In the land without humor, the man with bad jokes reigns supreme

Kids are morons. For the past ten minutes, this child has been talking about "Boosa." She's on the internet, and she's asking "is that Boosa? Boosa? What's boosa... Boosa! That's Boosa!" Then she points out to her father next to her. "Daddy, that's Boosa." What kind of inane fool can't determine that your own beloved father doesn't want to hear this meaningless drivel?!

The los angeles superior court is a land without humor. And I learned nothing from my time spent with them. It seems I was mistaken as to the nature of my transgressions against the Law. I thought I was being penalized for the totality and rate of destruction I was visiting upon the poor victims. It turns out this is not correct. It was not the viciousness and efficiency with which I consumed the beverages in question. Nay. These facts are most likely to be lauded by nearly every individual in this fine country, including most agents of the Law. Rather, it was merely the location at which I performed my beer-consuming virtuosity. So, I suppose the good news is that I am still free to consume massive amounts in record-breaking time, provided that I do so under the roof of an appropriate venue.

The debates are on. This is pretty good stuff. I think that they should have a fun category of debate. Like, every so often, they throw out a bubble-gum filler debate topic. Like... oh say... "Tapatio is better than Tabasco, isn't it?" "Palen could be the vice president of the United States of America. How surreal is that?" Palen... not enough can be said about this candidate... I wish she were running for President. Because she would have chosen a running mate foolishly (for instance, maybe she would, oh say, have selected some newbie political hack governor from some state nobody gives a sh*t about). It would be amazing. The republicans would be beginning a campaign of constantly one-upping themselves on putting bigger dip-sh*ts into the oval office. Everybody would keep voting for them just to see how good it was going to get. By like 2050, they'd have some guy that smears sh*t on the walls. Anyway... I'm tired of the way she always answers EVERY question (regardless of relevancy) by discussing her actions in AK with the energy and oil issues. We f*cking get it all ready, b**ch. You're a one-trick pony. Got it, thanks. Now come up with some more stock BS. Stock BS - if you've got it, you too can be a presidential candidate (or vice presidential candidate). I think vice-presidents should be like vice cops. They should go a little too far, y'know. Like snort some cocaine to try to prove to the dealers that they are not the president under-cover. Maybe sign some stuff out from the evidence room, and maybe misuse it, y'know, the ends justify the means and sh*t.

"Clayton, you blog on the level of an 8th grader. But not a 2008 tech-savvy 8th grader, but like a 1980's-welcome-to-the-future-see-how-poorly-you-can-utilize-this-amazing-invention-called-the-internet-8th-grader. "

I apologize, for I digress.

There is a theme within the work of Kevin Costner. To define it, I have been on a bit of an academic chase through the catacombs of my own mind.
I thought the amazing film "for love of the game" showed us a brilliant insight into the solution of the challenge I seek to solve. It gave us a glimpse of the everyman vs. legend dicotomy that Kevin portrays time after time.
While Kevin's character, Billy Chapel (RHP, Detroit), is pitching his final inning against the Yankees, the announcer narrates the epic struggle for us. He notes that Chapel is not pitching against the Yankees. Rather, he is pitching against Time. It is the final game of Chapel's career. "He can used that tired old arm one last time. To push the sun back into the sky and give us one more day of summer." The announcer has latched onto this timeless theme! Billy Chapel is facing an immortal enemy in the passage of Time. The announcer has divorced the character of his incidental traits (pitcher, Tiger, man), and declared that he is now an agent of Apollonian status. Like a god of the Greeks, it is his proffession, much less ABILITY!, to hoist the sun, and push it back into the sky and give ALL OF US one last joyous day of the recently-departed summer! Meanwhile, Kevin Costner as Chapel mutters to his god. He apologizes for breaking a promise that he would never ask his god to get involved in a baseball game ("it always seemed silly,"). But he breaks the promise to his god for this simple request: "if you could just make this pain in my shoulder go away for ten minutes..." As you can see, Billy Chapel the legend is on the verge of a monumental accomplishment. Billy Chapel (as portrayed by K-Cos) the individual is just a dude. I think to ourselves, we are all just dudes. Not ace pitchers, future hall-of-famers, the stuff of Grecian myth. Kevin Costner has made the brave decision, both in his life and in his career, to stand on the brink, that frightening space shared by immortality and the mundane, and we are all the better for it.

A rock band.

A fucking rock band. Magnets make the sounds and you overpower the electronic signals to make it interesting. We write pop songs and juice them up with guitar solos. No extended instrumental solos, no tonal explorations, no world rhythms nor drugs. That's not a direction you ought to go. If there's dust on it, blow it off. Rather, keep it there, see how it sounds, it may bode well for the reception. Nothing too showy, just matching suits. It goes "tssss" right before the snare (that's the beat upon which the audience claps), and the beat is drawn out with a chord on the keyboard, the bass guitar announces this approach, over and over again, denoting a pattern, a schedule, a promise. Now, how hard does that sound?

A word on a hero. Spoilers abound.

In the 1992 film Bodyguard, when K-Cos speaks the line, "There is a difference between wanting to die and having no fear of death," he effortlessly and definitively declares candidacy for Least Convincing Dialogue in a Film Ever.
Well, as most of you know, it is a rare day that you will hear me bicker about the attributes of an actor of the caliber of K-Cos. K-Cos rarely plays the Legend-in-his-own-time role. Rather, he effortlessly portrays the everyman who rises to the level of mythology in the end. See Postman and Guardian for entertaining and inspirational examples of this concept. In more challenging moods, K-Cos uses his effortless ability to portray the everyman-to-legend heroics as a ploy to draw the audience in, only to ensnare and challenge the viewers. For examples of this, take in Mr. Brooks or No Way Out.

I'm getting a phone call. Expect more on the ouerve of K-Cos very soon.