But, I met Ted Raimi and Bruce Campbell yesterday, so I figured I’d blog a little. Czeltic Girl clued me in that Bruce Campbell was going to introduce his new movie at the Oriental, so with a little prodding from MHG, I went to see.

Check out CG’s photos on the subject! And a blurry one with comments that repeat this blog entry!

We declined having our photo taken at the Bruce Campbell signing, a decision we will forever regret. Or for a while, anyway.

Bruce jibed at MHG and me, “Oh, 2-for-1 deal, eh? You couples get away with murder.” MHG replied, “Yeah, but we still have to buy 2 movie tickets.” “You got me there,” Bruce smiled. MHG got saucy with BRUCE CAMPBELL!

Bruce is a lefty. We had to have our books set out a certain way so he didn’t get all kinds of paper cuts from the dust jackets. We were #288, but we got signed around 190.

The movie was delightful B-fare, prompting a one-liner review from MHG that was a perfect summary: “It’s been a while since someone made a movie like that…on purpose.” Saucy!

Well, I was putting my employment in peril all last week by concentrating on entertaining you, the Steelbuddha reader. But no comments? Poop. I’m going to work if that’s how you’re all gonna be. That, and I sort of want to stay employed. And I do mean sort of.

I’m going to take a brief relief from blogging. I should be back in August sometime. Meanwhile, a short poem left in Post-Its on my computer by a co-worker. Each line break is a new Post-It.

So while I was on the
interstate
I thought to myself
It’s a nice day, I think I’ll
roll down the windows and
open the sunroof
when all of a sudden
a mysterious white paper
flew out the window
and I sit here hoping
it wasn’t too important.

If World War II Was an RTS, as referred to me by the birthday Czelt. Go make fun of her being old.

See also Fuck this website.

I have to match Czeltic Girl with blog entry material as closely as possible today.

McSweeney’s Internet Tendency: Although I Like a Good George W. Bush Joke as Much as the Next Guy, Some of Them Seem Gratuitous and Mean-Spirited.

Lunch with Czeltic Girl is always worth fudging on my diet. Today we patronized the round-the-corner called The Wicked Hop. We did this because their food is quite good, but also because it was raining hard enough to turn the fog around our building an eerie, mood-building turquoise.

As we waited for our overly large meals to arrive, conversation turned to the nationally televised…competition…of climbing a pole, apparently. Yep, Speed Climbing. There’s a four-time champion, you know. As happens on these occasions, snarking ensued.

CG: I’m guessing that this ‘sport’ began with the phrase “Guys, check out what I can do.”
SB: And not, “Look what I’ve learned over the past fortnight.”
CG: No. No “fortnight.” And no “Watch what I learned while finishing my Master’s.”

Later we realized that it was ESPN2 reporting from the Lumberjack games; this did not decrease the snarking, as you may imagine.

Next event: Men’s Endurance. “Please let that not be what I think it is,” prayed the Czelt, and I wholly agreed. Fortunately, it was not. Instead, large men stood atop short, thick logs SWINGING AN AXE BETWEEN THEIR LEGS INTO THE STUMP.

SB: I think that’s exactly the way they told us NOT to do it in Boy Scouts.
CG: I see they’re televising MENSA meetings now.

Apparently, the Lumberjack Games idea of Men’s Endurance is three different kinds of wood chopping, which CG and I agreed is decidedly not a sport and therefore should not be covered by ESPN.

CG: They should change this event. These guys should just have to take on a real lumberjack in a fight.
SB: Or maybe the zombie of Oliver Reed*. You thought he was tough when he was alive.

* Initially, I phrased this as Oliver Reed’s zombie, which implies that the competitors would take on a zombie owned by Oliver Reed. I’m not denying the possibility that Oliver Reed was some sort of necromancer and had zombies, only that’s not what I meant.

On Sunday, MHG and I treated her younger brother to a birthday. Poor guy was Born on the Fourth of July and has to deal with Tom Cruise and Oliver Stone coming to visit him every year with diatribes on the way Vietnam War veterans were treated upon their return. Then, Cruise eventually resorts to blaming the vets for their own crippling trauma and how taking a Flintstones vitamin would save them from all their pain. Stone responds by drinking a quart of alcohol distilled from Hummer fuel, battering Cruise with a Guns and Ammo Independence Day Special catalog, then guiltily adopting four more Vietnamese orphans and signing them up for the level 3 Scientology Anal Exam.

So, it’s not all bad.

But since his family has been into Revolutionary War reenactment for almost two decades, B hasn’t had a proper birthday since age ten. This year, we decided to get some people together for him and take him out to a Brewers game, as he enjoys watching the American baseball. Most of the people that could attend were friends of B’s that we had only met a few times, but they were cats cool as cats so it wasn’t long before we were all acting friendly. And it took even less time for most of us to get friendly with the booze. which didn’t hurt.

By the seventh inning stretch, C. and P were definitely becoming “that guy” as they boorishly shouted the lyrics to America the Beautiful. We all snickered through their interpretation and reassured them when they apologized for their behavior, thus encouraging more. Throughout the entire game, however, the most entertaining part was when the opposing team finished a double play at first prompting P to admonish them with a heartfelt, “Aw, don’t do THAT.”

P continued to bring the entertainment as he enticed one and all into games of charades and an impromptu dance competition simply entitled “Let’s do it!” The birthday celebrations continued on into the night, landing finally at a bowling alley. We all shuddered a bit as we entered the venue to Kenny Rogers’ “The Gambler.” What had we gotten ourselves into? It turned out that they played no New Country, so we were safe, but for a moment we all considered a rapid egress.

P had to borrow some socks from B to bowl, since he was wearing only sandals. They went out to the car, and returned with what became the crowning story of the entire day. As they re-entered the bowling alley, two men in a pickup truck laughed from their open windows at P, who had his pants rolled up to about mid-calf, much like Huck Finn might have.

“Nice capris!” the redneck voices snickered, attempting to provoke their assumed fag into crying or something. “Nice…guy,” P retorted, in what I think is the most classy and witty verbal riposte since Black Adder went off the air. You see, most of us would have either shrugged or bit back (B thought of “Nice life,” for example), but P was able to return the jibe, instill no malice and shine light on the lameness of the original insult all in one flashing motion. Bravo, P – honestly.

And many happy returns to B, who proclaimed it to be his best birthday celebration ever, with due respect paid to the fact that the others have not been very good at all.

Audio unedited. Easy money for comedy writers baby. Easy money. [stolen from Screenhead]

WFMU’s Beware of the Blog: Dubya Ringtones: Answer This!

And another.

Last Saturday, I helped MHG set-up and take-down a vending table for a hafla, which is basically just a get-together where belly dancers do a whole lotta wiggling. Because I am a dutiful boyfriend, I did a lot of driving near the venue to get various supplies. Because I am NOT a dutiful blogger, however, I forgot to get her digital camera and take a picture of the venue’s very telling sign.

You see, the Community Center hosting the hafla was to host the Lions Club Festival a few days later. So, as I pulled into the parking lot, the sign (which had been misspelled) proudly proclaimed “LOINSFEST!” Which, I think, should be the name for the next belly dancing event in the area.

This post is VERY long. First I reprinted an email, ostensibly a transcript of the sentencing of the shoe-fire terrorist. Then I comment on it. Whether these are the judge’s actual words or not, *someone* thought that they should inspire me. I go on to say, with as little snarking as possible in light of the tone of the piece, why these arguments are merely effective speech and not effective ideas.

(more…)

Stole this from mimismartypants. Now I’ve got to go rock out to some Pinkerton and make sure that I wasn’t just led by the nose.

Weezer: Make Believe: Pitchfork Review