Jonny Quest opening titles recreated with stop-motion figures

When I was a kid, I loved Jonny Quest. The opening sequence caught the feel of the cartoon show pretty well. Here's a reminder:

Now Roger D. Evans recreated it using action figures, and it's pretty slick:

Jonny Quest Opening Titles from Roger D. Evans on Vimeo.

Book review: Street Player: My Chicago Story, by Danny Seraphine

Street Player: My Chicago Story, by Danny Seraphine (with Adam Mitchell)

Nashville: Wiley, 2010

The times. In 1969 I turned fourteen. According to various websites, gas was 35 cents a gallon, you could buy a nice new car for under $2000, and a new house for $15,000 - $16,000. There were protests of the Vietnam war, man walked on the moon, and a woman named Golda Meir became Prime Minister of Israel.

The music. I liked listening to the Beach Boys, the Beatles, Blood, Sweat & Tears, some by The Who, Janis Joplin, Santana, and other artists. I did not notice the arrival of a double-record album called Chicago Transit Authority, with its nondescript black and blue cover and its too-long-for-AM-radio songs.

This band. But somewhere around this time my beloved sister Maryly was blown away by this new band playing the Whiskey A Go Go on Sunset Boulevard, and she bought their albums. Visiting her apartment, I heard this different style of music, with its evocative mix of jazz and rock, its complex, layered songs, its turn-by-turn interplay of top-notch musicians. It stuck in my mind, and in short order I became a fan.

This was after, by the way, my dear sister kindly took me to a concert at the Hollywood Bowl. I was not a fan at that point. We sat in the nosebleed section, and could barely see the little figures on the stage. Only the closed-circuit screens brought them out. What really stood out to me was the funny-looking cigarettes people brought out, and the gut-churning clouds of stink they produced. "They aren't cigarettes," Maryly informed me. But I digress.

This drummer. As I say, all the musicians were excellent, but the single member who hooked me was their crazy drummer. This cat had a sound like no one else I'd ever heard. I almost immediately thought of it as loose-tight. Most rock drummers were straight-ahead, like machine guns, rat-a-tat-tat. Even The Who's frenetic drummer was pretty vanilla in his timing and punctuation.

Not this fellow. He had a slinky, sharp, creative groove that was all his own. It was impossible to hear and not respond, not to nod or tap or move. It was worth listening to the songs just to pick out his beat and catch his fills.

The man's name was Danny Seraphine. Hearing (and, later, watching) him was so fun that I decided to try it myself. Got a set of drums, and went at it. On my best day I was miles and miles away from Seraphine's worst day, but the pursuit was fun.


And now finally, some forty years after I started listening to Chicago, Seraphine has written an autobiography titled Street Player: My Chicago Story.

I've followed Chicago at varying distances since the 1970s, attending well over a dozen concerts, buying all their albums, participating in fan discussions in the 90s — even arranging an after-concert meeting with one of the members (bass player Jason Scheff) after a concert for my DAOD's twelfth birthday.

But always they were by design a faceless band. Prior to the 80s, no individual stood out as the public face of Chicago. They were intentionally about the music, not the personalities. Algore hadn't invented the internet yet, so information was not widely available, and all we had was the songs. So Seraphine's book offered a fun opportunity to be able to peek inside the life of a favorite founding member, and I appreciate Wiley publishers providing me with a review copy.

Disclaimer: as I will explain, this book is not at all the typical BibChr readering material. There are quite a few obscenities. There are also tales of drug use and immorality, though the former ends up strongly cautionary and the latter stops well short of lurid detail. It is a very engaging read, but definitely not for everyone. More, later.

Beginnings. The book starts, arrestingly, with Danny at the house where friend and fellow band-member Terry Kath had just accidentally shot and killed himself. Danny numbly watches Kath's body being carted off by the coroner, too tall to fit into the body-bag. From that attention-grabbing intro, Danny turns back to his own childhood.

Danny grew up in the rough streets of Chicago, running with gangs just a few removes from the Chicago Mafia. He was a high-spirited kid, never one to walk away from a fight or a challenge. This meant trouble around home, and major problems at school.

But Danny discovered as a young child that he loved banging on his mother's pots and pans. His father was a more distant figure, but his mother doted on him, and she got him a drum kit and lessons. Danny took after drumming with real fire, developing his chops by playing in various bands. He details the move from group to group playing in small venues.

One group was Jimmy Ford and the Executives, with whom he was paid the princely sum of $50 a show. Among the band, Seraphine met sax player Walter Parazaider and bass payer (!) Terry Kath. Danny clicked with those two... but the three of them were let go, in a sudden personnel change. Some time later, inspiration struck Danny. Why not put together a band comprised of the most talented players in Chicago? He looked up his former band-mates Parazaider and Kath. They talked and worked at it, and brought in Lee Loughnane on trumpet, Jimmy Pankow on trombone, and Bobby Lamm on the keyboard. Lamm would play bass on organ pedals, and Kath would switch from bass to guitar.

This was the core group of what was eventually to be known as Chicago. They got together and jammed in Walt's mother's basement, and realized they had something special going. Gathered afterwards, Danny said to his new bandmates:

"Everyone has been involved in bands that have gone nowhere and had to deal with being treated like [garbage] by other members on a regular basis. We've seen big egos take over and ruin groups. Well, this band isn't about any of that; it's about the music. Everything will be done by a democratic vote. I say we make a pact right now that no one is ever going to be fired from this group. You either quit or you die" (52-53)

Walt was on the same page, and everyone agreed. This is an ominous bit of foreshadowing of what was to come later.

Before long, bass player Peter Cetera (who had studied to be a priest, in seminary!) was added, completing the seven core members who alone powered the first five albums, and — apart from Terry Kath's death — stayed together for seventeen albums

From there the book traces Danny's life and career as Chicago struggles its way into the limelight and transitions from barely being able to fill small venues, to playing massive sold-out stadiums and pressing multiple-platinum albums.

What is interesting.  If you're a fan, you'll learn a great deal of interesting back-story. You'll learn of their encounters with Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Chuck Berry, Bill Cosby and others. You'll learn as well of Terry Kath's increasingly troubled life, and his tragic, pointless death. You'll learn of the first post-Kath guitarist, Donnie Dacus, and why he was eventually let go. You'll learn about rumors of mob-involvement with Chicago, through (of all things) a Wall Street Journal piece. You'll learn a lot more about Pete Cetera's voluntary departure, and then finally about Danny's own involuntary dismissal from the band (more on that, later). Also, you'll learn the stories behind songs like "Little One," "Greatest Love on Earth," and of course the titular "Street Player."

What is sad. While much of the book is fun and interesting. a lot is sad as well, from several angles.

Right away one sees Seraphine's father as a somewhat remote figure. What is worse, neither parent seems to have pointed Danny to the gospel of Jesus — so what follows is as predictable as it is sad. Danny hooks up with the wrong kind of male figures as a youth (cf. Proverbs 1:10-19), makes bad associations and bad choices. He starts having sex at age 14 and becomes a father at 15... then has no involvement (beyond paying support) for years. The guilt from this comes back to haunt him.

What "redeems" Danny is strictly horizontal. Young Danny reaches a point where he realizes that his life-path is going in a direction he doesn't want to go, and music becomes his positive outlet. This eventually leads to his involvement in Chicago. Older Danny returns to his music, helped by a solid marriage.

The saddest complex of events in the whole saga is Seraphine's ejection from the band he helped found.

As I mentioned above, the founding members were agreed: nobody would be fired from the band, period. Over the years, Danny shows himself true to his word. When success and drugs literally drive saxophonist Walter Parazaider into a mental hospital, some in the band suggested firing him. Seraphine will hear nothing of it, and says he'll walk out if Parazaider is fired. When cocaine so ruins Bobby Lamm that his performances are wrecked, Danny confronts him, Lamm goes into extensive rehab, and rejoins the band as "Robert" (198-202). He similarly stuck by Pankow and Loughnane through rough periods. Firing founding members is not an option to Seraphine, period.

However the 90s form of the band, with relative newbies Jason Scheff (bass, vocals) and Bill Champlin (keyboard, vocals, everything), get antsy about their commercial profitability. Danny is having a rough stretch, due in part to the advent of electronic drumming and a hit to his self-confidence. Parazaider assures him he's not going to be let go, no matter what. However, they hold secret meetings behind Danny's back, and they fire him. Boom.

As Danny tells it, it is just that callous, just that treacherous, just that brutal and cold. His loyalty is repaid by cold shoulders, whispered conversations, covert meetings, and then a quick shove out of the door. Seraphine attends the next band business meeting, and confronts each of them (except no-show Pankow) eye to eye — but they lamely make excuses and stand by their verdict.

The band's story at the time is that Danny's playing was off, and he'd lost focus. I can only tell you a fan's perspective. I noticed the drumming in his later albums to become very un-Danny-like — which the book explains. But in concert, I never saw Seraphine do a solo that wasn't a show-stopper. (Here is a solo from that period; in it I notice one false stroke, which is fewer than the other musicians average.) It's forty years after I first started listening to Chicago, and I've seen some phenomenal drummers since that time. But Danny Seraphine is one of a kind, and the band really lost something when it flaked on him.

Seraphine's heartbroken, shattered. He quits drumming entirely. It takes a long time for him to get himself back together, rejoin the music industry, and eventually form a new band. His attempts to be reconciled with the band on a personal level are only partly successful; his former bandmates do not come off admirably.

The saddest. Saddest of all is the fact that there isn't even a passing appearance by anyone who knows Christ in the entire saga. There is vaguely religious language here and there, and Seraphine in the Acknowledgments starts with this:

First and foremost, to My Sweet Lord—who has given me such an incredible and interesting life. You have always taken care of me, no matter what.

But there's no context for that in the entire book, and the only religion that appears (and only very faintly so) is Roman Catholic.

If Seraphine and the band ever met a genuine Christian believer, that person does not appear as such in the book. If anyone has ever in his life told Danny Seraphine how he could know God, it isn't mentioned.

Seraphine comes off ultimately as a likable, goodhearted (as we say) guy. He pulls no punches in criticizing himself, and expressing guilt and regret for many of his decisions and actions. It actually reads like an extended testimonial in an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. And it is all horizontal. That is, he is sorry for betraying his wives, he is sorry for handling Pete Cetera and Bobby Lamm wrong. But none of these actions or attitudes is viewed in relation to God as holy judge. For instance:

Women had become a destructive vice and I could not overcome the temptation. I tried to justify my behavior in my mind, but I was only lying to myself (121)

There is candor there, yet the wrong perspective. If Danny is judge, he must save himself. Such redemption as there is can have nothing to do with the person and work of Christ, who came to save sinners (1 Timothy 1:15) — not merely from lying to ourselves, but from our offenses against a holy God.

I write this sadly, not as a scold. Danny Seraphine's music has brought a lot of pleasure to me, for decades. But lost people act like lost people. I did. You did. How could they not?

So I think, Really? All the traveling and shmoozing that Seraphine has done over the last decades, and no Christian ever crossed Danny Seraphine's path and saw him as other than a tremendous talent and a celebrity? Did no Christian ever take the time to get to know him, show him love, and tell him what he most needs to hear?

AN ASIDE: in the course of looking for videos, I found that apparently Danny Seraphine made an appearance at Drummers for Jesus. No idea what that was about. I'm following up.


What is instructive. Anyone who views sex, drugs and rock and roll as an inseparable troika would read this book, snap it shut and announce "Case closed." With no relationship with Christ, and no external moral standard, Seraphine dives right in. He unstintingly (though without details) tells of numberless groupies, girls who give themselves sexually to anyone and everyone to "get at" the guys in the band. He "cheated" (his word) on his wives repeatedly, leading to broken marriages, regrets, and a guilty conscience.

Though cocaine's effects alarm and repel the younger Seraphine, he does other drugs extensively, as do his band mates. But drug use ruins them — and, arguably, contributes to Terry Kath's tragic death — and by the end of the book most or all have been through rehab and are apparently "clean." Danny also is in a marriage to which he's devoted, and he has given himself to being the best father he knows how to be to all his children by his marriages, as well as the girl he fathered out of wedlock.

What is missing (in terms of the narrative). I was a little puzzled that Danny did not mention the circumstances behind the release of lightning-fast guitarist Chris Pinnick, who was with the band from 1980-1985, nor the tenure of guitarist Dawayne Bailey. Danny was let go in 1990, and Dawayne's tenure with the band was 1986-1995, so they did overlap. Is it a loud silence, or just a silence?

Also, Seraphine never mentions the drummer who replaced him, Tris Imboden. Perhaps too painful a subject?


In sum. The book is a fast and interesting read. I had trouble putting it down. Seraphine is very engaging, and tells his story in rapid succession. Some of it is pretty funny, such as the story of the toupe that saved Danny's life.

Seraphine is not easy on himself, or on the excesses of the rock-star lifestyle. In fact, in this age of mealy-mouthed politicians (and fallen "evangelical" "leaders"), his candor is refreshing. Take one example:

Rose [his wife] and my daughters deserved much better treatment from me. I had failed miserably as a husband to her and as a father to my two little girls. I was devastated at the thought that they would have to grow up without a full-time father in their lives. But I only had myself to blame. Nobody had forced me to do the things I had done. I repeatedly gave in to the temptations of the rock-star lifestyle and I alone was responsible for my awful behavior (148)

Honestly, couldn't some fallen "Christian" "leaders" learn something from a confession like this?

But once again, be warned: there are many obscenities in the book. Danny also alludes to a lot of sexual immorality, though that part of the narrative is never detailed or lurid — again, in contrast to the supposed "confessions" of so-called Christian leaders.

I was interested in hearing Danny's story. Now I'm glad I heard it. Seraphine's given interested fans a fast-moving, involving, good read.

Monday music: the Birdman of Lisbon

It's likely to be a weird year... so let's start it off that way!

(thanks to Jaby Jacob for the tip)

Fathers' importance reported and rapped

The Heritage Foundation's Ken McIntyre discusses and links to studies and stats suggesting a strong connection between the presence of a father and the welfare (not Welfare) of the children. It includes a sobering reminder of the doleful numbers for illegitimately-conceived births:

• 40% overall
• Over 50% among Hispanics
• 70% among blacks.

But on a happier note, this young man raps in gratitude for his dad:

Trying Chrome for awhile

My beloved Firefox has been getting increasingly gummy on me. Now that Chrome has extensions (such as mouse-gestures), it's becoming a more attractive alternative.

Plus it doesn't seem to ruin post-composition in Blogger as it used to do.

What are y'all using, these days, and why?

Fast food fantasies vs. realities

Nothing will get me to "turn" on fast food... but these are interesting.

First, one curious soul bought and compared advertised fast food vs. the reality. Check out the results.

Second, a "food make-up artist" explains how she makes those advertised burgers look so darned scrumptious.

(Not) this day in BibChr history: poetry

(About) two years ago (not) today, we had one of our funnest, liveliest meta's ever.

It started because of a stupid poem that snagged my attention, and got me thinking and talking about what passes for poetry. An admitted Philistine when it comes to modern poetry — okay, most English-language non-rhyming poetry, period — I voiced my thoughts in my usual calm, non-inflammatory, mild way.

Hilarity ensued.

Actually, not so much "hilarity" as a really fun, contentful, educational, challenging discussion. Karsten Piper (son of John) graciously stepped in and offered some helpful, thoughtful comments, for which I'm still grateful.

So for the reading-pleasure of you relative newbies, I hereby point you here. Pour yourself a glass of white wine, or Martinelli's, have a slice of cheese or two.  Enjoy. It really is one of our best, thanks to the level of discussion in the meta.

Hither and thither 1/15/10

It's been another particularly rugged week. Thank you for all your suggestions via email. I have not been able to review them all, but I plan to. Don't stop sending, just be patient. Here's what I have, do enjoy.

• Is "valorous Frenchman" an oxymoron? Mais non!
• I think it's worth noting that, while Pat Robertson did say stupid things about Haiti, he isn't the only one.
  
• Knowing how my readers like to save money — and need to do so, given the ideological makeup of Congress and the White House — here's a recipe for home-made cough drops.
• Obama did not do anything to earn the Nobel Peace Prize, but he has achieved one "first-ever" distinction. In an essay optimistically titled The Fall of Obama, Charles Krauthammer notes that The One's "disapproval rating is the highest ever recorded by Gallup at the beginning of an (elected) president's second year." The final sentence: "The system may not always work, but it does take its revenge."
  
• Fred Butler pointed me to the Millennium Falcon Bed.

• Since dreaming can be fun, here's a wish-list for iPhone 4.0. 
• You too can make hamburger cupcakes. 
• I know I feel safer. Our ever-vigilant watch-dogs put a dangerous 8-year-old Cub Scout on the no-fly list. Hey! I'm the proud father of a Cub Scout (whose sister pointed out this news item to me). I know Cub Scouts. Those little dudes are dangerous! It's a pathetic story, though. He'd already been frisked (!) as a two-year-old dangerous baby. Six years later, the error was still not corrected, and he was aggressively frisked again. Twice. Poor kid. Perhaps if his name were Mohammed instead of Mikey?
  

• FailBlog.org may have discovered the weak link in airport security.

• Tell me it's near fishing, has internet access, and is not too far from a decent town, and I want to live in this house.
  
• Quick... hide!

• Our Title of the Week is only funny because no one got hurt: Weight Watchers Floor Collapses.
  
• Well.  Do you find people sometimes miss your deft, razor-sharp sarcasm? No more. Simply purchase and install the newly-created sarcasm mark. (I say, if people don't know, you may not be doing it right.)
• Could you relax? Sure wouldn't want to drink much before turning in.

• Two questions. First: did you even know that there was such a thing as "Mormon of the Year"? No lie, there is. Second: did you know it was — swallow your coffee before proceeding — Harry Reid? Yep. And no, he wasn't selected by some counter-cult ministry to make Mormons look more ridiculous than they already do. It was a MormoBlog called "Times and Seasons." Man oh man. P-R Death-wish much?
• Whoever picked Reid probably also didn't speak with a Negro dialect. Unless he wanted to have one, of course.
  

• Leaving nothing to be said, except:

 

Acronyms

I get asked about them often enough that I thought maybe a sidebar might help n00bs.

Which of my idiosyncratic acronyms have I left out? (I.e. not ones in common use and readily-Googlable; just the one's I've cooked up in the lab.)

Hither and thither 1/8/10

What do I have for you, beside affection and appreciation? Oh, just this:

• If you keep tarantulas as pets — and who doesn't? — make sure that you're very careful about it...hairs? (Word you'll need to know: ur•ti•cate \ˈər-tə-ˌkāt\ verb intransitive -cat•ed; -cat•ing [Medieval Latin urticatus, past participle of urticare to sting, from Latin urtica] 1843 : to produce wheals or itching especially : to induce hives.)
• If it were America instead of China, there'd be a ban on chopsticks.  (NOTE: disturbing image, but happy ending, in article here.)
• You know... those Calvin and Hobbes snowmen are a lot grosser when done in real-life.
  
• Am I too much of a dad, or what? I watch this video. I think, "Wow, that guy's pretty limber." But you know what I mostly think?  I mostly think, "So... if they ever need to hire someone who can do that — hop on skateboards, run up walls a little bit, juggle boxes in odd positions — I guess he's their man."
• Twins?

• Homosexuals are being urged to take a more positive ("nuanced") view of Joel Osteen and other religious leaders. Why? Because Osteen points them to the holiness of God, the truth of the Gospel, the power of Christ to save, the Biblical imperatives for Christian growth in holiness and knowledge of God? Oh, sorry... should I have warned you not to be drinking coffee? Yeah, so the answer would be no. It's because he blessed the empowerment of a homosexual activist to push the homosexual agenda in Texas. Apparently, Osteen or his leadership accepts some claim the unrepentant homosexual woman has made to being a "believer" (—in what?), and shrugs off responsibility for affirming clear Biblical teaching to the Holy Spirit.
• What did Osteen pray? Among (presumably)other things, Osteen prayed "God, we just thank you for raising her up. We honor her today and other elected officials," and "We count it a joy and an honor to be here."
• Moving at least one homosexual advocacy site to name Osteen and the mayor "Best Couple of 2010." 
• Ah, Charismatics. Well, for the historians, this blog has been on-record about Osteen for a long time.
  
• From e pluribus unum to e pluribus...nullum? (Magister Stevenson will correct the Latin if need be.) Susan caught this scary Fox news story, that thousands of immigrants from terrorist-watch countries are being allowed in on "Diversity visas," designed by (you guessed it) Democrat congressmen.
• Disastrous RNC chairman Michael Steele tells his conservative critics, "Fire me or shut up." I think that's an excellent idea. And I'm not referring to the "shut up" part.
• Worst Idea Ever? Surely not...but close. But I was sent an ad for an iPhone prayer app that will automatically generate (and email!) prayers for people whose names you enter. Sort of a high-tech prayer-wheel, I guess. (Thought: could you generate a prayer centered on Matthew 6:7?)
• Perhaps we should add an ongoing Things That Shouldn't Need To Be Said feature?

• All righty then. This is different. Lego electric chair. Just...huh? (From reader Joel Griffith.)
  
• Do you hike? This is both a jaw-dropping little video, and a cautionary tale. But note: bad word at about 20 seconds. So you might want to mute it. It's almost more amazing without sound.
  
• Apparently the Obama White House is forced to choose between doing the State of the Union in the time-slot of American Idol, or the premiere episode of the last season of Lost. Personally, I'd rather watch American Idol, and (...wait for it...) I never watch American Idol.

• Bet Obama makes up his mind on that one faster than he did Afghanistan.
  
• Misread Title of the Week. Often, the way I read titles is far better than the titles themselves. Over at Pyro, Phil linked to an article titled "Police expect no charges in youth group diaper skit." Odd enough, in itself. Here's how I read it: Police expect no changes in youth group diaper skit.Yeah, well... I'd hope not.
  
• Strawberries are cool and yummy. Hey look, a strawberry! I'll just...yowch!
  
• New York citizens can rest easy, knowing that the police have arrested two hardened, years-long...homeschooling parents? Yep, this hapless couple has fallen afoul of the regulations, and now they must pay. No word on whether they'll be required to buy Camp Obama T-shirts for their kids. yet.
  
• Care to see the most useless machine ever? 'Course you do.
  
• Wooden floors + cats = good times.

• When I was single — which I was for a long time — I often thought married churchfolks forgot us, and planned everything around married types. So, to make sure this blog isn't that way... here are some tips for dating on a budget.
• My first hope for a terrorist wannabe would be that he hear and believe the good news about Jesus Christ. Failing that, a good Proverbs 26:27 can be a pretty sweet second.

• The Obama administration expressed disappointment that they wouldn't have the opportunity to arrest the men, read them their Miranda rights, appoint attorneys, and hold a public trial so that the world could "understand where they're coming from" better.
• Being an out-of-the-closet dispensationalist, I gotta love literal... even in a cat.

• Okay, I made that last one up. But I had you going, didn't I?
• It will surely come as a relief to some to hear that one pyschologist's study concluded that adults who remember being spanked "perform more volunteer work and are more optimistic than others who were not physically disciplined." The psych in question teaches at Calvin College, and seems messed-up on the issue, anyway. Hm. Maybe it's a better idea just to do what the Bible says, and not wait for the next study? I know, that's crazy talk. Just thinking aloud.
  
• I do love my iPhone... but maybe not this much:

• Hey wait a minute... that still works for marrieds, too. Win!!
  
• A reminder to our own beloved Shinar Squirrel that he should watch his step. (The second time you watch it, focus on the lower left-hand corner of the picture.)

• Parting images
  

Top ten movie lines (I use most frequently)

My first top ten list, I think, is not one of those suggested.

My family, groaning and rolling eyes, will probably attest that I use these all the time. The forms below are as I use them, and may not match absolutely verbatim the form in the movies.

1. Sometimes irony can be pretty ironic (Airplane 2). Shatner's turn as a self-parody in that movie is absolutely hysterical. I wish I could buy a sanitized version of it and the first Airplane movie.
   
2. I'll retire to Bedlam (Scrooge, 1951). The best version of The Christmas Carol, with the best actor ever to play Scrooge.
   
3. Well, now we know [he can do] that (My Favorite Year). I recall virtually nothing about that utterly-forgettable movie... except that line.
   
4. Learn to live with disappointment (Princess Bride). This movie is a goldmine of quotable lines.
   
5. You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means (Princess Bride).
6. And so, without further eloquence... (Quiet Man). One of my favorite movies, ever. If you haven't seen it,  you must.
   
7. Endeavor to persevere (Outlaw Josey Wales). One of Eastwood's best.
   
8. And that's...bad? (Emperor's New Groove)  Hysterical cartoon, absolutely hysterical. I picture the writers cracking up as they wrote it.
   
9. Why do we even have that lever? (Emperor's New Groove)  The late Eartha Kitt sounds like she had a blast voicing the evil Yzma.
   

10. You threw off my groove! (Emperor's New Groove)

Feel free to offer your most-used movie lines.

Is liking knives a guy-thing?

UPDATE II: okay, I searched and fiddled. 

Embed their code, it works once, then fails. See new link below

Do women watch those knife-segments on channels like QVC, where you can get 275 knives for $79.99 (plus $300 shipping and handling)? I like it, but I'm a guy. I don't see my dear wife stopping mid-stride and saying "Wow, what a cool sword!"

Maybe it's just a guy-thing.

If so, this won't appeal to a significant segment of my readers. But I think it's cool, and... Hel-lo? Blog!

The embed code from CBS doesn't work. Try this link — sorry about any other images on the site. Full-screen the picture.

Fascinated by a grossly-overused word

M'man Andy Naselli had a post on the Harry Potter books, in the meta of which I made some comments which were then roundly-ignored. But two comments after mine, a writer begins, "I am fascinated by the argument that...."

Oh. My. Gosh. "Fascinated"? Are you? Are you really?

So, the argument makes you drop everything, sit down limp and slack-jawed, and just ponder? Ponder in rapt engrossment, in helpless musing and reflection? Eyes glazed, all other activities or responsibilities forgotten, as this one concept holds you as a helpless captive?

Really?

The reason this poor soul came into my cross-hairs is that I am just saturated to bursting with the over-use of the adjective "fascinating." You aren't? Oh, then subject yourselves to fifteen minutes of Dennis Prager (if your head doesn't explode under the unceasing barrage of first-person singular pronouns), or of Michael Medved.

I mean, good heavens, how do these two men ever get anything done? EVERYTHING fascinates them! Everything! This argument, that point, the other subject; this book, that person, the other movie. It's all "fascinating"!

Nothing is mildly interesting, nothing is worth noting, nothing is of passing import. It's all "faaaaaaascinating"!

Honestly, how do you get through your day, when every single object of thought causes your hands to release what they are holding, your jaw muscles to let go, and your legs to collapse? When everything seizes hold of your undivided attention, keeping every power of the brain in a vicelike death-grip? How? How?

...

Okay, I feel a little better now.

I think the Inigo Montoya hypothesis is what most likely applies here — only not about the word "inconceivable."