The Annekenstein Monster

From the CBC website – Tamil Tigers Look To Regroup in Canada.
Didn’t read it all, but I figure that Jim Balsillie is wanting to buy the Tamil Tigers and move them to Canada.  But Gary Bettman is refusing to allow it to happen.

I know people don’t like to read things that are more than 140 characters long, but follow this link to a fascinating story about real zombies in Haiti.
It’s well worth the read.
Click here to take you to the story about Nadathe, who was turned into a zombie.

From The Guardian (the paper that covers The Island like the dew, except it’s a dew that puts black ink on your fingers) comes this photo of Michael Murphy, who won* the Alberton Mayoral race by two votes.
*pending a recount

This is, without question, the most awesome looking mayor I can imagine. I don’t know what his politics are, or his mandate, but I totally want him to be my mayor*.
*But my want is not enough for me to actually move to Alberton, obviously.

Compare this guy with the little leprechaun popup that shows up when you visit the webpage for my city’s mayor.

Congratulations Michael Murphy.  I hope you win the recount.

Here’s the new single from Adam Lambert, he of American Idol 2nd place fame.
To be honest, I haven’t listened to the whole thing.  I got pretty bored early on, and then skipped ahead a couple of times to see if the song got any better.
It didn’t really.  It’s not that it’s a bad song.  It’s okay.  It’s too auto-tuned (but what isn’t these days, other than Neko Case).
As I listened to its blandness, I thought “This sounds like it could have been a Michael Jackson song.”  Then I started imagining how much better it could have been if MJ had recorded it.  He would’ve infused it with the energy that seems to be lacking.
And I’m talking about a Dead Michael Jackson.  That’s how bland this song is – even a dead MJ would give it more zest than it currently musters.

Anyway, here’s the song:

So, yeah… The Balloon Boy.

What an odd little bit of Newstertainment.  I got a bit caught up in it yesterday afternoon at work when a co-worker came and told me it was happening.  I found a live local (local to the story) news feed on the internet and watched as the balloon sailed along high above Colorado.  It was rather fascinating. Horrible, of course, to imagine a little 6 year old boy in that balloon, no doubt scared out of his mind.
It’s always interesting when things like this get covered live, when there’s so much air time to fill up while everyone waits for something else to happen.  Often stupid things get said and ridiculous notions are brought up.
As I started watching, one of my first thoughts was “if it’s a helium balloon, I wonder is the boy breathing helium or does he have access to oxygen?”  Several minutes later, that thought occurred to someone being interviewed by the male and female local new anchors covering the story. “If there’s no oxygen, and he only has helium to breathe, well, he’d already be dead” said a somber expert of something-or-other.
This possibility struck the female news anchor rather hard as she gasped and said “Oh my, the thought of that takes my breath away!”   A bad choice of words there, perhaps, even if it was, literally, true.

So, yeah, they discover the boy wasn’t in the balloon, and that’s when I stopped watching.  I assume (in order of assumption) a) he never was in the balloon and that the boy is missing somewhere.  Maybe he went chasing after the balloon after it left the yard; b) he was in the balloon and fell out somewhere and is now dead; or c) it was a hoax.
Later I hear that the boy was found.  At that point, my interest in the story is done, especially after I start hearing reports about the family and its eccentricities.  It had turned from a legitimate news story to the usual voyeuristic nonsense that news channels love to investigate to death.  Count me out.

I considered it Case Closed as far as I was concerned.  But I couldn’t help myself getting back into it after I read the headline on The Huffington Post:  Falcon Heene Vomits:  WATCH Balloon boy Throw Up On Today & Good Morning America. 
That story is about how Falcon has the flu and threw up twice, once off camera and once on camera.

There is, of course, video.  I refuse to watch it, though.  However, for those of you who simply must watch, as the article informs you:  The vomiting starts 5:50 into the clip.

And this is what we have become.

Maybe.

Just maybe.

… one giant leap of awesome for me.

I remember watching the Motown 25th Anniversary show.  I remember it was a pretty good production, but when Michael Jackson came on and performed Billie Jean, it took the night to a whole other level of energy.
He was electrifying.  And when he did that moonwalk… man oh man, all kinds of people had to re-evaluate what awesome was.
Here’s the performance:
http://videos.nymag.com/embed/player/?content=RJB7PJ1B8F020WRL&widget_type_cid=svp&title_height=24

I was reading this quote about Tarantino’s new film Inglorious Basterds, and it struck me:  Harvey Weinstein’s response could so easily fit into a scene from some Tarantino film.  The cadence, the language, the feel of it.  Can’t you just imagine QT playing some harried character and spouting out the HW quotation verbatim? 
I know I can.

GQ grills Harvey Weinstein about the final cut:

GQ: So the stories about him being asked to cut 40 minutes out of the movie aren’t true?

HW: Those stories are all untrue. There’s no fucking way. Here, read my lips: That is nuts. Please don’t even write that, it’s insanity. There’s not even a question of that. Whatever you’re reading, it’s like some insane blogger… There’s no truth to any of this. He’s not gonna cut. What he’s doing is just reorganizing some scenes. I mean, the guy had six weeks to cut his movie [for Cannes]; most guys take six months. Most guys take a year. When I worked with Martin [Scorsese], we’d do eighteen months in post-production. Quentin Tarantino cuts a movie in six weeks? Come on, there’s shit on that cutting-room floor that’ll blow your brains out. I was telling Quentin the opposite—”You should put that shit back in the movie.” There’s scenes with Brad Pitt and the Basterds, and I’m praying he puts that shit back in, ‘cause it’s un-fucking-believably great. Listen—this movie will be between two hours and twenty minutes and two hours and twenty-seven minutes. I don’t think it’s going to be shorter—it’s just a question of rearranging. I know he’s putting footage back into the movie. I know he’s got some cool shit that he didn’t get time to address.

I’ve got a huge crush on Prince.  Holy sweet Jesus!
The man owns the stage, owns the falsetto, and may very well own my heart.

Watch it before it gets pulled.