Pet Cobra

This Day In History

May 30, 2007: Kobe Bryant demands a trade. This did affect me; back in Tha Day, I was a diehard Lakers fan. I started watching them, and to a lesser extent the rest of the NBA, back in the mid 90's when I was living in PB with old roomie Tom, a diehard Lakers fan. We suffered through Elden "The Black Vlade" Campbell and Vlade "The White Vlade" Divac and Del Harris, had man-crushes on Eddie Jones and Nick Van Smack, shat ourselves when Shaq arrived, shat ourselves again when Kobe was drafted, and shat thrice more during the Halcyon Days of The Three-peat. I still think letting Shaq go was the right decision, and still think that every decision since has been wrong on a galactic scale (Kwame Brown? Really?). If - and it's a big if - Kobe goes, the best-case scenario is Bill Simmons' hypothetical Deal Number 1. For a lot of reasons, chief among them Leandro Barbosa and a 2008 first round pick. Also, the Suns play such fluid and fun basketball that by God I almost jumped ship this season; look, I know that my enthusiasm for the NBA in general and the Lakers in particular has waned, but there's a special circle of Hell reserved for SoCal'ers who root for any team from Arrakis. I'm on the fence about Kobe leaving, but maintaining the status quo is the worst possible scenario; a selfish superstar who has to be because he's surrounded by a bunch of 2nd tier talent. I do believe that Kobe wants to stay, that he's honestly pissed off that Buss and Sycophants haven't brought in winners, that he's telling the truth about the real reason that Shaq was traded (despite what we're inclined to believe, most NBA players are professional - they want to win, but more important, they want to at the very least maintain their market value, and the way to do that is to win, and the way to win is surround yourself with winners, and one will put up with an enormous amount of bullshit to ensure that one continues to make millions of dollars in salary and endorsements, and lest we forget, Shaq and Kobe WON THREE GODDAMN TITLES BACKTOBACKTOBACK, a feat which, since then, has been repeated by exactly NO ONE.). So I think it highly unlikely that he will leave, and if this does turn out to be the shot across Jerry Buss' bow that wakes him up from at least one of his stupors, then good for Kobe.

Also on This Day In History: Joan of Arc was burned at the stake (1431); the bra was invented (1889); Evel Knievel jumped 16 cars in a row at Ascot Speedway in Gardena (1967); and I was born (1969). I know - not as cool as Evel Knievel.

The Surf Report for Sunday, May 27: Animal Planet

Despite, or perhaps because of, the fact that the night before I'd consumed a beer, three glasses of champagne, a kick-ass cocktail called The Tears of The Prophet, and the equivalent of a bottle and a half of red wine, I was all set to paddle out yesterday morning. Whiff and fam had come down to celebrate and spent the night; naturally, we had to get a surf in. Also, I believe I've spoken before of my Delayed Hangover Response - on those occasions when I overdo it, the hangover typically does not hit me until 11:00 or so the next morning. So I had a couple of hours before I started feeling it. There was not a moment to lose.

The kids, though, had other plans; they were up before we were, so we let the wives sleep in and headed out when they woke. It being a holiday weekend, the crowds would be out in force (hate surfing on holiday weekends; on the flip side, on holiday weekends I'm not the biggest kook in the water - thank you, guy from Tucson on the 8'6" Bic Funboard!) It was decided that the ladies would run to the store and get breakfast-y stuff while Whiff and I would surf.

So we strolled across the street to Home Break, which at first glance looked like it might be workable. Glassy, at least. Strolling out into the water I stepped on something flat, wriggly, and very much alive. Whatever it was did not sting me. But it did suck up all of my aquatic karma.

Whatever wavage was going on died shortly thereafter; we spent an hour and a half in the cool (getting warmer!) water watching Nature's spectacle unfurl before us. First, a couple of dive-bombing pelicans; they must have been on to something, for soon after I was in the middle of a pod of dolphins, out for their morning breakfast (wave of the day belonged to one, who rode it inside and capped it off with a full out-of-water breech, earning a hoot from me). A juvenile sea lion cruised over and was checking out Whiff. The ocean did provide some entertainment, even if it wasn't what we were hoping for.

The Glory That Is Memorial Day Weekend

I checked out of work, in the mental sense, at about 11:30; my co-workers took me to lunch to celebrate my impending birthday. It was downhill from there; I did manage to close one deal, get the ball rolling on the next excellent candidate that my company will eventually hire and sing my praises regarding, so I worked, let no man cast a baleful eye upon me. (Sentence structure flies out the window on holiday weekends, even more so than usual. Plus as far as you know I started drinking as soon as I got home.)

So: tonight, PoTC: AWE, as the geeks say. 2.75 hours of CGI-swordfightin' goodness. Tomorrow night, out with friends to celebrate my impending birthday, drinking/eating at the fabulous Blue Lotus. Sunday, surfing with Whiff and possibly Clayfin and anyone else who cares to join us. Monday - slack-jawed couch ridin'.

Until we next speak, then.

Lost!Season!3!Finale!Live!Blog!Spectacular!

8:02: The Pre-game Show
First, a disclaimer: I enter this season's finale completely unspoiled, having avoided TWoP and Ain't It Cool News like the plague today. On to My Predictions.

• Charlie, Desmond, Locke - they live.
• Hurley,  Sayid, Bernard,  Juliet - not so much.
• I'm proud to say that I was sorta 50% right with my Theory about The Others. I predict that we will learn a bit more about Richard; my prediction (a popular one amongst Lost geeks) is that he's OG Black Rock - a crew member of the ship that crashed on the island in the 1800's, or 1700's. (Remember that Dharma's research included a study on Life Extension; they were studying Black Rockers, who somehow don't age.) I'll take this a step further - Richard was the ship's second-in-command. The captain? Jacob.
• We won't learn anything more about the island.
• The Game Changer, the big event that's been buzzed about, the thing that will totally alter the course of the show?
• Wait for it.
• Wait for it.
• The Losties are going to get off the island.

Ponder, place your bets, I'm back in 40. Wow, that sounded incredibly Seacrest-y. Sorry.

IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT REGARDING "LOST"

Tomorrow night, I will be live-blogging the LOST! SEASON! 3! FINALE!

(It is tomorrow, right? And we are on Season 3, right?)

Those of you who need a bit of a refresher course on what the current season has brought us, read this.

(Thanks to homeskillet Tony, aka T-Webb, aka Croutonboy, aka SPOILER Tony Hanso for the link.)

ETA 5:30 PST 5/22/07: I'm not sure what an "annoucement" is either. According to Wikipedia, it's a complicated divorce ritual practiced by a small group of villagers living on the Hebrides.

It's Not Wussification - It's Dadification

Beneath The Surly lies the soul of that caricature of the weepy Anna Nicole Smith judge that Fred Armisen does on Saturday Night Live(viewers of the show - both of you - will know what I'm talking about).

This was apparent recently when I sobbed - sobbed! Jesus! I'll own up to it, but damn! - while reading the last three pages of The Road. And last night, I got verklempt during The Sopranos, when Tony "saved" A.J. from drowning (yeah, A.J. gave himself waaaay too much rope, but you know, it coulda gone the other way if T had shown any more interest in those Lincoln Log sandwiches; yes, I referred to him as "T", which puts me into the same category as people who say "Bobby DeNiro" and "Marty Scorcese", that of "insufferable douchebag"). Broke my heart, watching Tony sob (gah) over his "little boy". I might need summa dat terapy.

This is what happens. You see the face of your kid on the face of every lost, scared, hurt, or dead child, real or otherwise. It's one of those things that's not in the manual.

Giraffes Are Cool.

The Impotence of Being Ernest

It occurred to me to ask myself, just after mile two when my right calf seized up like it had been hooked to a car battery and the pain shot through my leg and I slowed to a hobble muttering godfuckingdammitgodfuckingdammitgodfuckingdammit - I asked myself why, why again was I doing this?

A few days prior, the long slow commute home, and Nirvana's cover of "Lake of Fire" hums through the speakers. I've little love for Nirvana; I was there when it all went down, and having loved all of the bands that they "borrowed" from, I believe that Cobain had the crown of genius placed on his head a wee bit prematurely. But Unplugged I like; a glimpse into what might have been, had Kurt not opted to check out. Not for the first time it hit me, listening to him wail through that song - the performance itself is a suicide note. You hear it in the lyrics, and you saw it in his eyes. He'd made the decision at that point; the rest was just timing.

The other night at the bookstore, and I'm walking through the stacks. I've already decided on a title (screwed up the courage to read McCarthy's The Road; infinitely glad I did, for it's perhaps the saddest, grimmest book I've read, and the finest, most beautiful rendition of what it means to love your child that I've come across), but was thinking about what to read next. Hemingway came to mind. If I had a "favorite" author, it might be him. I have read maybe a third of what he's written; he's not coming out with any new stuff, I reasoned back in high school, so I might as well pace myself. Papa is, of course, dead by his own hand. I think of him, too, when I hear any of the Unplugged tracks, for it seems to me when I read his words and especially when I look at photos - fishing rod or gorgeous woman or rifle in hand - that there's a hint in his eyes, that one of the lights in his mind went out, and that with him the decision had also been made, and the rest, timing.

So I have a birthday in a few weeks. I'd like to have as many as possible. I have a kid, another on the way, a wife, and a life that despite the occasion shitstorm I rather enjoy.  The past few weeks, I've been in pain, and exhausted. But not ready to quit, now, or ever.

Because You Could Care Less, Here Is My Latest! Lost! Theory!

My faith in Lost, and to a much, much, much lesser extent humanity, has been restored. Season Three has been a return to form; lots of WhatTheFuckery, some excellent acting, and a bad guy that you just wanna bitch-slap until your hand goes numb.

Since I've been accused of being a Thinking Blogger, by actual Thinking Bloggers out of whom I dig the hell, I figure I need to show my true colors, those of a genre-TV-loving geek who is still somewhat upset over the cancellation of Drive, a show that apart from Nathan Fillion kind of sucked. Having not offered up any thoughts on Lost in many moons, I give you this theory, partially copped off of an idea that someone posted up at Television Without Pity. If you haven't been watching, the following is conjecture, but somewhat spoiler-y if you've missed big chunks.

The Others were Dharma workers and/or lab rats who rose up and slew their Hanso masters (who were performing experiments on at least some of them) and took over. They now control the Island, and have access to Dharma technology (brainwashing) and resources (the files on the Losties; Ben's order to get "lists" in the episode where the Others see the plane crash).

The real Oceanic 815 DID crash. The Losties' plane? Not Oceanic 815. The Powers That Be, at some point, put all of the Losties on another plane, and jimmied their memories, planting false ones to make them think that they were on Oceanic 815. So we have a plane full of interesting folks: several who are pretty handy with guns, or who at least don't seem to have problems killing people (Kate, Eko, Ana L., the dead marshall, Paolo, Nikki, Sayid, Jin, Sawyer, and even Charlie), one who's a master interrogator (Sayid), a doctor who everyone just seems to assume is their leader. There's also Locke, and to a lesser extent Rose (cancer patient who recovered), Sun/Jin's infertility issues, and Hurley's mental problems - all would seem to have some quality that would make them very interesting to the Others. Bait to draw them out. And how convenient for Locke that he's pretty comfortable with knives? Because if you want to kill someone who you're in close proximity to, like, say, Ben, quickly and quietly...

One of the big Unanswered Questions is a multi-parter. Why are these people seemingly interconnected? Why does it seems like they are all on the Island for a Reason?

Easy. The Losties...Dharma/Hanso sleeper agents, sent by the Hanso Foundation to take out the Others.