we just won't be defeated

stuntman forever

I've been trying not to make too big a deal of this (yinz know how humble I am), but it's not like I can keep the secret for too much longer.� I mean, the movie comes out this Friday.� So here goes:

A few years back, Paramount Pictures approached me about purchasing the rights to my life story.� I balked at first, but they were persuasive.� "Your story," they said, "needs to be told.� All those things you've done.� All those people you've helped.� It's truly inspirational.� You are - dare we say? - a hero."� Those were their exact words.� Well, how could I say no to that?� So I told them that they could make their film, but I didn't want any payment in return.� They insisted that the hundreds of thousands of dollars they wanted to give me had to go somewhere - strictly for accounting purposes, of course - so they generously donated it on my behalf to the Human Fund, and we were on our way.

I knew immediately I wanted to work with Andy Samberg.� He and I had been looking for a project to do together for a while, and this came along at just the right time.� Originally, the picture was conceived to be an epic bio-pic along the lines of "Gandhi" or "Lawrence of Arabia," but I was quickly able to convince the studio suits to go a different direction.� As a gifted storyteller, I have come to realize that sometimes the most universal themes come from the smaller scope, more personal stories.� So the script was re-written to focus on my heyday as a stuntman; other facets of my complex personality (my years of public service teaching the lepers to sing, the hundreds of piano concertos I have penned, my award-winning cheesemaking - to name but a few) were excised.� Plus, I reminded them, those stories would make excellent fodder for sequels once the franchise was established.

Like any other "true" movie, certain details have been enhanced for dramatic effect or altered to protect the privacy of certain individuals.� Some of those changes are:

• My last name isn't Kimble.� I have enough problems as it is with people following me around in the hopes of snatching a mere glimpse of me to exacerbate the problem by allowing my given name to be used in a major motion picture.� The first name, however, is obviously real.
• I don't actually have a step-father; my parents remain happily married.� I was, however, adopted, which had been a source of some familial conflict.� The screenwriters thought changing an adoptive father to a step-father would help the film resonate more deeply with more people, and I didn't object.
• My big stunt - way back when - was planned to be a jump over thirteen school buses, not fifteen.� The studio was adamant about changing this for some reason.� Who am I to quibble over a number?
• The character of Denise, played by Isla Fisher, is actually a composite of five or six different girls (I lost count), all of whom were way more attractive than Ms. Fisher.� I pleaded with the casting director to find somebody less homely, but her star was on the rise after the success of "Wedding Crashers" and, by default, "Borat."� I was overruled.
• My hair is naturally a little less curly than Andy's.

So there you have it.� Go see "Hot Rod" - in theaters everywhere this Friday.� And think of me.� Come to think of it - seeing as the nickname which has stuck with me is a constant reminder of my daredevil days, I probably don't have to write that origin story to fulfill my Question of the Day commitment.� Yinz can just watch it unfold before your eyes.� Besides, yinz didn't really want to read it anyway - not when a movie version of the same thing is coming out in less than a week.� Everybody knows watching stuff is way better than reading stuff.

purple and silver

As we entered the theater, Emma informed Daby and me that we were about to see one of the worst films ever made.  Two hours later, I believe we witnessed a masterpiece.  And the strangest thing is: we're both right.

To state that "Purple Rain" is a bipolar film is an understatement.  Much of the time - probably most of the time - it's laughably terrible, as the guffaws echoing throughout the theater would attest.  (A kind gentleman immediately behind me actually requested forcefully that the audience please stop chuckling at about the halfway point.)  Daby's suggestion that virtually everyone involved with the production of the film missed the day in film school that they were to be taught how to successfully do their future jobs has a ring of truth to it.  Prince, starring as "the Kid," is not much for delivery of lines, but fortunately for him there's not to much of that.  One would think he would have learned how to stare believably and meaningfully off into the middle distance, however, once he learned that would be half his role.  But hey - at least he got the ventriloquism down.

All is redeemed, however, by the performance pieces.  I've heard all the songs on the soundtrack dozens of times, and the hits at least in the hundreds.  And never have any of those songs been as urgent and electric and alive for me as they were on the silver screen.  They were so powerful, in fact, that they rendered the basic premise of the movie - that the Kid is just trying to make his break into show business; that no one is interested in hearing his songs - even more inane.  Emma and Soo and I saw Prince live in concert a few years back, and in many ways this film was better.  It's easily the best music video that's ever been made, not least because it's a video for the whole damn album.

But the biggest compliments today are reserved for the host venue.  It's borderline criminal that I had not been to the American Film Institute's Silver Theater before last night.  Emma said it looked like I got a little choked up gazing for the first time upon the vast and lush enormity of the Silver Theater's recently refurbished auditorium, and she's right.  The Silver Theater is everything movie-going should be and almost never is any more.  I field a lot of accusations of being a neo-Luddite around these parts, but I defy anyone to explain how the soulless multiplex could possibly be superior to this temple for film.  I spent two hours in pleasant slouchiness watching a Totally Awesome Film of the 80's blissfully unburdened by the teeming throng of the mouth-breathing horde.  I daresay I shall be returning soon.  Probably in just a couple of weeks for "Ferris Bueller's Day Off."

chicken nuggets

Courtesy of the roadbikerider.com newsletter, following is a brief timeline of the events leading up to yesterday's forfeiture of the coveted yellow jersey.  At least cycling is trying to clean up its image, unlike some so-called "National Pastimes" we know.  I might just have to get me a Rabobank jersey.

How "Chicken" became a goat on his way to being yanked out of the Tour . . .

---It began when news broke last Thursday that pencil-thin Michael Rasmussen, known as Chicken (for his resemblance to a cartoon character), missed four random drug tests in the last two years. Two of the tests were ordered by the Danish Cycling Union and two were by the UCI. The rule says that if three tests are missed in 18 months it's the same as doping and the penalty is a two-year suspension. So Rasmussen did miss too many tests but they split 2/2 within different jurisdictions. Doping officials say this loophole will be closed. Rasmussen brushed off his transgression, calling it an "administrative error."

---Next came the announcement that Rasmussen was being kicked off the Danish national and Olympic teams. Officials cited the missed drug tests and his cavalier attitude about them. Tour official cringed as the words "race leader" and "doping" were again being used in the same sentence.

---The next day, velonews.com broke the story of a former mountain bike racer, Whitney Richards, who claims that five years ago Rasmussen tried to trick him into delivering a blood substitute from the U.S. to Italy. The contraband was in a box that Rasmussen said contained his shoes. When Richards opened it during packing he found not Sidis but 14 IV bags and syringes. He says he poured the stuff down a drain and later confronted Rasmussen in Italy. Chicken was irate, Richards says, exclaiming, "Do you have any idea how much that s--t costs?"

---Why did it take Richards five years to go public? Because Rasmussen's hypocrisy finally surfaced, he says. After donning his first yellow jersey on July 15, the Dane looked into the cameras and promised cycling fans, "You can trust me." Says Richards, "That's what set me off."

---UCI president Pat McQuaid declared that the controversies surrounding Rasmussen are "bad for cycling," and he said he would be interviewing Richards.

---Tour de France chief Christian Prudhomme said Rasmussen might have been barred from the race if he knew the rider had missed four doping tests. "What I regret more than ever is that we didn't have this information . . . before the Tour started," Prudhomme told the French press. "We would have made the Rabobank team face up to their responsibilities."

---On Monday, Patrice Clerc, president of ASO, the company that owns the Tour, told reporters that Rasmussen "doesn't deserve to wear the yellow jersey."

---On Tuesday, velonews.com reported: "Even Rasmussen's Rabobank team is half-hearted about his yellow jersey run. The riders are doing their job to help Rasmussen on the road, but there's no joy around the bus, no sense of celebration . . . With so much negative publicity and growing antagonism, Rabobank can't celebrate what's looking more and more like their first Tour victory since it started in 1996 . . . One team official said, 'The dream of winning the Tour is turning into a nightmare.'"

yellow journalism

I IM'ed Dabysan at about quarter after ten this morning.  "I've got some bad news," I typed.  "Today's stage is shaping up to be amazing.  I need to go home after work to watch it.  I'm not going to be able to make it to your birthday dinner."  I sort of felt bad about it, but not too much.  I mean - I'd already attended the Birthday Barbecue and have plans to attend the annual Birthday Amusement Park Outing.  That, along with the fact that Daby couldn't be bothered to attend the outing commemorating the date some (erroneously) choose to celebrate my own birth, earned me a pass.  Plus, it's the Tour; there's only, like, thirty stages.

So after dinner, I returned home to watch the final hour of today's stage.  And it was everything I'd hoped it to be.  It was easily the most exciting stage of this year's Tour, and one of the most exciting stages I've seen overall in the four years I've been paying attention.  Over the last ten kilometers of a two hundred eighteen and a half kilometer stage, four cyclists battled it out in a mesmerizing display of tactics and will.  Race leader Michael Rasmussen (Rabobank), number two overall Alberto Contador (Discovery), and number four overall Levi Leipheimer (Discovery) vied for position with a stunning display of attacks and chases as number three overall Cadel Evans (Predictor-Lotto) struggled to close the small gap between he and their group.  It was a Tour-defining stage, and every bit as gripping as expected.

And I'd bet anything you didn't know that.  If you heard anything at all, in fact, I bet it was that pre-race favorite Alexandre Vinokourov (from Kazakhstan, ver' nice!) and the entirety of his Astana team were forced from competition yesterday after he - Vino - tested positive for a blood transfusion.  Or maybe it was that Italian Christian Moreni left the race today in police custody as his hotel room was searched.  (Oh, his Cofidis team was also disqualified.)  And I haven't even mentioned Patrik Sinkewitz because, jeez, that happened days ago.  So yeah - instead of a gripping day of competitive cycling, we are treated to a day of performance enhancing drugs and wide-spread cheating.

You can imagine, then, how thrilled I was to learn from the scroll at the bottom of the screen that the wearer of the Maillot Jaune - and winner of today's stage, Rasmussen - was pulled from the race and fired by his team at some point between when I left work and when I arrived home.  It's only the second time the overall race leader has been expelled, and the first time in nearly thirty years.  It seems Rasmussen (Full disclosure here: I've been pulling for he and Rabobank to some degree for the past three years.  Rasmussen is a pure climber - he's won King of the Mountains two years running - and I like the climbers for whatever reason.  Probably because I love/hate riding hills myself.) was kicked off his Danish national team due to some question as to his whereabouts during previously scheduled drug tests.  I applaud his Rabobank team for having the courage to fire him even after his - their - finest hour.

So I take it all back.  I do care about doping, because it's crystal clear now the doping is the bigger story than the race.  And that's a shame.  I realize professional cycling is a tough sell in this country, but it's at least as compelling as baseball and a thousand times better than soccer.  Like I said to Daby this afternoon: if there's one thing a fringe sport needs to really sell itself, it's rampant accusations of cheating.  I'm a fan, and my opinions are hardly out of the norm.  It's unfortunate; today's race was every bit as amazing as I expected.

harry potter naysayers can piss off

Yeah, you heard me.

[UPDATE: Comments containing spoilers will be deleted.  Consider yourself warned.]

owl post

My mailman was still in the lobby early this afternoon when I returned after a few errands.  I retrieved my package from the floor and he looked at me with some surprise.  "Yes," I answered, "this is for me.  And I have, actually, been waiting anxiously for it."  Eager to get upstairs and tear into my new book, I responded hastily to his next question.  "Of course I've seen the movies, too.  But they're not nearly as good."  He still seemed mildly bewildered as I collected the rest of my mail and ventured through the inner door to my building.  Oh well, it's his loss.

robots in the sky

Look, I'm not going to suggest that "Transformers" is the best movie I've ever seen.  But it's certainly the best movie I've seen so far this year.  Next February, I expect to see Academy Award nominations in each of the following categories:

• Achievement in Art Direction - Francois Audouy, Beat Frutiger
  
• Achievement in Cinematography - Mitchell Admundsen
  
• Achievement in Costume Design - Deborah Lynn Scott
  
• Achievement in Film Editing - Tom Muldoon, Paul Rubell, Glen Scantlebury
  
• Achievement in Sound Editing - Erik Aadahl
  
• Achievement in Visual Effects - Dan Akers
  
• Adapted Screenplay - Roberto Orci & Alex Kurtzman
• Performance by an Actress in a Leading Role - Megan Fox
  
• Performance by an Actor in a Supporting Role - John Turturro
• Performance by an Actor in a Leading Role - Shia LaBeouf
• Achievement in Directing - Michael Bay
• Best Motion Picture of the Year - A Whole Bunch of People (Producers)

I figure these twelve nominations ought to bring home at least four Oscars.  (And John Turturro is as close as it gets to a sure thing.)  If that fails to happen, something is seriously amiss in the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences.

and now for a word from our sponsors...

It's been a while since we last posted audio of those songs which so generously offer us their sponsorship.  It's not that we're not appreciative; nothing could be further from the truth.  It's just....  we don't know.  We're lazy?  Yeah, that actually sounds about right: we're lazy.

So here's a few tracks for yinz.  And if anybody can recall what this site was called between "Made-Up Dreams" and "No More Workhorse Blues" maybe you could refresh our memory.

[UPDATE:  Jodi helpfully points out that the missing song in question was Whiskeytown's "Losering."  Many thanks; we are grateful.  We'll tell you what, though - we'll be spending some time over the next couple of weeks searching diligently for a song entitled "The Dork Bulletin."]

something to believe in

Contrary to whatever Billy Corgan might have to say, the current zeitgeist seems to be with 1980's hair bands.  Chuck Klosterman was in town last week with fresh copies of "Fargo Rock City" in tow.  (It's his third best book, for those that were wondering.)  The redoubtable Emma Peel is waxing poetic about the S----- twins.  All spring I was routinely treated on Saturday mornings to spirited mixes featuring Warrant and Skid Row and Slaughter.  Just this afternoon on my way home, AC/DC's "Shoot to Thrill" - which I haven't heard in years - unexpectedly came on the radio.  And, perhaps most relevantly, I inadvertently stumbled across a covers record by Poison which, when purchased, rocketed to the top three in my "Covers Records by 80's Hair Metal Bands" category.  I don't know what this all means, but I'm taking my "Use Your Illusion" CD's in to work tomorrow just to be safe.

On top of everything else, I learned over this past weekend that Poison lead singer Bret Michaels is a life-long Steeler fan.  Actually, this doesn't surprise me overly much.  What's more surprising is that more people, D-List celebrities or otherwise, aren't Steeler fans.  It seems so.... well, obvious.

slacker, part V

Careful readers might recall a certain bargain we made with the Question of the Day during our week in purgatory.  To wit: in exchange for a pass on that particular day's question we would respond to it with serial retelling of the tale of our long-standing nickname at a later date.  Careful readers might also note that the bargain was struck one month ago today.  (Really?  It doesn't seem that long ago.  Time flies when you're not answering the Question of the Day.)  This would give us just another four days to begin, and clearly that's not enough time.

With that in mind, we are pleased to announce that our petition to the Question of the Day for a two-week extension has been granted.  Look for our version of "1001 Arabian Nights" (in this case - five nights) to begin sometime around the beginning of August.  Unless we spend the next two weeks slacking much like we did over the previous four, in which case we intend to file another petition.