This can't be good!

Oh, those pesky scientists, always a bunch of killjoys. If it wasn't bad enough that daydreams may cause Alzheimers and that chocolate may shrink your testicles, now this piece of good news from some of the world's top thinkers:

Earth's Core Spinning Faster Than Crust - Yahoo! News: "The solid core that measures about 1,500 miles in diameter is spinning about one-quarter to one-half degree faster, per year, than the rest of the world, scientists from Columbia University's Lamont-Doherty Earth Observatory and the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign report in Friday's issue of the journal Science.

"The spin of the Earth's core is an important part of the dynamo that created the planet's magnetic field, and researcher Xiaodong Song said he believes magnetic interaction is responsible for the different rates of spin."

So I guess it's time we informed Hilary Swank and Delroy Lindo to fire up their superduper supersonic underground drill again and head back down for another round of Core maitenance! 'Cause anything that has to do with the core of the Earth going wacky can't be kismet for the future of mankind. (Though it does explain the 2000 election and why "Yes, Dear" is still on the air.)

(Note: I was kidding about the chocolate study. But you never know!)

Fun with profanity

My dear buddy Beth, whom all of you should get to know someday, pointed me via her own blog to this cool quiz on, what else, Quizilla.com that determine what swear word you are. I know, the idea that every individual on Earth can be summed up by one singular profanity is genius, though it does make me wonder what kind of result people like Pope Benedict XVI or the Dali Lama might end up with. (Not to mention that other beacon of spirituality, Tom Cruise.) But I digress. The curious cat in me couldn't resist, so I went and I tested. And my result?

"Your word is SHIT. You are laid back and relaxed, and most people like you. You don't especially want to stand out from the crowd, you are pretty happy with your lot."

So that's it. Frankly, what with the way I've been feeling about the upcoming fall television season, not to mention my beloved (!) Chicago Cubs, I'm a bit surprised that it wasn't something harsher. Heck, "shit" is so PG-13. (The aforementioned Beth, meanwhile - who has one of the kindest hearts I know - registered the F-bomb. Then again, she's pretty feisty when provoked.) According to Quiziilla's stats, 35 percent of testers share my colorful description.

If you want to take the test yourself - that includes you, Mr. Lama! - click on the title of this entry to go directly to Quizilla. Then feel free to liberally use your particular word for the rest of the day, if it makes you feel better.

Stranger with Candy

A revelation from Science:

Study Describes Bar at Center of Milky Way - Yahoo! News:

"After creating the most detailed analysis yet of what the Milky Way looks like, astronomers say a long bar of stars cuts on an angle through the center of the galaxy that includes the sun and planet Earth."

That's interesting. But if the experts had said that the bar was made out of creamy nougat instead of stars, that really would have been a breakthrough - because then we may have finally figured out what nougat actually is.

Or maybe nougat is in fact made of stars.

Lefties (and I'm not talking politics)

Oh, the things we discover with our fertile little brains. To wit, courtesy of the AP:

Study: Most Wild Chimps Are Southpaws - Yahoo! News:

"WASHINGTON - When it comes to fishing tasty termites out of their mounds, wild chimpanzees don't have the right stuff. Most, in fact, are southpaws. A three-year study of 17 wild chimps in Gombe National Park, Tanzania, found that 12 of them used their left hands when using sticks to probe for termites.

Four were right-handed and one was listed as ambiguously handed."

"Ambiguously handed." Sounds dirty, no? But, seriously, I guess we just found out where the brunt of the major-league scouts will be spending their winter. I know of one team on the North Side of Chicago who could use some simian assistance sooner rather than later. :)

"Peter Jennings - Reporter"

Watching the two-hour special on Peter Jennings' life (and I mean two-hour - no commercial interruptions) was, in some ways, an incredibly sad experience. Not just sadness as a life interrupted, but also at the fact that Jennings' passing was really the end of an era. Here was a reporter who actually seemed totally devoted to reporting - and not just on the big stories, though he clearly excelled in them, but also the little stories, the ones that not many people cared or knew about, the stories that could get him in trouble. I was struck at how many documentaries he did that probably could never get produced today because they were critical of the U.S. government or something like that. I liked that the special did not shy away from the fact that he was a work in progress, that it took time and struggle for Jennings to achieve the skill that made him so revered in the industry. And I liked that the show dealt with perhaps the main controversy of his professional career, the allegation that he was somehow anti-Israeli or pro-Palestinian. And his doggedness to get to the truth and the heart of the story, even when he was being eaten alive by cancer and nowhere near the newsroom. One producer choked up talking about the one of the last calls Jennings made to ABC News from his sickbed - directing the troops as to how they should properly cover the London bombings. The program also didn't avoid the painful fact of what killed Jennings. One entire segment was devoted to his addiction to cigarettes - and, noted with some irony, his coverage of the tobacco industry. Even a tobacco executive spoke about how Jennings covered the story with tenaciousness, but always with fairness.

All of the examining of his career brought home one big point: that while Jennings was not a perpetrator of so-called media bias, he definitely saw his job as more than just a mere reciting of the news of the day. He most likely saw himself as an advocate - for those stories he thought deserved more coverage, and for those people who touched his heart or were in need. And you have to ask: How many of the current crop of reporters, even the superstars, have that in them? And what of the next generation?

There was also much about Jennings the man - a man, friends pointed out, who took great, and successful, pains to keep his private life private. A camera went into his empty, cluttered office, filled with books on almost every topic. His myriad of awards were kept in a very special location there - his private bathroom. His sister, who sounds almost exactly like him, was interviewed extensively. Friends noted that he was shy (explaining his ability to communicate with children) and that he was very cheap, almost ashamed that he was wealthy. His curiosity about America, religion, and more was forever insatiable. One person spoke of his volunteer work at a local homeless shelter after being genuinely shocked that such poverty could exist just 40 blocks from his Manhattan home. He regularly hosted an annual jazz festival at his own home in support of a favorite charity. And there was his family - his wife, who he always called "Darling." His kids, to whom he was passionately devoted. Video was shown of him all but completely losing it when he was speaking at his daughter's high school graduation seven years ago, saying how proud he was that she had done something her father had never done.

Maybe most extraordinary of all, and lost in the tragedy of Jennings' loss or this celebration of his career, was the speed in which this 120 minutes was put together. Remember that ABC admitted that nothing was prepared in advance prior to his death. The folks there had basically two days to produce this special. Many people were interviewed, from nearly every big name (and a lot of not-so-big names) at ABC News were interviewed, along with everyone from President Clinton and Condoleezza Rice to Antonin Scalia and Al Sharpton and Alan Alda (both close friends of his). And the clips and the file footage - that alone made this show a fantastic achievement, one that, even with some mild mawkishness, was Emmy worthy. It's too bad they had to make it.

If you didn't see it, I hope ABC replays it so you can.

Sour grapes, but perfect for making a fine French whine, er, wine

Well, that didn't take long. Less than a week after London upset Paris for the rights to the 2012 Summer Olympics, the mayor of the French capital, one Bertrand Delanoe, is screaming foul play, accusing Tony Blair and British Olympic head Sebastian Coe - Lord Coe to his friends - of crossing the line when it came to their campaigning tactics. Delanoe speaks specifically of criticism of the Paris bid by British officials, and that Blair sinned by having a private meeting with IOC members in his own hotel room in Singapore days before the final vote.

You know, the French have many redeeming qualities - pretty buildings, good cheese, Catherine Deneuve. And not to get political, but I defended them when they chose not to back the U.S. in the war in Iraq. But it's times like these when I get why they are hated by much of the developed world. Forget the fact that Delanoe may be better served yelling at his country's president, Jacques Chirac, for possibly torpedoing the Paris bid with his stupid bashing of British cuisine (see below post). But did it ever occur to Le Mayor de Paris that he is speaking ill will of London and the UK at a particularly inappropriate time in their own history? What, he couldn't wait until the mourning period was over? Idiot.

Besides, what kind of name if "Bertrand," anyway?

This Internet marketing is really something

It must be, as I've received three spams promising a year's supply of Oreo cookies in the last 24 hours. How did they know? :)

It's too bad Li'l Kim is going to the pokey for a year ...

Not because she's innocent of the charge of perjury. (And frankly, that's a pretty lame way for a rapper to get set to the Big House, no?) But because the great prison nickname M. Diddy has already been clamed by Martha Stewart. Or, and that she'll probably have to wear clothes while incarcerated. :)

Sacré blew!

Remember what your mother said when you were younger: "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all"? Jacques Chirac may be wondering that right about now as he stews in his subtly sauteed juices in Scotland at the G8 summit, ruing this day as the day that the French capital, Paris, was upset in the chase for the 2012 Summer Olympics by the British capital, London. It may never be clearly known what exactly put London over the top in defeating the heavily favorite Parisian contingent for the right to host the world's biggest athletic event, but many already are pointing the finger at Chirac's comments of a few days' ago, in which he told the leaders of Germany and Russia that a nation that can't cook decent food like the UK could never be trusted. Now, I don't necessarily disagree with Chirac on that one, but it's what he allegedly said next that could have had the IOC scratching its head - he added that English food was the worst in the world, with the exception of the cuisine of Finland.

Having not been to Helsinki for supper recently, I can't say whether that opinion has any validity - but I'm sure the two Finnish members of the IOC committee that votes on who gets the Games couldn't have been pleased. In the final vote, London beat Paris by the tally of 54-50. You do the potential math.

Who says the Finns don't have spunk? Just don't accept their dinner invites until you know what's on the menu, I guess.

MTV and Live 8: The Video Star Is Dead

Live 8 was touted as being the greatest musical event in the history of this planet. And I saw many indications on Saturday that this was indeed the case. But the brunt of the world may have to wait until the DVD packages hit the stores - if they do - because thanks to MTV et al, the true power of these varied musical acts was blunted by a motley goo of commercials, meaningless audience interviews and copious amounts of the "music" network's patting themselves on the back for bringing Live 8 to our eyes.

It made me pine for the heady days of Live Aid almost exactly 20 years ago. Back then I remember bitching about the many PSAs, hosted by no less than Sally Field, reminding us about why Queen and Led Zeppelin and Phil Collins and all these other legends and newbies of the rock and pop realms had congregated onto the stages of London and Philadelphia - not merely to entertain us, but also to urge us to donate money to the famine-stricken African continent. But, looking back, at least then the music actually was presented just about in its entirety. And, after all, it was a telethon.

This time, to be fair, MTV had some additional hurdles to deal with. Instead of two concert venues, there were 10 to deal with, so presenting every song from every act was an impossibility. But MTV could have tried. After all, they now have several branded networks thanks to that 500-channel universe that's not a reality. Wasn't it worth it to, say, place the Philadelphia portion of Live 8 on MTV, the London venue on VH1, disperse the others on MTV2, VH1 Classic, MTV Hits, etc.? And even if that wasn't part of the plan, how about at lease not cutting into actual songs to tell us what a historic event we were experiencing? When they interrupted the extraordinary Pink Floyd reunion - during David Gilmour's guitar solo in "Comfortably Numb," no less - I nearly threw something at the TV screen. Sure, it was the last song of the band's set, but still, what, they couldn't wait another two minutes?

For many, Live Aid was the peak of MTV's existence, a triumphant melding of music and pop culture with some social consciousness thrown in for good measure. Live 8 may be not only its nadir, but perhaps its death knell as a television network of any importance. They should be ashamed.

"War of the Worlds" - saw a screening last night

This is one freaky movie, full of thrills and fantastic visual effects. It's much more episodic than Spielberg's usual stuff, but that's the nature of the story he's telling - the story of Cruise trying to get his kids to safety from the alien invasion. Also, don't expect Cruise to do any typical action-heroic stuff. He's much more concerned with keeping his family safe than saving the world. But it's pretty loyal to H.G. Wells' book, including the opening and ending narration (I won't tell you who does that, but it's pretty cool.) And there are allusions to 9/11 all over the place here, something that Spielberg has readily admitted. Some have complained that after about 90 minutes of nonstop thrills, the film bogs down when the clan runs into Tim Robbins, still in partial "Mystic River" mode as a creepy survivor determined to launch a "surprise attack" against the marauding tripods. But that sequence has its merits as well.

The most astounding thing about "War of the Worlds" is the speed at which this ambitious above-average film was made. Remember that this was pretty much a gap-filller of a project for both Cruise and Spielberg, who had respective jobs that were postponed prior to singing on to this. If nothing else, this movie is a testament to landing on one's feet and making maximum effort to spend one's time efficiently.

3 1/2 stars

Tom Cruise squirted in face in London

There's a joke in here somewhere, but I'm not touching it with a ten-inch, er, ten-foot pole. But seriously, folks, can be blame Tom for getting pissed off over this incident? What if it had been human blood or acid or anthrax? I was just amazed as Tom kept smiling even as his rage was obviously building. Maybe this Scientotology mind trick has some benefits after all.

Perp walk, animal style

The perp walk is now part of the popular culture, thanks to the likes of CNN and "Entertainment Tonight." Witnessing the journey of the newly accused as they face the cameras for the first time as arrestees has been as common a sight on the tube as the toothy anchors or the sensational promos for the nightly news. Thank the likes of O.J. Simpson, Michael Jackson, Timothy McVeigh and, most recently, Russell Crowe for that. All of this is perhaps a lengthy intro for my topic of the day. Because I've noticed that the commercials that advertise miracle methods for removing pet stains and odors (one such product has the deliciously audacious name "Urine Gone) always feature doggies and kitties looking tremendously, tremendously guilty at their "offenses."

I don't mean to compare a cocker spaniel to Russell Crowe, though the jury is still out about which beast of burden is smarter. But I'm asking, is it necessary to make our furry friends out as archcriminals just because they may lack a bit of bladder control? As the poet says, when you've got to go, you've got to go. Instead of shaming these critters, why not celebrate the fact that Science, after putting a man on the moon and perfecting the art of organ transplantation, has turned its gaze upon more pressing matters such as removing dog pee from the carpet?

Really, there ought to be a law.

Jeff Gordon - What the fuh?

By now many of you are aware of the debacle that went down at Wrigley Field last night. No, I'm not talking about the Cubs - I refer to Jeff Gordon's "singing" of "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" during the seventh inning stretch. Now, we know that Jeff's main forté is driving cars real fast, not warbling out tunes. But gee whiz, Mr. Gordon, Saddam Hussein probably knows the song better than you.

On the upside, the Cubs did rally for four runs in the eighth to come from behind and beat Houston following Gordon's butchery, so maybe the NASCAR king has become some sort of warped good-luck charm.

Oh, and by the way, Jeff, it's Wrigley Field, not Wrigley Stadium. Sheesh.

Sheryl Crow and Lance Armstrong - blown tire?

One door opens, another door closes. Star Magazine (not exactly a paragon of solid reporting - but then again, they're aren't Newsweek) is reporting that Lance Armstrong and Sheryl Crow are calling it quits after being lovey-dovey for the past two years. Their proof? Stuff like a sighting of Crow with one of her ex-loves, Eric Clapton. Nothing about whether Lance flushed a copy of Crow's new album down the toilet in response.

If the reports are true, it's sad and all, but what else were they to do? After all, it's impossible to make both their first names into one solid word. Bennifer (II)? Brangelina? Tomkat? It doesn't work. (The best I could come up with was "Lance-ryl". Ugh.)

One more thing - maybe people should stop extolling the praises of their signnificant others in print, 'cause that could be a sign that trouble is brewing. Remember that Ellen DeGeneres was singing the praises of her love Alexandra Hedison in The Advocate at precisely the same time word was spreading that she had dumped Hedison for Portia di Rossi. Wel, Lance is talking about Sheryl in the current issue of Playboy that is on newsstand at this precise moment. Print interviews about spouses and such may be the new voice-mail message.

Kill the local news - now!

Honest to God, a promo I heard for the local news out here in L.A.

"How to keep your kids away from sexual predators … plus, Victoria's got a new secret, somebody took her panties!"

I didn't know whether the anchor was smugly amused with himself or was silently wishing for death.

Bad George Romero movie breaks out in South Asia (or more fun in Laos!)

Earlier today I posted about the discovery of a new form of rat that's been discovered in Laos. Now, another, less savory find in that neck of the Earth (not that rodents are really savory, except maybe with some fava beans and grilled onions). Turns out that zombism has emerged in a village on the Laos-Cambodia border, the kindly gift of a breed of mosquito that kills people with its bite in less than two days, only to "resurrect" them within hours for a short period of time, during which the undead behave in ways that would, let us say, differ from proper society. And I know that this sounds like something right out of Weekly World News, except I found the story on the BBC News site. And despite those scary pictures of Camilla Parker-Bowles, they are not known for tabloid journalism.

So what does this mean for the rest of us? Probably nothing, unless it leads some lazy Hollywood producer to do another horror flick with Paris Hilton.

Science is golden - and rodent

The Paper of Record, The New York Times, has a story about the discovery of a previously unknown type of rodent in Laos. Called the "kha-nyou," or the more English-friendly Laotian rock rat, the "new" animal has long whiskers, short legs, and a long furry tail, but "are definitely not rats or squirrels, and are only vaguely like a guinea pig or a chinchilla." The article also says that the kha-nyou is commonly seen in its lifeless state in Laotian food markets, but there's nothing about whether they are selling Quarter Kha-Nyous at the local McDonalds.

Here is a sketch of the curious critter:



Y'know, this sounds like a cliché, but this actually does look like a guy I went to school with. And no, I'm not saying who. :)

Sympathy for the stupid

Word came out today that Kellen Winslow, the talented tight end for the Cleveland Browns, was injured this morning in a motorcyele accident. Seems young Kellen was riding new new Suzuki machine - so new that he didn't have a valid permit to ride a motorcycle - when he hit a curb and went flying off at 35 mph, landing so hard that he took out a small tree. Lucky for him that he was wearing a helmet (though it wasn't strapped on) and apparently only has minor injuries. But can I just say, for all of the common-sense people in the universe, what the heck was he thinking? This is a guy who lost most of his rookie season last year with a broken leg suffered in a game against Dallas, an injury that required two surgeries. This is an activity that may have ruined the career of former Chicago Bulls guard Jay Williams in 2003 (he fractured his pelvis among other injuries). And I would venture that it was in Winslow's $40 million contract that he wasn't supposed to engage in anything that threatened serious injury - Williams had such a clause in his deal.

If I were the Browns - a team in a league where there are no guaranteed contracts - I would cut Winslow off right now. If he's stupid enough to risk his multimillion-dollar livelihood for a joy ride, then he doesn't deserve to wear anybody's NFL uniform.

"Waiter, there's a fly on my Pope!"

There was a documentary on PBS last night called "White Smoke," a timeline of the events from the death of Pope John Paul II to the election of Pope Benedict XVI to replace him. I found it to be illuminating and interesting, but also disturbing for one big reason: a brief shot of John Paul lying in state in St. Peter's Basilica included the extra bonus of a big-ass FLY fluttering around on his face. Of all the footage they had from three days of the pontiff being displayed before the millions who flowed in to pay their respects, they had to choose those few seconds? And remember, boys and girls, PBS is now available in high-definition - heaven knows what that will look like in crisp detail.