shove it in the face of those (Micah's term) surrender monkeys. Audio from the victory lap.

Speaking of American athletes not considered athletes by a slim majority of Americans, after Tiger's triumphant 18-under-par at the Open yesterday morning, I felt newly inspired to triumph in my own version of the Masters - playing with (but yet against) the future in-laws that afternoon. In an indoor course that I could only define as about as treacherous (and untampered) as the Liverpool course, I managed to double-bogie as often as I birdied. I also got a couple hole-in-ones, but I doubt my fiancee added that correctly, as I finished 7-over. Which fulfills neither of my wishes: 1) win, or, if impossible, 2) get the highest score.

Yes, that was how I reacted yesterday afternoon. But then we went to the Cheesecake Factory. So, everything's ok now.

You Are My Sunshine

I've just started reading The Beginning of Wisdom: Reading Genesis by University of Chicago Professor Leon R. Kass. Kass is a professor largely of ethics and especially how it pertains to biology (two previous books - that I'll probably never be the least interested in - are Life, Liberty and the Defense of Dignity: The Challenge for Bioethics and (with James Q. Wilson) The Ethics of Human Cloning. But, being a well-rounded learner/educator - he regularly teaches classes on Plato and other foundational Western philosophy classes - he decided to tackle the biblical beginnings of Genesis to uncover the truths therein.

Now, despite the obvious flaws with which he would undertake such a task (most noticeably, once again using a Western [or, Euro-Centric] way-of-thinking to frame a religion that is largely dressed in Eastern - certainly Middle Eastern - garb), his - largely unskeptical and wondrous - approach and frame of reference gives casual and pious readers of the Bible (specifically, the Mosaic Law) reason to deliberately pause. Not out of doubt or cynicism, but as a way of re-approaching Genesis with a fresh perspective.

One such perspective came while Kass is setting up the creation story not as a chronological set but as a hierarchical setting. Kass argues that the further in the story gets, the more loco-motive the creations are (from light itself [which merely occupies space], to plants [which apparently don't move but only grow], to the sun [which moves among a track], to birds and fish [which largely move in rhythms of back & forth - i.e., migrations], to land animals [which move back & forth, left and right, etc. but are largely leashed to their natural ways of moving], to human beings [who can set and re-order their own paths and, largely, limits]), the higher-up they are in the natural order of superiority. In so arguing, he notes that most myths/religions place the superiority on the sun, which most clearly gives light and heat and life and so is first in priority of that which we can see (for without it, we could not see, right?). As a result, they worship the sun as the or a major god. Many cosmological explanations, Kass points out, involve sexual relations between celestial beings, usually including the sun.

What I get out of this is not the mere fact of the supremacy of man (although among all creation we are, based on any reading of Genesis because we alone are created in the image of God), but the supremacy of God's creative powers. God - in his authoritative take on the creation of the cosmos - does not need the sun - or any heavenly powers - to create light or warmth or life. My understanding is that, 1) he devalues the importance of the sun or any seeming other 'god' - which the Hebrews would come into contact with both in Egypt, in the wilderness and in the Promised Land - in order to emphasize his own abilities, his own God-ness; 2) he can actually do such amazing things, creating a temporary light ex nihilo (out of nothing) and then setting up a more substantial light source later, if for no other reason than to prove point 1.

Praise God, our ultimate source for everything that is good and life-giving. Praise God, who is so much more than the Other. Praise God, for he is mysterious and above us, but he allows us to see him and his ways.

Best Songs Ever, Anyone?

I'm thinking (to let you in on how deep we teachers think and meditate during our summer breaks) that there are two classes of greatest songs. First, there's the type of song where it doesn't matter who covers it, who sings / belts / screeches it out, it still grabs you by the collar and makes you hum / sing /belt / screech it out alongside - as best you can. Heck, even after Michael Bolton tries to steal it, you move along and that song still screams to you, "Sing me. You know you want to." Second, there is the type of song that was produced and performed in such an incredible way that it left an indelible imprint in your mind that the performance cannot be duplicated or excavated. No one, not even Frankie himself coming out of the grave with coolness (and flesh) intact could trump it.

Now here's my challenge. What are some of those commonly agreed upon songs. Following is a short list of my own; tell me what you think (add, subtract, come up with your own, etc.).

Of the first order:

1) Be My Baby (originally by the Ronettes) Check it out on iTunes; There's tons of less-talented singers, arrangers and all sorts that covered this classic. But the foundation was already laid in those larger-than-life drums that laid down the foundation for the Wall-of-Sound, that it's hard for someone to mess up in re-recording the song. Of course, no one else could sound like Veronica Spector (not Brian Wilson nor Joey Ramone even), but you can't blame 'em for trying.

2) In Your Eyes (Peter Gabriel) I've heard this in coffee shops sung and strummed by fairly competent players and just dropped my breath. Obviously, it gets me every-stinkin'-time. And since my fiancee has the largest, most beautiful eyes this side of anime cartoons, this is one even Bolton can try and fail to mess up. I could go on in my life without ever hearing his version, but still...

3) Time After Time (Cyndi Lauper) In a fruteria I heard this performed on the spanish radio. Sang right along, well, with the chorus - when I could figure it out. Sang along to this chorus with many people of many cultures and colors many times. Heck, sing along. I dare you not to. "If you're lost, you can look and you will find me / Time after time / If you fall, I will catch you, I will be waiting / Time after time." What is it about this ditty that keeps tugging at the heart?

Of the second order:

1) Good Vibrations (the single done by the Brian Wilson-led Beach Boys) I know Wilson tried to redo it on his SMiLES album. No. No good. I just don't think anybody this side of God himself could top this version of this song.
2) A Natural Woman (You Make Me Feel Like) (The inimitable but never duplicable Aretha Franklin) Actually, probably just about anything put out by this woman in the mid-60s through the 70s (including covers of well-known hits, like "Bridge Over Troubled Waters" and some Beatles songs) is probably a gimme on this list. But this song sticks out to me, for whatever reason. Heck, I think it makes me feel like a natural woman.3) You Are My Sunshine (No version even comes close to Ray Charles'.) "Ray
Charles does country?" People were also upset about Dylan doing country, but much like him, Charles never belonged to a subset, genre or particular pocket. However, Bob's the songwriter everybody else made famous, Ray's the dam*ed genius, unfolding for the world what Cash, Haggard, Nelson and Williams (the eldest) had been resigned to the underground for - the soulfulness of country music. God rest 'em all.

Emerging and Movement of Families

Generally speaking, I hate sharing news on the internet before I tell at least a few physically-proximate friends, relatives, etc. So, I really don't have any news on the whole marriage front. I still want it sooner than later.

School doesn't begin until the first Tuesday in September, and then it'll be nearly impossible for at least a month and a half to get anything else off the ground. (Such as that sweet tea shack I wanna open next summer. That'll be sweet. We don't have any sweet tea - to the best of my knowledge - on the Near North Side of Chicago.) Although, truthfully, I do have a lot of sick days (three weeks worth, honestly!) and all three personal days left.

Maybe after this weekend, we'll have more of an idea. Spending some time with her family. Speaking of la familia, mi abuelos are selling all their property (from the OKie state) and moving all their worldly possessions to the Philippines, where gramps is from.

So, another reason to make this fairly soon. And another possible vacation spot.

You're wondering who I am, machine or mannequin...*

This is for Christine Emilia Barnes & Noble, aka Kurisuteen Nakata, Jamaican cum Canadian cum Jewish-Christian observant cum black Japanese extraordinaire. Inspired by Bill Murray, our Li'l Miss Linguist is going to Japan to teach English to the masses.

Yes, of course it's obvious. Doesn't make it any less funny.

And remeber, if you see Godzilla, don't turn around until you're miles away. Then you can gawk.

*Yes, that's right. "Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto."

Speaking of which, I found this great short-form video of the Styx ummm, masterpiece. The other one I spotted was for the whole song and done by one singular, stay-in-the-basement-of-his-parent's-home kid. He really needs Mr. Roboto to help him escape. Secret, secret, he's got a secret.

I'm really liking this youtube thingamabob

Here's a Mars Ill video featuring Ahmad Jones of 4th Ave. Jones:

"More"

I checked out their myspace page today. They included mashups of a Jurassic 5 and an Outkast song. That took me by surprise. I just didn't figure that to be their style - like reverse mix-tapes.

"Sound Off"

In other news, I fried me up and fed me up a cheeseburger. It felt awkward, but as Micah points out, at least I didn't have to swallow it through a blender and a straw.

And may their first child be a masculine child.

My jaw's so big, I feel like Popeye. I'm talking a bit like him, too.

Just looking in the mirror, I look like Marlon Brando as The Godfather.

I have big, deep, gaping holes in the back of my mouth.

The gauze pads that I kept placing back there were turning a nasty dark red.

I haven't had anything to chew in a day and a half. I've only had half a cup of ice coffee and a little bottle of Starburst Smoothie. It tastes like you'd expect a Starbust Smoothie to taste like. Dang the options at Walgreens.

I'm not hungry, though. Haven't been. And I'm... how should I say this?... a good eater.

I just gurgled some warm salt water. Not as weird as I had expected.

I walked home from the dentist office yesterday alone. They put me under while they removed my wisdom teeth. I was understandably confused when they woke me up and dizzy for a while after. I walked to the pharmacy across the street, but they don't take credit cards. I walked to the bus stop, one came quickly enough. Which was good. I hobbled like a drunkard. But the bus, with its constant starting and stopping, made me nauseus. It's a good thing I only live a third of a mile from the dentist.

If they're called wisdom teeth, shouldn't we keep them in our old age? Wisdom teeth are wasted on the young.

I'm gonna eat a big juicy cheeseburger tonight, or I'll be upset.

She doesn't want that record. No, wait, I'm sorry, is she in a coma?

It's hotter than Gehenna out here. And I wanna send a shout-out to the fine folks from Gehanna, Ohio who came down for a week of working at our church this week. I got a lot of sun. Which is why I'm indoors right now while Jennie's walking in the park by herself.

I need some more ice coffee.

Continuing my earlier thread:

Best records so far of 2006 (I'll again try to limit this to records that were either released this year or that I just found out about this year. This would preclude either Sufjan album I bought this year, as well as that-little-album-that-could, The Beatles' 1.):

1) Danielson, Ships. I've already done a slight review / meditation a few posts down on this overlooked gem. (Why do I say it's overlooked? Well at least Gnarls Barkley and Sufjan Stevens get some radio play, as well as spots on the iTunes lists. [Full disclosure, I iTune a lot of stuff now, even though I don't own an iPod yet. However, I'm getting married soon. And if you're not very creative with gifts but have some extra cash on hand...]) I'll only add this extra bit, this album's got me wrapped around itself with its childlike melodies and complex, percussive, and often surprising orchestrations. Note, Danielson and related projects are available through Sounds Familyre Records as well as Secretly Canadian, so it should be available at your local li'l record shop. "Did I Step on Your Trumpet" and "Cast It at the Setting Sail" are available on their myspace page.

2) Ladysmith Black Mambazo, Long Walk to Freedom. Also wrapping around my head like a wet towel. I've also written about them and this album within the last few months. Many of the songs recorded here - if most or even all of them - were originally written and performed during the Apartheid era. In fact, one was written by a former - if not fully repentant at the moment - slave trader. That's just a slight observation I just made. Beyond that, I don't know Afrikaan nor any tribal language, much less South African tribal languages. I only say this because I don't do much world music. Unlike foreign-language films, there are no subtitles. But Ladysmith Black Mambazo has been in the back of my consciousness for awhile. In the mid-80's, they played a prominent role in Paul Simon's Graceland, which was all over the radio at the time. In the early nineties, Adam Again's song "Walk Between the Raindrops" addressed the murder of Headman Shabalala, one of the original members of the group. And in the late-90's, they joined with Charlie Peacock (a favorite of my formative Christian artistry years) to sing on a record produced by Steve Taylor (another favorite). And then I saw them perform Simon's "Homeless" on Leno or Letterman or whoever with Sarah McLaughlin. I iTuned the album the following day.

I have friends from Kenya that would blow me away every time they sang in Swahili. It's a certain polyrhythm that seems to rise just below the surface. I'm not sure it's a pan-African thing (I've felt that same experience with other West Africans), but LBM has the same effect, only with a more diverse and dynamic vocal arrangement. And with this album at least, they have great pop songs to go along with the arrangement.

3 & 4) Mars Ill, Pro*Pain & Pirate Radio. These albums are just now starting to grow on me. The funkier sounds off of their remix BackWaterProphets made that an instant hit with me. But, as mentioned, BWP is a remix of an already superior album. As begets the independently produced and released Pirate Radio and the finally released, and aptly-titled, Pro*Pain, both albums belie a decidedly hard-rock edge that Dust had been rocking (and I remember my misgivings on it on the last DeepSpace 5 record that he had a large hand in), with a bent toward B. B. King-styled blues on Radio. But the sound is starting to grow on me. They never give into cheesy Rick Rubin-stuff nor give in completely to just Anthrax-Public Enemy-rock-out, leaving plenty of room for their filled-in but definitely independent and non-mainstream hip hop sound. Although, as they say on "Pirate Radio", "They'll never shut us down / Revolution's public now / the signal's too strong / to keep us in the underground." If you haven't checked out Mars Ill yet, I'm ashamed. I have links all over the place, because I write about these underappreciated cats all the time.

5) Gnarls Barkley, St. Elsewhere. "Go-Go Gadget Gospel" sums it up pretty well. Cee-Lo has been known as a gospel-inflected proto-singer for the longest (why some critics seemed surprised by his pipes is beyond me. He came up with Outkast after all). Danger Mouse, the other collaborator in Gnarls, is the go-to guy in producing goofy, pop culture as attested to by his popular mash-up of the White Album with the Black Album and his previous collabo with a semi-famous rapper, Doctor Doom-obsessed MF Doom on The Mouse and the Mask - basically a commercial for Cartoon Network's Adult Swim. Their love for pop culture is referenced throughout, including "Transformer", which sounds like a Saturday morning in the eighties complete with 'toons and the ads for those 'toons and a lot of sugar, the title of the album and the duo, and well, you spot some of the others.

But this about the music. And as much as creepy songs like "Necromancer" and "The Boogie Monster" set my stomach churling, there aren't too many powerful pop gems like "Crazy", "Smiley Faces", or the honest and vulnerable storm that is "Just a Thought." Nontheless, the instrumentals at the end of the disk show just how necessary Cee-Lo's vox are to this mix.

It's the half-way point, people

Micah of Micah's World has reminded me that, this being just past the half-way point of the year, Bests of the Year So Far lists are due. And while going over his lists on books, movies and video games, I was struck with a few observations:

1) Until recently, I've bought a lot of books this year, but have not had much of a chance to read them. Actually, I'm loving my morning reading time (all of it non-fiction) and I should have a temporary list up soon.

2) Akelah and the Bee was cute, X-Men III was fairly thrilling (and chilling), Pirates: Dead Man's Chest was a joyride - as I mentioned earlier - that I can compare somewhat palely with Star Wars: Empire Strikes Back, and The Second Chance had snappy dialogue and a great theme to complement the fact that it was directed and co-written by a personal adolescent hero of mine. Yet none of the movies released this year have excited me, surprised me, challenged me, gutted me or imbued me with joy the way that Stevie, Kung Fu Hustle, Shaolin Soccer, Hotel Rwanda, or Napoleon Dynamite or even Luther has. In other words, there's nothing that I'm truly excited about at this moment.

3) I don't play no video games.

Wait, does Spider Solitaire count?

Yarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!

Superman Returns was - surprise, surprise - disappointing.

I am guessing though, that despite director Bryan Singer's claims to the contrary, he was merely settling in to do the sequel. Kind of like X-Men was little more than a long set-up for X-Men 2 - one of the better action movies of the last two decades.

And maybe like how Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl was a set-up for Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest. I'm with Jeffrey Overstreet on this one, DMC was a dark but thrilling second act. Although my butt didn't too much care for this other 2 1/2 hour slug-fest, it was an action piece that's got me wanting more moody, Empire Strikes Back-esque/carnival ride movies for the new millennium.

I'm a pirate, that I be.

Here's to hoping the next Superman is sublime and the third Pirates actually fulfills the ideal of the trilogy, unlike say X-Men III, The Godfather III or Return of the Jedi. (Damn you, Ewoks!)

You got a real purty mouf dere.

She said yes.

I'm engaged.

And we're gonna marry soon (though the date isn't set yet - and it'll probably be small).

ain't we just the cutest?
ain't i just the lamest?

And I didn't even have to jump out of the woods and snag her, a la "Seven Brides for Seven Brothers." That's good, 'cuz it was looking pretty bad last year.