Full Disclosure

Driving along the 405 yesterday, a Radiohead song came on the old XM. I turned it up, not because I like Radiohead, but because I'm supposed to like Radiohead and felt obligated to do so. As I listened to Thom Yorke's whiny drivel, I had a cathartic moment - I realized that Radiohead sucks, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. Wow, that felt good. So in the spirit of honesty, here are some other confessions.

Roger Moore is my favorite James Bond. I voted for Bush in 2000. I enjoyed "Attack of the Clones" and "Revenge of the Sith". I'm officially too old to quit biting my nails and picking my nose. I prefer Vons-brand generic powder creamer to any other coffee accessory on earth. German beer is nasty. So are Heineken and Rolling Rock, for that matter. I don't enjoy lapdances. They totally freak me out.

I'm sure I'll think of more as the day progresses. Feel free to chime in with your own secret shames.

Count Rockula

Through Mrs. Coggblogger, I recently befriended a unique fellow named Dave, who is more widely known as C-Diddy, the first American winner of the world Air Guitar Championship held annually in Finland. C-Diddy is the subject of the 2007 documentary "Air Guitar Nation", which tracks his rise through the air guitar ranks (I kid you not, there's a whole subculture) in his trademark orange robe and Hello Kitty chestplate. Not sure if air guitar is your bag? Here's a litmus test - C-Diddy rocking a parody of the famous YouTube performance of Pachelbel's Canon in D. And if it IS your bag, here's another excellent performance, which won him the Los Angeles regional, launching his first campaign toward Finland. I see things like this and thank God that there are people in the world as ridiculous and wonderful as Dave.

UPDATE: I also met C-Diddy's chief rival, Bjorn Turoque. Frankly, he seemed like kind of a hack. Diddy plays air guitar with dignity and larger-than-life star quality, while Bjorn seems driven by a bizarre sense of righteous indignation - the bitter, perennial also-ran. He also harshed on both names I tried to adopt when getting up on stage to strut my own airness. Personally, I thought "Red Rocktober" and "Dr. Rocktopus" were quite brilliant.

Onramp Ethics

Acceptable: Blowing past the traffic light if there's no one else on the ramp. It's a victimless crime, no cops are around to see it, and it's actually safer because you'll merge with the breakneck freeway traffic at 60 instead of 20.

Unacceptable: Using the onramp carpool lane without a passenger. I don't know why, but those people really piss me off. Maybe it's because they feel their time is more valuable than mine (which it is - my time is useless, but they doesn't know that) that they feel comfortable giving a big F-U to all the suckers like me waiting in line. These assholes are my preferred highway-stalking prey; I like to catch up to them and make scary faces, obscene gestures, and cryptic signs if I have a Sharpie handy ("Your wife is lying to you, sir"). Unless they're not white, of course, because I'm a wimp.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Here's a totally unrelated video of a prank in which a caricaturist adds massive breasts to his clients' drawings to measure their reactions. Quite amusing.

Sambas never looked cooler...

A warm Coggblogger congratulations to R*n Anderson (a press-shy gent, hence the cryptic, unsearchable text of this posting), who sold a project to C*medy Centr@l yesterday. With true Hollywood egotism, a celebrating Anders*n gushed about his project - "It's okay. Kinda stupid. But, y'know...". Nothing could be further from the truth - the concept is awesome.

In all seriousness, this couldn't happen to a nicer or more deserving person. Good on ya, R*nnie, best of luck with it.

Back to you, you talentless hack

I'm a sucker for news bloopers. For lack of anything substantive to say this morning, here are three of my favorites.

Sheppard Smith farts on the air.

A reporter and anchor get into it (I suggest clicking ahead to the :50 mark)

Three anchors can't keep their shit together when a model wipes out on the runway. This one kills me every time.

If you have any favorites of your own, send 'em to me. I eat this crap up.

Tony doth bite the hand that feedeth him...

This is why I love Tony Stewart. While other NASCAR racers give post-race interviews that seem to ooze from the same dull script ("I'd like to thank my team and the folks at DuPont/Chevy...."), Tony always seems to melt down and unload rants that invariably garner fines and cost him sponsors. Sunday's race at Bristol was no different, as Tony totally slammed the Goodyear corporation on national TV. I would love to have seen the Goodyear CEO's jaw drop as THIS unfolded.

Or THIS (featuring "I strongly suggest they [Goodyear] go back to just making street tires, and I'm not sure that's even a good idea" and my favorite "I'm goin' home, and everything I have that has Goodyears on it, I'm dismountin' 'em...").

Breaking news: Carolina beats Duke, Coggblogger to get laid

Being married to a Tarheel carries with it certain inherent risks. My forearm has deep scratches on it, sustained during Duke's brief comeback in the second half tonight. I'm deaf in my left ear because of a ref's bad call with a minute left in the game. And on the occasions when Carolina loses this bi-annual slugfest? Things get ugly around here...

But tonight they won, thank merciful God.

Thoughts from a Saturday sofa...

In the end of "Back to the Future II", Marty McFly is approached on a 1955 roadside by a Western Union man, who delivers a letter that' s been in the company's possession since the year 1885. The sender (Doc Brown, stranded in the Old West) had given Western Union explicit instructions that the letter be delivered to a young man named Marty McFly on that particular roadside, on that particular date in the distant future. "We had a little bet going as to whether this Marty would actually be here" the man jokes, "Looks like I lost". I love it. The scene, like the movie, is brilliant.

But I'm curious to see what happens the very next day in 1955 when the news breaks about that letter being successfully delivered; when Western Union makes it their advertising cornerstone and a stunned public is baffled beyond comprehension how such a letter could exist (and where the mysterious recipient has inexplicably vanished to). I want to see the confused 1955 McFlys explain to the rabid press that they don't know a Marty McFly, but they DO know a "Calvin Klein" who occasionally goes by the name Marty and fits the description. Of course, this also means that an eventual young designer named Calvin Klein is gonna have to find a new handle, because by that point his name would sound pretty much like "Roswell Grassyknoll". Not helping matters would be local resident Biff Tannen's claim that he knew this "Marty" but hasn't seen him since he soared away in a flying car the very night the mysterious letter from the Old West arrived. Putting all this together, you can bet that from 1955 to this very day, nerds would gather every November 12th in Hill Valley to hold a massive convention.

Far be it from me to criticize such a fine film. It's in my top 20. But perhaps just a bit more surprise and confusion [might I suggest "Holy shit, you're here! You're actually fucking here!!!] from the Western Union man to hint at the tumult to come...

For this guy, death by ooka-booka...

Members of Pastor Fred Phelps' Westboro Baptist Church, who infamously picket the funerals of fallen soldiers, plan to do likewise at the funeral of Eve Marie Carson, the UNC-Chapel Hill student who was murdered on Wednesday. Their justification for these protests remains consistent - that such deaths are God's way of punishing America for tolerating homosexuality. If you don't believe me, check out the "church's" web site, Godhatesfags.com. I kid you not, that's actually their website. Coggblogger's wife is a Carolina Tarheel herself, and she's going to go completely apeshit when she hears about the church picketing Eve Carson's funeral. Fortunately, she's not among the 1.5 people (author included) who read this blog, 'cause I'll be damned if I'M gonna ruin her week...

I take comfort in the fact that there's a special dungeon in hell waiting for "Pastor" Phelps. I'd get into what will go on in there, but this is a family blog. I'll leave it to your imagination.

PS: Massive, bulbous, red-hot, barbed cocks. Lots of them.

Boom ba-ba boom....

The LA Times reported today that the Dodgers' expensive new acquisition, centerfielder Andruw Jones, showed up for Spring Training looking a wee bit larger than his coaches would prefer. I'm no one to criticize. Being recently married, I'm in the process of letting myself go, as every man does. But I'm not a professional ballplayer, and I enjoyed his defense of his condition - "The added weight will help me". I suspect that next he'll be telling his wife that a threesome will strengthen their marriage.

AUTHOR'S NOTE - I'm not sure who the dude in the picture is, but are those grill-marks across his chest?