Wii Got Class

"A" for "Under"-Achievement

In a move apparently designed to target the rising class of couch potato game geeks enrolling in the nation’s colleges, the University of Houston has taken a bold move. It has enlisted a new ally in the fight to get students to take fitness classes – the Nintendo Wii.

Now, instead of taking bowling, curling, seashell-collecting or any other non-sport masquerading as sport, students can take a Wii-based fitness course to fulfill their physical fitness requirement.

Sure, the Wii causes players to work up a sweat, but does it really deserve to be a course at an accredited university? Will the UH students be using the game the way they use it at home? Will the Wii classroom have a couch that the students can sit on and finish off an order of nachos between games? Will there be a mom in the background screaming, “It’s time for Oprah! Turn the damn channel!”? Will the players be able to create their own pseudo-rap star avatars complete with Persol sunglasses and cranium-sized bling?

The Wii fitness class joins a number of recently-offered university courses and programs that might leave parents, who are footing the bills, scratching their heads.

For example, those who consider it a good time to hop on a shortboard and splash around in the ocean like tasty shark treats can take the classes in Surfing Studies at Plymouth University. For students who are serious about caring for the spawn of others and haven’t seen When a Stranger Calls, Sullivan University has a professional nanny program. And if there is any hope of a dedicated Trekkie finding a soulmate, it would be in Georgetown University’s Star Trek class.

Some of these alternative courses and programs do have academic merit. This blogger wouldn’t mind taking a course in queer musicology. But astrobiology – the study of life in outer space? Didn’t the Alien movies close the book on that endeavor?

Clearly, higher education has something for everyone, including every under-motivated student slug who thinks anything that calls for more exertion than “Simon Says” is too taxing.

And to all those parents who told their game-addicted children they’d never learn useable skills from a video game: who has egg on their face now?

I Cry Drops of Blood for You

Blood brother

According to multiple reports, there is a 15 year-old boy in Tennessee who cries tears of blood.

We all know how rare it is for a male to show any signs of emotions unless he’s been caught cheating or beating on someone. But crying tears of blood falls into the stigmata area of strange bodily phenomena. And this hasn’t happened to Calvino Inman just once; it happens several times a day.

Through a battery of tests, a serious neurological or other medical condition has been ruled out. The only explanation doctors have been able to attribute Calvino’s bleeding eyes to is haemolacria, a condition caused by bacterial conjunctivitis or pink eye.

What upsets Calvino almost as much as his eyes bleeding is when his friends tease him and call him possessed. I think he should embrace that identity. How many high school kids are stupid enough to start a fight with a kid who’s possessed? He could rule the school in every lunchroom brawl, locker room towel fight and football scrimmage. And what high school miscreant would dare give a swirly to a guy who can make his eyes bleed?

All Calvino would have to do is contort his face like he’s about to cry whenever an altercation is near.

On the other hand, the cause of Calvino’s conidition could be just the opposite of possessed: it could signal the return of the Savior.

In that case, everyone needs to be very, very, nice to him.

Florida, You May Now Leave the Union

No more Florida bananas

There is clearly something seriously rotten in the state of Florida. Aside from the electoral debacle of 2000, there has recently been a rash of weird stories coming out of the state that makes this blogger wonder if something has been leaked into the water supply. Is this the subtle work of a Weapon of Mass Destruction designed to slowly render the entire state into a condition of profound idiocy?

To wit, there was the woman in Ft. Pierce, Fla accused of stealing $7 from a parked police car; then there was the man in Ormond Beach, Fla whose Diet Pepsi can became the final resting place of a mutant frog.

And now from Miami comes this, the icing on the seven-layer cake of idiocy. An armless man recently went into a Bank of America to cash a check, but was refused on the grounds that he could not provide a thumbprint.

Tampa resident, Steve Valdez, who uses prosthetic arms, was cashing a check for his wife and was told that since he couldn’t provide a thumbprint, he’d have to either open his own account or bring in his wife.

There’s no way to know why Mr. Valdez’s wife didn’t join him at the bank. Maybe she’s a paraplegic and has a hard time getting around considering her husband is sans arms. And even if she had accompanied him, who’s to say she wouldn’t have been refused service because she couldn’t reach the teller at eye-level?

Whatever the reason for Mr. Valdez’s solo trip to the bank, one would expect him to have been afforded the courtesy routinely extended to the disabled, even by a giant, soulless financial institution.

Yes, there is no dearth of stories recounting the impersonal and lackluster customer service provided by the big banking conglomerates, but this takes the cake, the big, thickly iced idiocy cake.

Here’s an idea: might a toe-print have done the job?

Florida, you have some good things going for you — Miami Beach, Gloria Estefan, Shaquille O’Neal, the setting for the show, “Dexter,” and Zora Neale Hurston, to name a few — so we’ll give you one more chance to get your act together. But if this obtuseness continues, in the words of Jon Stewart, we’re going to have to let you go.

And this time, we’re serious.

paraplegic

Yogi Bear Put Before Death Panel

Bearly caught red-pawed

The most successful and elusive criminal of the animal kingdom has been put down. Yes, life of crime of Albino Basin Male No. 191 has come to an end.

According to one report, the approximately 20 year-old grizzly bear allegedly responsible for multiple home invasions in the Condon, Montana area was captured and euthanized recently. I write allegedly because there was no trial, no witnesses and no confession. What is this, Guantanamo Bay?

ABMN 191 was captured when he returned to a home he had previously broken into. After eluding capture for so long, you’d think the old bear would be smarter than that. Even the most morally upright and law-abiding citizen knows the first rule of criminal activity: never return to the scene of the crime. At least not without a disguise.

Surprisingly, the reason given for euthanizing ABMN 191 was not because of his alleged crimes. It was because of  “[his] age and the condition of [his] teeth, which had been damaged by years of chewing on homes and refrigerators.”

Yeah, right.

And I killed that spider in my bathtub not because it had wandered into my personal space, but because it might drown.

Wait…chewing on homes and refrigerators? He broke in to eat plaster and metal? He couldn’t have done that outside the home? Maybe Old ABMN 191 wasn’t the smartest bear in the sleuth. No matter. Yogi wasn’t exactly a member of Mensa either.

I.Q. deficiencies aside, could it also have been that the bear’s age and subsequent life expectancy didn’t justify the extensive dental work he required? Old 191 may have been the first victim of those mythical death panels. But if stupidity and bad teeth qualified anyone to be put down, the entire state of Alabama would look like the surface of the moon by now.

I don’t know if bears age at the same rate as cats and dogs, but 20 seems pretty young to be euthanized, especially for having bad teeth. Even if the underlying reason for putting Old 191 down was actually for his alleged crimes, who’s to say he wouldn’t have turned his life around? After all, he was still a kid in human years.

Diet Pepsi: The Choice of a New Amphibian

Mmm - cool, refreshing, froggy taste!

Remember the good old days when you opened a bag of hot dog buns and didn’t find a baked rat; or when you screwed the cap off of a Pink Champale and didn’t find a maggot?

Well, it seems that the days when you opened a can of Diet Pepsi without finding a dead mutant frog are coming to a close, as well.

According to multiple reports, Florida resident Fred Denegri, recently got the surprise of his life when he opened what he thought would be a cool, refreshing, reduced-calorie beverage. But there were more calories than he bargained for. He found a tiny dead frog.

The carbonated kicker to the story is that by the time the amphibian was discovered, Denegri had already taken a swig from the can. Some of you may say, “Yuck!,” but an entrepreneurial few may be thinking, “New Formula Diet Pepsi – 100% more frog taste!”

I hope Mr. Denegri had some crackers because frog-infused Diet Pepsi without crackers is like a rat-flavored bun without a hot dog.

While many initially considered the discovery a hoax, a report from the FDA says tests show the frog did, indeed, come from inside the Diet Pepsi can. FDA scientists examined the frog and found that it had no internal organs. Denegri’s wife thinks he may have swallowed them. Frog hearts and lungs – a delicious and nutritious source of protein!

No one seems to know how the mutant frog got into the can, but you don’t need a Ph.D in marine biology to figure it out.

A Pepsi plant worker — let’s call him Homer — brings his pregnant pet frog to work and puts her in his shirt pocket. As Homer is leaning over a vat of Diet Pepsi syrup, the frog falls in. But Homer, having the eagle eye he has and feeling the lightness in his breast pocket, looks down into the vat, sees his wayward pet and scoops her up before anyone is the wiser.

But good ‘ol Homer’s hands are not fast enough to prevent the frog mother-to-be from dropping her load into the vat of America’s fifth most popular diet soft drink.

So the eggs, floating around in that aspartame-laced amniotic fluid, are laid and canned. And what would have been a healthy frog comes of age in a gassy, carcinogenic can of Diet Pepsi. And if you know what carbonated beverages can do to vehicle rust, the absence of internal organs is no mystery either.

Thought for food: frogs can lay 300 eggs at a time, so I predict a lot more mutant frogs turning up in Pepsi cans. Diet Pepsi-drinkers, keep a box of crackers on hand at all times.

The warty taste goes down better that way.

The Devil Will Drink Your Milkshake – God

God is trying to tell you something

There’s a report that the trend of confrontational and caustic advertising has now spread to the spiritual realm. We’ve seen manifestations of this trend before. Remember the “Forgetting Sarah Marshall” billboards that accosted motorists with lines like, “My Mother Always Hated You, Sarah Marshal” and “You Suck, Sarah Marshall”?

Now there is a church in Trenton, Michigan has begun putting up signs from Satan to get the attention of congregants and potential-congregants.

The signs read things like, “Metro South Church is Killing Me – Satan,” and “Metro South Church Sucks – Satan.”

I don’t know if this tactic will result in more butts in pews, but it can be amusing for local citizens. This could become an all-out advertising war along the lines of Burger King vs. McDonalds.

Satan worshipping churches (is that an oxymoron?) could shoot back with their own anti-ads. How about, “Check Out The Skanky Wenches in My Choir – God,” or “Satan’s Handmaidens Will Shave My Back-hair – God.”

Hopefully, this form of grass roots advertising will take off. Maybe other groups could bash their ideological competitors. How about, “Michael Steele Wears Stripper Underwear – A Democrat,” or “Barack Obama Uses Baby Shampoo – A Republican”?

This could be fun!

You and Your B.O. Must Go

The smell of laws breaking

UPDATE: 9/3/09

Hold the presses…and your nose. The Associated Press reports that this bill has been shelved because, “officials and others wrinkled their noses at the bill during a hearing Thursday.” The sponsoring councilmen plan to make revisions and re-introduce the bill at a later date.

——————————————-

A bill currently under consideration by the Honolulu, Hawaii City Council would prohibit the use of the public transit system by particularly odious citizens.

This ordinance smells like a good idea to me. Anyone who’s ever gone 2 months without cleaning the refrigerator or has seen the movie, Reeker knows what kind of damage an putrid smell can do.

A really bad stink can get into the bus driver’s eyes, making them water and he could easily lose control of the bus, sending it careening off a bridge or into a city dump. Then everyone stinks. Yes, this law is, clearly, for the public good.

What confuses me is this: how can anyone who lives in Hawaii have B.O.? They’re surrounded by water. You have to actively and aggressively avoid getting wet to smell bad enough that people notice.

If it passes, this bill could make bus travel out of the question for Honolulu’s homeless population. I predict a rash of thefts of deodorizing toilet cakes from public restrooms.

Passengers could be fined up to $500 or sentenced 6 months in jail if their B.O., “unreasonably disturb[s] others or interfere[s] with their use of the transit system.”

The sentence and fine seem a bit harsh. Couldn’t the offenders just be given a long shower with a power hose?

According to one report, the ACLU has voiced concern that the law, as written, is vague and could leave the door open to discrimination since it might be based on the arresting officer’s discretion. I can see how that could happen. Any officer who doesn’t like curry, pathouli or old man smell could have a innocent immigrant, hippy, or restless codger arrested.

Is that fair?

Honolulu City Council needs to agree on some specific standards. It can’t be like the pornography standard — the officers will know it when they smell it.

I hate to say it, but I think vomit needs to be involved. If the odor makes the average person blow chunks, then it should be against the law.

What the “L” ?

Looks like someone will attempt to infuse some sanity into the whole, God-awful reality genre.

This is the way that we REALLY live? Really?

Daily Variety reports that a reality series based on the (one and only) bastion of lesbian drama, “The L Word,” will debut on Showtime sometime in 2010.

My initial reaction to this news was, “Oh God!” And not in a good way. “The L Word” had its problems, mostly due to uneven writing, wacky casting and the (sometimes) incomprehensible machinations of a mad woman — more on her later.

But I was always comforted by the fact that these people didn’t really exist…not really. How much harder would it have been to get me anywhere near the places lesbians congregate if those responsible for Sounder’s death, Nicki’s drug-infused, morning-after rants and Jenny Schecter’s descent into homicide-worthy madness were based on people from real life?

There are some aspects of the show’s style that, I fear, cannot be reproduced with non-actors. Are there real lesbians with Bette Porter’s trendy L.A. fabulousness, Alice Pieszecki’s caustic wit and Shane’s lost puppy-dog, Joan Jett, Playa cool? And as for Pam Grier’s Kit Porter, there can be no imitators. Where are the producers going to find someone who uses the word, “girl,” that much?

At least there won’t be a mad scientist throwing dramatic self-indulgences into the mix just for the heck of it. Yeah, I’m talking about you, Ilene Chaiken. What dramatic self-indulgences I am referring to, you ask?

Let’s start with Jenny’s carnival gang rape; Lisa, the lesbian-identified man; the lesbian vampire; a deaf person who alternated between speaking and signing for reasons unknown; a pre-operative-lesbian-tranny-who-decides-to-remain-a-male-identified-bio-female; and let’s not forget the unexplained disappearance and equally unexplained re-appearance of Papi. The list could go on…

If I were to be completely honest, I would say I can’t wait for this reality show to hit the airwaves. But my naive and giddy anticipation is like an abused child waiting for the battering parent to get home: they know a blow to the face is inevitable, but it’s better than being home alone.

Because that’s what Ms. Chaiken does. She lures you in with pretty girls, then kicks you in the stomach with a ranting, psychotic Asian spewing pseudo-law or a cat funeral.

But at least on a reality show, Chaiken can’t kill off anyone then claim she didn’t know people would care so much.

Since Chaiken is exec-producing the series, I’ll try to care as little as possible.

Open Letter to…I Forget

Hit me with your best shot

Dear Chris Brown,

I don’t know you, your music or anything about you. In fact, I was blissfully unaware of your existence until your face was splashed across my TV and computer screens for beating your then-girlfriend, Rihanna, of whom I was also only peripherally aware.

Indeed, these were the smacks heard (and felt) around the world.

You, your ex-girlfriend, your legal plight and just about any and everything about you have been considered newsworthy since the incident happened.

The latest stop on your career rehabilitation/damage control tour is “Larry King Live.” Clips released ahead of the show’s airing have you stating, unbelieveably, that you don’t remember hitting Rihanna.

I’m not a fan of yours, but I never thought you were crazy. After all, you pleaded guilty and apologized for what you’d done, not necessarily in that order.

And as disinterested as I’ve been in this story, I’ve always felt that I understood it. Now you’ve gone and confused me. Which, I admit, isn’t that difficult.

But you don’t remember? What don’t you remember, Homeboy? The blows you threw? The feeling of her face under your fist? The sharp pain in your own knuckles after you hit her? Or maybe you don’t remember hitting Rihanna specifically. You thought you were swinging your fists at another girl. Shaniqua, LaTisha, Marlene… So many punches thrown; so many names to remember. How’s a playa supposed to remember who he hit, when? I got you. I got you.

On the flip side, I know how these interviews are done. There’s always a lead time wherein the the network’s promo department or the newspaper’s editors can “spin” what was said or sensationalize the contents of the interview to get consumers/viewers to watch and read.

I remember the ones that came before. Robin Givens tells Barbara Walters life with Mike Tyson is “hell,” Britney Spears has a “meltdown,” and Katie Couric’s classic and much-parodied Sarah Palin interview, which was comparable to Muhammad Ali stepping into the ring with Verne Troyer.

And I know you have public relations people who probably thought giving the Larry King interview now was a good idea. And it was probably these same PR folks who thought you should issue your little statement ahead of the interview’s airdate claiming, yeah, you remember what happened but, “it was and still is a blur.”

This begs the question: what, exactly, were you apologizing for back in July? Did you just read the words someone handed you?

“Blur” is probably not the word you should be using to describe your recollection of these events. Things are a blur when you’re accosted by the Tasmanian Devil in a dark alley and you wake up with a gerbil in your hand, and no pants.

Things are a blur between the time you hear your plane’s pilot say, “Brace for impact,” and when you’re standing on the wing of the plane in the Hudson River holding a seat cushion and a handful of your flight attendant’s hair.

I know you’re just a kid of 20 — I have toe-jam older than that! But I suggest you man up. Stop running to Mommy; stop reading or saying what people tell you to and learn to speak for yourself.

Oh, and stop hitting women.

Thriller, Thriller Night

Something's lurking in the night

A video supposedly showing Michael Jackson exiting a coroner’s van weeks after his death has been sweeping the internet and has gotten almost a million views on Youtube since it was posted on August 25.

The premise behind the video is that the king of pop is still alive.

But the video has already been exposed as a fake. A spokesperson for the German network, RTL, told CNN the video was made to, “show how easy it is to spread rumors online.”

Yeah…as if this is something not already known by anyone who’s ever hunched over a keyboard silently typing “lol” — without laughing.

This dark, grainy video shows a small, long-haired person begin helped from a coroner’s van by another person, possibly a bodyguard, possibly one of the 12 Apostles.

How do we know this isn’t a heavenly video showing the celestial Michael arriving at his “final destination”?

Or maybe Michael Jackson has become a “Thriller”-style zombie. I suggest anyone seen wearing a red and black leather jacket with white socks be pulled over and questioned immediately.

After all the previous internet hoaxes, we have a right to be suspicious. Remember the “Mikey from the Life Cereal commercial is dead” hoax? Or the “Lady Gaga is a hermaphrodite” rumor? The Obama “death panels”?

And I know I’m not the only person who ran out and bought a Bluetooth headset after seeing the Youtube cellphone/popcorn video.

A reponse video has already been posted debunking the first one.

I think it’s interesting that this newest hoax involving Michael Jackson originated in Berlin, Germany, the place where little baby “Blanket”  made his international debut and caused such a stir. Could that be the place MJ is spending eternity?

If so, he’s probably dangling a baby over a balcony as we speak… maybe a baby zombie. Careful, Michael. Those milk teeth can be sharp.