Al Franken...the second funniest guy from Minnesota

So my faithful leftist friends, and those righties who happily tolerate my anti-American, pinko, gay-loving, whale saving, tree hugging crap, I bring you good tidings. Amidst the reams of conservative rhetoric being spewed forth on the American book-buying public by the likes of uber-personalities Hannity, Savage and Limbaugh comes a great read by one of the few liberal superstars....Saturday Night Live's own Al Franken.

The Truth...with Jokes is the follow-up to his well-received and best selling Lies and the Lying Liars That Tell Them. I received Al's latest work as a Christmas present from the lovely Brook, who knows the way to a liberal's heart is through Amnesty International, I mean his brain.

I have to say, as much as I enjoyed Lies, The Truth is even better. While our favorite Harvard fellow and his team of fact checkers still delight in pointing out the gross hypocrisy of the w., Rummy, Uncle Dick, Wolfowitz (no nickname for this bastard) and Condi, Al also takes time to dissect timely stories both known (Terry Schiavo) and largely unknown (working conditions on the island of Saipan, a U.S. territory whose business interests have been in bed with Tom DeLay for years).

While Lies, generally speaking, was full of bile, Al takes the time with this work to fully flesh out issues of the day....and then point out how this administration doesn't really give two shites about us normal, everyday type Americans.

The book starts with Al's reflections on the fateful election of 2004 and explores how w.'s three pillars of Fear, Smears and Queers helped deliver the presidency. He scoffs at the idea of a Presidential mandate with 51 % of the popular vote.

Al also explores w.'s plans to privatize Social Security in order to "save" it. Along the way pointing out the numbers being used to "prove" Social Security's coming insolvency to be based on a life-expectancy of 150 with retirement age remaining at 67. That's an 83-year retirement for the non-math majors and, paraphrasing Al's words, we ain't getting there without stem-cell research.

Time and again Al is able to point out w.'s growing disconnect with regular folk as a by-product of his being beholden to corporate interest. The usual suspects are named, including Halliburton of course. Al also takes time to lob a few shots at the truly awful lobbyist Jack Abramoff, currently under federal indictment.

Ann Coulter, a few snide comments aside, is generally left alone in this work, but Al does point out the kid-gloves treatment Uncle Dick and Rummy received from the generally respected Tim Russert when it came to unfolding events in Iraq.

Iraq is one of the key issues of the book, naturally. Al points out the current administration's pre-occupation with the Iraqi invasion, even in the days following 9/11, as well as the administration's complete mis-handling of funds, Iraqi citizens, enemy soldiers, American soldiers, honesty with the media and pretty much every other aspect of Iraq in which our president, whether we voted for him or not, has let us down.

Unlike his last book, Al doesn't use his and our time to just complain either. While his ideas aren't by any means new or ground-breaking (elimination of the $90,000 cap on income taxes as well as the $5 million estate tax cap) he does show us the capacity for being a man of constructive ideas. That will bode well should he follow through on his plans to run for the Senate in the state of Minnesota in 2008.

So...I liked this book. Al has worked as a professional writer for years, so the writing is tight and flows very well. His army of fact-checkers leaves one with confidence the information being delivered is reliable. And face it...Al is a funny guy. He claims to only make two real jokes, and one bonus joke, in the book, but that in itself is a joke. There are few pages not containing at least one laugh. And they're not all mean-spirited laughs either...you hearing this Savage?

So treat yourself and pick-up The Truth...with Jokes the next time you pass your neighborhood bookstore. You never know...you might be reading a future senatorial platform.

Annuntio vobis gaudium magnum! Habemus Papam!

You know how when you ask someone a question and the answer happens to be yes they won't always answer yes. Instead they'll ask a question whose answer is so obviously yes, it means the answer to your question is also yes.

Here's two of the more popular ones:

Does a wild bear shit in the woods?

Does the Pope wear a funny hat?

(Incidentally, my dad's favorite is "Does a polar bear have cold balls?" I haven't heard anyone else ever use that one, but I can't believe he made it up. Let me know if you're aware of the lineage of this little colloquial.)

Anyway, people who say these things think they're sorta funny. The people who think they're really funny will mix the two up. Their query:

Does the Pope shit in the woods?

Now this is ironic because, and I'm speculating here, the Pope probably does NOT, in fact, shit in the woods. But it's funny due to its inflammatory nature through sacrilege. It's like this joke:

Why do ladies love Jesus?

Wait....


Wait....


Cause he's hung like this. (Hold your arms out as you say this.)

Get it? Cause he was hung on a cross see. And then hung takes on a double meaning to suggest large penius size. That's why ladies love him. Not the whole Messiah/Son of Man thing. It's a big dick joke...but not for a good cause. (UCB reference...only cool people are gonna get that.)


Funny right. Cause of sacrilege. I mean, I find it repugnant and I'm sure whomever created this joke will be, or already is, burning in Hell. Right along with anyone who ever repeats the joke. Except for me, of course, as I told it not to be funny (which it obviously isn't) but merely to let you know such filth is out there. I mean my god! Where has society gone these days. It's like this whole thing with Terri Sch....you know this really isn't the point, why must you sidetrack me?

The point is this. Why doesn't it get mixed up the other way? Here's what I mean. From now on, I want each of you to ask the following question whenever you are asked something to which the answer is yes.

Does a wild bear wear a funny hat?

It'll throw people for a loop, but eventually you'll be seen as an innovator.

I'm just handing this shit out for free people. Come to the blog for a semi-regular dose of feel-good socialism.

[Editor's Note: The author isn't really a Jesus person and actually finds that joke a little amusing. Let he who is without sin cast the first stone at the author. No, Mr. Ashcroft you most certainly do NOT qualify.]

Orange Ya Glad I Didn't Say Apple?

Old joke...and now, my return.

I really hate artificial orange. I can't tolerate it on any level. In food, I'm talking here. I have an orange sweater I enjoy very much. That said, I wouldn't eat it.

But orange candy, gum, soda (when I still drank it), even jelly is just awful to my face. I do not like it one little bit.

The worst? That f-ing orange drink at McDonald's. I think that's even the official name...Orange Drink. I've been told it's Hi-C. Doesn't faze me a bit, I will not drink it.

Don't really like any cooked fruit either. Of any kind I'm saying. I make exceptions for Peach Cobbler and Bananas Foster. B...A-N-A-N-A-S!

Is rhubarb a fruit? It's sweet like fruit. I like rhubarb pie. Mmmmm.....

But no apple pie. I won't say I totally swear it off. I've had some good apple pie. Some fine cherry pie also, but only with damn fine coffee. (Obligatory T.P. reference. You only understand if you're cool.)

Is pumpkin a fruit? Surely not.

Maybe I do like cooked fruit. Huh?

But definitely not artificial orange. Not even O.J. from concentrate.

Quick joke: Why should everyone drink apple juice?


Wait for it...



Keep waiting....


Cause O.J. will kill you. Hah!

OK....bye.

"Take Another Little Piece of My Heart Now Baby"

It is good to be among you once again my friends. I humbly apologize for my absence.

So, since last we spoke the world has once again celebrated the birth of Jesus Christ, the lord and savior for nearly half of the planet Earth. Be sure to tune back in next week when you can read my post-Christmas blog and, interestingly enough, my pre-Christmas musings.

In the interim, I'd like to tell you about a film I recently had opportunity to see. Thanks to Pipes, my favorite DVD pirater (or entrepreneur for the less discerning), I was able to see and now subsequently review the Michael Bay "epic" The Island.

Now two words from the preceding sentence would normally automatically preclude me from even considering watching a particular film. Those words being, of course, "Michael" and "Bay." For those not in the know, incidentally, I consider Bay's Armageddon to be, pound for pound and dollar for dollar, the worst film ever made in the history of time.

[Editor's Note: The author realizes, not having seen every film ever made, making such a statement is on some level ludicrous. That said, Armageddon does really suck. And yet....Don't wanna close my eyes. Don't wanna fall asleep. Cause I'd miss...Aw Fuck!!! Now that g-damned song....Fuckity Fuck!]

You know...actually, it's not even worth mentioning.

So the long and the short of it is I really don't like Michael Bay, not as a filmmaker and if I ever met him probably not as a person. Still, I was intrigued by the premise of this film. Not so intrigued I was willing to lay down 7 bones at the multiplex...or even 99 cents at Schnucks on a Wednesday. But when Pipes offered up a free copy the idea appealed to me on a cinematic and socialistic level. Following me here? Good.

So for those not in the know, and those in the know, The Island stars Ewan McGregor and current Hollywood It-Girl Scarlett Johansson. Interestingly enough, when this film went flatter than a plate of piss with the American movie-going public, Bay blamed the stars for the abysmal performance. That should tell you why Michael Bay totally f-ing blows. Just to recap: Ewan and Scarlett = Cool and not to blame. Michael Bay = Lame and totally to blame for most things short of global warming and apartheid.

Scarlett and Ewan live in a society closed off from a world they believe to have been destroyed by world-wide contamination. They wear the same clothes, are told what to eat, where to work and how to interact with one another. They and everyone they know follow these directives as they share a common dream...winning the lottery and gaining passage to the Island. Each member of this society is told the Island is the last livable place outside their walls. The "winners" are chose at random and given opportunity to go to the island to re-populate the human race. Now like all lotteries there are big ones and little ones. For instance...re-populating with Scarlett Johansson...that's the Powerball. Re-populating with say...Rosie O'Donnell (not in the film) that's a scratch-off where you spend 5 bucks to win a dollar. Bad.
Overseeing this entire process is Dr. Merek, as played by the always great Sean Bean.

We learn, through McGregor's character Lincoln 6 Echo, Dr. Merek's society is not as utopian as he would have everyone believe. Those living in the Merek's institute are not survivors of any contamination, but are instead clones created for the sole purpose of organ donation. Going to the Island is actually a euphemism for getting your liver removed.

You know, why isn't it "an" euphemism? "E" is a vowel. It makes a "u" sound...also a vowel.

From the beginning of the film Merek and the audience realize how different Lincoln 6 Echo is. He has a curiosity not evident in the other "products." This human curiosity is what will lead him to rebellion.

Sound good? Surprisingly...it is. Maybe I've been wrong about Bay all along. This is his first film not produced by Jerry Bruckheimer. Maybe it's Bruckheimer I should have blamed for Bad Boys II.

Then again...maybe not. Even Bassinger had her L.A. Confidential.

[Editor's Note: The author in no way means to suggest The Island is anywhere near the caliber of film L.A. Confidential happens to be. That would again...be ludicrous.]

Okay, where was I? Oh yeah, supporting roles in the film are played by Steve Buscemi and Michael Clarke Duncan, each of whom must have lost a bet to Bay while making the previously mentioned and defamed Armageddon. Actually, Michael Clarke Duncan is in no position to be turning down scripts. Behemoth child-like black man role doesn't come along all that often.

Also in the film is Ethan Phillips, who for my money has gained everlasting fame for his time on TV's Benson.

Oh, there are also two Ewan McGregors and two Scarlett Johanssons. No word on whether they were paid twice.

This really is something of a departure for Michael Bay from the schlock he normally doles out. You see the story and acting in this film actually don't take a backseat to effects, soundtrack, overacting and Ben Affleck with a box of animal crackers. I would guess this is the reason the film failed and from this point forward every Bay film will be mindless crap where everything blows up.

That said, there is one series of explosions in a car chase scene that is pretty cool. Not quite Matrix 2 cool, but pretty cool.

I thought McGregor and Johansson each played their parts well. The roles allowed for a bit of comedy as the clone McGregor and Johansson enter the "real" world.

[Editor's Note: The quotes around real signify the author's belief that many things about this world are not real. For instance, the American electoral process.]

No Aerosmith on the soundtrack. Haven't fully investigated yet as to why not. And I Don't Wanna Miss a Thing....F-ing song. Remember when Aerosmith was all fucked up on drugs and really good. If I were to make a real argument for the de-criminalization of all drugs I wouldn't talk about taxes, or crime rates or prisons full of non-violent offenders guilty only of possession. Nope...I'd bring out the Aerosmith catalog.

So yeah, this film is worth it for free. It might have even been worth the 99 cents. If I were you though, I'd make friends with Pipes the Pirate. Oooh and I'd read this blog every day.

Five Things You Don't Need to Know About Me

Okay, this posting idea comes from my friend Jenn. It's a little get-to-know-ya kind of thing.

Here's how it goes:

[TAG] THE RULES:The first player starts with the topic "5 random/weird facts about yourself." The people who get tagged next need to post an entry about their 5 random facts as well as state these rules clearly. In the end, you must post the names and/or blogs of the 5 people you wish to tag. Leave a comment saying "You are tagged" on their blog and tell them to read your site

Okay....Here We Go!

Fact Numero Uno: At night I will set my alarm clock, but then feel the need to check it over and over again to make sure it is, in fact, set and moreover is set for the proper time. I will check it despite knowing it is set properly. I will check it again even though I've just checked. I will turn off the alarm and then re-set it just to make sure I did it properly the first time. I cannot stop myself from doing this. By the time I've gone to sleep I have set, checked and re-set the alarm at least a dozen times.

Fact Nummer Zwei: I hate the feeling of velvet. Any time I touch velvet I, for reasons totally unknown to me, get the sensation I would imagine having if I were to put said velvet item in my mouth. That is no lie. I touch velvet and the sensation spreads directly to my mouth and it bothers me to know end. Sometimes just looking at something which appears to be made of velvet can cause this sensation. And yet, one of my favorite bands is the Velvet Underground. I don't get it either.

Act-Fay Ee-Thray: If I were half as smart and half as funny as I think I am, I would be the smartest and funniest person to ever live in the history of time. As it is, I am only the smartest and funniest person I've ever met. Can you meet yourself?

Fact-tastic 4: I named every car I ever owned and either wrecked or ran them all into the ground. I have yet to name my Honda Civic anything other than...the Honda, and it is running like John Ashcroft to a Klan meeting.

Obscure bit of Trotter Knowledge #5: I lived in Minnesota for 13 years and never once went skiing, and only attempted waterskiing once. In the land of snow and lakes I only attempted any form of skiing once in my life. Now, I blame my parents and their land of dirt, west-Texas upbringing, but surely I could have piggy-backed with someone for whom the Land of Jesse Ventura and Indian casinos was native land. And now, I am far to fearful of broken limbs and intense levels of embarrassment to learn either form of skiing. It is a gaping hole in my life I fear will never be filled.

OK, the rule is to post 5 other people's names or something. Totally not gonna do that, but I will send out a shout to Jennifer for inspiring this post. You may find her at the following:

thejfo.blogspot.com

Buh-Bye

"Conjunction Junction, What's Your Function?"

Okay faithful readers, it is I your beloved author returning once again to drop some knowledge.

In case you missed it, the fine folk over at the Webster's Dictionary company have released their word of the year. What might the award-winning word be? Why, it's infosnacking. Infosnacking is apparently any sort of internet action that would be considered non-life altering. I'm serious here friends. The newspaper article stated a few things one might consider to be infosnacking would be checking one's e-mail, searching on google.com, checking sports scores or online shopping.

Okay, so the secret word of the year is infosnacking. And we all know what to do when somebody says the secret word of the year don't we?

Scream!!

That's right! Every time someone says the secret word, scream real loud! Let's try it.

Say there friend, what you doing right now?

Checking on the latest brilliant entry in my beloved author's blog. You know, just a little...infosnacking.

Aaah!!!Yay!!!Woo-Hoo!!!!Yippee!!!Yee-Haw!!!!Skatchamagowza!!!!

Nice work kids. Incidentally, do you ever just want to scream out loud? Not because you're angry upset or happy, but just because you feel like screaming? It's like the whole Dead Poets' Society mighty yawp thing, only without Ethan Hawke standing on his desk. Anyway....

Oh, the Oxford English Dictionary word of the year was podcast by the by, but that's not really the point to this posting.

The point is, in this day and age where new words are still being created and celebrated all around us, I find it necessary to go to an old set of standbys and spruce them up a bit.

Now we all know what contractions are and we all appreciate how much easier they've made our lives. I mean, just re-read this post and you're bound to find literally pairs and pairs of contractions. Well get ready to see even more in the future, as I've created a new contraction that takes old-school grammar style and brings it into the new millennium.

Henceforth let it be know the words I was will be contracted to read I's!

Yes, I's!

Hear me out folks. Nearly every tense of speech has a first-person contraction. I will becomes I'll. I have becomes I've. I would reads much better as I'd. Would the song really flow as well if it were I am a little teapot? I think f-ing not. So here comes the dawn of a new era, or perhaps error. It's a little classical and it's a little hip-hop. Let's take I's for a spin.

Int. A local apartment

You enters the apartment from an off-stage door

Me: Looking Up. Where you been?

You: I's at the mall all day shopping yo.

Me: Sweet.

Okay, what did ya'll think? Pretty fresh huh? How 'bout this one?

You: What happened to you last night?

Me: Ahh, I's way fucked up!

I really can't say just how much this forth-coming movement in syntax excites me, but I need every one of you to help me get the ball rolling. This is what I propose. From this point on, the words I was are not to be used in conjunction. There is only contraction when it comes to those words. In speech, e-mails, memos and any other form of communication you must use I's and make sure the message is spread around.

I would say avoid using I's in professional writing, but since we all know not to use any contractions in professional writing, it's not even worth bringing up. And come to think of it, I can't say as I can think of a single instance when you'd say I was in any form of professional writing, so the point is moot. (Or the point is mute if you're my dim-witted former boss. Seriously, he said that all the time. It's a mute point? The fuck does that mean?)

So I's is the new I was. My friend the Bertz has suggested the movement be called The I's Have It. I can totally smell what he's steppin' in. In fact, I's just pondering the other day how sharp a chap he is. Did you catch what I did there? I totally used I's as a part of regular speech/writing. That's exactly what I need from each of you. Go forth and enunciate.

Oh and by the by, if you know where skatchamagowza comes from, you are cool than cool...ice cold.

Two Hearts Beat as One (aka When Love Comes to Town Part 2)

If you're reading this first...don't. Read the last post first.

So here is what I mean by excited. Imagine this, if you will.

I'm lying in bed about to go to sleep. Now, I never go to bed before 1 a.m. and I typically have to work at 7 a.m., so sleep is key if I'm to have anywhere near a non-homicidal day.

Now, in order to get to sleep I need to, for the most part, clear my head of thoughts. For those of you who know me, this may seem a daunting task. It's actually pretty easy. But follow me.

Since I've been speaking with Brook more often and talking with her on the phone everyday (Which, incidentally is something I never thought I'd enjoy with anyone, but I do in fact like it.), I find myself more often at night about to get to sleep and then something will happen. I'll think of something Brook said to me, or maybe something I want to tell her about. Then that will lead to me remembering something we did the last time I was in Springfield. Then that leads to thinking about what I want to do the next time she's in Columbia. So all these thoughts start flowing through my mind and I know sleep is out of the question for the next couple of hours at least.

But peep this...it doesn't bother me. Even though I know I'll be tired and cranky and feelin' like shite at work all day, I don't want to stop thinking about Brook. I get all these feelings inside. It's the excitement, but it's also those small levels of fear and anxiety. It's happiness and nervousness. It's all the best feelings that let someone know they are alive and not just living. There is a difference.

So there you have it. That was a bit of a ramble, but here is the gist. I am totally in love with Brook.

So imagine my intense level of pleasure when it was Brook who became the first to say the words aloud. Now the number of people who've told me they love me can be measured literally in the pairs and pairs of people. Now most of those people are related to me and are bound by some sort of cosmic law to say those words, but I generally believe them.

Never has hearing them caused any level of feeling close to what I felt when Brook said them.

So, yes, it is true. The misanthrope you all thought you knew is in love. He is happily in a relationship. Which incidentally has led to the name change of the blog. Any better suggestions are welcome as are answers to this question. What did they call narcissists before Narcissus lived?

I now find myself wanting all these things I used to make fun of in couples. I am thinking of and planning a future that does not include me in the center of the universe. I am in love with Brook.

Oh, by the way everyone, Brook now reads the blog and I am not really certain if this semi-public declaration will cause her any level of...embarrassment is probably the proper word here. So if I tame down these thoughts in the future, know it comes not from a lessening of feeling, but more from a sense of.....well, no word comes to mind, but you know what I mean. It's not like people walk through the mall yelling I love you to their boyfriends and girlfriends.

So here you are faithful readers. This has been a glimpse into my life that I share with you because I am too excited to keep all these thoughts inside my head. I love Brook because she is smart. She is funny. She is kind. She finds me funny and when she doesn't pretends very well. She has great taste in music, books and film. She has that same enthusiasm for things I have. She loves living life in every way. Not just the big exciting ways that become epic tales. She finds the excitement in the smallest, most ordinary everyday things.

OK, I could go on, but you should really just meet her. She is fantastic.

You have a good night.

When Love Comes to Town

OK, readers, now comes the day you have possibly not been waiting for...but surely should have been.

If you've read more than one of my meandering writings on this site, you know my modus operandi is typically riffing on things that either bother or amuse me. I rarely share anything personal, just things I have personally experienced.

Now the reasons for that I couldn't say with any particular level of certainty. I like to think I'm just a private person who keeps his personal stuff to himself. More likely, unfortunately, would be that I'm a little stunted emotionally, possibly a little neurotic (Read possibly there as definitely.) and maybe just a little self-conscious.

Or it could be I never felt as if anything to do with me personally was worth talking or writing about.

Well, happily, in the last few months things have taken a turn. Now, for those of you who've read all my posts, you know I have been seeing a certain young lady by the name of Brook. I told you she and I have had an interesting history. One that seemed to skirt on the borders of substance but never really materialized. You could quote that Sinatra song, but you'd be a boring cliche and I'd be done with you. So no one come back to me with a comment including any lyric or reference to that Sinatra song.

The point is, Brook is someone for whom I've always had a fire burning somewhere in the back on my mind. Yet contact between she and I had grown so infrequent I had grown to the point where I needed a stimuli of some kind to make me think of her.

You following me here? It's not like I ever forgot her. That wouldn't have been possible and if it were, I wouldn't have wanted to. But you have chances at things in life and sometimes they don't work out, or, more tragically, you never take your shot. Regret follows, then some level of acceptance and finally after a time you're able to make the memories of lost opportunities seem happy, or at least less hurtful. Then the only time you think about them it's to play brief rounds of what if?

Is this making sense. I hope so, because that's where I was with Brook. She is someone I knew I'd always have a thing for, but it no longer permeated my thinking. For all I knew she was off married somewhere far away.

Then, through some act of providence that would have me believing in karma if I ever actually did nice things for people, Brook and I cross paths once again. It had been years and yet it took me about three seconds to remember everything I had liked about Brook. And happily enough, she and I were both single at the same time for the first time in....well maybe for the first time since we'd ever met.

Again now, referring to past posts, you know I've since been to her new city of residence for a visit. She has been back to Columbia to see me a couple of times as well. Things have all been going well, very well in fact. However, last I wrote of she and I you learned I was apprehensive about getting too serious too soon. This apprehension did not come from any sort of doubt on my part. I knew I was in love with Brook pretty much from the first words we spoke after meeting back up again that first night. I was, however, concerned about scaring off Brook by acting like a high-school kid.

You see, friends, I can tell if I like a girl pretty much from the first date, or first conversation. Sometimes even by looking at her, but not in that superficial a-hole way. But that further emotional commitment is tough for me. You see I thought I had loved this other girl and it ended in such a spectacularly awful way you would think Shakespeare had orchestrated it the ending beat by beat.

So love comes uneasily for me. The idea of admitting I need someone else as part of my life is sort of scary to me. The idea of putting myself out there and not having the feelings reciprocated is even scarier. So the issue for me here was maybe a little bit of not wanting to admit how much and how fast I totally fell for Brook, and the larger issue was not wanting to put her off by being serious-relationship-guy like right away.

But on the other hand, the more Brook and spoke and when we've been lucky enough to see each other, the more excited I got about the next time. Nothing pervy here either kids.

OK, this post is way long. I'm gonna end here and start part two in like...seconds.

"Good Times Never Seemed So Good"

OK, my readers, I have returned for a second post today. Call me butter because I'm on a roll.

You may recall, or you may not recall, a recent posting about a wee lass we like to call Tiny Tina. Tina is a midget. Tina is a stripper. I saw Tina strip....for entertainment and blog purposes only.

You might recall my finding the idea of midget strippers one of those things that makes America great. That might be over-shooting things a tad. I mean first comes the debate as to America's actual greatness. Incidentally, I believe America to have the capacity for greatness but the tendency of small-mindedness.

Once that debate is settled, assuming America has been declared as truly great, then one must decide how perfect America is. At this point Robin Williams would instruct us to tear pages from our textbook and Ethan Hawke would stand on his desk.

So, my constant caring friends, the question becomes....you know I forgot where I was going with this.

The point is, while Tiny Tina may not have be the Gettysburg Address or Neil Armstrong in terms of global importance, I do feel having seen a midget stripper that I have completed some sort of task on the "obscure things to do before death" checklist. Well folks, add another checkmark to the tally.

Last week at The Blue Note (By the by, if you don't know what the Blue Note is, it is quite likely you and I have never met, so Hello My Friend Hello.) I was give opportunity to see the Black Neil Diamond.

That name means what the act is. It's a black man who sings Neil Diamond songs. Yes, seems after the 200th caucasian lady told this man he sounded just like Neil Diamond, the cash register sounds finally went off in his head. He began touring the nation's VFW halls performing Neil's greatest hits.

This show was fuckin' great! The guy sounded like Diamond. He wore the shiny shirts just like Neil Diamond!

It makes me sad that only a couple of hundred people showed up for the performance, because it truly was a blast. The guy really does sound like a young Neil Diamond, so the music was fun, but the most fun came from how the guy treated the whole experience.

You see, I went and I would imagine most of the others in the audience did as well, expecting to totally goof on the whole thing. Well, Black Diamond turned it back around on the whole audience by letting himself in on the joke. He laughed. We laughed. He sang well. We sang poorly. He danced like Neil. Who can't?

The guy didn't bring a band, so the whole thing played off like karaoke, but you could tell it was all him. Any level of doubt was eliminated with a couple of numbers sans music, or a cappella for the Eminem fans out there. Incidentally, one of the a cappella songs was Soolaimon and it sounded f-ing great.

Name a Neil hit and he played it. Cherry, Cherry? Played it. Song Sung Blue? Played it. Kentucky Woman? Played it. He played the quite amazing Girl, You'll Be a Woman Soon. He spoke of being on the Ellen DeGeneres show and that her favorite song was I Am...I Said. What a coincidence Ellen...that is my favorite Neil song also, and not just for the ellipse.

But did he play Forever in Blue Jeans you ask. Uh...only twice sports fans, including as his sendoff which I will get to in a moment.

If you ever get a chance to see the Black Diamond, I cannot recommend it enough. First off, you'll pay roughly one eighth the cost of a real Neil show. Secondly, the guy is good and he makes it fun. (Which might should have been thirdly, but who's counting?)

The best part of the show other than Black Diamond himself was the way the crowd reacted. Apparently there is some guy in St. Louis who wants to tour as a Neil Diamond tribute act as well. He made contact with the Black Diamond and was accorded permission to perform one song during the show. He was okay, but the best part was he brought a following. There was a dozen guys from St. Louis that went ape-y over this show. They were with drunk as rats or really big fans of Neil. These guys were dancing like wild men, playing the air guitar, screaming out requests...and all of that is just what happened during the show.

In between sets the Black Diamond worked the crowd, taking pictures and shaking hands and the like. These guys had rolls of film with them and used every frame. It was fine and dandy until they each wanted a picture of Black Diamond sitting in their laps. I am not kidding you my pretties. Now, Black Diamond laughed it off and accommodated everyone but I think his jokes of calling security had an under-lying level of seriousness to them.

Finally, during the second playing of Blue Jeans, Neil basically invited anyone who wanted to join him on stage to do so. By the end of the song there were more people on the stage than in the crowd, but the stars were these Neil-Heads. One group was doing that thing you'll see couples do at the beach. No, not that thing. I mean the thing where the guys will be in the water and their ladies will be sitting on their shoulders and the ladies try to knock one another off their perch. The only differences here were no water, and uh...no ladies.

The other group of guys had a choreographed dance routing for the song. Now, I love Forever in Blue Jeans as much as the next guy not part of this group, but I never invented a line dance for it. So I'm clearly either less of a fan, or just a little less weird.

Oh and yes he played Sweet Caroline...four times.

Anyway, that was the Black Diamond experience. I bought myself a t-shirt to commemorate by time as part of the Unreal Neil Tour. I swear to God and I do mean Allah that is the name of his tour, which I believe upgrades to rural casinos next spring.

Until next time friends....we huddle close and hang on to that dream.

Film Review: Capote

I know what each of you is thinking...why isn't Jeff wearing pants? Oh, wait...that's not what you're thinking, that's what everyone in the library is thinking right now. What you're thinking is just where in the heckfire has our wayward author been?

Those are stories for a different blog, faithful readers, but rest assured your scribe has not vanished entirely from this pseudo-world we call the information superhighway, World Wide Web...or as Al Gore calls it...mine.

I mark my triumphant, or at least nominally successful, return with a review of the film Capote, a bio-pic marking the nearly six-year odyssey that was Truman Capote's research and writing of his masterwork, In Cold Blood.

For those not in the know, In Cold Blood, is the masterfully worded tale of the shocking murder of a Kansas farm family in the late 1950's. Capote was able to describe the town and its emotions with perfection and the story progressed to follow the exploits, pursuit, arrest, conviction and eventual execution of the two murderers Perry Edward Smith and Dick Hickcock.

Capote, focuses on the man himself and the emotions he faced as what began as merely a prospective magazine article became that work that would define his career and experiences that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Truman Capote is played by the great Philip Seymour Hoffman who does not imitate Capote as much as he channels the man's spirit. Just read one page of a Capote novel or article and you can tell for all his peculiarities the man had a depth of emotion and intelligence paralleled be few and surpassed by even fewer.

But oh those peculiarities....Hoffman absolutely nails Capote's speech patterns, which can only be described as, distinctive. Hoffman is also able to mime the manner in which Capote was able to carry himself as a large than life figure, despite his diminutive frame and effete qualities.

The real treat of this film is the developing relationship between Capote and Perry Smith. When Capote first comes to the small town of Holcomb, Kansas, he tells the lead investigator (an always great Chris Cooper) he doesn't really care if the men responsible are ever caught. Once Smith and Hickcock are arrested, however, and Capote begins talking with the men, his entire attitude changes. We see Capote falling in love with Smith, and possibly vice versa. While at the same time we see both men using each other. Capote using Smith to get his story and Smith using Capote in an attempt to avoid execution.

You following me here? Good, because this paradox drove Capote to alcoholism and hastened his death. His feelings for Smith were quite sincere and you get the sense he even finds them to be romantic. But this is all when Smith is assumed to be facing the noose sooner rather than later. You see, Capote needs these men to die to provide the ending for his story, but it is through his own machinations the men are give appeals and stays of execution that keep Capote shuttling between New York City, Holcomb and Leavenworth Prison for nearly six years. At one point Capote tells his research assistant Harper Lee (Yes, that Harper Lee.) if a Supreme Court appeal is upheld he might have a nervous breakdown.

Incidentally, Harper Lee is played fantastically by Catherine Keener (Being John Malkovich). Everyone is calling for Hoffman as a lock for his first Oscar nomination. I'm going with Keener as the one surefire nominee from this film.

Clifton Collins, Jr. (Traffic) is wonderful as Perry Edward Smith. For most of the film he steadfastly refuses to speak of the murders. Just comparing him to his accomplice you never get the sense he is the one capable of murder. OK...gonna ruin something for you here.

He did it. He killed all four of them. The only reason I tell you that is this. I saw this film in a very small arthouse type theater. It seats maybe 80 people, quite intimate. The theater also has a bar which is separated from the screening room by a curtain. At this very emotional point in the film, Smith is crying as he tells the story to an increasingly horrified Capote. Just then...laughter erupts from the bar. I'm talking hyena laughter here. It threw me off with its absurdity and let me in a disquieted mood the rest of the film.

Anyway, definitely go see this film and if you haven't read Capote's work you must.

Promise to be more prompt with the next post.