WAY TO GO RYNO: Happened to tune into Ryne Sandberg's Hall of Fame induction speech while pounding away on an elliptical machine at our health club. Wow. One of the great speeches I've ever heard. A touch sanctimonious, a ton ambitious, and incredibly inspiring. Interesting to me that, in the past 24 hours, I've been deeply inspired by 1) an indie filmmaker who made a post-cool film about an uncool Idaho kid and 2) an ever-balding big-leaguer who just made a speech about character and respect. Unlikely bedmates, eh? Maybe I'm just very receptive to inspiration right now...?

A quick GoogleNews search revealed precious little written yet about Ryno's speech, but I have to believe that's gonna change tomorrow. When the sports hacks and cultural critics come back to their laptops, they've gotta weigh in on the Sandberg speech. It was a biggie, a "goosebumper" as my dad would say.

I'M EITHER CRAZY OR LONELY: This is one of the dumbest news stories I've ever seen. When a Muslim extremist copycats Muslim extremists, protesting against a war that was brought on by the acts of Muslim extremists, of course it's fucking connected. What's the point of this story if not to tar and feather Tony Blair? Fucking A.

I was a guy that loved to read Noam Chomsky, subscribe to Utne Reader, go see Michael Moore movies, and laugh along with Janeane Garofalo at how stupid the bible-banging Republicans were. And yet since 9/11 I've felt like the whole Left has just missed the boat completely. It's shameful.

There is a dispersed global army of nutballs who want to exterminate "infidels." In this mission, they're all connected. They're trained and financed, to the extent that either of these things matters. Maybe W. doesn't have the right idea, but I don't see anybody else with any viable plans for how to deal with this right now. Instead I see a bunch of dummies thrilled about being able to trumpet the fact that some Muslim dumbfuck who TRIED TO FUCKING BLOW UP INNOCENT PEOPLE ON PURPOSE says he's not directly connected to Osama Bin Laden. Who cares what he says. Don't we see the writing on the wall?

As Napoleon Dynamite would say, "Don't be an IDIOT."

THE NAPOLEON EXPLOSION: Did anybody else love NAPOLEON DYNAMITE as much as I did?

It's one of those oddball first movies from a young director that, despite all odds, gets made and then gets relatively big.

Here's the story: Napoleon -- the offbeat, awkward kid in your high school math class who drew centaurs in his notebook -- struggles to make connections in a small town in Idaho. The movie meanders through explorations of his family relationships, his friendships, his social currency, and his foray into romance. The whole deal coalesces around his friend Pedro's run for class president. I found the movie charming, hilarious, memorable, and inspirational. It's one of those rare movies that I'll buy on DVD and watch in bits and pieces for some time to come.

And lately I've been reading interviews -- with Jon Heder, who plays the title character, and with Jared Hess (yep) who wrote and directed -- that have charmed me even more and reminded me that good art is often made mostly for the artist, and any good or bad that happens beyond that is luck, timing, and not particularly important.

A little more than a year ago, I took a look at the Paris Hilton phenomenon, and created a presentation that suited my current line of work: PARIS HILTON RULES -- WHAT TEEN MARKETERS CAN LEARN FROM A DRUNKEN HEIRESS. I'm thinking I should apply that same prism to the Napoleon craze. There's a lot of elemental stuff in the movie and its popularity, stuff that might serve as a handy reminder to marketers about the preciousness, irony, and purity that constitute today's teen zeitgeist.

I was talking to a guy in a cab a few weeks ago, a guy who happens to sell high school class rings. We were swapping stories about how we ended up doing what we do (I help brands communicate more effectively with American teens). Both of us, if you believe what we said to each other, found something special and important about staying connected to the teen years, and had managed to blend our generally free market capitalist occupations with this conceit. It's a balancing act, holding this lifestage as sacred while using a commercial viewfinder to analyze it. And yet when something manages to tap into the zeitgeist, to make us stand still long enough to nod, tear up, and laugh like hell, the commerce almost seems an afterthought, more like a celebration than an exploitation. That's how it's supposed to work.

FIXING THE POEM: So I tweaked the poem in an e-mail to a friend. Maybe this is better...

SO IT GOES
When I think
we are all going to die
and so who cares
if we feel a little sick
from stress along the way --
that's when I realize
stress is nothing
in the face of mortality --
and then I remember
we feel sick mostly
because of mortality.

So what kills us
can save us?
Why does it have to hurt
so much to be saved?

DOWN IN THE PARK: Here's our "big boy," CJ, showing off his torso at Millennium Park a couple weekends ago.

 

LICKY: CJ calls his little brother Licky (derived from Mom and Dad calling him "Mikey"). I just call him cute. Here's the view from above when I'm holding him upside down...snapped by my neighbor Jeremy, and futzed with in Picasa. Love it.

 

VICE-VERSA VERSE: Some more fragmented poetry from the most all-over-the-place blogger you know.

SO IT GOES
When I think we are
all going to die
so who cares if we feel
a little sick from stress
along the way --
next I realize stress
is nothing in the face
of mortality and then
I remember
we feel sick
because of mortality.

What kills us
saves us.
God how it hurts
to be saved.

MY MEDIA OF LATE: It's really fun getting so many comments of late. Thanks to all of you, even the dissenters and disagree-ers. I love it.

Man have I been loving ENTOURAGE this season. It's my favorite show since ARRESTED DEVELOPMENT and/or LARRY SANDERS. Jeremy Piven is a genius as Ari. And frankly, I didn't much care for Piven before this. I'd seen him out and about around Chicago, and he always seemed kind of like an ass. Perhaps this role was made for him. He's absolutely masterful, and a highlight of every episode. Boom!

Am reading Bill Sammons' MISUNDERESTIMATED, which is more or less a tribute to the presidentiary skills of Bush 43. I'm not sure if it's journalism -- there are many who think of Sammon as a house organ for the White House -- but it sure is a fun read. Also just finished SEE NO EVIL by former CIA operative Bob Baer. While it's not clear that Baer is a partisan of any kind, and he seems not a fan of any politicians, what I got from the book is that much of what happened behind the scenes in the Clinton Administration is we took our eyes off the ball in the Middle East. Baer doesn't do either Bush any favors, either. Bottom line is it's a great look into the clandestine service as it used to run in the Middle East, not to mention a remarkably breezy read. Next up for me, a touch lighter, is Buzz Bissinger's THREE NIGHTS IN AUGUST, a blow-by-blow account of a St. Louis Cards-Chicago Cubs series from a couple seasons ago, written in collaboration with Cards skipper Tony LaRussa (who I've never much been a fan of, given his general humorlessness).

What are you reading and liking? Watching?

POKER FACE: Taking a page from my brother Eric's book, I've been dabbling in online poker of late. (Very low stakes, just as a time killer.) Anyhow, I snapped this pic of myself late-night while I played in an online "sit 'n' go" tourney on my last biz trip. Couple beers from the mini-bar. Kinda fun. Right?

 

BASHING BUSH FOR BEING BUFF: I found this commentary on W's devotion to exercise...hilarious. What a grump. I admire 43's commitment to fitness and an early bedtime, and I only wish I had his discipline. After all, if he can do it we all can, right? I mean, c'mon. He doesn't just give lip service to his values, he lives them. Granted, his priorities may not be everyone's. But how can you fault a guy for living out his beliefs? The answer is, you can fault him if you hate his beliefs, I guess. But who spends time getting mad at a guy who's commited to exercise and fitness. I'm laughing and flummoxed and curious, all at once. Oh, and ten pounds overweight, at least, since I chose to play online poker last night while drinking beer, rather than hit the elliptical trainer. Ah, well.

CROSS-COUNTRY: Just flew in to Chicago (from L.A.) yesterday, and am about to start packing for a flight to Orlando this afternoon. Meanwhile I've got a three-year-old in the basement watching BLUE'S CLUES and an eight-month-old up here in the bedroom with me watching BABY EINSTEIN. (It's our morning ritual. While Mommy and Daddy get showers, the munchkins get their video fix.) Mikey is absolutely hilarious, crawling around and cooing and getting into everything. He's unloading the dry cleaning bag right now, giving occasional glances up at the TV.

Speaking of TV, looks like I might be on a national morning show next week. More details if/when they become available.

HOLLYWEIRD: Hate to make yet another negative post in a row -- but what can Sandra Bullock be thinking? I've never been a fan, but still, how can this plain little lass-next-door go off and marry a twice-divorced biker-guy whose last significant girlfriend was a porn star?

FILE UNDER WHO CARES: In dingy apartments everywhere rock critics are pleasuring themselves.

JUST STAND VERY STILL AND MAYBE THEY WON'T HURT US: It's true -- standing up to a bully puts you in immediate danger of getting socked in the mouth. But it's also the only way to get the bully to back off eventually. Giving him flowers or ignoring him while he socks you in the mouth -- not an effective strategy. (In other words, what a stupid study.)

Come to think of it, that "bury your head in your hands and don't move" thing is what they suggest when confronted by an angry bear. But bears are much bigger than us, and so it's our only hope. Not the case with terrorists, or at least that's what I hope. I see the terrorism problem as more like ants. It may take a long time to get rid of 'em, and you may always see an ant or two sneaking in along the floorboards, but you can't just decide to coexist with 'em in your house.

BUMPER STICKER ELITISM: I think I'm coining a phrase: bumper sticker elitism. It's my name for the blue-state-of-mind folks who ride along scolding everyone with their stupid bumper stickers, most of which can be summarized as "Look at me, the person in this car -- I'm smarter than you!"

Can't think of any right this second (I had like four I wanted to write about, but I've forgotten 'em now, on accounta old age), but I feel like I'm seeing 'em everywhere. I'll keep my eyes open and list some here.

YOU GOTTA READ THIS: What a great, great story. I think they may have left out the part where the American soldier stands over the now-handcuffed insurgent sniper and says, "How you like me now, bitch," but other than that it sounds pretty accurate.

LIVEBLOGGING ROCKSTAR: So I'm just back from a long day of work, and there it is again: ROCKSTAR: INXS. What is this show, on every night? Anyways, I'll liveblog it for the next few minutes.

Some chick, apparently named Tara Sloan, just rocked out the INXS's "New Sensation." Seems like she's one of the people who's up for elimination. Three of 'em got singled out, and their penalty -- or their chance for reprieve -- consists of performing an INXS song. Tara...well, she looked kind of hot. She had some good rock poses, but seemed sort of forced. It was sort of cheesy to see some of the INXS guys -- or whoever those kind of chubby balding guys on the side were -- rocking out to a cover of their own song, lip-synching the backing vocals. This show is nothing if not dorky. Dorky and taking itself seriously. I mean, c'mon, what the fuck is Dave Navarro smoking?

Now it's some skinny blonde guy in a wife-beater. He's got a good scratchy-version of the Hutchence voice. Not that charismatic, though. I think Navarro wants to do him.

Oh my God, look at Elton Fariss. What a goof.

Okay, now it's Suzy McNeil, doing some other vapid INXS song. What is this? Yuck. This song blows. Poor her.

And anyway, who wants a chick-singer out front of INXS? I mean, she'd have to be smokin' hot to pull it off.

Clearly one of the INXS guys...the one with the short blonde hair...wants to hook up with this Suzy. He had that weird-uncle smile going when they cut to him.

This song blows. "I was standing...you were there." Whatever. Something about worlds colliding. This is clearly from the Major Sucking period of the INXS career arc.

Oh my God. The band is huddling.

Hello Brooke. Meow.

What kind of booby-prize is it to be the post-Hutchence singer of INXS? I mean, aside from Brian Johnson, when has the second singer ever done anything great in any band? Sure, there must be some examples. But all I keep thinking of is that guy named, like Ripper or something, that took over for Judas Priest. Ripper.

I think the new INXS singer should have a fancy name. Tandy. Tolliver. Nindy Jansen. Shiraz Hollister. Something like that.

Oh lord, now a BIG BROTHER commercial. If I were ever single again and on a dating website, I'd make one of the criteria for people I'd date that they hated BIG BROTHER as much as I do.

And now we're back from commercial. Yep, somebody in INXS wants to nail Suzy. She sucks...and she's safe. Now they're on about how serious this is.

And the loser is...Will. He fakes a smile...steps back...and contemplates how much money he's going to make posing for BLUE BOY once his contract with Mark Burnett expires in 2080.

Now Will does some ass-kissing to the INXS geezers. He's good at it. Awww. Maybe they should have kept him.

And now one of the Gibb brothers seems to be kissing Will's ass back. Or is that a husky George Michael?

Brooke Burke looks friggin' ridiculous. Look, sister, you're all about cleavage. Either bring it or go home.

Enough. Enough.

I hope they get McEnroe to do a cameo on this show, preferably as a backup singer.

GAWKER STALKER, CAMEL-STYLE: Some celebrity sightings from this NY trip...

Saw Michael Clarke Duncan, Pauly Shore, and Scarlett Johansson making their dramatic entrances to the NY premiere of THE ISLAND on Monday night.

And then last night I'm almost positive I saw Pistons' coach Larry Brown and his wife strolling across Sixth Ave. at around 11PM or so. Hmmm...thought he was due in Detroit today?

SO BAD IT'S BAD: I flipped channels a bit last night and happened past ROCK STAR: INXS a few times. I say a few times because it was so painful to watch that I couldn't bring myself to actually stick on it for any period of time. It was really difficult to decide who was more ridiculous: Brooke Burke (the helium-boobed Valerie Bertinelli of our day), Tim Farriss (who is/was apparently a guitarist in INXS at one point but is now something of a fat Elton John wannabe with a Justin Timberlake wig), Dave Navarro (the white Prince, a curious-eyed elf with a pubic goatee and Madonna-fake elocution), or the band of amateur singers who actually give a shit about joining a marginal has-been band like INXS. The show is a MCENROE-calibre trainwreck that's so bad it's bad. Mark Burnett's comet may finally be sputtering.

On a related note, I rather enjoyed the season-opener of the new SURREAL LIFE. That show is saying something about our celebrity-addled culture, and I think it's this: Take a look at these idiots and stop idolizing them. They suck! Seriously, my goal with this season (as with previous seasons) will be to play the needle-in-a-haystack game of discovering which of the cast members doesn't entirely suck. My current front-runner: the BMX guy, whatever his name is.

LANGUAGE IS A VIRUS, BUT WRITING IS MEDICINE: My pal Trisha linked to a cool site with little "word toys" for those of us who like that kind of thing. Anyway, I went there and started playing with this thing called a "cut-up machine" and, needing some text to have it cut up, I typed the following:

I love the world. I love my life and all the people and things in it. I sometimes have trouble falling asleep because I'm afraid to turn off my life for fear it won't come back on. I guess that I write because it feels like I'm making a deal with eternity to let something of mine be immortal.

Anyway, I was so pleased with what came out of my keyboard with no thought or preparation that I figured I'd toss it in here, my little eternity-space.

ADRIFT BUT NEVER LOST: Saw a piece on DATELINE last night about a father and his two young sons who capsized their boat on a fishing trip and survived a fairly major ordeal adrift at sea.

The two boys managed to grab onto a light post with the help of their father, and they clung there until a boat miraculously happened by and picked them up.

The father, on the other hand, couldn't make it up the light post on his own and, sensing the futility of simply floundering in the cold water, made a desperate bid to float/swim his way to an island way off in the distance. (I can't imagine how hard it must have been to leave his boys!)

Nearly 24 hours later he was found miles away from his sons, not to mention miles away from the island he thought he could get to. According to computer models, he survived out there longer than he should have--given his age, the water temperature, and the fact that he had a collapsed lung from a previous car accident.

It was a gripping tale, but my favorite part by far came when the father was asked about how he managed to keep his cool out there, how he managed to keep faith that he would be rescued.

"You're either motivated by love or fear," the father said. "And I chose love."

Goddamn right. That's it! I've written before (and talked at length to friends) about my idea that peace comes when you can reduce your life into a single choice in a single moment, with the question "what is the most graceful choice you can make in the present circumstances" as your guide.

This dad said it way more succinctly!

GOING MOBILE: Off to New York today for the rest of the week, flying back on Friday. Will probably weigh in here later from Red Carpet or the Hilton.

ANGRY: So now it's London. I don't have anything profound to say (not that I ever do), other than that there's no way to negotiate with people who feel that indiscriminate bombing of civilians is the way to make a point. This requires police action on a large scale and, in my opinion, ongoing preemptive action by our military to root out terrorists and shut down terrorist hiding places. Fuck their demands, whatever they may be. If there are a million people like this, let's go get 'em all.

ONE DAY: I post here at various times and in various contexts, but here's one thing I've noticed: I tend to post more often when I'm really busy. Odd, eh? I think this place is like an exhaust valve for me, and when the pressure builds up I run over here and let it fly.

Thing is I hardly ever really let it fly. It's more like I sort of let some stuff fall out of me, a little at a time. Maybe it's more like a spit valve on the trumpet of my life, this l'il blog.

I was thinking about freshman year of college this morning. I roomed with my best friend, and he and I used to just sit around awash in melancholy, smoking clove cigarettes and listening to the same few records over and over. One of our favorites was by an Aussie band called The Church. (They had a flash hit with "Under the Milky Way," so maybe you remember 'em.) Anyway, they have this song called "One Day," and there's a line in it that me and my pal used to sing along with extra loud every time. It goes, "We run so hard and always end up...in the same place." It's a bit of Sisyphus, right? And it seemed so appropriate to the wake/school/drink/sleep routine of early college. And then again this morning, as I pulled into the parking lot with my high-priced cofee, blood starting to boil in anticipation of the deadlines and stress, it came to me. Always ending up in this same place...and always with the escape fantasies...