June 2007 Archives

In case you didn't get your trailer fill earlier today, here's a few more for the independence day blitz: Robert Redford, Meryl Streep, and Tom Cruise take aim at the GWOT in the teaser for Redford's muckraking Lions for Lambs; Lawyer George Clooney bites off more corporate conspiracy than he bargained for while helping crazy Tom Wilkinson in this look at Tony Gilroy's Michael Clayton, also with Tilda Swinton and Sydney Pollack; and Cate Blanchett returns to the throne (and does expect the Spanish Inquisition) in the trailer for Shekhar Kapur's Elizabeth: The Golden Age, with Geoffrey Rush (returning), Clive Owen (as Walter Ralegh), Rhys Ifans, and that famous Armada.

"'This is a further shift by the Bush administration into Nixonian stonewalling and more evidence of their disdain for our system of checks and balances,' said Patrick J. Leahy (D-Vt.), chairman of the Senate Judiciary Committee. 'Increasingly, the president and vice president feel they are above the law.'" The Dubya administration invokes executive privilege to thwart the recently-issued congressional subpoenas for info pertaining to the persecuted prosecutor scandal. Instead, Dubya has offered Miers and Taylor for untranscribed private interviews (not under oath), an offer Spineless Specter, among others, thinks the Dems should take. "[C]onstitutional scholars cautioned that this area of law is so unsettled that it is impossible to predict the outcome if the matter ends up in court."

As expected, Greg Oden and Kevin Durant went 1 and 2 respectively at last night's 2007 NBA Draft. Bigger news on the local scene, however, was the Knicks acquiring Portland's talented, troubled PF Zach Randolph in exchange for sophomore SF Channing Frye (a good player, but he slumped considerably last year) and veteran "superstar" PG Steve Francis (a wildly overpaid underachiever with an awful, bloated contract -- I can't believe Portland took him, frankly.) All in all, I'm pretty happy with this trade. Randolph's clearly a bit of a loon, and a cluttered Randolph-Curry frontcourt makes about as much sense as the Marbury-Francis backcourt -- it's a fantasy team line-up with no sense for team chemistry. How are Marbury, Crawford, or Robinson going to drive into the paint with both Curry and Randolph drawing double-teams in the low post, and no real shooters to spread the floor? Still, losing Francis was addition by subtraction, and, while's Randolph's contract is also pretty hefty ($61 million over 4 years) at the very least, Randolph is still young. (The move was definitely better than the Celtics' obvious panic-trade for Ray Allen. I love Jesus Shuttlesworth, but shooting guards over 30 -- particularly those who just had two ankle surgeries -- age in dog years, and he, like Pierce, has a tendency to disappear sometimes.)

Where do they find these people? The GOP leadership has already given us Dr. William "Catkiller" Frist, he of the feline felonies. Now comes word that Republican presidential frontrunner Mitt Romney apparently sees nothing wrong in strapping his family pet to the top of a moving car for twelve hours at a time. (To him, Seamus the Irish Setter just "likes fresh air," so much so that I guess he'd move his bowels in abject terror only occasionally.) Um, Governor, Berk likes fresh air too, but that doesn't mean I bolt him down to the top of speeding NYC taxis. Here's a tip: Having animals ride atop moving cars...good for Teen Wolf, bad for dogs.

"'You can look at this stage and see an African American, a Latino, a woman contesting for the presidency of the United States,' Clinton said. 'But there is so much left to be done, and for anyone to assert that race is not a problem in America is to deny the reality in front of our very eyes.'" Unfortunately, I missed the third Democratic debate at Howard University debate last night, so I can't comment on the performances of Clinton, Obama, Edwards et al. I can say that this new NBC poll showing that 52% of the electorate wouldn't consider voting for Hillary under any circumstances conforms to one of my major concerns with her nomination. As I said before, she's a smart, talented, and impressive politico who'd undoubtedly sail the ship of state much more smoothly than the current administration. (Of course, so would you, I, the night-janitor at the local McDonalds, or almost anyone else one can think of.) But, really: [1] she's thoroughly lousy on campaign finance reform, to my mind the issue that bears on virtually all others; [2] she apparently didn't have the wherewithal or leadership instincts to realize the Iraq war was a terrible idea in 2003 (it didn't take all that much to figure it out, particularly when you figure how much more information Clinton had access to than we did); [3] her view of centrism is apparently to act like Joe Lieberman every so often; and [4] most of the nation has already decided for various reasons that they don't like her. With the Republicans scattered and in retreat, their ideology in eclipse, why do we keep throwing up marginal, tired candidates -- Gore, Kerry, Clinton -- on the off-chance that the electorate will manage to surmount their strong negatives, hold their collective nose, and vote for them?

To be fair, the other Dems haven't been all that great at articulating a progressive alternative to Republican-lite DLC-ishness yet either, but at least there's some potential for it there. Sen. Obama's got all the right JFK moves, and this all-things-to-all-people ambiguity may be one of his strongest political assets. But right now I think he's relying too much on his initial spate of public goodwill, and missing a chance to really draw the nation's attention to the issues that concern him. And John Edwards' son-of-a-millworker-made-good brand of populism, while laudable, doesn't yet seem fully formed to me. But, at the very least, Edwards -- unlike some of his more-willing-to-triangulate opponents -- seems more often than not to let his flag fly, and act from the courage of his convictions. Right now, particularly with McCain hopelessly derailed by his blatant compromises of principle, Edwards may be the closest we've got to a Straight-Talk-Express this year (well, this side of Kucinich, Gravel, and Paul.)

At the moment, I'm still leaning towards Obama, just because of his tremendous upside -- he, unlike virtually every other candidate, has the possibility to transform, revitalize, and realign our current political debate if he plays his cards right. But, Edwards is still in my estimation, and I'll be taking a long hard look at him over the coming months (and either, in my humble opinion, are preferable to Senator Clinton, for the reasons listed above.)

"A lot of us worked hard to see if we couldn't find a common ground. It didn't work...I had hoped for a bipartisan accomplishment, and what we got was a bipartisan defeat." Harding had the Washington Conference, Nixon had China and the FAP...but it looks like there'll be nothing to dilute Dubya's dismal standing in the history books. Arguably his last chance for a positive domestic accomplishment shattered to pieces when the Senate voted 53-46 against closing debate on the bipartisan immigration reform bill. "The outcome was a major blow to Bush, dealt largely by members of his own party...Republicans on both sides acknowledged the immigration fight had riven the GOP."

"'Conservatives got everything they could reasonably have hoped for out of the term,' said Thomas C. Goldstein, a Washington lawyer who specializes in Supreme Court litigation." Proving the crucial importance of the Alito-O'Connor switch (and, I'll continue to maintain as my answer to Emily Bazelon's line of questioning, the 2004 election), the Roberts Court flexed its muscle in depressing fashion this week, voting 5-4 (as feared) not only to gut the McCain-Feingold act in the name of "free speech" but also -- seriously, no lie -- to partially roll back Brown v. Board of Education. (In another well-reported case, the majority's inordinate fear of bongs trumped this stalwart commitment to free speech.) So, if you're keeping score, Roberts, Alito, Scalia, Thomas, and Kennedy came down like this: money good, corruption good, drug hysteria good; clean politics bad, youthful irony bad, integration bad. Oh, wonderful. Suddenly, the announcement that the Court will take a look at the Guantanamo cases doesn't sound so appetizing. Update: Slate's slate of legal observers discuss.

"I wish everyone, friend or foe, well. And that is that -- the end." So long, Tony (and good luck in the Middle East.) 'We're very glad to see him go, because he's the most dangerous opponent that we've had in a couple of hundred years,' former Conservative leader William Hague told the BBC afterward.'" That may have been true for awhile, I guess. Too bad Blair decided to pull an LBJ and mar his otherwise-sound progressive legacy with an exceedingly ill-advised foreign war. But, time marches onward, so, with that in mind, Hello to Gordie and the New Labor Order.

AICN and MTV's Movie Blog score the first production still from Spike Jonze's Where the Wild Things Are. Looks just about perfect.

"In grasping and exercising presidential powers, Cheney has dulled political accountability and concocted theories for evading the law and Constitution that would have embarrassed King George III...As Alexander Hamilton advised in the Federalist Papers, an impeachable offense is a political crime against the nation. Cheney's multiple crimes against the Constitution clearly qualify." Former Reagan Assistant Attorney General Bruce Fein makes the conservative case for Dick Cheney's impeachment in Slate.

By a count of 14-0 (Russia abstaining), the UN Security Council votes to shut down their inquiry into Iraq WMDs. Well, so much for that particular casus belli. From the vaults: "Simply stated, there is no doubt that Saddam Hussein now has weapons of mass destruction. There is no doubt he is amassing them to use against our friends, against our allies, and against us." -- Vice President Dick Cheney, Aug. 29, 2002. (There's another one for the impeachment file.)

After a really lousy Continental flight that involved screaming kids, spilled Cokes, and an unscheduled refueling detour to Pittsburgh, I'm back from Seattle and once again on NYC time (some pics of my trip can be found here.) With the aid of high-school, college, and grad-school friends, I was able to explore a good bit of the city -- downtown, Belltown, Ballard, W. Seattle, Fremont, Snoqualmie, Capitol Hill -- and all-in-all I was quite favorably impressed. Seattle seemed driving-intensive, but then again, where, outside of New York and a tiny handful of other cities, isn't? At any rate, much fun was had, and hopefully I'll make it back out to the Pacific Northwest sometime in due course.

Several trailers of note over the past week: Aragorn continues his History of Violence and returns to the unsettling world of Cronenberg in the new trailer for Eastern Promises, also with Naomi Watts, Vincent Cassel, and Armin Mueller-Stahl. Shopgirl Natalie Portman looks adorable facing up against stiff-suit Jason Bateman in the otherwise cloying trailer for Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium, also with Dustin Hoffman as Willy Wonka, uh, Magorium. Nicole Kidman tries to stop her sister (Jennifer Jason-Leigh) from marrying Jack Black in this look at Noah Baumbach's Margot at the Wedding. (Not usually my bag, and Jason-Leigh can be a huge red flag, but Baumbach has earned a look after Squid & the Whale.) A bit-player in the Russian mob and a recent emigre to Liberty City (you) tries to move up the ranks of his organization in two new trailers for Rockstar's eagerly-awaited Grand Theft Auto IV. (I may have to break down and get a 360, just for this game.) And, finally, a Kramerfied, really poor quality version of may very well be the teaser for Chris Nolan's The Dark Knight has emerged online. (I'll reserve judgment until a higher quality version emerges, but for now I like the laugh.)

Also, since I came back to find over 10,000 spam comments plastered all over the Ghost, I've decided to take drastic action and installed a Captcha system, in the form of Jay Allen's comment challenge. So, if any of y'all want to leave a comment from now herein, you'll need to answer the not-very-tricky "challenge question." (The answer, as the hint basically tells you, is Berkeley.) As a result, the spam ratio around here has gone from 10-15 a minute to none, zip, zero over the past 24 hours. Can the war on spam finally be over? I'm not rolling out the Mission Accomplished banner just yet, but I'm cautiously optimistic.

In a document dump of both exhilarating and terrifying proportions, the CIA announced it will release its "family jewels" next week: close to 700 pages of documents chronicling secret Agency activity from the fifties to the seventies. (A preview of what's to come includes reports of detentions, wiretapping, surveillance, and other sordid current administration favorites.) "CIA Director Michael Hayden on Thursday called the documents being released next week unflattering, but he added that 'it is CIA's history.' 'The documents provide a glimpse of a very different time and a very different agency,' Hayden told a conference of historians." Hmm, we'll see.

"'Here...comes...that famous General Taguba -- of the Taguba report!' Rumsfeld declared, in a mocking voice." Well, the agency and the time may have changed, but it's increasingly clear we still have a lot to answer for, thanks to the actions of those who would claim to protect our way of life. The inimitable Sy Hersh of The New Yorker (who also played a role in 1974 in getting the CIA docs released -- take that, Woodward) reports in with the tale of General Antonio Taguba, the head of the Army's original investigation into Abu Ghraib who, like so many other truth-tellers in the administration, was eventually hung out to dry for his candor. Hersh's frightening and sadly plausible piece not only makes clear that Rumsfeld, Dubya, et al had more knowledge of the nightmare of Abu Ghraib than they've publicly let on, but also suggests that those repellent images we've all seen from the prison may only be the tip of the iceberg of the horrors that occurred in our country's name. "Taguba said that he saw 'a video of a male American soldier in uniform sodomizing a female detainee.' The video was not made public in any of the subsequent court proceedings, nor has there been any public government mention of it."

It's not the years, honey, it's the mileage...lots of depressing news about the sorry state of our government today, so here's a mental sorbet of sorts: Steven Spielberg and the Indy 4 powers-that-be have released an official still of Harrison Ford back in costume as America's favorite crusading academic, Henry Jones Jr. (a guy who, it may be remembered, also tried and failed to get this government to cough up its secrets. From the Ark of the Covenant to Abu Ghraib and Cheney...sigh.)

"He's saying he's above the law...It just seems to me this is arrogant and shows bad judgment." Also in related news, historians probably shouldn't expect a similar classified document dump a quarter-century from now: Word leaks from a congressional committee that Cheney has refused to comply with the National Archives in preserving classified documents over the past four years and even tried to abolish the office responsible for enforcing the law. "Cheney's office declined to discuss what it called internal matters...The Justice Department confirmed yesterday that it is looking into the issue." Another day, another imperial prerogative attempted by these lawless yokels in the White House.

Think I'm being shrill? Ok, here's another: After listening to former Attorney General John Ashcroft discuss internal differences over Dubya's illegal surveillance program yesterday, the Senate Judiciary Committee voted 13-3 to issue subpoenas for White House and Justice Department documents regarding the eavesdropping system. "The White House made no move to comply."

"Giuliani's Escape from New York was already tough enough, but Mayor Mike makes it nearly impossible. Bloomberg is the Ghost of Rudy Past -- a constant, high-profile reminder of the cultural distance from the South Carolina lowlands to the New York island." Slate's Bruce Reed examines how Mike Bloomberg's recent flirtations with a presidential bid spell serious trouble for the Giuliani candidacy (as does -- according to Fred Kaplan -- Rudy's "greedy" behavior with the Iraq Study Group.)

In a world where small towns such as the sleepy haven of Springfield can be threatened by mystifying unseen forces and the desperate actions of President Schwarzenegger (um, shouldn't that be President Wolfcastle?), it's up to one typical small-town American family (and spider-pig) to rise to the occasion... Yep, you guessed it: the new trailer for The Simpsons movie is now online.

Hello all...GitM is reporting in from the other side of the country for the next few days, as I'm visiting friends in Seattle this week. It's my first trip to the Pacific Northwest,and, the bus trip from the airport notwithstanding, so far so good -- I'm staying in Capitol Hill and wandered around the downtown and market areas yesterday, as well as, of course, the Science Fiction Museum & Hall of Fame (lots of costumes, props, and first editions) and Experience Music Project. (Unfortunately, the Bob Dylan exhibit was gone from the latter, but there was some good stuff on Jimi Hendrix and the early days of hip-hop.) Alas, the camera was out of batteries, so no pics to share just yet...At any rate, add three hours to the usual GitM update times. (Oops, right, there are no usual GitM update times...ah well.)

"Although my plans for the future haven't changed, I believe this brings my affiliation into alignment with how I have led and will continue to lead our City." In keeping with recent speculation that he plans to Bull Moose in 2008, NYC Mayor Michael Bloomberg quits the GOP. Well, ok then. The third party stuff aside, pretty much anybody deciding that today's Republican party isn't for them is good news in my book.

Making the rounds today, Hillary (and Bill) Clinton -- enjoying a bounce in the polls (as is Fred Thompson on the GOP side) -- hamhandedly riff on The Sopranos finale (with the aid of Johnny Sack) to announce the new Clinton campaign song, (ugh) Celine Dion's "You and I." Celine Dion? There's yet another good reason to support Obama or Edwards in this primary contest.

"I am also still convinced that voters originally liked George W. Bush's inarticulacy: At least he didn't sound quite as smooth, and ultimately meaningless, as everyone else. Only with time did his natural-born inability to speak English begin to produce infuriating phrases of truly unique pointlessness." Slate's Anne Appelbaum surveys the sad state of political rhetoric in this country, concluding that, while "the brightest new hope for the English language is Barack Obama," "[n]o good writer, however eloquent, can possibly survive a two-year presidential campaign." I have to agree, it is pretty bad out there. The main problem, and it's no secret, is that most speeches today prize concepts over imagery. Read classic nineteenth-century political speeches today -- Lincoln's Second Inaugural, say, or Bryan's Cross of Gold -- and they're flush with vivid imagery and extended metaphors. But, be it due to video killing the oratory star, the need for shorter, quicker, soundbites, or just a general fuzziness about the basic principles undergirding contemporary legislation, most speeches today languish in abstraction and platitudes. (The work of former Dubya speechwriter Michael Gerson is a notable exception in this regard.)

"Given the State Department's $32 billion budget, an additional $1 million for food hardly ranks as a major scandal. But this tangled tale of how an Alaskan tribal company ended up in a South American tropical forest sheds an illuminating spotlight on the often-secretive world of federal contracting, an area of government rife with abuse and poor oversight." Our government in action: Salon's Michael Scherer explains how Alaskan Eskimos won a no-bid contract to feed cocaine-fighting Bolivians, with the help of Senator "Bridge to Nowhere," Ted Stevens. Here's a hint: Halliburton is involved.

White House Budget Director Rob Portman steps down, to be replaced by former congressman Jim Nussle (R-IA). Said Dem congressional leader Steny Hoyer of Portman's replacement, "'Mr. Nussle is a Dane.' Both Hoyer and Nussle are of Danish ancestry. 'You can read into that into what you want to read into it, and what you want to read into it is correct.'" Thrift, thrift, Horatio!

It's not just Karl. Newly released information finds that as many as 88 officials in the Dubya White House have been (illegally) using RNC e-mail addresses as a back-door way to discuss official business off the record. "'As a result of these policies, potentially hundreds of thousands of White House e-mails have been destroyed, many of which may be presidential records,' the report said."

"'At least it makes clear the signing statements aren't solely for staking out a legal position, with the president just saying, "I don't have to do these things, but I will,"' Fein said. 'In fact they are not doing some of these things. You can't just vaporize it as an academic question.'" Also in the administration malfeasance department, a new study by Congress's Government Accountability Office finds that more often than not Dubya has been ignoring the laws he's flagged in signing statements as not in tune with his imperial mood. "'The administration is thumbing its nose at the law,' said House Judiciary Committee Chairman John Conyers Jr. (D-Mich.), who requested the GAO study and legal opinion along with Senate Appropriations Committee Chairman Robert C. Byrd (D-W.Va.). 'This GAO opinion underscores the fact that the Bush White House is constantly grabbing for more power, seeking to drive the people's branch of government to the sidelines,' Byrd said in a joint statement with Conyers."

Two recent trailers of note: Good guy Christian Bale chases down bad guy Russell Crowe to ensure a timely train trip in the new trailer for James Mangold's 3:10 to Yuma (also with Peter Fonda, Alan Tudyk, and Gretchen Mol.) And Daniel Day-Lewis gets his hands dirty in the petroleum trade of the Twenties in this early look at Paul Thomas Anderson's There Will Be Blood, based on Upton Sinclair's Oil!.

Dr. Henry Jones, Jr. garners some more distinguished colleagues for Indy 4 with announcements that John Hurt has joined the film (some sites say as Albert Einstein, others as Abner Ravenwood), as has Jim Broadbent (in what's likely to be a Marcus Brody-type role.) Already on board: Cate Blanchett, Shia La Boeuf, and Ray Winstone.

I'd be more excited to see Heath Ledger's Joker in action, but for now on The Dark Knight front, we'll have to content ourselves with pics and video of Batman's goofy new trike (the "Batpod") and Flickr-ized shots of Maggie Gyllenhaal and Aaron Eckhart as Katie Holmes and Harvey Dent respectively. Hmm, ok.

Also in comic-to-film news, there's more rumors of close-to-official casting for Zach Snyder's Watchmen happening. Keanu Reeves apparently passed on Dr. Manhattan, so now they're looking for, um, Jason Patric in that role. (I'm not seeing it, frankly, but he's no better or worse than Keanu, I guess.) Also rumored, Thomas Jane as the Comedian, and, as Rorschach, Little Children's Jackie Earle Haley. That's actually not half bad.

By way of Quiddity, some enterprising soul has compiled the top fifteen most embarrassing photos of Dubya. (Honorable mentions here.) I'd probably have changed the order up (the Katrina guitar pic should be higher) and thrown in a few more (Dubya flipping the Segway, for example.) But, otherwise, well-played.

Well, to be honest I've been kinda avoiding Judd Apatow's Knocked Up, despite it getting stellar reviews and my being a big fan of Apatow (and Seth Rogen's) Freaks & Geeks, as, frankly, nothing makes you feel single like a one-dollar bill quite like seeing what's obviously the date movie of the summer by yourself. But, perhaps steeled by the not-inconsiderable amount of baby-time I logged last weekend at my college reunion (the Harvard class of '97 seems to have been very productive in that regard), I finally ventured into the theater this past week to catch Apatow's flick (on a double bill with Ocean's Thirteen, in fact.) And the verdict? Well, as you've probably heard, Knocked Up is both very, very funny and surprisingly real. For one, it's got a funky, down-to-earth, DIY, lived-in feel that helps make it, along with Hot Fuzz, the most satisfying comedy of 2007 thus far. But Knocked Up also manages to be rather touching by the end, in a way that feels totally earned. The film doesn't rely on cutesy baby antics or wildly improbable romantic flourishes to garner your affection, but rather on showing flawed, realistic, well-meaning people trying to make the best out of the complicated situations that make up life, be they modern love, marriage, or an unplanned pregnancy. As such, Knocked Up turns out to be a knock-out, and a very welcome special delivery.

When we first meet Ben (Seth Rogen), he's rapping along karaoke-style with ODB's "Shimmy Shimmy Ya," restaging drunken American Gladiator in his backyard, and getting egregiously stoned with his friends/roommates/business partners (they're creating a website which tells you at what moment in what films celebs get naked), among them Jason Segel (a.k.a. Nick of Freaks & Geeks, and James Franco/Daniel is skulking around too!) and a guy who's the spitting image of a young Chris Penn (Jonah Hill). (Update: And the bearded fellow was Haverchuck?! I had no idea.) In short, he's not exactly father material just yet. Meanwhile, the smart, pretty, and considerably more adult Alison (Katherine Heigl) is currently living with her sister Debbie (Leslie Mann, Apatow's real-life wife) and brother-in-law Pete (Paul Rudd, thankfully out of the Frat Pack for a bit) and working behind-the-scenes at the E! television network (which is staffed by Alan Tudyk and the current SNL all-stars). And, when Alison, out to celebate a promotion one night, runs into Ben at a nightclub, beers, dancing, and tequila shots work their inexorable mojo, and, lo, the Miracle of Life occurs (Well, after some confusion over contraception.) So, confronted with the fact of a baby on the way, Alison and Ben start over again, and try to ascertain if a drunken one-night stand between two seemingly incompatible people can form the basis for...well, anything, really. A healthy relationship would be nice.

Some intermittently funny, gross-out juvenilia notwithstanding (for example, the unsavory reasons for a pink-eye epidemic among Ben's crew), Knocked Up actually turns out to be one of the most adult comedies I've seen in years. As seen on F&G, Apatow (and his wife, Mann) clearly have a keen ear for relationships and how they work -- or don't. As such, the story of Ben & Alison -- and its counterpart down the line, of Leslie & Pete -- feel breathtakingly real most of the time, both in the unspoken details of the courting (Allison is seen wearing Ben's hipster t-shirts later on in the movie, Ben quietly switches to collars) and the axes of fracture that emerge among the couples (for example, the dark secret Pete hides from his wife and family -- you'll see.)

Among other things, Knocked Up perfectly captures how an innocuous statement about other people's troubles all too often weirdly conflagrates into a knock-down drag-out with your significant other, or how we all tend to harbor past grievances to use as talking points when the time is right, only to regret it deeply later (Note Allison on Ben's weed habits, or when Ben decides to reveal the sex of the child.) And the film not only captures certain fundamental relationship dynamics -- see also Debbie on Spiderman 3, or on how she gets her husband to change -- but also how, even in the midst of these well-worn tropes, individual people are invariably complicated and surprising. (In fact, the only detail that rang really false to me is Ben and Pete celebrating their male independence by going to see Cirque de Soleil in Vegas psychoactively enhanced. Cirque de Soleil...really?) Throw in a slew of knowing pop culture references throughout -- Matthew Fox, James Gandolfini, Robin Williams' knuckles, Serpico, and Cat Stevens are all punch lines at one point or another -- and I was sold hook, line, and sinker. In short, Knocked Up will all too likely be the comedy of the summer, if not one for the ages, and -- particularly if you've been privy to the dating/marriage world in recent years -- it's worth at the very least a one-night stand.

So, the San Antonio Spurs swept the Cleveland Cavaliers last night 83-82 to take their fourth NBA title since 1999 (and their third in five years.) Ho-hum. Not to take anything away from the Spurs: San Antonio was clearly the better team in this series and Cleveland, even with LeBron starting to coming into his own, was hopelessly outmatched. But, while I'm loath to agree with ESPN's Sportsguy too often, he's right this time -- these Finals were a total dud. Bring on next season already.

As seen on Aint-It-Cool, and by way of Variety, the trailer for the Coen's much-anticipated take on Cormac McCarthy's No Country for Old Men, starring Josh Brolin, Javier Bardem, Tommy Lee Jones, Kelly MacDonald, Woody Harrelson, and Stephen Root, is now online. Looks like the Coens are back in form (and looks like they captured the tone of the book perfectly.)

Also via AICN, and the new issue of Entertainment Weekly: Bruce Wayne shows off his new Bat-duds for Chris Nolan's The Dark Knight...now with kung-fu, head-swiveling action! (Accessories not included.)

"The President cannot eliminate constitutional protections with the stroke of a pen by proclaiming a civilian, even a criminal civilian, an enemy combatant subject to indefinite military detention...To sanction such presidential authority to order the military to seize and indefinitely detain civilians...would have disastrous consequences for the constitution -- and the country." In what should have been a no-brainer, a federal appeals court rules 2-1 in the case of al-Marri v. Wright that Dubya can't hold US residents indefinitely on suspicion alone. [Full opinion, and the dissent by a Bush appointee.] "The panel tailored its opinion to Marri's circumstances; it does not directly apply to the more than 300 foreign nationals held as enemy combatants in the military prison at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. But lawyers for some captives noted that the same flaws the court found in the administration's classification of Marri were true for Guantanamo detainees."

"By refusing to cooperate with congressional committees, the White House continues its pattern of confrontation over cooperation. The White House cannot have it both ways--it cannot stonewall congressional investigations by refusing to provide documents and witnesses while claiming nothing improper occurred." After e-mails surface showing their involvement in responding to the persecuted prosecutor fervor (and after an attempt to hold a no-confidence vote on Gonzales is derailed by the Senate GOP), former White House counsel (and Supreme Court nominee) Harriet Miers and former White House political director Sara Taylor are subpoenaed by the House and Senate Judiciary committees to ascertain what they know about the scandal. "'This subpoena is not a request, it is a demand on behalf of the American people,' Conyers said."

Simply put and for better or worse, Steven Soderbergh's breezy Ocean's Thirteen is two hours of sheer froth. The film attempts to dial back some of the in-jokes and meta-ness that marked the slack, sprawling Eurotrip of Ocean's Twelve (which I actually enjoyed the most of the three) and tries to fuse it with the narratively leaner Vegas-centric heist flick that was Ocean's Eleven (which I enjoyed the least.) The resulting film, like its gaggle of leading men (no women here, basically -- Julia Roberts and Catherine Zeta-Jones are written out in the first five minutes of dialogue), is cool, unruffled, occasionally razzle-dazzle, and, frankly, beginning to show its age. If you liked either of the first two or enjoy watching this collection of actors suavely goof around on camera, Ocean's Thirteen is good for a mindless, moderately engaging two hours. But, even with Soderbergh's considerable expertise on display, there's really not much here. All in all, I was entertained during the film and forgot about it almost immediately afterward.

Ocean's Thirteen wisely foregoes much of the "let's get the band back together again" grandstanding of the last film to dive right in to the problem: Avuncular team member and scion of Old Vegas Reuben Tishkoff (Elliot Gould) has been screwed out of his partnership in a towering new casino on the Strip by the Wynn-like impresario Willie Bank (Al Pacino), despite them both being among the rarified elite who once shook Sinatra's hand. To avenge this slight, Danny Ocean (Clooney) and Rusty Ryan (Pitt) reassemble their team of con-men, scoundrels, n'er-do-wells, roustabouts, and acrobats to take down the new hotel (The Bank) via a "Reverse Big Store," i.e. break The Bank by having every guest win big on the casino's (soft) opening night.

Unfortunately for them, Bernie Lootz is not on hand, and The Bank boasts many formidable defenses, from the world's greatest Artificial Intelligence ("The Greco," devised by Julian Sands, no less) in the basement looking for gambling anomalies to the well-preserved Ellen Barkin as Pacino's sexy, take-no-guff majordomo Abigail Sponder. And thus the Ocean team's foolproof plan instead involves, among other things, myriad disguises, lots of cybernetic and electronic doodads, more than a few random accomplices and compatriots, moles in Mexican factories, simulated natural disasters, making David Paymer's life a living hell, and multimillion-dollar underground drills, at least one of which may force the team to involve their old nemesis, Terry Benedict (Andy Garcia) in the takedown. (Oh, and, to constrain Barkin's Dragon Lady, they resort to some drug that amounts to a cross between Axe Body Spray and Roofies, which seems like sort of a nasty turn for our otherwise gentlemanly near-dozen to take in their quest for revenge, I thought.)

All of which is to say, the heist makes very little sense, which is part of the problem here. I confess, while I really enjoy a caper flick like Spike Lee's Inside Man, I get irritated with films that show criminals spending $29 million in order to steal $30 million, even if, as it is here, the motive is revenge. In Ocean's Twelve, of course, the heist didn't much matter -- it was clearly just a flimsy excuse for Soderbergh & co. to fool around in Amsterdam and act like movie stars on vacation. Everything from Shaobo Qin getting lost in the luggage ("He's the Modern Man, disconnected, frightened, paranoid for good reason") to Pitt referencing Miller's Crossing to Topher Grace "totally phoning in that Dennis Quaid movie" to all the breaking-the-fourth-wall shenanigans with Julia Roberts and Bruce Willis made that clear.

But by focusing so relentlessly on the plot contrivances here in Thirteen, we're forced to recognize several times over that, frankly, the plot makes very little sense. There's no danger here at all (with the possible exception of Vincent Cassel's return as the Night Fox from the last film, but even he turns out to be a dud of an X-factor.) Even in Vegas, that veritable boulevard of broken dreams most of the time, we know this gang of Hollywood high-rollers are all going to come up aces...so why focus so relentlessly on the mechanics of a totally implausible scheme? Given this problem, my favorite moments of Ocean's Thirteen were the ones where, as in Twelve, the gang just dropped the tired old rules of the caper flick and let their freak flag fly: Casey Affleck and Scott Caan unionizing a Mexican dice factory, Pitt channeling a hippie seismologist, Cheadle liberated, however briefly, from that godawful British accent, Matt Damon (for awhile) in that goofy Soderberghian nose. The nose, and its ilk, play -- the actual heist here doesn't.

Can't say I'm all that excited about the project, but I am obviously a fan of the director: The lovely Rachel Weisz joins Peter Jackson's version of The Lovely Bones, as the mother of the narrator, it seems.

In Marvel comic-to-film news, William Hurt joins Louis Letterier's increasingly-stacked The Incredible Hulk as Gen. Thad "Thunderbolt" Ross. (The movie, it may be remembered, already stars Edward Norton, Liv Tyler, and Tim Roth.) And, also rumored to be in the works: a Silver Surfer film written by J. Michael Straczynski of Babylon 5 (Will the character have any life in him after FF2 this weekend? I somehow doubt it) and a Thor film directed by Matthew Vaughan of Layer Cake and Stardust. (Ooh...can we get Beta Ray Bill?)

"I am going to say something that few people in public life will say, but most know is absolutely true: a vast aspect of our jobs today - outside of the really major decisions, as big as anything else - is coping with the media, its sheer scale, weight and constant hyperactivity. At points, it literally overwhelms." In his final weeks as prime minister, Tony Blair addresses the problem of the media, calling it "like a feral beast, just tearing people and reputations to bits." (Full text of remarks.) "The result is a media that increasingly and to a dangerous degree is driven by 'impact'. Impact is what matters. It is all that can distinguish, can rise above the clamour, can get noticed. Impact gives competitive edge. Of course the accuracy of a story counts. But it is secondary to impact. It is this necessary devotion to impact that is unravelling standards, driving them down, making the diversity of the media not the strength it should be but an impulsion towards sensation above all else."

I wouldn't say the feral beast metaphor gets right at it -- until last year, most of the major news media, in this country at least, was rather well domesticated: It let Dubya lie his way through just about anything, including building a case for war in Iraq on false pretenses, with impunity. But, clearly something is broken with "this relationship between public life and media," as Blair put it. In the midst of a conflict that's been dragging on longer than World War II, you're still likely to hear more about Paris Hilton's jail travails (Prison sucks? Our criminal justice system tends to favor the wealthy? Who knew?), Don Imus's racist bromides (A bile-spewing racist on talk radio? Wherever did they find him?), or the winner of American Idol, to take only three recent examples, than anything of use about the status of the conflict, or our actions, there. And even coverage of the horrifying tragedy at Virginia Tech, obviously a legitimate news story, descended into exploitation almost immediately (and provoked very little understanding that this level of tragedy has become virtually a daily occurrence in Iraq.) They're just giving us what they want, I suspect the comeback is, and that's almost assuredly true. But, still, it'd be nice to see a little more daily recognition from our major journalistic outlets that the mass media in our society performs a crucial -- if not the crucial -- function in informing the electorate on current events and providing the information indispensable to maintaining an active, responsive citizenry, and that other factors should come into play in their coverage than just the corporate bottom line. Update: From the press box, Slate's Jack Shafer cries foul.

So I'm still catching up on movie reviews of flicks I saw a few weeks ago, and, while I don't really care about letting Pirates 3 languish without comment for a fortnight, I do wish I'd written something faster about Juan Carlos Fresnadillo's surprisingly excellent 28 Weeks Later. I thought Danny Boyle's 28 Days Later was a so-so enterprise, a very chilling and effective first forty-five minutes undone by the poor decision-making and Col. Kurtzian tangents which comprise the second and third acts. But this outing holds together much better, I thought, and remains intelligent and fearless from frightening beginning to inexorable end. As my brother aptly noted, this installment is the Aliens of the franchise -- everything's been taken up a notch, and the military training of some of our heroes and heroines this time around is, as per Cameron's flick, only intermittently useful. And, if you like your zombie films awash with social commentary, as they've tended to be from Night of the Living Dead to They Live to even Shaun of the Dead, there's plenty of grist for the mill here, no matter what your political persuasion. If it's still playing in your neighborhood, run to catch it if you can...just watch out for the fellow sitting next to you.

If you didn't catch 28 Days Later, no worries: The eerie prologue of this film, which takes place back in the early days of the "Rage Virus" outbreak, will give you the basic gist. We begin with a couple (Robert Carlyle of Trainspotting, Catherine McCormack of Braveheart) holed up in an English cottage somewhere in the countryside, counting their canned goods and waiting, with a handful of other survivors, for the storm to pass. But, pass it doesn't, and soon enough the virus, which turns one almost instantly from well-meaning human to ferocious, bloodthirsty monster (Think the Black Smurfs. Gnap!), is extant in the cottage, and tough split-second decisions must be made. Flash-forward to 28 weeks later, as this couple's two children (Mackintosh Muggleton, Imogen Poots) -- thankfully at summer camp in Spain during the outbreak -- are returned to the "Green Zone" of a nearly-empty London. England's capital, as it turns out, is now being run and reconstructed by the United States Military, under the auspices of a no-nonsense Gen. Stone (Idris Elba, a.k.a. Stringer Bell. No Slim Charles around, tho', which is too bad for everyone else.) Life proceeds somewhat normally in the Emerald City, thanks to the watchful eyes of army snipers such as the Cpl. Hicks-ish Doyle (Jeremy Renner of Dahmer) and savvy military doctors such as Scarlett (Rose Byrne of Troy.) But, partly due to an ill-advised expedition by the children to their old home -- you just knew somebody was going to do something stupid -- the Rage Virus breaks loose in London again, and the American military presence finds that really drastic actions may be necessary to win the worldwide war on zombies...

Reconstruction, an American occupation gone horribly wrong, Green Zones irrevocably infected by viral terror from the surrounding areas...I don't really need to draw a map, do I? Still, one of the strengths of Fresnadillo's 28 Weeks Later, like BSG and the best in sci-fi social commentary, is that it doesn't really align to any easy 1-1 reading of current events. When the US army stops distinguishing between zombie and civilian and shoots at will, or firebombs the city in an attempt to stem the outbreak (not a huge spoiler -- it's a major selling point in the trailer), it's hard not to grimace ruefully and think of other occupations-gone-bad in our recent history. Yet, things aren't so simple here: One of the things I admired most about this very dark film is its sheer remorselessness. From its opening moments and throughout, it instills a visceral fight-or-flight dread in the audience and refuses to let us off the hook, inviting us less to tsk-tsk about the hubris of American military overreaching and more to ponder what measures -- moral, immoral, amoral -- we might take to ensure our own survival in this nightmarish universe. Time and time again in 28 Weeks Later, compassion is absolutely the wrong answer to the problem at hand, and -- though there's less of this as the characters crystallize into horror-movie stereotypes over the course of the film -- people surprise you with the decisions they choose to make with their backs to the wall. Maybe the scariest thing about Fresnadillo's film -- and the zombies are at times pretty damn scary -- is its dark take on human nature, and what it ultimately suggests about the usefulness of good intentions under extreme pressure. To wit, they're not very useful at all -- if anything, they're the road to Hell on Earth. So before you offer that helping hand, the relentlessly grim 28 Weeks Later suggests, buy some good running shoes.

"Solidarity is not discovered by reflection, but created. It is created by increasing our senstivity to the particular details of the pain and humiliation of other, unfamiliar sorts of people. Such increased sensitivity makes it more difficult to marginialize people different from ourselves by thinking, 'They do not feel as WE would,' or 'There must always be suffering, so why not let THEM suffer?'" Richard Rorty, 1931-2007.

Spurred by Kobe Bryant's recent on-again, off-again trade demands (predicted by Ray Allen several years early), Knicks GM and coach Isaiah Thomas starts dreaming of a major shake-up in the Knickerbocker lineup. Oof, I really hope Bryant doesn't end up in New York (not that it's very likely anyway.) Despite his immense talent, he is easily my least favorite player in the league, and I'd have a hard time rooting for my Knicks with him jacking up shots all the time for the orange-and-blue.

The people of Washington D.C. take another step toward full citizenship after the Senate Homeland Security and Governmental Affairs Committee votes 9-1 in favor of voting rights for the District. "Virginia's Sen. John Warner (R), cast the dissenting vote, but in an encouraging sign for advocates, three Republicans voted in favor of giving the District a full voting member in the House: Susan Collins of Maine, George Voinovich of Ohio and Norm Coleman of Minnesota."

"A question in your nerves is lit, yet you know there is no answer fit." To the consternation of many, David Chase ends eight years and six seasons of The Sopranos with a cut-to-black and (more problematically, to my ears) Journey's "Don't Stop Believing." (Obviously, I preferred the soundtrack to AJ's exploding SUV.) I too thought the cut was a bit abrupt at first, but, after awhile, it grew on me. Life goes on at the Sopranos compound much as it has this past age, with a piano hanging ominously over Tony's head and Carm, Meadow, and even the recently-awakening AJ all once again at peace with his ill-gotten mobster gains, thanks to the "Made in America" trifecta of denial, materialism, and onion rings. Six seasons of talk therapy notwithstanding, people on The Sopranos (as in our world) never tended to change much, nor did they usually receive any comeuppance for their bad behavior (although Phil Leotardo might have something to say about that.) So Tony, still the king of his castle for now, blasting Steve Perry and looking over his shoulder, seems as good a way to end the show as any. If you'd prefer to see him go down in a hail of bullets, you can imagine it thus. More likely, to my mind, is he either ended up like Johnny Sack, withering away in prison, or Uncle Junior, withering away out of prison. Either way, the larger world ultimately has little use for Tony's deeds and misdeeds, and will eventually forget him as it forgets everything. (As Tony lamented several times, "What ever happened to Gary Cooper?") Nevertheless, as The Sopranos often reminded us, the end can come at any moment -- and it will come -- so enjoy the good times and take what solace from life as you can, be it from a family of ducks in your swimming pool, a Beamer that gets 28 miles in the city, or a nerve-wracking family dinner at Holsten's.

"Hemmed in by term limits that will force him to leave office after the 2009 municipal election, Bloomberg seems to be searching for new worlds to conquer. With Eliot Spitzer just inaugurated as New York's first Democratic governor in 12 years, there is only one elective job soon to be vacant for a politician with Bloomberg's bent for executive leadership -- and its home office is on Pennsylvania Avenue." In Salon, Walter Shapiro wonders if Mayor Mike Bloomberg is considering an independent run in 2008. Well, I'd prefer Hizzoner to everyone in the Republican field, but don't really imagine myself leaving the Dem fold to vote for him.

"Dmitri Trenin, deputy director of the Carnegie Endowment's Moscow center, put it well in an insightful article in Foreign Affairs, published a year ago. 'Until recently,' he wrote, 'Russia saw itself as Pluto in the Western solar system, very far from the center but still fundamentally a part of it. Now it has left that orbit entirely. Russia's leaders have given up on becoming part of the West and have started creating their own Moscow-centered system.'" With Dubya on the road for the G8 summit, Slate's Fred Kaplan surveys the state of US-Russian relations, concluding that "something is happening...[but w]e're not -- or at least there's nothing inevitable about our becoming -- enemies."

Joel Lobenthal of the NY Sun: "As Gamzatti, Gillian Murphy imprinted infallibly etched images of pride, love, and ruthless will. She has studied the role so thoroughly and respectfully that even when she brings her own time and culture to Gamzatti's rarified reactions and body language, they don't coarsen her performance, but rather add to its vitality. Ms. Murphy has refined her natural facility for turning, so that her multiple fouettes in the Pas d'Action coda were smooth as silk, and her pirouettes in her last act solo, followed by an echoing spiral into the upper body, were mesmerizing." Or, says Jennifer Dunning of the NYT: "Once again Ms. Murphy made Gamzatti as pitiable a creature as she is evil, but this is a ballerina who needs a substantial work created for her." Yes, it's ABT's summer season time at the Met, and once again Gill is rocking the house. I've caught her in Othello and The Dream (that's her as Titania at right) thus far, and both times she was grand. If you're in the NYC area and looking for an evening out, check the listings -- you won't be disappointed.

"I think public officials need to know if they are going to step over the line, there are going to be consequences...[What Libby did] causes people to think our government does not work for them." A sadly necessary Capitol corruption update: As you no doubt heard, earlier in the week Scooter Libby was sentenced to thirty months in jail for his lies and evasions in the Valerie Plame case. (Libby has asked for a delay of the sentence, which probably won't happen. And E.J. Dionne evaluates GOP sentiment for a pardon here -- for now, the White House remains mum on the subject.) Meanwhile, on our side of the aisle, pretty obviously corrupt Democratic rep William Jefferson, he with the thousands of dollars stashed in the freezer, is indicted on 16 counts of racketeering, money laundering, and obstruction of justice, mostly involving bribes offered and taken from West African business and political officials. Jefferson is fighting the charges, but the House -- wisely -- has already moved against him, opening an ethics inquiry into him and setting the stage for his expulsion.

"'It's going to be controversial, it's going to be talked-about,' Van Zandt, whose character ran the notorious Bada Bing strip club, told the Los Angeles Times this week." Meanwhile, regarding a criminal held more fondly in the nation's esteem than Libby or Jefferson: One way or another, the end comes for Tony Soprano this Sunday night. I wouldn't presume to guess what doom David Chase et al have in store for Tony in the final hour, although I suspect it'll be something he -- and we -- didn't see coming.

"'Now, if Gen. Meade can complete his work so gloriously prosecuted thus far, by the litteral or substantial destruction of Lee's army,' Lincoln wrote, 'the rebellion will be over." Trevor Plante, a researcher for the Discovery Channel, discovers a lost handwritten note penned by Lincoln after Gettysburg in the National Archives. Meade did not complete his work, of course -- like McClellan before him, he remained overcautious with the Army of the Potomac, prompting Lincoln's wrath in an unsent letter dated a week after the discovered note: "My dear general, I do not believe you appreciate the magnitude of the misfortune involved in Lee's escape. He was within your easy grasp, and to have closed upon him would, in connection with our other late successes, have ended the war. As it is, the war will be prolonged indefinitely. Your golden opportunity is gone, and I am distressed immeasureably because of it."

I know, I know. This ship has sailed, with its filthy hoard of ill-gotten box office lucre already stashed under decks, so get to Knocked Up and Ocean's Thirteen already. At this point you really don't need me to tell you that Gore Verbinski's Pirates of the Caribbean III: At World's End, despite having Johnny Depp and $100 million in special effects at its command, was a bloated, washed-up, and mostly boring two hours of needless exposition and empty spectacle. But, there it is. One might remember that I kinda loathed the second Pirates movie last summer, and that was with a stash of bootlegged spirits and a good woman at my side to help relieve the remorseless tedium. So, why did I even bother seeing At World's End? Well, Stephanie Zacharek of Salon summed it up perfectly: "[A]t this point, the 'Pirates' franchise is essentially collecting a tax from moviegoers: See it and like it, matey, or you'll be out of step with the whole universe! And who wants that?" Well, I paid my movie-tax tribute, you bottom-line buccaneers and covetous corsairs, now avast with ye.

So, as you may or may not remember if you labored your way through Dead Man's Chest, this installment of the Pirates franchise begins with Captain Jack Sparrow (Depp) among the recently deceased, or at least trapped in the pirate Underworld that is Davy Jones' Locker, while the rest of the team (Orlando Bloom, Keira Knightly et al) finds they must band together with first-film villain Capt. Barbossa (Geoffrey Rush) to break Sparrow out, Jabba's-palace style. But before that plot resumes, we witness a series of grisly civilian hangings undertaken by the East India Company's Big Bad (Tom Hollander), who now has the supernatural man-squid Davy Jones (Bill Nighy) in his thrall. (It's a long story.) These executions happen not only to weed out the pirate insurgency and win the war on (naval) terror but, more ominously, to provoke a particular seafaring ditty in the unwashed masses, one that, once uttered, must provoke a meeting of the Pirate Council, whose nine lords are known by their special Pieces of Eight. But, let's not forget, there's also the matter of an enchanted compass on Jack's person which points the way to one's heart's desire, and, for that matter, a magical heart thumping in a special chest that grants power over Davy Jones, and some very important charts on the person of Lando-ish pirate Chow Yun-Fat, and an undead monkey and a scorned sea-goddess and Gareth from The Office and...oh, I give up already. Just go see the movie. Or better yet, don't.

To be fair, At World's End isn't as depressing or disappointing an action-packed threequel as, say, The Matrix: Revolutions, if only because expectations were so much lower heading into these already-muddy waters. And, 'tis true, Pirates of the Caribbean III is a marginally better film than the last outing -- Instead of beating you into submission with blunt, numbing spectacle, this film mostly just tries to exposition you to death, which strangely enough I found preferable. Still, this is a bad film. Even Depp, who is an inordinately gifted actor who can make almost anything watchable, starts to grate here (as, alas, does Geoffrey Rush.) In fact, Depp's once-fresh and funny mannerisms as Jack Sparrow have badly calcified by this point -- at times, particularly when the movie steals a page or three from Being John Malkovich, he looks like he's just phoning in his Hunter schtick. (For their part, Bloom and Knightley, pretty as they are, have no other schtick. It's Legolas and Love, Actually, all over again.)

A few recent additions to the trailer bin: Will Smith finds a lot of alone time in New York City in the way-over-the-top teaser for Francis Lawrence's I am Legend (which looks nothing like the Richard Matheson novella and only slightly more like the last version, Charlton Heston's The Omega Man); Denzel Washington and Russell Crowe, sporting Zodiac-era duds and dos, go mano a mano (again) in the trailer for Ridley Scott's American Gangster (also with Chiwetel Ejiofor, Carla Gugino, and Josh Brolin); and Jodie Foster gets all Bernie Goetz up in here -- much to the dismay of Terrence Howard -- in the new trailer for Neil Jordan's The Brave One. Update: Ok, one more. President William Hurt is shot! (Or is he?) And secret servicemen Dennis Quaid and Matthew Fox, along with a Zapruderish Forest Whittaker, Sigourney Weaver, and others, must get to the bottom of it all in the new trailer for Pete Travis's Vantage Point.

"Before Rickey Green, a former NBA all-star, played with Mr. Obama in a 2004 Senate campaign fund-raiser, 'I didn't think he could play at all, to be honest with you,' Mr. Green said. But 'he's above average,' for a pickup player, Mr. Green said. 'He's got a nice little left-hand shot and some knowledge of the game.'" Baracksketball? A NYT piece from last week examines Barack Obama's fondness for the court. "Mr. Obama is left-handed, and his signature move is to fake right and veer left, surprising players used to guarding right-handed competitors." Hey, that's my move!

At any rate, my own appreciation for basketball-playing progressive presidential candidates is well-documented. In fact, this reminded me of a similar discussion about Al Gore on Meet the Press in 1999: "'What left Gore's hands and arrived at the basket was quite often, well, a brick, clanging off the rim or ricocheting off the backboard with regularity.' Jim Hudson, a high school teammate, adds, 'He tended to like the limelight. If he passed it to him to try and get something going, to get a better shot inside, Al would simply go ahead and shoot. When the ball got to him, that's as far as it got.'" Global warming or no, would you really want a chucker in the White House in 2008?

Breaking a few weeks ago now, AICN claims to have the skinny on the initial casting of Zach Snyder's version of Watchmen. Rumored as the Nite-Owl, Patrick Wilson of The Alamo and Little Children. (He's a bit buff for the role, frankly. I'd expected someone a little more gone to seed, like John Cusack or even Tom Hulce.) As Doctor Manhattan, Neo himself, Keanu Reeves. (Um, ok. I don't really see that working. Then again, I don't really see anyone else working either, this side of Gollum-style CGI) And, as Ozymandias, much-avowed Watchmen fan Jude Law. (That's pretty good, although somebody like Aaron Eckhart would be even better.) That's it so far, other than that Snyder -- who won't deny these casting rumors -- has promised he'd get Gerard Butler of 300 in there somewhere. (Why bother? I don't remember any character who's supposed to YELL...ALL...THE...TIME.) At any rate, that means Simon Pegg as Rorschach is still a possibility, if one that is very, very remote.

"The man in me will hide sometimes to keep from bein' seen, but that's just because he doesn't want to turn into some machine." Or something like that. Obviously, I've been taking a break from the Ghost for a few weeks (although, as per the norm, that didn't much upset the thousands of comment spammers -- they still love the site, want to borrow my templates, have their own sites about infinitis, pr0n, prescription drugs, etc. etc.) And, since I'm off to my ten-year college reunion this weekend, I won't be posting much for the next few days yet. But, I figured I should pop my head in and say hello. So, hello. Hope everyone else is having a grand summer thus far. For what it's worth, I do hope to return to a normal schedule around here at some point...we'll see.