Andrew Sullivan gushes about the the State of The Union address. I love reading Sullivan when he gets like this. So much for the ol' British "stiff upper lip."

Well, it's official. Everything on Salon, except for the AP Wire, seems to be "premium content" now. So much for checking that site on a daily basis.
I know, I know...you can get one of those "day passes." Why bother, though? Salon always kind of sucked; now it sucks AND is expensive.

So I get home last night after covering another game -- nearly deaf from being sat right next to the "pep band" -- and I see all this political commentary all over the television. What gives? Did something happen last night?
Oh well...I suppose I'll find out about whatever it was later.
Seriously though, I really dislike missing the State of The Union address. All the people, the gala spectacle, the red carpet, who's wearing what...oh, right. That's The Oscars.
I do enjoy seeing the Pres speak, but I gotta wonder how the SOTU (as the pudits call it) evolved into what it is today. Presidents used to send a letter to Congress. Now it's the Super Bowl of political events.
Besides, doesn't the Constitution just say that the President is required to "report on the State of the Union from time to time?" Last time I checked it didn't say, "The president must give an address for at least an hour that will picked clean by pundits and politicians until the very words make no more sense."
Ah, whatever. For opposing commentary, I suggest you hit up National Review and The New Republic. No specific links, but if you get to those pages and can't find anything, call me up. I'll come over and rap you on the bean for being a big dummy.

A fellow Toledo native was kind enough to mention yours truly on his blog, so I figured the least I could do was mention his. Apparently he's a turncoat -- leaving Toledo for the hipper Columbus instead of sticking it out where cool goes to die -- but that's OK, since he likes The Smiths. I left too, but Toledo's siren song drew me inexplicably back.
Anyway, thanks for the props, Nala, and I'll try to keep pointing out Toledo's fun but depressing foibles. It's really not that hard.

I see by my SiteMeter (which tracks visits to where you've arrived -- that is, HeadsOnFire) that many people are coming by because of a picture of a Honda Civic that I posted. All I can say about that is...HA! That car looks exactly like mine, and I posted it to show my dozen of fans (yeah, I know...singular) what yours truly drives these days. I don't feel bad at all about all you other folks wandering in, thinking we talk about Honda Civics all the time here.
Hey, stick around, why don't you? You might learn something. About what? How about more conspiracies! Or maybe mid-80's English mope-rock, like The Smiths or Echo & The Bunnymen.

A funny link (courtesy of Snopes) for all you conspiracy theorists out there.
In fact, if you enjoy conspiracy theories (as I do), then you should check out Surfing The Apocalypse, which is sort of a clearinghouse for conspiracy sites (lotsa links, etc.). It's good stuff...scroll down and look to the left for the links column. But don't say I didn't warn you when you find a theory that mkaes you mad.
Also, for those who don't know, Snopes is an invaulable resource, even if you use it for nothing else than debunking the crap that gets forwarded to you via email. Whether it's a money hoax, a petition to end the barbaric practice of putting kittens in jars, or a claim that AOL will pay you $4,000 to forward an email, Snopes will tell you the truth. I send the link to all those who send me junk email. And then I mock that person.
Oh, and one more thing...I need your account information so I can place my Nigerian millions in an American bank account.

I've got to admit it -- I'm excited.
That's a tough admission for someone like me. My best friend says my schtick is "classic cool" -- that is, nothing people do or say interests you unless it's about you. Wait -- that sounds like an insult! Make that my ex-best friend!
My best friend's Dr. Phil-esque determinations aside, I'm extremely excited today, as I'm going to see Johnny Marr in Detroit in a few hours. You may remember Johnny Marr as the guitarist from a little band known as The Smiths -- coincidentally, my favorite band ever!
It should be a righteous event. It's at The Magic Stick, a favorite dive on Woodward Avenue. It's such a dive that Rolling Stone (like anyone cares) featured it in a recent issue. Ooohhh, faux-dive trendsetters love it, and therefore you should too!
Seriously, it's a good place to see a show, not least because it's sponsored by Camel cigarettes and they usually hand out smokes. Also, it's tiny, so if you want to yell something particularly insulting, the artist can usually hear you.

Anyone who knows me can't help but know that I love Communism.
OK, back up.
I don't love Communism as a political system. I think it's the worst. But I DO love studying it, reading about it, and collecting things (i.e. propoganda) that are associated with it. In fact, I think I may write my Master's thesis on the Paris Commune of 1871.
So, anyway, anyone who...oh, already said that.
So I'm covering a village council meeting for the newspaper I write for, and I hear the term (vaguely, since I wasn't paying attention. What? I was taping it!) "five year plan." Naturally, my ears perk up, only to fall down again when I hear that the plan refers to recycling.
"Ohhh," my heart says, sinking. "They're not referring to the infamous Five Year Plans under one Mr. Josef Stalin."
But, as I listened further, I thought that it was indeed possible that the inspiration for the Five year Recycling Plan actually WAS culled from ol' Stalin.
Examples? Sure, right here!
--First, the plan sought to educate...nay, REeducate the children of the local elementary school. As in the Komsomol, or Young Pioneers, or what have you.
--Second, the plan sought to expand the current curbside recycling program using the schoolkids as tools of the system; i.e. narc-ing on those parents who aren't recycling. OK, maybe "narc-ing" is a strong term, but they said, and I quote, "Maybe the kids will go home and say 'We recycle at school. Shouldn't we recycle at home too?'"
Maybe I've got 1984 on the brain here, but wasn't one of the key aspects of the regime detailed therein the fact that kids would turn in their parents for being enemies of the people?
I'm being tongue-in-cheek of course, but my point should be clear. You may say, "But Blue, compliance with recycling programs isn't compulsory; therefore, who cares if kids rat out their non-recycling parents?" I say, "But what if it were (or will be)?" Then what?
I suppose, I guess, that the Stalinist overtones in the council chambers might have been of my imagining. It could have just been a boring meeting. It was, in fact, a boring meeting. But I can't help thinking that I might get tossed in the Gulag for disputing the commisariat.

I saw Adaptation the other day, and besides it being hilarious and whatnot, I was just so pleased that it actually played in Toledo, a city not known for its knee-jerk acceptance of art films.
I loved it. Sure, it got a little out of control near the end there, but I thought it was great. Laughed a million times -- that is, in between glares to the couple seated behind us. You know the ones -- who discuss each and every aspect of the movie (as it happens, of course) in full voice. Grrr. I actually had to say something to them -- don't worry, friends, I kept my cool.
As far as my dis on Toledo vis a vis art films is concerned, let me give you a spate of recent examples:
--Toledo's only art cinema (located at a prime example of a "dirt mall") was closed for lack of interest. I think the same 40 people kept going there, but apparently it wasn't enough to sustain it. Sure, there's a theater now that shows an arty flick or two in addition to its regular fare, but it's not the same.
--This anecdote comes secondhad, but as it's from my best friend, I have no reason to doubt its veracity: When Punch-Drunk Love was showing at the aforementioned, still-existing, semi-art house, a disclaimer was apparently run before the movie. It said (and I'm paraphrasing here), "This film is not typical of Mr. Sandler's work. The theater guarantees the presentation of the film, not its content. No refunds will be given." Wow. This disclaimer suggests, to me at least, that so many bozos went into the theater thinking they were going to see Happy Gilmore (which is a damn funny movie, I might add), were pissed at the fact that it wasn't and walked out to demand refunds. 'Nuff said about that. in fact, the reason i haven't seen Punch-Drunk Love is because I didn't want to see it at a theater here in Toledo. Bad attitude about one's hometown? Maybe, but developed out of necessity. You should talk to my ex-girlfriend. She hates this place.

It is my duty, I think, as one who studies and enjoys history, to point out a wonderful new blog, called The Diary of Samuel Pepys. It's fascinating reading -- an actual diary from 17th Centruy London. The historical record contained therein is great.