Rules of the game

It's 2:37 a.m. You bolt upright in bed, your heart pounding like a tympani in your chest. The air is cool on your sweaty skin.

It's just at the edge of your brain and it won't go away until you figure it out.

How do you play "Frere Jacques" on Merlin, the Electronic Wizard?

Luckily for you, all you have to do is hop on the computer and check out this nifty little part of the Hasbro Web site. It's a repository of rules and instructions for their games past and present. It's fun to rediscover games you aven't thought about in years.

They even have the instructions for the Super Powers: JLA Skyscraper Caper 3-D Board Game. I had this and brought it to school in sixth grade so my friends and I could play it at lunch. It was too big to carry home in my backpack, so I stashed it in my locker, figuring I could have my mom drive me back to school and pick it up.

I kept forgetting, and eventually came locker cleanup day. My last chance to get it out, and I totally blew it. Some lucky custodian got to keep it, I presume.

It was a crap game anyway.

Hey, Joshua, it's your birthday...

Twenty-eight years ago today, I was an only child, and I was happy. While I wasn't spoiled, I did get all the toys for myself. Things were good.

Exactly one year later, I wasn't an only child anymore. I was a big brother. To prepare me for the concept, my parents got me a shirt that read "#1 Son." Despite what I thought, it just meant that of my parents' two children, I was born first. It had nothing to do with quality of said children. Well, that's what they said. I had my doubts.

I remember my dad telling me that Josh looked a lot like me when I was a baby.

"Is he my twin?" I asked. I wasn't really clear on the exact definition of "twin." I was 4.

"No, but he looks a lot like you."

I was excited by the prospect of having a little brother. Not only did it mean a playmate and someone with whom I could share all the wisdom I'd accumulated in my four years on this planet.

It meant that I had someone I could order around. A minion of my very own to do my bidding!

I didn't take long to figure out that wasn't going to work. When he was about 2 years old, he would repeat whatever people would say to him. For minutes at a time.

A devious plan formed in my mind.

So I taught him a swear word, which he instantly and enthusiastically began parroting. Satisfied that the stream (or more appropriately, given the word I taught him, creek) would continue for a while, I corralled him into the kitchen, where my mom was getting ready to make dinner.

It almost worked. I saw the look on my mom's face when she heard what her 2-year-old was saying, and that was pretty funny. But then she asked where he heard that word. Without hesitation, Josh, my sweet baby brother, stretched out his arm and pointed straight at me.

The little creep sold me out!

From then on it was a constant struggle to remind him of his place in the fraternal hierarchy. His job was to do the gruntwork. I'd come up with the plans, and he would execute any part that might cause injury to me.

One constant thing about my brother is that it takes a crane to get him out of bed in the morning. This provided much annoyance to me, especially when I wanted him to do something for me, but it also provided some fun.

So sound a sleeper was he that I, wanting to show him just what a butthead he was for sleeping so late all the time, drew a buttcrack down the middle of his face. Even better, he didn't realize it for a while.

Another time, he refused to get out of bed. Out of ideas (and maybe 10 or 11), I told him that if he didn't get out of bed, I was going to fart on his head.

He didn't believe me.

He did after that.

I really wanted to get him a customized birthday greeting from Captain Zoom, but I didn't get the chance. I mentioned a while back that on his birthday one year, he got the personalized record and was scared to tears that a stranger on a record was wishing him a happy birthday.

Maybe next year.

Happy birthday, Scrote.

He's the man behind the mask

Well, here we go again. Like good old Jason Voorhees, Bad Movies A to Z comes back once more. There are so many entries in the "Friday the 13th" series to choose from, but I managed to narrow it down to today's selection: "Friday the 13th Part VI: Jason Lives."

The movie in a nutshell: Nut in a hockey mask slices, dices, juliennes.

The story: Tommy Jarvis (played by Corey Feldman in Part IV) is released from a mental institution; he's been in a few since he killed Jason Voorhees and was traumatized. But he has a feeling that Jason's not really gone, so he and a friend go to where Jason is buried.

Tommy's friend, Hawes (Ron "Horshack" Palillo) joins him in the trek to the cemetery on a stormy night. Tommy plans to destroy Jason's corpse to make sure he's not coming back.

This made me think: Given the problems Jason has caused in the past, wouldn't it be wiser to not have him in a marked grave where anyone could, well, dig him up and try to destroy his body?

In no time flat, Tommy has dug up the coffin. He gets a crowbar from Hawes and pops it open. Ooo, inside is a wormy, maggoty corpse. Yum. Tommy flashes back to when he killed Jason. He gets pissed off and stabs the crap out of the body with a metal fencepost that he rips off the cemetery fence (!). He throws in Jason's mask and turns away to get the gasoline.

Lightning strikes, and before you can say Frankenstein's monster, guess who comes back to life?

Dawes, unaware of Jason's resurrection, says, "My heart can't take any more of this." Hmm. Foreshadowing?

Jason crawls out of the grave and goes after Tommy, who douses him with gas. Alas, the rain kicks in and Tommy can't light a match. Dawes hits Jason with a shovel from behind, and Jason, without too much effort, rips out Dawes' heart. Dawes falls into Jason's casket. Tommy drives away. Jason dons his mask, and we get a closeup of his eye. With a nice homage to the James Bond flicks, the opening credits roll.

Tommy heads to the local sheriff's department and says that Jason is alive. Sheriff Garris thinks it's a prank and has Deputy Rick Cologne lock him up. While Tommy's locked up, the scene shifts to two camp counselors, Darren and Lizbeth, who are heading to Camp Forest Green. There's just one little obstacle in their way -- Jason.

Darren suggests driving at him to scare him away. It doesn't work. Darren reaches over and honks the horn. Jason pops a tire with his blade. Darren gets a gun out of the glovebox and threatens Jason. Jason spear-vaults Darren behind him. Now it's Lizbeth's turn. She offers Jason money, and when she looks up, he's gone -- until he shows up behind her and spears her in the head.

The next morning, some other counselors are asking the sheriff to help look for Darren and Lizbeth. Tommy tells them that Jason is out there. Megan is Garris' daughter, and Paula is Lizbeth's sister. Garris is going to take Tommy to the edge of his jurisdiction, and then Tommy is to get out of town and stay away.

That night, the caretaker of the cemetery is wandering around drunk and singing. Nearby, young lovers Steve and Annette are picnicking/making out. The caretaker says that his booze will be the death of him -- "but what a way to go" -- and lobs the bottle behind him. He notices it doesn't break. He turns around to see that Jason caught it. He breaks the end of the bottle and stabs the caretaker with it. Wah-wah-wahhhhh.

You can't fault this movie for not paying off. Every line serves the story, no matter how mechanically and predictably.

From here on out, the movie settles into a rhythm in which we shift among three focal points:

1. Tommy, who is trying to destroy Jason

2. Jason, who is trying to destroy everyone

3. Sheriff Garris, who is dealing with the other two

At points they overlap, but for the most part, it's a steady rotation. There's an ill-advised comic relief bit thrown in that involves some weekend warrior paintballers, but they end up just being fodder for Jason, so they don't really add up to much.

Near the end of the movie, the pace quickens noticeably, and the shifts speed up accordingly and being to merge.

Tommy and Megan arrive at the camp, ready to put their plan in action. I still don't buy that Megan would be that interested in helping Tommy, but that's just me.

Tommy runs to the dock and throws his bag of supplies in a boat. Megan decides to check to see who's still around. All her friends are gone, and very shortly, so will her dad.

Jason is out looking for Garris, who is also roaming the camp looking for survivors.

Megan all the kids in one cabin -- her dad had herded them all in there when Jason arrived -- and tells them to get back under the beds until she gets back. Tommy tells her to use the squad car radio to call for help. She opens the door, and Sissy's head rolls out.

Megan screams, which gets Jason's attention, but before he can close in on her, Garris ambushes him and beats the crap out of him. Jason fights back, and that's the end of the sheriff.

On the dock, Tommy is getting everything ready. While he's doing that, Jason gets to the kids' cabin, which Megan then runs toward. Jason pops out of the cabin and almost kills Megan. Tommy saves her by calling Jason out on to the dock.

"Come on, maggot head!"

Tommy gets the chains ready to redrown Jason with a big rock. Jason wades out to the boat but disappears before he gets there. Tommy pours gas on the water and lights it, waiting for Jason to resurface. He pops up behind him and wrestles with him on the boat. Tommy struggles to wrap the chains around Jason's neck. Jason cuts Tommy's arm and disappears again. When he pops back up, Tommy lassos him with the chain. The boat breaks, and they both go down. An underwater struggle ensues. Tommy appears to drown, and Jason lets go, letting him rise to the surface.

Megan goes to check on Tommy. She dives in and swims toward him. While she tries to bring him back to shore, Jason grabs her leg and tries to pull her under. She starts the motor on the boat, and Jason gets a propeller to the head/neck/chest. That's gotta smart. A bunch of bloody goo rises, and Megan brings Tommy back on dry land. Is he dead?

I know I'm supposed to care during this very tense moment, but I swear, the only thing that occurs to me is that one of the kids standing near Tommy is wearing a Masters of the Universe shirt with Mekanek on it! Sweet.

Tommy lives!

"It's over. It's finally over. Jason's home."

But if you think about it, it's not quite over. Megan still doesn't know her dad is dead.

Cut to: a sunny day. Beneath the lake's surface, Jason rests. We cut close and he opens his eye. He's still alive. So what the hell was all that blood? A bad cough?

The Alice Cooper song ("The Man Behind the Mask") at the end credits, while dated, is still kinda catchy.

Afterthoughts: I picked this one because at one time, it was my favorite of the series. Watching it now is, not surprisingly, not as much fun. The comedy elements for the most part are OK, with the exception of the paintballers I mentioned earlier. One of them is killed when Jason grabs him by the arm and whirls him into a tree face first. As the victim falls, we see the spot where he hit is a bloody smiley face on the tree. That's just a bit much for me.

One of the kid campers reading "No Exit" was better because it was funny without really interrupting what limited dark mood the movie had going.

And that's probably one of the big problems. This just didn't feel scary at all. It's too paint-by-numbers, I think. Even as a youngster, I knew that this was just to highlight the gore effects and body count. You end up just counting the beats, wondering how each victim is going to get dispatched. But since each death is telegraphed by a mile, even that isn't much fun. There's a big difference between suspense and impassioned anticipation.

There was also a lot of exposition, which I think added to the lack of suspense. It seems as though they felt obligated to explain Jason's history. On one hand, I appreciate this -- just like comic books, every installment is someone's first -- but how much do you really need to explain Jason? He's a nut in a hockey mask who kills people. It's nice to know his motivation, but since it really has no bearing on anything in the movie -- other than him killing everyone at the camp -- it just slows things down.

I didn't notice this back in the day, but the music in the movie just isn't working for me. I don't fault Harry Manfredini, who also did the music for all the other "Friday the 13th" flicks up to this point. I blame the choice of one instrument -- the electric piano. The score is a victim of its time. The normally spooky, atmospheric music, which is quite effective in other parts of the movie, just sounds like a TV Movie of the Week once that electric piano comes in. A minor complaint to be sure, but added to the other things I mentioned, makes the movie a touch less scary.

On the good side, I liked Sheriff Garris. He was one of the few characters who came across more like a person than a placeholder. Seriously, when I was taking note while watching this, I had to go back and forth, pausing so I could get the characters' names. They're usually mentioned at the beginning of the movie, and only a few times after that.

Also, this is the first one where I got the feeling that Jason was really the central character in the series. This really went a long way in building a mythology for the character, something that other movies would build on later.

It's not as much fun as it was when I was younger, but is still a solid entry worth checking out. I found the trailer on YouTube. Check it out for a taste of the fun.

When you're lonely, you can Talk-To-Me

No, it's not a really old mouse.

This contraption, the Fisher-Price Talk-To-Me Player, is essentially a teeny-tiny upside-down record player.

It was used to play the not-coincidentally named Talk-To-Me Books, a collection of children's books that featured such stars as Mickey Mouse, Bugs Bunny and the Muppets.

You plunked the player on the part of the page that had a mini-record embossed on it. While technically a simple operation, those kids with less than stellar hand-eye coordination had a hard time lining it up properly.

I fondly remember the click-and-coiling-spring sound it made when you pressed the play button. Then the page would come to life, reading everything on the page.

It was a cool (but mildly time-consuming) way to listen to stories, especially for the kids who couldn't read yet.

Being a nerd, I had a hard time not reading ahead to the end of the page.

If you come across these books at a garage sale or thrift shop, odds are you'll catch #2: Disney's "Ghost Chasers," an adaptation of the 1937 cartoon "Lonesome Ghosts." That was the one that came with the player.

My brother and I gave ours to our cousins once we outgrew them. Thanks to my aunt, I reclaimed the books once my cousins had outgrown them and I had decided to archive my childhood.

I've had them in storage for the past few years, but now I'm thinking of cracking them open for my son so he can enjoy them before he gets old enough to openly mock technology from my youth.

When I looked these up on the Internet to find more information, I found this page on Wikipedia. The technology for this toy was developed by Reynold B. Johnson, who among other things, appears to be the reason we all had to use No. 2 pencils on our test forms.

But the article said he also brought us the disk drive and the videocassette, so I guess that makes up for it.

Just because I'm a nerd, I took the player off the shelf and tested it on a Bugs Bunny book, "The Desert Island." Nada. Well that just wouldn't do, so I popped it open and MacGyvered it with (no kidding) a rubber band.

Granted, it didn't work well, but it played the record. Slowly. I hooked a mic into the computer, recorded the playback off the player's speaker and ran it through Audacity. Speeding it up about 15% seemed to do the trick. You can listen to the first page below.

Coming soon...

I spend way too much time on YouTube, but one of my weaknesses is intermission clips from the golden age of the drive-in theater.

I have one of Something Weird Video's "Hey, Folks! It's Intermission Time!" compilations, and I love it. It's about 2 hours of nothing but clips -- no actual movie trailers -- and I've watched it a kajillion times. I need to get others in the series just so I can see some new stuff.

Some of the ads for the concession stand are amazing in the fact that the food looks quite repulsive. Part of this is the age and discoloration of the clips, but some of them are just gross-looking.

I saw one that advertised pizza -- back when everyone apparently called them "pizza pies" -- and it really doesn't resemble pizza at all. I've seen roadkill that looks more like pizza than in some of these ads.

Happy Earth Day to those of you who live on Earth

In honor of Earth Day, I'm recycling a handful of old posts that

1) you may have missed if you are a new reader, or
2) you haven't been able to read because your cherished printed copy is worn out from re-reading.

The first real entry.

This one and this one. I mentioned offhand that on "The Superfriends," the Wonder Twins didn't touch rings together, despite what everyone else in the free world seemed to remember. Then I got some responses and had to piece together the puzzle.

Lest you doubt me, here is a crappy picture of them initiating the change merely by touching their fingertips.


If I remember correctly, they are being held by a giant robot version of their space monkey Gleek.

The Doodlebops vs. The Wiggles

One of my favorite movies.

More fresh and steaming content on the way...

The Roaring Forties?

I got this week's issue of Star in the mail today.

Shut up, I had frequent flyer miles to cash in before they expired.

Anyway, I'm flipping through it, Tom Cruise, bla-bla, Nick and Jessica, yawn, etc.

In a feature on the return of the fashionable hair band (the accessory, not Whitesnake), I read the following caption:


Forties, Twenties, what's two decades?

This is only my second week of the Star. Last week's issue got a passing grade if just for the picture of Jenna Fischer from "The Office."

That sound you just heard was my wife's eyes rolling.

We'll see if the Star can redeem itself in the weeks to come. I'd like to think I made the right choice spending my points on this magazine instead of The Wall Street Journal or Men's Health.

Ooh, a crossword puzzle...

The Screech of a dying network

On Monday (well, Tuesday morning, technically) at midnight, Cartoon Network is offering the following program to its vast legion of animation enthusiasts:

"Saved by the Bell."

Seriously, what the hell, Cartoon Network?

It's bad enough that sister channel Boomerang, "Your 24-Hour Network for Classic Cartoons," has shows such as "A Pup Named Scooby-Doo," "Baby Looney Tunes" and "Tom and Jerry Kids" on the schedule, but "Saved by the Bell" on Cartoon Network? Really?

For crap's sake, you could just blow the late-night slot with "Cartoon Network's Crappy Cartoon Cavalcade" and give those reruns of "The Gary Coleman Show" and "Chuck Norris Karate Commandos" a breather. God knows there are plenty of crappy cartoons in the collective vaults at Cartoon Network.

Turbo Teen, anyone?

How does this look for Cartoon Network? Well, to quote Bayside's own Jessie Spano, "I'm so excited, I'm so excited, I'm so ... scared!"

(via Cartoon Brew, among others)

More Easter fun

learned very early on that when it came to Easter egg hunts, I just plain sucked. I guess I didn't take it very well. On the back of this picture, my grandmother made the following notation:

Well, surely once I'd started kindergarten, my egg-seeking skills would have improved, right?


Nope.

Happy Easter.

Thanks, Easter Bunny! Bawk-bawk!

Add some music to your day

One of the things I enjoy the most about being a dad is watching my son develop his taste in music.

I'm constantly surprised by what he likes to listen to. He and I spend a lot of our day listening to or playing music, so he's exposed to a lot.

He used to be content laughing at me when I'd sing the high parts of a song, but now he's joining in the fun.

The other day, I was going through some Beach Boys songs, and I played "Dance, Dance, Dance." Brody started rocking out and smiling. By the end of the song, he was singing the "Dance...dance...dance!" part.

When he really likes a song and doesn't know all the words yet, he just will repeat two words over and over to the tune of the song.

It cracks me up listening to him sing the Beatles' "Because." He only knows a few words, but he goes to town on the oohs and ahhs. He also prefers the Elliott Smith version, which I think is pretty cool.

I played Brian Wilson's "Smile" album a lot when Brody was really little, and the first song I saw him take an interest in was the opening track, "Our Prayer." I played it a month or two ago and was surprised when Brody started singing it -- ahh-ing where there was ahh-ing, and ooh-ing where there was ooh-ing.

Even more surprising, he was picking out the bass vocal parts. I would've thought he'd go for the high parts -- wouldn't that be easier for him? He also likes humming the bass lines in other songs.

It pleases me to no end that he'll actually ask to sing or to play "Dance, Dance, Dance." I hope music stays a big part of his life as he gets older.

I'd also like to express my admiration and appreciation for They Might Be Giants. "Here Come the ABCs" is Brody's favorite album, and it's one that both of us can listen to over and over. If you don't already have it, go get it.

Other favorite artists: Harry Nilsson, Paul McCartney, The Wiggles and Franz Ferdinand. You haven't seen funny until you see a 2-year-old singing "Do You Want To."

He likes it! Hey, Mikey!

I love going to the dollar stores because I never know exactly what I might find, whether it's a "BMX Bandits/Evel Knieval" double-feature DVD or a 27-year-old Fotonovel.

This time, it was a special commemorative pack of Pop Rocks. To celebrate 30 years of everyone's favorite soda chaser, we are treated to the packaging from the 70s -- the one I remember so fondly.

It's no "Ice Castles" Fotonovel, but hey, what is, right?

Oh shucks.

I keep seeing ads for GM's "Live Green, Go Yellow" campaign for its FlexFuel vehicles. They're really pushing the corn angle -- not only can you see how many barrels of oil that would be saved annually if you switched, but you can also see how many cobs of corn would be used in its place.

So I was thinking that they might come up with different grades of the fuel. E85 is 85% ethanol and 15% gasoline.

But you know, E85 doesn't really say anything to me. If you want ordinary slobs like me to get the idea, you should come up with a system I can relate to while still hyping the corn element. Maybe stations of the future will look like this:

A fashion connection

Look! The hat version of a mullet. I miss the 80s.

And, no, I didn't have one. I'm surprised they haven't tried bringing these back yet.

(picture swiped from an eBay auction that I didn't bid on)

Birthday wishes

He'd have been one year old today.

That also means that in less than two months, it will be a year since my son Harry died. It seems like both an eternity and a few days ago. We're having a little mini-family vacation this week in Harry's honor. I wanted it to be more of a celebration than a mourning.

So if blogging seems a little light this week, it's not laziness, I promise.

My toes show it

I was tidying up in the old Siftin' archives and came across something I wrote in the early-90s when I could be found occupying the ticket booth at my local theater.

Working box, as it was called, was often fairly solitary. While I sat in the ticket booth, my co-workers manned the concession stand down the hall.

In between shows, there wasn't much to do aside from helping the occasional "When's the next showing of 'Dumb and Dumbler'?" customer.

And no, I didn't misspell that. That's what she asked. She also asked about "Richie Richie" as well as another title that was just so wrong, I'm not going to mention it.

Anyhow, I passed the time by writing. Armed with either a notebook, or scroll-like on a roll of rough and amazingly water-resistant brown paper towels, I scribbled furiously.

One day, much to my amazement, I wrote a poem. Now keep in mind, I'm not a poet at all. My best work up to that point was

Roses are swell

Violets are nifty

I got your valentine

For a quarter at Thrifty

Real poetry was over my head with its use of symbolism and abstract imagery. So when I read what I had written, I wondered just what the hell happened. Did I zone out that much? Was I tripping on the Windex fumes after cleaning the box office window?

Beats me. Even now, a dozen or so years later, I still can't imagine having written it if I didn't have the hard copy in my own writing.

I see references to commercials and Michael Jackson's marriage to Lisa Marie Presley, but everything else is just a mishmash of images, almost like flipping through channels late at night.

If you want to sample this oddity for yourself, have at it. It's long, and I can't say that it's particularly good (I wouldn't really know, honestly), but it is weird, and that's what we're all about at this blog, right? I would like to clarify that I was stone sober when I wrote this (I was at work, after all).

I bask in the glory of my Barka Lounger

Because I'm not a La Z Boy

Overdub a Jack in the Box springing

Or falling or summering — no matter

I sing the words because I can't hum

The darn thing has wings — so I can fly

To my Craftmatic Adjustable Coffin

And sleep restfully forever or at least

Until the Bunch comes back on because

Marcia was the cutest — ow, my nose!

What is that noise trip-trapping at the olfactory?

Could it be Jeno's Pizza Rolls?

And what roles

Do pizzas have?

I guess olive to learn another day.

How do you smell relief?

Just don't light a match

Because only you can prevent forest fires.

I have a not-so-fresh feeling

I should have used a Ziploc bag

Yellow and blue make green, which

Is the whole point of watching anyway

Watch, sleep — perchance to think

Make sure your answer is in the form of

A question? I'm sorry

We have to take your first answer

Because the second one was right

Skinned purple dinosaurs are on

No relief no commercials no hope

This is your brain on drugs...A fried egg

Doing the Humpty Dance. I just hope

It was margarine because butter

PARKAY

Is high in cholesterol

My dog's bigger than your dog

'Cause he eats mailmen who take steroids

A is for anarchy

J is for jenius

Cinnamon toasty, finger-licking good

The Colonel will always have a friend

Wearing big red shoes.

It is the shoes

Start a revolution with Elvis-in-law

Moonwalk through

Turn the other cheek

But don't squeeze the Charmin

Mr. Whipple and Mrs. Olsen got married

Which made for some interesting coffee

They had in France what was the

Name of that waiter — Jean-Luc?

Boldly serving coffee where no one

Has gone to celebrate the

Moments of your life

Send the

Very best to get your z's but avoid

Operating heavy machinery as you

Can learn a lot from a dummy

I love you, you love me, my

Parents were Grimace and Dino

Yabba-Dabba-Does She or

Doesn't she?

Only her plastic surgeon

Nose for sure.

Are you sure? Raise

Your hand if you really think you ought to

And now a word from our sponsor about these

Messages after this

Word we'll be right

Back.

Sorry, Alex.

What is back?

Daily Double Martini, extra dry

Shaken, not stirred

Don't forget the olive

Blow me down.

Sorry, ladies, he's taken

Y'know, I was almost going to let this one go without comment.

For some reason, they were selling tiny stockings in the gumball machines at the store when we were kids. I don't think that was the main draw -- we were probably trying to get one of those giant sticky things that it's fun to smack people with.

At first we were bummed out with our purchase. I mean, what can you do with a tiny stocking?

"I bet you can't fit it over your head," I said to my brother, Josh.

No sooner said than done. The fun part came when he tried to take it off -- and couldn't.

We just had to save this one for posterity.

Now, I don't know what's funnier -- the twin runs in the stocking that line up with his front teeth or his Bear Whiz Beer shirt.

What about the Twinkie?

I saw this at Junk Food Blog, and it made my morning.

I know, it's only a bit after 7 here, but I've been up since 2:30, so there.

Banana Creme Filled Twinkies!

Ever since I found that Twinkies were originally filled with banana creme (I was doing a report on the food groups), I always wondered what that would taste like.

They should be on store shelves now, so we'll see if I can find them and try them out before their limited time is up.

It's a tie-in with the DVD release of "King Kong," which, like every movie since "Batman Begins," I have yet to see.

The last time they had a King Kong movie, the ill-fated "King Kong Lives," with Linda Hamilton, I thought I had the perfect product tie-in.

Pez dispensers.

Check it out -- this is sort of how it could've worked had they consulted me and planned it ahead of time:

1. Early in movie, have a scene where Kong sees a kid with a soldier Pez dispenser. He sees the kid pull the head back and grab some candy. Maybe even throw in a funny reaction from Kong.
2. Later in movie when encountering soldiers, Kong remembers the Pez dispenser. He tries to flip the guy's head back, but there's no candy. Kong sad.

3. Have tie-in dispensers with packs of white and red Pez.

In my defense, I was 12. But you'd definitely remember the movie, wouldn't you?

Where's the love, Paula?

I have issues with "American Idol" judge Paula Abdul. It's not about how she's nice to practically everyone, and it's not about how what she says doesn't always seem to make sense ("... the moth who finds the melon ...").

It's simply this: It's the fifth season of American Idol, and MC Skat Kat has yet to be featured as a celebrity judge.

Has she forgotten about her old friend? I mean, they were in a video together, they collaborated on a song -- doesn't that mean anything?

That's cold-hearted.

He's not goofy, he's my brother

In sixth grade, we all got fake awards at the end of the year. I got one for "Most Interesting Brother," because of all the goofy things I told my classmates about my brother, most of which were actually true.

In that spirit, I thought I would share some of the highlights from time to time.

Today, we'll start with something simple.

For some reason, Josh makes goofy faces in pictures. This is partly because he has a goofy face (rimshot), and partly because I think he wasn't paying attention when someone would whip out the camera.

That's how you get pictures like this:


Yeah, you know, your guess is as good as mine on that one.

Josh would probably tell you that he was slyly flipping the bird, but I'm not buying it.