Talking Animals

Long Distance Dedication

 <kasem>

Welcome back to American Top 40. I'm Shaggy, err, I mean Casey Kasem with a long distance dedication from "Lame-Ass Blogger" to "Petey."

"Lame-Ass Blogger" writes :

"Dear Shaggy, err, I mean Casey :

Petey is my bestest buddy - but her employer has sent her to Europe. Even though it's only for a month, it still means that we won't be able to talk every day...which we have pretty much been doing since we first met 12 years ago. In fact, given the time difference, our hectic schedules and her being too cheap to buy a cellphone that works over there, we might only talk a few times while she is gone. I'm going to miss her a crazy amount. Can you please dedicate this lame-ass blog entry to Petey? And tell her that I'm counting down the days until she gets back?"

Sure, Lame-Ass Blogger. This entry goes out to Petey, in Belgium."

</kasem>

Some months ago, Petey's employer (an international financial news organization masquerading as a secret espionage initiative...but perhaps not in that order) let us all know that they were posting her to Belgium. She immediately began preparing for the trip, taking foreign language classes, etc. Me, I waited until the day before she left to find out anything.

Drawing upon my own vast knowledge of the Belginiums I was able to come up with "Belgium? YOU Belgium! You brought 'em!" Thank god for the interwebs. I quickly realized that it was time to go...Googling for Belgium! <fade up theme song, cue applause.> Carefully selecting my search terms, I discovered :

1 : In 2002, Babette Blue, the award-winning Belgian pornstar, retired to Antwerp.

2 : It sucks to be Belgiese. A revise of my search-terms revealed that the top entry on the ENTIRE internet is a 5 year old Blog post on Belgiesian "homegrown" porn, as recounted by a blogger in Brooklyn. This is deplorable! Completely able to be deplored! In fact, I am deploring it now! While you watch! Which, officially, makes this more exciting than any Belgian Porn created in the last 5 years. You owe me 5 bucks.

Sigh. Guess changing one of my terms from "Belgian" to "Belgium" was not sufficient. I'll have to remove the word "porn," too. Which...basically means I'll have to start over. Fine. "Belgium".

The top link now is the CIA World Fact Book site. Aside from a long history with honey traps, what could they possibly know about Belgiuminian porn? Sure, spying can be sexy...but only when you're British. In Britain, there are invisible cars and women named Pussy Galore all vying for the attention of devil-may-care spies. (Note that this last is not a figure of speech, but an actual part of their screening process :

Q : Last question, Mr. Applicant, James Applicant. Do you think the devil will care about what you do?

A: He may.

Q : You're hired! Let's go find some toads and eat their holes. (Egad. This is true, too!)

American Spies are like mild and mousy Matt Damon, whose earnest self-doubt finally causes him to come down with Amnesia, which allows him to go earnestly doubt himself in Europe while kicking some serious multi-national ass.

So, despite these legitimate misgivings, I clicked onto their site. I was surprised to find that, contrary to what Petey thought (this is key. You MUST understand that Petey thought this, not me) Belginiums ;

- are NOT called "Belginiums." (Turns out that a Belginium is a kind of flower. Petey thinks this, NOT ME.)

- They do NOT speak "Belgiese." (Which explains why Babelfish didn't list it in their drop-down.)

While this information was valuable, I was disappointed to discover that the CIA World Fact Book site did not include ANY information on how to destabilize Belgium, as I was thinking of overthrowing it as a way of getting her home early. I was also disappointed to find that clicking on the "get the latest world intel" button just sent me to CNN.com.

Now an expert on Belgium, I was delighted to hear from Petey, who called to let me know she arrived safely. Thanks to my having pretended to be Petey while filling out the "Relinquish Your Civil Rights" form  on the CIA site, they were able to provide me a transcript of her voicemail.

SURVEILLANCE TRANSCRIPT
SUBJECT : PETEY
[AGENCY NOTE : ALL OTHER INFORMATION REDACTED, INCLUDING DEFINITION OF "REDACTED."]

"Hi, Dork. Where are you? (SUBJECT SIGHS LOUDLY)
Updating that stupid blog, probably. (SUBJECT SNORTS DERISIVELY)
Well, I just wanted to let you know that YOU WERE WRONG. Belgianese is not a language. And it does not consist of the word "Floon" interspersed with English words spoken loudly and slowly. So "Floon floon BAAATHROOOM floon" isn't... doesn't... I wet my pants.

Thank god I paid to take those French classes, though...but I really wish I'd taken the kind that was able to leave the f**king country. After hearing how fast everybody talks (like who knew I'd need to know the words for "Tray Table" and "Seat Back") it just evaporated, leaving me with  "Je Parle Francais Un Peu" which I vaguely remember translates to "I didn't retain any of my French classes. Please don't hit me."

Oh and then ..."

TRANSCRIPTION ENDED BECAUSE THE SURVEILLANCE THING ISN'T FUNNY ANYMORE.

She went on to say that she had ventured out of her hotel and gotten lost so that she could find the city's center-point, the "Grand Place." (Or, en francais "Big Place.".) There she found a pale-faced Belginium (her words, NOT mine) wearing the national costume of striped shirt, black pants and hat. She attempted to engage him in conversation, but was disappointed when a pretend strong wind came up and blew him into an invisible box.

(Yes, that was a mime joke. Because they're kind of french and mime is their fault. And you better laugh, or this snake will bite you.)

That's pretty much all Petey had time to say...and her emails (due to her work duties) have been short and sporadic. It's like she's under radio silence or something. And I know what you're thinking, because I was THINKING IT TOO!! It's just like that Steven Segal movie, Under Siege 2, where he is on a train with Eric Bogosian and they're cut off from communicating with the world so that Eric can't call his agent and fire him!

Because of Petey's being stuck in Europe (where there is nothing to do) she won't be able to enjoy Segal's  newest masterpiece "Mercenary For Justice" which is airing on TNT. I've seen the trailers for it...and that's enough, thanks. It's troubling to see, though, that he's continuing to ... acquire mass. Have you seen him? His black clothes keep getting bigger and bigger. I mean it. It's not that he's fat...it's more like he is just growing more and more solid. I think his molecular density has reached a point where he is starting to absorb light. (Which might explain the scripts he chooses.)

Speaking of scripts, I have decided that, for Petey's benefit, I will transcribe the complete script for "Mercenary For Justice" (and all his other films.)

FADE IN :
STEVEN SEGAL looms, his dark brows furrowed as he squints into the camera because his body now absorbs all light. Next to him stands RANDOM WOMAN HELPLESSLY CAUGHT IN HIS GRAVITATIONAL FIELD. She is slightly a hottie. They are both surrounded by large group of ANONYMOUS STUNTMEN. They are slightly menacing.

RANDOM WOMAN CAUGHT IN HIS GRAVITATIONAL FIELD :
I love you, dammit, Steven, can't you just stop this impossible thing that you're doing, they'll kill you, help I've been taken hostage.

STEVEN :
(slowly, sound waves barely able to escape his gravity well)
Mrr...Mmm...Mrrrrr.

A lengthy series of fights ensue with ANONYMOUS STUNTMEN, who thoughtfully attack him one at a time. He defeats each of them slowly, demonstrating his mastery of Bulkkido. Bulkido. Bulkido. That is fun to say. RANDOM WOMAN CAUGHT IN HIS GRAVITATIONAL FIELD looks on, with love in her eyes.

STEVEN :
Mrr.

With a silent KERPLOW! Steven implodes, taking all of TNT with him.

FADE OUT.

And on that note, (for who could top such artistry?) I'm going to Fade Out, too. I've got transcripts to read.

<kasem>

This is Shaggy err, Casey saying goodbye from American Top 40, now beamed via the web to our friends in Belgium. And just remember what I always say : "Keep your feet on the ground, but floon floon STAAAAARS floon."

</kasem>

...............................

... still don't get the Kasem reference? What the hell were you doing on Saturday Morning?

NPR Newsflash

Heard this last week (what, I have nothing to do but update this blog for your reading pleasure? Well. You're right. But how unkind to point it out.)

Where was I before I rudely interrupted myself on your behalf?

Oh yes.

Here was me, driving to scoop up WGP™ and I heard our local NPR station broadcast a follow-up story to Seattle's devastating December flood.

It turns out the government spent $250,000 to convene a blue-ribbon committee (like they couldn't afford  better beer than that?) which concluded that the reason for the flooding was ... wait for it...wait for it...there was too much water. The report went on to say that the committee will be reexamining these findings tonight...this time with Heineken.

10 Years On

10 years ago this week, an ex-cheerleader kissed a dead guy.

Can you believe it? The kiss that launched a thousand scripts happened 3,650 days ago (which WGP™ says is equal to the number of Spuffy stories posted on the web this week.)

10 years is a big damn deal, yo.

(Did you know that the 10th Year Anniversary is the "Tinfoil Anniversary?" I shudder to think of the implications : "Happy Anniversary, baby! Well, yeah. It is a leftover sandwich...but see? It's wrapped in tinfoil!  That means I love you! Baby? Sweetheart?")

The only formal "10th anniversary event" I've experienced is my high school reunion (which I did not attend.) I'm still in touch with my best high school friends, but as time goes by, they remind me of Law & Order. You know, when Briscoe patiently interviews a group of eyewitnesses to a crime and they ID the perp as simultaneously a fat guy with a hat, a chinese woman with one leg and a cone-shaped robot?

My buddies have become like this when recalling our school days (except for the part about the robot - there is no denying that.) Over time, their memories have acquired this... Spielbergian golden glow? - while mine are more...I don't know, Ed Wood channeling Werner Herzog.

It is part of nostalgia I guess - to elide things that don't fit with what we want to remember and to pine for things that never where. This got me to thinking (as too many things do) about Buffy.

Sunnydale was a town with a similarly cheery view on things. While their legendary denial was a subject for humor, exasperation or conspiracy theory, I think it might have been necessary. Their only other option was to somehow live under the terrible weight of knowing they were nothing more than whimpering meat to the hungry hunters waiting in the dark. (I am still haunted by the world of "The Wish.")

Time and again, the non-supernatural citizens of Sunnydale would paper over each event so that they could bring it in line with their own view of an ordered world, one where Happy Meals©®™ most emphatically do not have legs. One where anything out of place could be explained away and then forgotten.

This year, the class of '99 would just be starting their planning for the 10th Anniversary Razorback Reunion. Most of them have probably moved on with their lives, but might sometimes look back with warmth - remembering what they want, and forgetting the rest, except perhaps the dead. (Click on the thumbnail, below.)

Got your own thoughts on the Class of '99? Share the love...but hang on to the tinfoil.

Driving To Work Today

Worst Place to Work This Morning
You've think you've got it bad? Just imagine being the poor schmoes who have to answer the phones here.
"Hello, Thank you for calling Drive Insurance. Sigh. No sir, our standard policy does not include veering wildly in traffic, racing between semis and any mechanical problems with the hydraulics on your pimped-out lowrider. No sir, we have no connection to the show other than the fact that we are also controlled by a mysterious ruthless cabal... which is true of all insurance companies. What? Yes, perhaps Allstate is a better choice for you, given that it is run by that cool dead president guy from 24. You be sure to have a good day now. Thanks for calling Drive."

Driven to Ask...
Many questions were raised by the first episodes. One of the foremost : Who are the mysterious people behind The Race? I think I know. The clues :
  - They are anonymous
  - They are ruthless, amoral and will stop at nothing.
  - They hold loved ones hostage.
  - Without them, The Race would not exist.

Anyone else thinking that the mysterious "they" have to be TV execs? (Laugh all you want - just remember that another group of Fox execs turned out to be stronger than even Wolfram & Hart.)

Car Casting
I was intrigued by how the cars were characters, too. (Hey, if they wanted it to be solely about people, they would've called it "Driver.") I found it fascinating to think about the casting considerations of the cars as reflections of their owners. (I was actually pondering this even before the premiere due to this NYT article.)

I imagined some of the casting as relatively straightforward, with suburban mom Wendy Patrakas as a minivan and heartlander Alex Tully's battered Ford F100 pickup underscoring his honest, hardworking background. (While he was totally Bill Pardy in that POS, I was glad when he traded up. I was afraid that its gradual demolition would remain a plotline until, by episode 4, he would be running barefoot along the highway, clutching a headlight.)

I thought that the car first driven by Alan James was a particuarly inspired choice. The black Chrysler 300 was heavy, powerful, inexorable - just like the "Thems" behind the race.

This of course raises the question : what kind of car is you? A friend of mine told me that when she noticed the lack of alternative fuel cars on the show, she was moved to declare that her "Drive of Choice" would be a bright yellow electric car with Ed Begley, Jr. as her copilot. She then admitted to me that she had to change her mind as the show would be much less exciting if its top speed were 30 miles an hour...and that the plot device of "quick! sabotage them by unplugging their extension cord!" would get old quickly. She now is driving this. I hope she wins.

Annoucing the great "Driving Into the Black Where No One Has Gone Before" FanFic Challenge
So, now that Drive has aired...where is the fanfic, dang it? I was hoping we'd have at least some Drivefic by now..if not the ultimate in uber-cross-fic (forget Egon Spengler, yo.)

I think it is up to us to start this genre. (Of course by "us" I mean the 5 people who read this blog - thanks for the traffic, by the way.) Because it's just the 5 of us, I'm going to trust you - and let you share my writer's process as I plot the first masterpiece. (Of course, by "writer's process" I mean "this is going to suck but why don't you just be quiet.")

Ready? Okay, so like Serenity goes back in time, 'cause they want to ... save Wash. (Or maybe to stop Jayne's mom from knitting that hat.) And they do this by .. um .. slingshotting around the sun, right? Um, while they're in mid-sling, they ... run across the Enterprise (which has become a tourist attraction timetravelling 3x a week, twice on Saturdays.) Because the enterprise is now under the command of Quark the Ferengi ("Geordi, you drive like a spaz!") there is a screw up and :

1 : Mal gets split into two parts, the good and the bad.

2 : Both Mals catch amnesia

3 : Mal1 and Mal2 are sent back to earth in our time.

Evil Mal (or as the French would say "Mal Mal") lands naked in California, where he has to steal biker clothes from George Thorogood. However, his distorted memory of Shepard Book's teachings become all evillated and stuff to such a degree that MalMal quickly stops being a biker guy in order to become a man of the cloth and changes his name to Caleb. (He goes on to do many mighty works, including ophthalmology and UK urban renewal, until he himself is split in two, thereby leaving us with two evil 1/4 Mals. This might become important later.)

Meanwile, Good Mal (or BonMal, to belabor the French thing) is subconsciously drawn to places where long brown dusters are still in fashion. This leads him to the rural town of Wheelsy, (talk about Drive serendidpity, yo!) where he takes on the name of Bill Pardy and ends up becoming the sheriff. There he fights off aliens, but loses his bid for re-election. This causes BonMal to become a landscaper (in order to continue his war on evil slugs.) Evil Studio Executives (I mean "them") kidnap his wife and he enters The Race. Cuz he is a space pilot and can think in three dimensions (unlike certain Eugenics war veterans - take that Ricardo Montalbone!) he is like the best driver and is about to win when suddenly um.. something bad happens, we'll fill that in later... and his car is going over a cliff. Wait! I know - he is attacked by Reavers who followed him around the sun! But got assimilated by the 'Borg! (Note : the Reaverborgs are still cannibals but now only eat computer parts. This might become important later.)

Anyway, they are about to blow up Mal when suddenly SERENITY swoops to the rescue! Piloted by Wash! YEAH! Who was rescued from performing 7x a week in Spamalot! Yay! And everybody is wearing knitted hats! WHOO!

Thus ends my "process" and why yes, Mr. Whedon, I would be happy to write for you and thank you very much for the box of money.

Oh what, anonymous blog-reader-person? Like you think you can do better, hwun dan? (or jien huo, yer choice.)

Prove it! Throw down, right here, right now with your best take.

UC-Sunnydale Class Notes

Hello class. Can you take your seats, please?

My name is Professor Hanton and I'm filling in for Dr. Maggie Walsh who seems to still be on her extended sabbatical. I'm not sure what you all may have been covering in class, as her notes are a little unclear...and her TA, Mr. Finn, seems to have withdrawn from the university due to illness.

As best I can tell, she wanted you to start discussing "The Psychological Impact of Wish Fulfillment and Wish Denial in 20th Century Popular Culture Narrative."

Did everyone get a handout? No?

Ah. I see, They seem to have stopped there with someone in the back row. I'm sorry I don't know anyone's name yet. Let me see the chart. Um. Summers? Is that Ms. Summers? Could someone please wake her up and get her to pass these along? Thank you.

First, we are going to focus on two verbs, which describe a process of dramatically engaging your audience by delighting them and then ruthlessly breaking their hearts. The terms are Jossing and Whedoning. I'll just read from the handout here :

Jossing, v :
Definition : To grant a much-beloved character (and by extension, the audience) a moment of transcendent happiness - usually after denying them this for months.

Please note, class, that Jossing never occurs alone. It is always followed by Whedoning.

Whedoning, v :
Definition : To dramatically and suddenly cause catastrophic angst/harm to a much-beloved character, (and, by extension, the audience) immediately following a moment of transcendent happiness.

I'll give the first example of this. The setting is the future. Here's the Joss : a lovable space pilot completes a harrowing, well-nigh-impossible flight through a cloud of opposing space ships, declaring himself "a leaf upon the wind." Upon successfully landing, he exults "I AM a leaf upon the wind!"

Can anyone identify the Whedon in this situation? You there in the second row? Go ahead. Yes, the Whedon in this situation comes immediately following this glorious moment ... when the space pilot is brutally impaled on a massive hunk of metal, right in front of his wife.

Can anyone name other examples? Yes, the redhead in the back. You're...Ms. Rosenberg? Alright, go ahead, and I'll write it on the board. Let's start with the Joss.

Hmm. Beloved shy english librarian. Sassy funny computer teacher. Polar opposites. Awkwardly, poignantly fall in love. Go ahead... become estranged, due to betrayal. Good! That's the Whedon.

Oh, there's more? Interesting. Gradually come back together, on brink of reuniting. Yes, this feels like we are being Jossed, doesn't it? Go on. Shy librarian receives romantic note that she is waiting for him in his apartment. He arrives to see a romantic scene. Lit candles leading to bedroom.  He climbs the stairs, finds her awaiting him in bed...excellent Jossing... only to discover that she has been brutally murdered by a psychotic killer. Whedon! Excellent example, excellent.

Anyone else? No? Ah, Ms. Rosenberg again. Go ahead.

An LA-based empire private detective and his employee and friend... I'm sorry. Did you say an "empire  detective?" Oh. Vampire detective. Interesting idea. Yes. Friends for years. Mm-hmm. Slowly growing appreciation for each other. Unspoken attraction, but evident to audience. Finally, decide to meet and declare their feelings. Yes, we're being Jossed. Then the woman stands him up by disappearing to a higher plane of existence without letting him know what happened...that's a good Whedon.

There's more? She returns - another Joss! - but no longer loves him - Whedon!

She betrays him by sleeping with his son? Nice! A double Whedon! You go, girl! You're on a roll!

She gets pregnant from son? Triple Whedon!

Then gives birth to an evil being that threatens to overwhelm the world? Quadruple Whedon!

She falls into a coma? Quintuple!

A long time later she awakens, returns to him clearly in love, Jossing, Jossing...only for it to be revealed that she has actually died? Incredible, Ms. Rosenberg! A SEXTUPLE WHEDON!

Wow. This IS exciting! And I'm sorry to say that we have run out of time for today. Please read the rest of the handout, where we touch on "First loves becoming psychotic after sex," and "Cancer survivor Moms finally enjoying life only to be found dead on the couch" and "Rogue demon hunter's girlfriends dying due to possession by blue elder gods."

Any last questions? Ms. Rosenberg. No, no. This is purely a fictional device. I don't think that you need to be worried about it, at all. Nice shirt, by the way.

Time of the Signs : Truth in Advertising, Moment I

Gotta admire their honesty...

Ran across this one while passing through beautiful downtown Port Angeles, WAAAA.

We first spotted this tragedy of editing from a block away. Okay, haha, a little. But then we found that, even when we pulled forward, the "Nasty" problem persisted, due to the sheer number of utility poles. What finally clinched it for us was reading the sad story told by "Voted Best Chinese Restaurant on the Peninsula 2000, 2001, 2002." Wha' Hopp'n? Clearly a cruel case of self-fulfilling prophecy. Or...maybe... <conspiracy> maybe this is the work of a vindictive city traffic department, ruthlessly promoting a different Chinese joint.</conspiracy> The mind recoils. And then the stomach reminds us that it's time for lunch.