Sick again. Me, the vegan health freak with no vices, who never ever gets sick, has had a cold, a flu, and a stomach bug/food poisoning incident in the last six weeks. What gives? I might as well go back to smoking crack and eating meat at this rate.
More love for the Anti-Back the Net initiative: Pud rails against it on Fucked Company today:
Is this the last resort for companies with poor business models – to beg people to buy shit from them? And threaten users by saying that the internet is going to disappear if these crappy companies -- and the ones that rely on them -- die?
The deli across the street from me has never begged me to buy anything from them, and they’ve been around for 15 years. They offer *useful products* and actually charge *money* for them.
It's all going according to plan. ...
If it's Friday (It is Friday, isn't it?), then it must be time for ... Scoop Casey's News Roundup!
Yesterday's News, Today
How about this redesign, folks? Let's hear a warm round of applause for Ian. OK, that's enough.
Does this mean I'm not getting canned?
Uh, could you like, pay us for this?
The legacy of Iron Mike.
Please die. Thank you.
Scoop Casey's Bonus Spring Training Coverage
Email Scoop @ scoopcasey@yahoo.com. Peace out. ßßß
God, Guns and Goats
Disneyland Paris has stopped all carriage rides and closed its petting zoos on account of foot-and-mouth disease. Walt Disney is probably rolling over in his cryogenic tank right now.
This Slate story explores man's continuing fascination with likker and blowin' stuff up. I don't care how evolved and crunchy you are, throwin' back a few and plunkin' stuff is a great way to spend an afternoon. Or several.
And then there's this site. At first glance it looks like a (really) bad sports portal — until you see their tag line: "Sports with a spiritual attitude." Further investigation turns up this nugget:
The cool thing about God's team is everyone is welcome! Each person is a first round draft choice in God's eyes. It doesn't matter what your history is or how talented you are. He just wants you. Learn more about God's game plan through reading his playbook (the Bible).
Brought to you by the lovely folks of the Southern Baptist Convention. Thanks, guys. ßßß
So the anti-Iconocast thing really is picking up steam. God bless Ringosoft for creating this page. Be sure to check out the original so you can appreciate the genius of the knockoff.
Music news, without that annoying Gideon Yago fucker.
Warped Tour dates and lineups have been announced, and tickets go on sale tomorrow for a bunch of dates. I think it's the strongest lineup since '95 or whenever it was that Quicksand, Sick of It All and Rancid played.
At the Drive-In are taking a hiatus. According to their site, "We need time to rest up and re-evaluate, just to be human beings again and to decide when we feel like playing music again." Here's hoping they're back sooner rather than later.
Mos Def has to be the best rapper with the worst website in the world. Impossible to find anything on that bad Flash site. Oh, but it was a Macromedia Site of the Day! Whatever.
Anyway, Mos Def has this new rap/rock/funk thing happening that should quickly rid the earth of bad mook-rawk bands, a la Limp Bizkit, et al. Featuring Will Calhoun (former Living Color), Doug Wimbish (studio bassist extrordinaire), Bernie Worrel (P-Funk keyboardist), and Dr. Know
(ex-Bad Brains), the new rekkid is called "Jack Johnson," and should be dropping soon. Check Napster early and often. ßßß
Welcome to the new, if not quite improved, blawg. Thanks for stopping by ...
Occasional Movie Reviews, Vol. XII
Traffic
Berkeley is a lot like Paris: Both cities would be a damn sight better without their residents. In the case of Paris, of course, it's the Parisians. With Berkeley, it's the hippie holdovers with good investments. Not the real People's Park hippies that held on to their '60s ideals, mind you; they're just moderately annoying. It's the erstwhile hippies (now yuppies) with a sense of entitlement that kill me.
Case in point: Traffic on Saturday night at the Grand Lake. While technically in Oaktown, the Grand Lake was overrun by Berkeley types with their bad fashion sense and rats' nests of hair. So this professional Berkeley-type couple sits down next to us in the almost full house. Him: Professor type, complete with threadbare jacket with elbow patches. Her: Full on Phil Lynnot-style wig and Guatemalan get-up.
So we're watching the movie, which is pretty good. The sepia-toned Tijuana story line is damn good, and I hate to use the word that every other reviewer has used to describe Benicio del Toro's performance, but he's smoldering. Seething but subdued, ready to blow at any minute.
Anyway, these Berkeley fuckers are talking through the whole thing. Not sotto voce theater level either — we're talking in your living room level. I put up with it for about two-thirds of the flick, thinking that at some point their superior breeding will kick in and remind them to shut the hell up. But no such luck. So I lean over and say, sounding at least moderately perturbed, "Could you guys please be quiet?"
The woman, who was sitting immediately next to me, recoils in horror. No lie, it was like I just told her that I was going to sodomize her dog or something. Her reaction was so absurd that I just started laughing. I couldn't help myself.
A minute or so later her old man starts mumbling something and she's all, "Be quiet, or that man will punch me!"
Huh? So because I'm muscular and tattooed, that somehow means that I have no regard for the Social Contract? What if I'd been a black guy? Or is it only appropriate for you P.C. Berkeley assholes to prejudge members of their own ethnic groups?
The other highlight was when Erika Christensen's character turns from A-student to crack whore, and they show the thugged-out black drug dealer banging her in exchange for dope. There was an audible tightening of the sphincters of the entire crowd of self-congratulating liberal types as their earthy crunchy political ideals went out the window. And all it took was the image of a sweaty, muscular brother giving it to the lily-white honor student. Funny.
Oh, and the movie was too long, and the Michael Douglas storyline was stupid. Three outta five pentagrams. 
Before Night Falls
Julian Schnabel has obviously been studying his Wong Kar-Wai. Before Night Falls was really cool, with lots of Wong Kar-Wai-ish lyrical moments and found footage of the Cuban Revolution. My lovely wife Tracy was bugged by the lack of linearity in the recounting of dude's life, but it didn't bother me.
Javier Bardem was awesome, too. He's a pretty incredible presence, and effortlessly played Reinaldo Arenas' transformation from Cuban country bumpkin to Havana stud to dying guy.
I never saw Basquiat, but if it's nearly as lush and powerful as Before Night Falls, I need to peep it. Four pentagrams.
Check back tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that. ßßß
Relaunch! Blawg 2.0 in full effect. No tables. Go ahead: view source. Feel the power.
So, obviously, no new site. Maybe tomorrow. I'm thinking I'm gonna stay late at work tonight and get that sumbitch launched.
A mention on dack.com on Friday, though, gave me my highest traffic day ever — by more than 400 percent. Pretty sweet.
So no real surprises from the Oscars, except for Marcia Gay Harden beating out Kate Hudson and Frances Mcdormand. I had a feeling that Soderbergh was gonna get Best Director despite splitting his draw, and he did. So there.
I had to go the the sawbones this morning, so I had the rare opportunity to drive in to work and listen to the Jim Rome show for the better part of an hour. I hadn't listened in a year or so, but it's a lot like a soap opera: You can return after years of not watching (or listening) and pick up just where you left off. Sort of comforting, but kind of depressing too. All those sports fans in cities like Des Moines, Cleveland and Albany with the same tired takes, and Jim with the same schtick. I was lucky enough, though, to hear Jay Mohr call in and proffer his sage wisdom about sports and life in general. He's awesome.
Stanford is out of the tournament, and Arizona is now the sole Pac-10 representative. USC's Cinderella story is over — thank God — and it looks like it's gonna be a Duke-Arizona finals. Should be damn good. Until next time, then, dear reader, adieu. ßßß
Don't miss last week's brilliant insight.
