perfidy

John Kerry needs help.

To get his Ohio rallies up and rolling, Kerry used a set of jokes to open his events. In Bowling Green, his shtick went something like this:

"If you elect me and my running mate, John Edwards, we are going to give you the courageous leadership you need. We'll take the tough positions, the courageous positions, the tough stands. But there's one tough position I will not take: I am not going to choose between the Falcons and the Rockets" -- this is a local reference to the well-known rivalry between Bowling Green University and the University of Toledo.

"I will say this," he added. "There is nothing better than Buckeye football, period!"

Kerry used this set piece several times in Ohio, to great effect, never mind the waffling with the generality of "Buckeye" football. Was he talking Ohio State University specifically? Or just football in the state in general? Only Kerry knows.

But then Kerry dug a huge hole for himself. On Sunday and into Monday, Kerry hit Michigan, where he attempted to use the same Ohio jokes. Clearly, the sports humor has to be taken out of his hands before he really embarrasses himself.

"I just came here from Bowling Green," Kerry told the crowd to subdued applause. "I was smart enough not to pick a choice between the Falcons and the, well, you know, all those other teams out there. I just go for Buckeye football, that's where I'm coming from."

At that point, before all the boos began raining down upon him, Kerry seemed to realize his error. In an attempt to silent the angry crowd of University of Michigan supporters, Kerry said, "But that was while I was in Ohio. I know I'm in the state of Michigan and you got a great big M and a powerhouse of a team." Then his face, presumably, the Botox permitting, turned Big Blue.

Wow. Just wow. Homework, John. Do your homework. And please, please, please make sure you don't give the "hook 'em horns!" when you roll through College Station, Texas. Or, if you wish, by all means do! And follow it up with a good old cry of "Roll, Tide" at a campaign stop in Auburn! And, don'tcha know, potential voters in Philadelphia just love the New York Jets, ya dumbass.

The USA men's Olympic basketball team continued their proud march to the gold yesterday, defeating Germany 80-77 in a buzzer-beater. Before you let your organs of pride swell in victory, you should know this: the German team they beat didn't even qualify for Athens.

Next stop: the unstoppable powerhouse of Serbia-Montenegro.

Ken Layne:

After getting through the insane security at CitiBank Headquarters -- caused by four-year-old Evidence of Terror Plans released Sunday to scare the bejesus out of you -- you get to say "Hi" to Laura Bush in the lobby! That's neat.

It's neat when schedules work out that way.

Oh, and the Immediate Alert Scary-Ville terror info? Now they're saying it actually refers to an attack planned for Sept. 2. You know, the last day of the Republican Convention in New York, when Bush gives his big speech?

[snip]

If you launch a Big Scare on Sunday -- when the big political news for the coming week is the just-finished Democratic convention -- and don't tell us the info you're holding is four years old and that it doesn't refer to any immediate attacks, and then the newspapers come out with that information, and then you change your story and say that the Attack Plans actually refer to Sept. 2 in New York, when the incumbent president will give his big campaign speech, you do not sound like a person would ever treat the Dept. of Homeland Security as anything but a campaign office.

So am I to understand that NYC will be under lockdown for the next month, and the whole world watches as the Terrorized City awaits that Sept. 2 deadline with terrible fear, and we get there without an attack (I hope), and a grateful nation watches the Bush speech, and then the barricades & body armor go away with the GOP convention? Is that the schedule?

Although this is a resoundingly cynical way to look at matters, it's also a fair question. As Michael Totten notes in his link to Layne,

I'm not about to romp off to moonbat land, but this doesn't exactly inspire confidence. Who is the bright bulb behind this stunt, anyway?

Do I think the Bush Administration made up a bogus terror alert to get a jump start on the convention? No. Keep your Kool Aid. But they sure are trying to score points off it, aren't they? Say hello to Laura Bush in the target building's lobby. Please.

Kerry got no bounce - no bounce - from his own convention. If I were advising either Kerry or Bush I'd tell both of them to be quiet and stay away from the cameras. Quit bugging the bejeezus out of everybody. People aren't voting for in this election, they're voting against.

Precisely. Come November, I see two choices for myself: to vote for Kerry, or against Bush. These are not congruent conclusions, and whether I decide to vote for Kerry or to throw my vote away writing in "Turd Ferguson" or "Kodos" hinges in part on how often the Kerry campaign and the Bush goverment succeed in not causing me go fetal every time they make a move.

As for the lack of a convention bounce, I think that is less the result of an unsuccessful convention than an indication of just how many people have made up their minds already. Thank goodness I live in Massachusetts (where John Kerry could literally eat a live baby outside Faneuil Hall and still carry the state) rather than Ohio, where my parent's can't turn on a television or radio without enduring some excruciating pitch for Bush or Kerry. This is going to be an ugly one, and close.

But there is one in "Biyatch!"

The US Olympic men's basketball team, consisting of NBA players including Tim Duncan and Lamar Odom, got their asses handed to them by fricking Italy in an exhibition game yesterday. The final score was 95-78.

Sez Odom, "We need more time together. These teams play together for years and we have to put it together in a couple of weeks. . . . Our defense wasn't up to par. This was a lesson for us." Duncan echoed the defensive woes, also adding "It doesn't hurt at all. It's great preparation."

Or, gentlemen, perhaps the problem is that the rest of the world still spends time on crazy timewasters like shooting, ball-handling, team play, and defense, while American basketball players prefer to dunk! dunk! dunk! and work on their foul-drawing pratfalls. Woo! Lookit me! I'm dunking! Hey ref! That guy hacked me! Ow, ow, ow! Now, where's my Escalade!

The NBA is a pit of crappy play and lax refereeing, and the league's entire culture rewards criminal behavior, total irresponsibility, and utter selfishness.

Check out this bit from the end of the article: "LeBron James delivered [the pyrotechnics] late in the third quarter, breaking away on a turnover and throwing in an emphatic dunk. The crowd booed loudly when the basket was negated by a traveling call." When is the last time you saw and NBA player called for travelling on a three-step dunk?

Italy, man.

[wik] Of course, part of the issue is that these days the biggest players don't want to risk blowing out a knee in some stupid non-paying glory gig. Just check out the roster from the original 1992 dream team: Michael Jordan, Magic Johnson, Larry Bird, Charles Barkley, David Robinson, Patrick Ewing, Karl Malone, Scottie Pippen, Chris Mullin, Clyde Drexler, John Stockton, and Christian Laettner.

Now, let's compare it to this year's version of Team USA: Carmelo Anthony, Carlos Boozer, Tim Duncan, Allen Iverson, LeBron James, Richard Jefferson, Stephon Marbury, Shawn Marion, Lamar Odom, Emeka Okafor, Amare Stoudemire, and Dwyane Wade.

Who?

Here's an interesting article in the WaPo about efforts by the Telemundo network to train all its in-house actors and personalities to speak Mexican Spanish, which the network considers to be the equivalent of American Newscaster English.

There's some interesting stuff in there, particularly about Colombia's sensitivity to the changes ( it turns out that Colombia thinks they speak standard Spanish and resent their native actors going Mexican) and about the need for Telemundo to take any advantage they can in competing with Univision, a network more than three times Telemundo's size.

In all, it's both gratifying to see that Spanish language entertainment is becoming truly internationalized on a large scale, and a little bittersweet that I might no longer have the pleasure of wrinkling my brow in consternation as I try to follow the harsh fricatives and clipped speech of an Argentinian soap actor speaking his native accent. Accent standardization is a sign that the Spanish entertainment industry is mature and expecting great future growth.

(Thanks to Casper at blogcritics.)

[wik] As for Colombian being standard Spanish, that's simply crazy talk. My brother in law is Colombian, and I have more trouble understanding his family's clipped, fast conversation than I do understanding my Madrid-born boss, the Mexicans and Dominicans at the local bodega, or the excited ranting of Mexican soccer announcers (of course, "GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL!!! is universal).

The Ministry welcomes BlackFive's daughter, Grace, to this material plane. Although Grace will be missed on the Astral Plane, we are confident of her success and happiness on Earth. Congratulations to the Paratrooper of Love and his family for the addition to their clan.

As a present for Grace, the Ministry is considering Baby's First Fuzzy Wuzzy HALO Rig (which I believe is a Fisher Price product). Other suggestions are welcome. Indeed, expected.

End transmission

Hey, kids! Unky Johno has two bits of fun for you kids today!

First up, thanks to Phil Dennison, is a blog which currently-- and for not much longer-- has a recording of The Chipmunks' Christmas Song slowed down to the speed at which they recorded the vocals. Did you know that Theodore is actually a baritone, Alvin a tenor (and possibly a child molester, by the sound of his voice), and that Tom Waits wrote the music? Must be heard to be believed.

(BRDGT (blogrolled to your left) is moving away from Boston soon to become a doctor (of history), and you better believe this'll be on the Super Special Driving Mix I slip them before they go. On there about six times, i might add. A joke is funnier if it's not funny anymore.)

Next is this gem of a beaut of a wonderful thing, thanks to Will Collier of vodkapundit who apparently has not sufficiently disciplined his inner ten-year-old.

My name is Johno and I approved this message.

Being that I am from Northeastern Ohio I retain a certain pride in the region, especially when it comes to the music scene. Consequently, when co-blogcritic person Craig Lyndall offered me an album by Lovedrug, a new Canton band who, according to him, put on a beautiful live show, I jumped at the chance. What's new in Canton?

Lovedrug are a four-piece group in the young tradition of Radiohead and Coldplay who have a few big things going for them-- a tight sound, a good producer, and a phenomenal singer among them. Unfortunately, their debut, "Pretend You're Alive" lacks memorable songwriting and strong lyrics, leaving the impression of a band who has a lot left to prove.

A few tracks impress. The shiny surfaces of the opening "In Red," the disturbing and violent lyrics of "Blackout," and the Coldplayesque arrangment on "Candy" all hint at good things to come, but over the course of the album's 13 tracks ear fatigue sets in and the high points get smeared into a samey haze.

As with most albums I review, I put "Pretend You're Alive" on autorepeat and waited to get sick of it. After five or so straight times through, I wasn't ready to chuck it in the bin (good news) but also hadn't noticed a single transition between tracks apart from the album starting over (bad news). A few more listens and I still wasn't able to tell the songs apart. Although not boring, there's just nothing here that works too hard at being interesting. Although Lovedrug sound great (especially if you really, really like Coldplay) they play like a Saturday Night Live movie of the rock world -- a really good four-minute sketch stretched very thin.

Recent conversations with co-workers have turned to etiquette, manners, and other socially constructed behavioral governance. We swapped some stories about rude people, rude places, and entirely rude populations. I riffed a bit on the difference between being crotchety which, as a native Yankee I certainly am, and being rude, which I rarely am on purpose.

Anyway manners are on my mind. Who are the rudest people you've ever met as a group, ie Mets fans, cab drivers, retired accountants, French speakers, fat bastard Belgians...? Where is the rudest place you've ever been? That is, not necessarily the least developed, but where the population at large seemed universally ambivalent to your continued existence?

Michael Totten is back from Tunisia and posting up a storm. Go read! Make sure you catch all his travelogue posts especially, as he has a real knack for lyrical and evocative descriptive writing.