"C'MON, I LIED. SO SCAMPISH"
The Daily Show was rather sublime last night.
Crooks and Liars has a good clip.

I went golfing for the first time in at least three years, maybe five, yesterday. My dad and I played the front nine of the eighteen-hole course at South Park. I was neither good nor bad. I shot a fifty-one not quite adhering to the Strict Rules of Golf. Take that as you will. My driving was decent though it declined as the round went along. I don’t think I hit a single fairway with the driver. I hit one just about perfect drive but I was aiming down the right side to compensate for my usual push and down the right side it went. I was saved time and time again by the 7-wood. I have a hard time hitting bad shots with that club.

My putting was erratic, just like in the Blur song, but I had some nice ones. I read a few breaks perfectly but had the wrong speed and a couple times I had the right speed but misread the break, but overall my putting was pretty amazing considering how little practice I've had. My chipping was atrocious, but I've practiced that the least, and even that got better as I went. I had a nice chip on each of the last three holes.

The game of golf is pretty fun if you have half an idea what you're doing.

And a cart.

John Fiedler died. Best known as the voice of Piglet, he has a special place in my heart for his role as the Old Man in The Emperor's New Groove. Also, he was, along with Jack Warden, one of Sidney Lumet's 12 Angry Men. Jack Warden is, of course, still alive.

I lead a very active fantasy life. For instance, I've never had a nickname. I played on this baseball team where, over the course of the season, everyone acquired a nickname except me. I'm just kind of bland. Not that I've really ever wanted a nickname but sometimes you have to wonder if you're doing something wrong if you don't have one. If I were Catfish Fredland or Blackmagic Fredland you'd know I'm an interesting person with a story to tell. You'd want to get to know me, but as it is I'm just some guy. Nothing to see here. Move along.

Anyway, I've concocted a fantasy where I went to school and was over-weight. Imagine if you will the plight of an over-weight kid in the elementary schools of Pittsburgh with the last name of Fredland. I think it would only be natural for this kid to pick up the nickname of local supermarket chain Foodland. As you can imagine my fantasy elementary days were not happy ones.

Through elementary school other local supermarket names were thrown my way after the initial success of Foodland. I was also called Shop 'n Save, which didn't stick, and Giant Eagle, which did. So here I am in junior high with the nicknames Foodland and Giant Eagle. I'm quiet. I internalize the pain. In freshman year of high school, miracle of miracles, I drop the weight. Oh, my god, I'm a hottie. I become cool. My supermarket nicknames no longer make any sense. I become known simply as The Eagle.

Now I'm the CEO of my own company: The Eagle Diversified Technology Corporation.

"They were the kind of band that didn't break between songs because they knew no one would clap."

There is a thing on television right now where NetZero's Dennis Miller, the right wing hate machine's Ann Coulter, and American Idol's Randy Jackson are "debating" who is the "greatest American".

Ignoring the pointlessness of the debate itself, can anyone think of three worse people to be debating this issue?

I guess Paris Hilton, Jessica Simpson, and Larry the cable guy were busy.

Dear Bloglines,

I have been using and enjoying your very helpful service for a number of months, but recently a problem has presented itself.

I read a number of blogs where the blogger is very insightful from Saturday to Thursday but through some personal weakness feels the need to post pictures of cats come Friday. I would appreciate it if you would look into implementing a function where it would be possible to block posts about the blogger’s cats.

I am aware of the inherent difficulties of putting this function into play and still allow the blog reader to view posts relating to important feline issues, and Broadway musicals, but I have every confidence in you to do so.

Sincerely,
Nicholas Fredland

Damn.

Thirty-five years ago, on June 12, 1970, Pittsburgh Pirate and future Texas Rangers pitcher Dock Ellis found himself in the Los Angeles home of a childhood friend named Al Rambo. Two days earlier, he'd flown with the Pirates to San Diego for a four-game series with the Padres. He immediately rented a car and drove to L.A. to see Rambo and his girlfriend Mitzi. The next 12 hours were a fog of conversation, screwdrivers, marijuana, and, for Ellis, amphetamines. He went to sleep in the early morning, woke up sometime after noon and immediately took a dose of Purple Haze acid. Ellis would frequently drop acid on off days and weekends; he had a room in his basement christened "The Dungeon," in which he'd lock himself and listen to Jimi Hendrix or Iron Butterfly "for days."

A bit later, how long exactly he can't recall, he came across Mitzi flipping through a newspaper. She scanned for a moment, then noticed something.

"Dock," she said. "You're supposed to pitch today."

Ellis focused his mind. No. Friday. He wasn't pitching until Friday. He was sure.

"Baby," she replied. "It is Friday. You slept through Thursday."

Ellis remained calm. The game would start late. Ample time for the acid to wear off. Then it struck him: doubleheader. The Pirates had a doubleheader. And he was pitching the first game. He had four hours to get to San Diego, warm up and pitch. If something didn't happen in the interim, Dock Philip Ellis, age 25, was about to enter a 50,000-seat stadium and throw a very small ball, very hard, for a very long time, without the benefit of being able to, you know, feel the thing.

Which, it turns out, was one of the least crazy things that happened to him on that particular day.

From Boingboing.

If they pass a flag burning amendment will this become illegal?

That was fun.

Should I try to get Edgar Wright to autograph my copy of Bryan Lee O'Malley's Scott Pilgrim's Precious Little Life?

Jack Warden is still alive.

"Laurence Olivier is immense!" -- The Zombies.

Did I mention that The Rude Pundit is my hero?

Bush said that "Some have been released to their previous countries, and they got out and they went on to the battlefield again." It ain't that big a leap of logic to say that perhaps they went to the battlefield because of the way they were treated at Gitmo. That after a couple of years of detention with no way to contact loved ones, no access to legal processes, and at least some brutality and torture in the form of beatings, sleep deprivation, and more, one might be fuckin' pissed when one is released with nothing more than an "oops." Ask yourself: what would Rambo do? No, really, fuckin' ask yourself that. Would Rambo simply walk away and go back to whatever the hell Rambo did? Or would Rambo wanna go back and face down the motherfuckers who are holding his buddies? Oh, wait. That's what Rambo did.

My sister sent me a way cool, cardboard Incredibles mask.
If my posting becomes sporadic it's because I'm off fighting crime.

Sometimes you have to put aside your Fine Art aspirations and any sense of sophistication and just draw dinosaurs.

Went to the Arts Festival with my brother today. Ben Lee opened for Aimee Mann. Ben Lee is not so good. He plays this very shallow, 'sensitive' music. It's so empty, soulless and pathetic. It's so obviously music to impress girls. Boo, Ben Lee.

Aimee Mann was really good. She may have leaned too heavily on her current album but that's understandable. Aimee Mann came across as a genuinely nice person. She'd be cool to hang out with. She introduced Save Me from Magnolia as a song that lost the Oscar to Phil Collins' "Cartoon-monkey-love song". The high point of her set was the final song--Deathly. It finished with her guitar player, who looked remarkably like Johnny Damon, wailing away. It was the perfect way to end a set.

Happy Father's Day

Belly.

The Pittsburgh premiere of Land of the Dead is on Wednesday. Quentin Tarantino is supposed to be there. My brother and I are going to be there. Our connection in the Cultural Trust hooked us up. We're going to be working the show, in what capacity I'm not quite sure, made up as zombies. It should be interesting.

I've got a load of blisters on my hands from doing demolition yesterday at AIR with a crowbar and hitting a ton of balls today at the driving range. Crowbars and wedges. A very satisfying start to a weekend that should wrap up nicely tomorrow with Ben Lee and Aimee Mann at the Arts Festival.

Current music: Our House - Madness.

The Pirates are in Boston this weekend. The game isn't important. Tonight, during the bottom of the 7th inning the rotating ads behind home plate were shilling for Giant Glass. That's Giant Glass. 1-800-54-Giant. Facing Josh Fogg in the bottom of the 7th were three left-handed batters. The placement of the camera put these batters right in the middle of the Giant Glass ad. The first batter was Bill Mueller. The umpire, Pirate catcher Humberto Cota, and Mueller were aligned perfectly so that the sign read "Giant Ass". It was beautiful. Unfortunately, by the time I got a recordable DVD in and formatted Mueller was out and Johnny Damon was up. Johnny's stance put him farther over into "Giant" but when he leans into the pitch he brings back the "Giant Ass". It's not as good as Bill Mueller's "Giant Ass", but I guess it will have to do.

Nick Locking just about nails Batman Begins.

When Kids On Couches Pictures Go Bad.

It's simple mathematics.
Comic book movies = bad.
Batman Begins = comic book movie.
Batman Begins = bad.

The neighbors are sitting in the dark watching QVC.

I prefer Neil Diamond to Leonard Cohen.

Red Light, Yellow Light, Green Light, Stop is the greatest game ever.
Especially when you get the lights in the correct order.
Especially when everybody is cheating.

I just hit 6000 songs even in my iTunes library.

Hey, remember my screenplay? Yeah, that's what I thought.

Anyway, I'm aware of my limitations. Going into the writing I figured that I'd write whatever I could, and it would be decent, but that it would be lacking something. And so it was. But I figured I had my Secret Weapon, my little brother, and he'd be able to point out what was missing. He's been back from college for a week and I gave him the screenplay to read a couple days ago but I hadn't heard anything back from him. I was kind of afraid to ask him about it. It he thought it was horrible it would be better to just pretend it never happened.

So, we were hanging around outside earlier and he says, "I read your screenplay". I try to stay calm. He seemed to like it. He didn't say it was awful, anyway. He then goes and gives me a couple points of constructive criticism that go directly to the major problems at the end of the story. It was exactly what I needed to hear. It was exactly the kind of advice I expected him to be able to give me.

It's been over a month since I 'finished' the screenplay. I've known that I needed to add something to the end but I've had absolutely no idea what to add. I couldn't imagine any new scenes. My mind was a total blank. Now I see exactly which direction I need to go. Fragments of scenes keep appearing in my head. I'm not sure what's going to happen but I'm confident that when I sit down and start writing it will all fall into place.

Birthday Calculator

You entered: 5/12/1978

You were born on a Friday
under the astrological sign Taurus.

As of 6/11/2005 2:41:38 PM CDT
You are 27 years old.
You are 325 months old.
You are 1,413 weeks old.
You are 9,892 days old.
You are 237,422 hours old.
You are 14,245,361 minutes old.
You are 854,721,698 seconds old.

Your birth tree is

Poplar, the Uncertainty

Looks very decorative, no self-confident behaviour, only courageous if necessary, needs goodwill and pleasant surroundings, very choosy, often lonely, great animosity, artistic nature, good organiser, tends to philosophy, reliable in any situation, takes partnership serious.

There are 197 days till Christmas 2005!

The moon's phase on the day you were
born was waxing crescent.

Our Man in Japan checks in with his favorite Mike Lange catch phrase:

John Fredland of Yokota Air Base, Japan: My favorite Mike Lange catch phrase is, "Buy Sam a drink, and get his dog one, too." Back in the winter of 1985-86, it seemed bizarre enough to my 11-year-old ear to make me a big Lange fan.

There is nothing as beautiful as the sky.
Well, at least nothing as photogenic.

The Rude Pundit is my hero.

Jonathan Lethem gave the commencement address at my brother's graduation. Jonathan Lethem is going to be writing Omega the Unknown. From Lethem's essay The Five Most Depressed Superheroes:

5. Omega The Unknown. Like Black Bolt, he never spoke. Energy beams came out of his hands, not always at his command. He might be considered Superman's depressed cousin, since he'd come from a destroyed planet. Unlike Superboy, Supergirl, or Superdog, Superman has never acknowledged Omega. Omega's priorities were very unclear, and so he had the power to depress others, as well as himself. Omega's comic book was so punishingly dull that Marvel began to put The Hulk and Spiderman on the cover, and once, in a measure of striking desperation, Scrooge McDuck made a guest appearance. After ten issues the title was cancelled anyway. After cancellation, Marvel was contacted by attorneys from Omega's home planet, which turned out not to be destroyed at all. This resulted in the first recall of the entire run of a published comic book in the industry's history. Until a successful appeal of the court's order in 1996, Marvel was still required to refund the full cover price of any issue of Omega The Unknown returned by a consumer, as well as the cost of return postage.

www.ChristianDebtRemovers.org
"Remove Your Debt The Christian Way."
What the hell?
I keep getting Christian dating spam as well.
I think the Internet is mocking me.

Got to love anyone who works in a George Chakiris White Christmas reference. From James Wolcott:

Yet there are some surprises in the color Honeymooners too. One episode involving jewel thieves featured a lavish dance number in the department store and damned if it wasn't George Chakiris as the male lead. Best known for West Side Story (he's also in the sensational Martha Graham takeoff in White Christmas choreographed by John Alton), Chakiris had a sleek, exotic attack as a dancer, and even in these cheesy surroundings he cut like a dagger

A few pictures from the trip to Vermont.

Great Moments in the English Language: Fancy Pants.

"Will her daring deception set the stage for love?"
Will it???
My brother's return from college has displaced me to my sisters room. When she comes back home at the end of the month I'll be on the move again. But until then there are so many romance novels to read.

Off to Bennington Vermont for the weekend. My little brother, the shining light of my family, the only one of us who's worth anything, our last change to wrench success from bitter failure, is graduating from college. I'm sure his future will be filled with unending success as he reaches pinnacles of achievement that mankind hasn't seen since before the original Star Trek was on the air. And he better because I'm planning on riding his coattails all the way. No pressure, brother.
Way to go, Luke Fredland!

Posted some pictures I took last week with my Lomo. We somehow ended up with the plastic tablecloths from my cousin's baby shower. They were hanging on the clothesline in the back yard. The wind was blowing and the sun was shining. It's hard to get the colors right on the laptop's monitor so I hope they look okay.