The View From Below ...

I see this every day at my parking garage. I get irritated whenever someone takes two spots; it's hard to descirbe how irksome this business is.

I actually drove a late-generation Mustang from Louisville to Boston and back. Trust me, it's no big deal.

In Honor of Devil Day ...

I started an e-mail thread at work (because I am so industrious) on the best quotes about Satan, or in general the notion of a personification of ultimate evil (David Warner from Time Bandits didn't make the cut, but you get the idea). Here's what we've come up with so far.
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"What do you think the Devil is going to look like if he's around? Nobody is going to be taken in if he has a long, red, pointy tail. No. I'm semi-serious here. He will look attractive and he will be nice and helpful and he will get a job where he influences a great God-fearing nation and he will never do an evil thing... he will just bit by little bit lower standards where they are important. Just coax along flash over substance... Just a tiny bit. And he will talk about all of us really being salesmen. And he'll get all the great women."

Albert Brooks, Broadcast News
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"Did you really expect to conjure up the devil and ask him to behave?"

Agent Mulder, The X-Files (Die Hand Der Verletz)
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"The Devil is a low motherfucker, jack."

Richard Pryor
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"Who's that goat-legged fellow? I like the cut of his jib."

Mr. Burns, Simpsons Treehouse of Horror IV (via Ann All)
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Calvin: "Do you believe in the devil? You know, a supreme evil being dedicated to the temptation, corruption, and destruction of man?"

Hobbes: "I'm not sure man needs the help."

Bill Watterson
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"It is the greatest art of the devil to convince us he does not exist."

Pierre Charles Baudelaire
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"I do not fear Satan half so much as I fear those who fear him."

Saint Teresa of Avila
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"They that worship God merely from fear, Would worship the devil too, if he appear."

Thomas Fuller

V is for Very Average ...

I wrote this little item as a response to a review of "V for Vendetta," the film. I saw the movie this weekend and, while not overwhelmed, was inspired to dig out my comics from nearly 20 years ago to refresh my memory, which of course is faded. I really wish someone would reprint the story in the black-and-white, as it was meant to be published. I have a couple of the original British Warrior mags, and man, does it make a difference.
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I enjoyed the V movie as something to do on a Friday night, but as a statement on the nature of totalitarianism, terrorism and freedom, it has about as much to say as The Matrix does about the nature of self -- that is to say, very little that a thoughtful adult would find substantial.

V for Vendetta was never my favorite Moore work -- I'm a Swamp Thing man myself -- but the comic's strong suit is what the film (and I have to say, most of the comic's most ardent fans) tend to miss out on -- the overwhelming ambivalence of the central character. Moore's V is a jerk. A complicated jerk for a complicated time, but a jerk, nonetheless. Reconstructing a concentration camp and melting the Voice of Fate's doll collection in a crematorium is not anarchy; it's pathologically theatrical and meticulous revenge. Moore's V is not only re-conditioning Evy, he's paying her back for her betrayal. "Vendetta," get it? The film builds far too much sympathy for V on a personal level. He's not supposed to be a hero. He's a troublesome proposition.

As an American, I'm also totally put off by the thinly veiled "9-11 Was a Bush Plot" revamp on the manner in which the fascists come to power. In Moore's book, the fascists bring order to a society in total chaos; they get people fed and make the trains run on time, as it were, and in exchange, the people relent as the fascists impose their world view and eliminate those that don't comply. That's how is happens in the real world. The conspiracy theory nonsense in the movie a) is just painfully obvious and a bad piece of storytelling and b) absolves the people themselves for the rise of the fascists. "They tricked us," instead of, "They feed us, and we looked the other way."

As for plot holes, let me get this straight -- Evy is an assistant of some sort at the government TV complex. As such, her employee ID card gives V access to the personal bathroom of one of the most important and powerful co-conspirators in a totalitarian regime. And this is even after Evy's being investigated as a terrorist. I guess it's too much to expect that they would turn her key-card off.

Dumb movie, nice visuals, mostly.

Vote or Die (by Fall from Trestle)

My pal Matt wrote to me this morning about a fun poll over at VelocityWeekly.com in which the Pope Lick Goat Man -- I tend to run with "Pope Lick Monster" or "The Goat Man," personally -- is up for consideration for one of those So and So's Louisville banners hanging off buildings around town.

I ran a cover story once on Halloween about The Goat Man. As I recall, it had a good illustration, but no horns. I'm also a big fan of the local indie short Legend of the Pope Lick Monster. I often catch myself singing "I'm a Red Neck" as I shuffle through my daily doldrums.


Here's a really nifty portrait of The Goat Man by local artist Jeffery Scott Holland.

Here's some whacked-out posting of The Goat Man as a D&D character -- apparently he casts no spells, but you do suffer sanity loss if you are unfortunate enough to see him. (I get the same general effect from a another Velocity poll nominee, Rick Pitino.)

But, seriously -- no Denny Crum's Louisville?

"Killer" chili

The Almighty Twinkie ranted unduly about a pot of chili I made recently -- so much so that I was nigh-forced into posting what passes for my recipe.

I'm reposting here, primarily so that I may correct a typo or two. I hate that Blogger does not let you (or I simply can't figure out how to) edit your own comments.

I actually got the soul of this recipe years ago from Cooking Light magazine, so it's not so bad for you.

Caveat: Don't get the whole green chilis and then just run them through your food processor -- they'll end up floating in a gnarly film, due to the thin consistency of the broth. Need chunks to sink.
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One pork tenderloin (comes in a bag; I can never remember how much they weigh -- will be two strips of loin)

About 5-6 cans chicken broth

4 cans green chilies, diced

A lot of white onions (again, hard to say how many -- I tend to use like 3-4 of the giant white ones per batch)

About ½ bulb garlic (or a whole blub -- I still smell like garlic)

Some red chili powder -- no way of predicting how much. At least a half-cup, I'd imagine -- it's a to-taste thing

Sazon Goya (a couple packages, if you can find it)

1 Serrano pepper

1 Jalapeño pepper

About 5-6 cans white hominy, washed (you don't want the gunk it comes packed in)

Salt, maybe (depends on how much chili powder you end up putting in there)

Onion powder and garlic powder (again, these are just for late-stage tweaking -- don't introduce these until it's simmered for at least an 1 ½ hours, if at all)

Cube the tenderloin and brown in olive oil, with one bulb diced garlic and some chili powder for accent. Sazon Goya is never a problem.

Coarsely chop the onions and with a little more olive oil, and maybe a half-can chicken broth, cook the onions and rest of garlic to near translucency.

Dump the rest the stuff in there, including a base level of chili powder. Hold back about one can of chicken broth -- you'll end up using it, probably, but you'll need some juice to tweak out the chili powder levels toward the end.

Just float the peppers (slice a couple little holes in there before you pitch 'em in)

After about 1 ½ hours of simmering, start tweaking out the stew with the various powders. You can expand to various other chili-centric seasonings (cumin, oregano, blah blah), but I find chili and garlic powder to be sufficient here. Since the consistency of the stew is that of chicken broth, feel free to leave yourself a little room to play toward the end -- you can't make it too thin, after all.

Cook it for about three hours, total.

Actually best on third day.

Pumpkinhead

I love making jack-o'-lanterns.

I made this one Saturday during my sparsely attended movie party.

Something turned out right.

Cardinal Sin

Spiteful Sports Tripe

After some thought – I suppose "obsessing" would be more accurate – I've come to this conclusion about U of L's now-moot football season:

We are gonna regret the day we didn't fire Bobby Petrino when we had the chance, free and clear.

It's not just that this creep – who tried to stab a friend and mentor in the back and then lied publicly about it until he just got plain busted – has robbed me of the typical fan-boy delusions about sportsmanship, hard work, epic struggle, blah blah blah. At Papa John's, it's all about winning and the money that comes from it. I'd hope the University doesn't have the gall to scold us fans for turning sour on this character, when it was Jurich and the Development Office who wrote the cynical rules that apply here. But if I hoped that, I'd be disappointed again.

No, my main worry is just this:

I know what offensive play Bobby P. is gonna call next.

Well, most of the time – I still haven't figured out why he went away from Tinch over the middle in the second half against West Virginia.

But more often than not, I can predict with alarming accuracy the next rollout pass on 3rd-and-2, the next deep shot after a crossing route gains 14 yards (seven on the ground; draws up the safety), the next little semi-draw that grabs nine yards at mid-field. I'm no football genius, mind you – in fact, I still get a little confused by blocking patterns.

But I have been watching Petrino's offense for 2 ½ years now, and I see patterns. Oregon State and North Carolina don't watch every game, I suppose. South Florida does, and they knew what was coming, too. West Virginia has a stake in knowing what's coming, and they are well on the way to figuring this stuff out.

After the "shock and awe" wears off, what we have left is a gimmicky offense that can't reliably pop a 250-pound tailback off-tackle for two yards, and a defense that reflects the head coach's obsession with offensive homeruns by playing scared of them on the other side of the ball.

My prediction: 9-3, with the final loss probably coming at UConn to end the regular season, then a unsatisfying bowl win over some mid-tier Big Ten school that isn't gonna see it coming.

I said 8-3 at the start of the season, by the way (I have witnesses). But I didn't predict how crappy that would taste.

If You Are Reading This, You're Invited

I realize it might be considered unwise to post your phone number on a blog, but get real ... Google knows where you are already.

Now that's scary.

Back from the Social Grave

I used to have day-long open houses every Halloween.

Folks would come and go for chili and spooky movies. Initially, it would always be on the 31st -- even if it meant taking a day off from work -- but later it drifted to the nearest weekend. Friends left town, people lost interest, and I stopped doing the party about five years ago, I'd guess.

As autumn and middle age consume my horizons, I'm thinking about doing the open house one more time. I don't suppose anyone would come, but it would give me an excuse to make another party flier, which is about as creative as I ever get. The one here (circa 2000) is my favorite, I think. My rudimentary Photoshop skills have improved a bit, but not much.

I have this year's theme all picked out ...

What Does He Have to Be So Pissed About?

Forget MSNBC -- this kind of stuff is what the Web is really all about.

Someone Who SHOULD know ...

follow-up movie tripe

My pal Mark Clark, who has too full a life to be registered to post comments at Blogger, sent me the following note about my vampire movie challenge. Mark is a published author (for-real publishing, with paper and ink) on the subject of horror films as well as a massive geek, and yet I will take exception with some of his picks via comment below. My hubris knows no bounds.

p.s. -- note the properly posted comments by Greg Harris on the original post.
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It's hard to argue with most of your choices. Murnau's NOSFERATU would have made my personal list ahead of the Herzog remake. MARTIN, HORROR OF DRACULA and NEAR DARK would be lead-pipe cinches to make my list of faves, and FRIGHT NIGHT and THE NIGHT STALKER be very strong candidates for my list, as well.

Both the Spanish DRACULA and HOUSE OF FRANKENSTEIN are enjoyable (although the first is somewhat overpraised). From among the Universal films, I would have opted for the woefully underrated DRACULA'S DAUGHTER (or maybe even SON OF DRACUA, which has everything a Dracula fan could want -- except a halfway decent Dracula).

Another movie that would definitely appear on my list is EL VAMPIRO (THE VAMPIRE, 1957), the Mexican classic starring Abel Salazar and German Robles, which spawned a whole generation of Mexican horror films, most of which were nowhere as good as this. EL VAMPIRO is a first-rate gothic vampire yarn, and it had an obvious influence on the later Hammer vampire films.

Speaking of Hammer, I'd be tempted to include one or two more entries from that fabled studio: The action-packed BRIDES OF DRACULA and, even more likely, TWINS OF EVIL, which features one of Peter Cushing's best performances. Although the latter film might present a bit too much moral ambiguity for your taste!

My list would also feature a couple of my favorite '70s relics: COUNT YORGA, VAMPIRE and BLACULA, which are simply too much fun to leave off.

And finally, I would feel compelled to include at least one continental vampire picture, most likely the gloriously trashy lesbian-bloodsucker pic DAUGHTERS OF DARKNESS, with THE BLOOD-SPATTERED BRIDE (the best adaptation of "Carmilla") and COUNT DRACULA'S GREAT LOVE (starring the one-of-a-kind Paul Naschy) looming as dark horse candidates.

Drinking the Cardinal Kool-Aid

sports tripe

The local media here in Louisville have really dropped the ball – in my never humble opinion – in their coverage of the football Cardinals’ prospects for a shot at the BCS national championship game.

We don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell. Period.

National observers – including Sportsline.com’s Dennis Dodd – have noted that U of L’s schedule in the Big East appears to be so weak that even an undefeated record won’t be enough to get us to the Rose Bowl. Craig James over at ESPN.com (sorry, can’t link to the subscription-only content, which is well worth $10 a month, BTW) goes further to list teams that, even with one loss, would have the drop on the Cards in the BCS:

• Ohio State
• Texas
• Florida
• Georgia
• Tennessee
• USC
• Virginia Tech

I’d throw in:

• Florida State
• Miami
• Cal
• Alabama

Bottom line: For U of L to make the Rose Bowl, the champions of four BCS conferences would need to have two loses each. That’s not gonna happen.

I hope to be eating these words in about 3 ½ months.

Not-so Innocent Blood

movie tripe

A lunch conversation today got me thinking about my 10 favorite vampire movies. (I can promise that “Underworld II” will not be among them.)

About 10 years ago, The Hunger would have been on this list, but I now find myself wanting a little more moral simplicity from my vampire flicks. I certainly don’t mind an exploration of why and how a creature comes to feed off the life of others, but ultimately I’ve decided that in movies, as in life, it’s a bad habit to take up.

I’ve given myself a pass on Todd Browing’s Dracula (1931) and Murnau’s Nosferatu, eine Symphonie des Grauens (1922) – what else is there left to say? I’ve also refrained from adding “honorable mentions,” with the intent of baiting my movie geek friends into actually posting a comment or two.

Martin (1977)
This is increasingly my favorite Romero flick, and that’s saying a lot. The most successful twist on theme of vampiric sexuality – a backwater family mistakes its history of mental illness for the curse of the vampire, and the result is a sexual predator who calls into Pittsburgh radio talk shows to explain that there’s “no magic at all” in being undead. I show this one to my non-geek friends and they enjoy it – clumsy acting and low production values only serve to highlight the smart and genuinely disturbing plot. The violence is sparse, but realistic and horrific.

Nosferatu: Phantom der Nacht (1979)
As with most Herzog films, the visuals seriously outweigh the plot here, but these visuals weigh a ton. Herzog’s focus avoids the sensual; Kinski’s Dracula grows on Schrek’s Orlok to become the embodiment of decay and consuming desire. A prolonged sequence in which the count draws agonizingly near to, but then nervously retreats from, a witless victim is probably the single creepiest sequence I’ve ever seen in a vampire movie.

Fright Night (1985)
Much more fun than Buffy or The Lost Boys – you got Roddy McDowall, you got no complaints. The device of an aging B-movie star being pitted against the forces of darkness is both a nice homage and darn clever. Chris Sarandon is surprisingly good as the suave Dandridge, and the movie boasts a fair amount of vampire lore for what is essentially a comedy. I’m less enchanted by the teenage angst B.S. than I used to be, of course, but Evil Ed is still pretty cool.

Dracula (1958)
The most faithful (at least in spirit) adaptation of Stoker’s novel and the best of the Hammer horror films. Christopher Lee plays a feral, leering Count intent on spreading the “cult of vampirism” across Europe, and Peter Cushing’s unrivaled Van Helsing is heaven-bent on stopping him. The sexual undertones are there, of course. But this film, like most Victorians (including Stoker), is a little creeped out by them.

The Night Stalker (1972)
The pilot movie for the Kolchak TV series is smart as a whip. Master sci-fi writer Richard Matheson provides a keen take on what would happen if a Victorian vampire actually did start rampaging through a modern American city. Throw in ‘70s-era Vegas as the backdrop and Darren McGavin as a crusty reporter who provides his own comic relief, and you have a completely entertaining and occasionally creepy flick, made only more brisk by the limitations of broadcast TV.

Salem’s Lot (1979)
Just the image of a ghoulish kid floating outside a bedroom window would put this TV miniseries in my top 10. It certainly has its rough patches, but King’s book is so damn scary that the successful bits and pieces here sum to a greater whole than any “Blade” movie. It gets kinda harsh in spots – that kid outside the window used to be alive, after all. When I come back from the dead, I want James Mason to be my familiar: “No one can resist the Master!”

Drácula (1931)
Save Lugosi’s archetypal turn as the Count, this Spanish-language version – shot on the same sets as the ’31 classic – is a better film than Browning’s standard. Of particular note is Pablo Álvarez Rubio as Renfield, who is far creepier and gets a lot more attention than does his American counterpart. Night-time shooting may explain why everyone on the set seems a little drained.

Near Dark (1987)
These bloodsuckers play with their drunken redneck food before eating it in one of the most inventive and disturbing scenes you’ll find in any vampire flick. The back story of a “child” vampire’s perverted loneliness is obviously boosted from Anne Rice, but it’s much more successful here – whatever their initial conflicts, these undead are just flat out mean. Bill Paxton and Lance Henriksen are spectacular; the star-crossed romance between a cowpoke and a cutie-pie vamp is the most forgettable element of the film.

House of Frankenstein (1944)
By far the best goofy vampire/monster flick you will ever see. Horror buffs know this film as the only one of Universal’s “House” free-for-alls graced by Karloff, but for my money John Carradine steals the show as the Count, even though the story focuses on Larry “Wolfman” Talbot. Karloff actually coached Glenn Strange on his portrayal of The Monster. Good dumb fun.

Geung si sin sang (1985)
Forget all the stupid vampire action picks Hollywood has churned out over the last decade. Feudal Chinese monks kick the crap out of hopping ghosts and other sundry undead nuisances in “Mr. Vampire,” a romp that spawned a whole genre in Asia. The original is by far the best, and in many ways outshines more recent Kung-Fu slapstick. Fingernails can be just as big a problem as fangs, by the way.

Only a Cold Indifference ...

Not so resourceful, after all.

After seeing Herzog’s remarkable Grizzly Man twice in the same weekend, I was reminded of this snapshot I took at the Kentucky State Fair last month.

More specifically, I was reminded of how little empathy I felt for the ironically disposed bear you see here. I think back to a John Ed Pearce column about the original Care Bear craze of the early ‘80s, in which the acrid old coot noted that missing from the ranks of Hope Bear and Sunshine Bear were (and still are, I’d warrant) Profit Bear and Tear Your Throat Out With One Swipe of Its Paw If You Get Too Close to Its Young Bear.

I do not like bears. They might like me, although I imagine I'd have something of a salty aftertaste.

Did I mention that I'm old?

I haven't posted in a few months for one simple reason – I forgot my password. I really tried to get back on in early July, as I recall, but no matter what I did, I couldn't summon up the user ID/pass combo, nor could I get Blogspot to mail me my login information – Lord knows what I typed into that e-mail address form when I first signed up.

So, this morning, while evaluating blogging software options for work (so much fun), I just randomly floated out here and – bam! – first try and I'm back on. It's a fairly common ID/pass combo I've used elsewhere. I wish I could blame it on a technical snafu in the increasingly ominous Googleverse, but I'm resigned to the fact that my gray matter is just flat shot.

Thankfully, nothing of note ever happens in my world. So I got that going for me.

Shower of Shame

Too much information tripe

I've gotten a lot less modest as I’ve gotten older. I suppose that’s natural. Perhaps it’s the case that I’ve simply become less self-conscious, a function of both self-preservation and pragmatism. I just don't have the energy or the time to worry about what people think of me. Particularly when I'm scrubbing out gross places in the shower at the YMCA.

I lead with this little piece of uncomfortable insight to put this next item in context, I suppose. I'm really not that uptight about locker room etiquette. You can't be at the downtown Y, where the demographic mix makes for an almost anything-goes climate in the Men's Metro. Some of these old guys must have been pretty out there in their day, let me tell you. Wrap the towel around your waist, not your shoulders, pal.

So, in this light, I'm here to log a complaint.

There's a guy at the Y who takes dumps in the shower.

Let me clarify – there’s a guy at the Y who routinely uses the toilet located within the shower area.

I really have no idea why the folks who designed the Y a few decades ago decided to put a toilet and urinal right there in the shower, unless it has something to do with the general incontinence of all those old guys. Was this once considered acceptable? Yet there they are, recessed in the corner a bit but fully exposed for the world – or at least me – to see.

Mind you, there are a ton of toilets in the expansive locker room contained within perfectly civilized stalls. So, nobody – and I mean nobody – uses these vestigial receptacles in the shower area.

Except this guy. He walks into the shower area – he’s not even taking a shower; he has to make a special effort – and with towel wrapped around waist, down he flops on the toilet. The towel stays in place, for which I suppose I should be grateful. A few nerve-wracking minutes later and he’s gone, leaving only a flush and some mental scars for those of us trying to get clean.

He’s done this like five times to my direct knowledge, so it must be part of his routine.

Yesterday, I shared this life-affirming experience with a jovial Y compatriot, who is much less modest than I, I assure you. This fellow tends to use the dry sauna without the benefit of towels, and he’s not slight by any measure – after a few minutes of his jogging and bouncing about, you get the general sense that a sheepdog has just shaken itself dry in the sauna. Yum.

Even this unencumbered soul was at a loss for words when confronted with shower scatology.

“Mannnnnnnnnn…” he lamented in hushed tones. “Use the door, baby.”

I could never make it in prison.

And It's Free -- At Least for Now

Really a flattering pic.

Tech Tripe

I tend to frown on most consumer tech fads -- podcasting? -- but I've got to tell you that the Hello photo IM client and its BloggerBot just about rule the world. After a simple sign-up, you can just IM your photo to your Blogger site and, wham, up it goes. No hosting fee, no fee of any kind.

And people say monopolies are a bad thing. God bless Google and its Nebraska-sized server farm.

By the way, that's the bread van guy from a previous post. My friend Matt is a fine photographer.

Read a Comic Book, Will Ya?

Geeky Movie Tripe

I thoroughly enjoyed Batman Begins; even more than I expected I would, and I was unusually eager to see this one, for some reason I really can't explain. I'd agree with most critics that the film falters in the third act as it gives into the Hollywood penchant for huge set pieces -- but not as horrifically as you'd be lead to believe by the pseudo-intellectual critical masses who feel compelled to compensate for their pleasure at any aspect of a summer blockbuster.

The action editing is too choppy, to be sure. The director and critics have attributed it to an effort – perhaps misguided – to impart a sense of ninja stealth. I'm inclined to think that it's tough for a stuntman to pull off a convincing thrust kick in a stiff rubber suit.

My main complaint with the critics on this one is their insistence in saying the movie draws heavily from the works of Frank Miller, who authored the semi-apocalyptic "The Dark Knight Returns" and the far superior "Batman: Year One." Clearly, many of the story elements and visuals – young Bruce Wayne falling into the cave, the look of the Batmobile, the final Joker allusion – are boosts from Miller's work.

But the central theme of Bruce Wayne trying to channel his fear and anger into positive action owes far more the work of Denny O'Neil, who along with master artist Neil Adams created the fascist Ra's Al Ghul in the late 1970s for that express purpose. No one before had tried to explain why an obsessed vigilante such as the Batman refused to take the final step and kill; the convention originally was introduced simply to make comics more kid-safe.

O'Neil fleshed out this twist on dysfunction, as well as embracing the upper-class arrogance that tells Wayne he not only has the power to make a difference, but that he's entitled too. One of the main things I like about Batman Begins is its open concession that if not for Wayne Industry's weapons research, there would be no Batman; my least favorite aspect of the film is probably the pandering depiction of Wayne's father as a billionaire hippie doctor intent on giving away all his money.

In Miller's "The Dark Knight Returns," the protagonist is consumed with the idea that The Bat – which actually comes bursting through a window to "claim" him – is a elemental spirit of predation that possesses an utter lack of remorse for which Wayne yearns. The mini-series ends with Batman, now decowled, plotting the anarchistic overthrow of a government that has become worse than thieves and murders.

Hardly a guy who would try to hook back up with an old girlfriend in the D.A.'s office.

The idea of The Bat as Wayne's primal fear that must be channeled but not entirely conquered – that's the '70s all the way, man. I mean, the filmmakers used O'Neil's villain, who nobody – including a large number of geeks I know – had ever heard of. Is it that tough to do a little reporting, beyond reading whatever self-aggrandizing pabulum The Times ran with?

Personality Goes a Long Way ...

Hey, hey, hey ...

This gentleman was one just one of the charmers we ran into at a local karaoke bar in Bloomington during recent bachelor festivities. Even more fetching – at least to my way of thinking - was a gnarled fellow driving the rusted-out shell of a bread delivery truck.

Neither of these characters asked us for money – either they were too proud or too far gone. They were both smitten with a very pleasant, but a little rough, biker chick. The bread truck man kept telling her that they had a lot in common, given that he had three classic Harleys back at his home.

I don't think she was taking.

The Best Picture Ever Taken of Me

Full of and surrounded by hot air.

Serendipitous tripe

This photo was not posed. It was snapped by a friend of mine, Matt Stone, who was married a couple weekends ago near Bloomington, Ind. I had the pleasure of being the best man. It was a fine wedding. The reception featured opera grad students singing karaoke.

Matt is a professional photographer, as were two of the groomsmen. At various points, there were four professional cameramen snapping each other as they snapped the festivities.

I do not usually chew gum, but big, fat gumballs are a routine menu item when I'm on one of my caloric benders, which was surely the case this day. I suppose the surroundings sparked some subconscious urge to blow the bubble, but I can't imagine the odds of my gum perfectly matching the color of the wedding decorations.

I say it's the best photo of me ever because there's so much else to look at.