Dear Friends, Due to unfortunate considerations of time and cost, Backwards City is no longer a print journal. However, we will maintain our presence on the web that, however meager, we hope you might enjoy.
Italy beats Ukraine, 3-0. If you caught the game, you know (as I now know) that Italy's goalie is amazing. It should be a great semifinal against Germany next week.
Germany v. Argentina heads into overtime after a tying goal by Germany in the 80th minute. Germany seemed somewhat unsure of themselves in the first half and let Argentina run all over them a bit, but in the second half they've been dominant. (That Argentina pulled out some good players too early, and lost their starting goalie to a bad-looking injury, didn't help their side, either.) Can good triumph over evil? Stay tuned.
UPDATE: It's penalty kicks...
GAME OVER!: Good wins! Good wins! Germany beats Argentina in the shootout, 4-2! Deutschland über alles!
The world premiere of Douglas McGrath's Infamous, a biopic about writer Truman Capote, will open the 63rd Venice International Film Festival, organizers said Tuesday...
Based on George Plimpton's book Truman Capote: In Which Various Friends, Enemies, Acquaintances and Detractors Recall His Turbulent Career, Infamousrecounts the part of Capote's life in which he investigates the crime that became the central part of his classic book In Cold Blood. (via Bookslut)
In Pakistan's The Nation, the country's largest and most-respected English language newspaper, Dr. Haider Mehd has some criticism for Superman:
The momentary experience of the film is not only an entertainment odyssey - it is in fact a well-planned and well-administered dose of indoctrination into the American ideology of "demon-hunting," "external threats," the use of force and the obsession with power.
No wonder then that at the height of Bush's neo-con-manufactured war on the so-called terrorism of Islamic militants, Superman is back with a "bang" in American movie theaters. "Superman Returns," which opens in the United States this week, is receiving knock-out reviews from critics and is winning over audiences as the latest crime-fighting, evil-smashing, and sincere "Man of Steel."
How else would America express its solidarity with the Bush Administration and its faith-oriented politics? Indeed, the concept of Superman can only be explained by unflinching faith - absolute faith that transcends ideas and is based on unshakable convictions and messianic notions that overwhelm the need for analysis. Superman is absolutely unreal, and yet he is admired for the deeds he performs. It all boils down to the promotion of Bush's fascist doctrine, both inside and outside America.
Of course, this thesis is not only not correct, it isn't even wrong. There's no argument here, just polemic. (via NeilAlien)
Just a historical footnote about Superman Returns: it features Kal Penn in the most unrewarding role for a 'name' actor I've ever seen. I think he had one line; Jaimee says none. He pays Henchman #3.
Look, you know what I'm gonna say. There was no way this movie was ever going to live up to its potential or to my expectations, much less my hopes. But indulge me.
The moment that finally broke Superman Returns for me came during the film's climax. Up until then I'd been mostly won over by the fun of the film's set pieces, and was even coming to terms with the tremendously poor casting of Brandon Routh, who successfully manages to look and sound a bit like Christopher Reeve but is so wooden and dull that you hardly care. (The film's dripping sense of self-importance is somewhat harder to ignore, particularly given the sledgehammer-subtle religious imagery. There are two crucifixation scenes. But until the very end, I was able to tolerate it. Mostly.)
One narrative flaw I found myself unable to get over was the amazingly short-sighted decision to give Lois Lane a five-year-old son, a waste of screentime the filmmakers seemed to already be regretting in this movie, much less three sequels from now. More than once Lois herself completely forgets she has a son. So what's going to happen in Superman Returns Again? "Hey Lois, where's Jason?" "Oh, he's at camp." They've shot themselves in the foot here; what are they going to do with this kid in the sequel? In the sequel after that? Did they think about this at all beforehand? Apparently not. The only way the son angle can possibly pay off is [SPOILER, THOUGH YOU HAVE PROBABLY ALREADY FIGURED IT OUT FOR YOURSELF] in a Kingdom Come-esque fight to the death between Superman and son three sequels from now. I'll be rooting for that. Otherwise Jason Lane is just a retcon waiting to happen.
But anyway, the moment that breaks the film.
The moment that breaks the film comes when Superman -- who is of course deeply vulnerable to green kryptonite, who has in fact been stabbed with green kryptonite, all while standing on an massive landmass made up of green kryptonite which the filmmakers have already established completely strips him of his powers [SPOILER, AGAIN, BUT AGAIN, IT'S OBVIOUS] -- is somehow able to get underneath the giant kryptonite island, lift it into the air, and throw it into outer space, all with a sliver of deadly, power-stripping kryptonite still in his body. Then he collapses from exhaustion. After he lifts and throws 1000 tons of kryptonite into space.
You can't help but laugh at that. Then you can't help but notice that even though two hours have passed by enjoyably enough, it's hard to imagine why a person would ever want to watch this movie twice. That the script is pretty poor, actually, now that you think about it, the dialogue especially; that the special effects are also surprisingly disappointing, particularly any shot of Brandon Routh in the suit lifting something heavy; that much of the mechanics of the plot have been shamelessly stolen from the earlier movies; that the entire plot doesn't just hinge on Kryptonian nonsense magic, but on the Kryptonians having invented nonsense magic whose only possible application is the destruction of all life on Earth (just add water); that as paper-thin as the Clark Kent ruse has always been, this movie quickly strains it well past the breaking point; that Anthony Lane was right, they really didn't come up with anything interesting for Superman to do besides stop bank robberies; that they actually saddled Lois Lane with a son, for Christ's Kal-El's sake.
The sad part is, despite its flaws, this is by far the best movie adaptation of Superman yet -- and it's going to do huge business, which means the filmmakers will have no incentive to try and do things right in the sequel.
This movie is just nowhere near the same league as Batman Begins or X-Men 2 or Spider-Man 2. It's a failure, wrapped in a Twinkie; it tastes fine going down but afterwards you can't believe you swallowed it. The film never gives us any reason to invest ourselves in what's happening, and Brandon Routh (unlike, say, Christopher Reeve) isn't actor enough to make us care about what's going on despite that fact.
But at least he doesn't turn back the rotation of the Earth in this one. Though you can't help wondering why he didn't, given that in the movies he can, and it would sure be the easiest solution to his problems...
The Poor Planning That Has Plagued the Last Few Seasons of The Sopranos, in a Nutshell
How is it possible that they still don't have two of the show's most important supporting actors under contract? How is it possible that last month they didn't have any of the show's supporting actors under contract? The incompetence required for this to be true astounds me.
A stripper once told me that so many women in her line of work choose stage names with two "L"s—Lulu, Lily, Lola—because saying them makes you tap your tongue up and down in a licklike way. (It happens that my conversation partner was Elisabeth Eaves, a Slate contributor and the author of a memoir titled Bare, but all that matters here is that she was Leila, plain Leila, in the peep-show booth.) This factoid must have some implications for the women we share with the Man of Steel—Linda Lee, aka Supergirl; Lana Lang, Superman's main squeeze back in Smallville; Lori Lemaris, a mermaid he was sweet on at Metropolis University; and, of course, Lois Lane, girl reporter. Those licks smuggle a hint of lasciviousness into Superman's all-American story. What about Lex Luthor, you ask? That a superhero's archrival should resemble his love interest is just one of those Freudian twists that makes great comic books pop. Among the charms of Lois Lane—always a tough dame and yet forever a damsel in distress—is the elegant way she reflects Superman's kinks and its ideas of womanhood.
(Thanks to Jacob B. Yesterday's Dial B for Blog was all about the L.L. phenomenon as well.)
This World Cup has inspired a mass of editorial bile about the evils of diving. But diving is not only an integral part of soccer, it's actually good for the sport. Come again?
The latest actor to don the cape is Brandon Routh, who—whether on his own initiative or not—offers not so much his personal interpretation of Superman as his best impersonation of Christopher Reeve playing Superman. This feels constrained, to say the least, allowing us limited access to Routh’s potential charm, and it thickens our suspicion that we have seen the same tale told more cheaply before, although what, exactly, was so perfect about the 1978 project that it should warrant emulation? The new Lois Lane, Kate Bosworth, is not a patch on Margot Kidder, or, for that matter, on Teri Hatcher, in the TV series; much of Singer’s casting errs toward the drippy and the dull, and your heart tends to sink, between the rampant set pieces, as the movie pauses listlessly for thought. “You wrote that the world doesn’t need a savior,” our hero says, “but every day I hear people crying out for one.” His principal solution is to thwart individual robberies, which is unlikely to put either the police or the international aid agencies out of business. As far as the film is concerned, however, such public service confirms him in the Christlike status among mortals that was predicted by his dad. “They only lack the light to show the way,” Brando declares, adding, “I have sent them you, my only son.”
Part of the appeal that has made Superman last so long is surely in the quasi-religious feelings that children develop about him: he’s the savior myth of their very own subculture. Although this film tries to supply an element of mysticism (the box-office lesson of “Star Wars” and the Force has been learned), it’s Superman in the form of the joyless interim actor who goes to the North Pole to commune with his psychically still alive father. Jor-El informs him of his mystical mission to serve “collective humanity,” and Brando shows a gleam of amusement as he instructs the youth in the capacity for goodness of the people on Earth, and says, “For this reason above all—their capacity for good—I have sent them you, my only son.” The sequence takes place at the Fortress of Solitude, which constitutes itself out of the ice for Superman. This should be the magical heart of the film, and surely a building that materializes out of ice might do so with occult symmetry? But the mystic fortress looks like a crystal wigwam that is being put up by a stoned backpacker.
It’s easy to see why O’Brien and Balboa announce this way. They are simply calling soccer games the same way all American sports are called. And yet the fact that there is such dissatisfaction with a very traditional, mainstream announcing team speaks volumes not just about the way soccer is presented on American TV, but about the state of American television sportscasting in general.
American TV sportscasting is full of factoids, full of graphics, full of breakaways from the midst of play for prerecorded human-interest backgrounders, full of color analysts overexplaining what happened a couple of minutes ago even as new, more urgent things are happening in front of our eyes, full of overpacked broadcast booths with three-man teams, sideline reporters, spotters, graphics people and telestrators, all breathlessly jostling for air time. Goals are scored in hockey games, and instead of showing the players celebrating, hyperactive producers cut away to show coaches, random crowd shots, the empty net, the goalie whose expression is hidden behind his mask. A single football play cannot pass without two instant replays; lineups cannot be given without film clips of the players saying their own names. At any given moment in a baseball game, what you’ll hear is the studied casualness of the down-home, nothing-really-exciting-going-on-here play-calling tradition that O’Brien personifies.
All these strands together add up to the crisis in American sportscasting that is made evident at every World Cup, when English-speaking fans flee in enormous numbers to listen to commentary in a language they don’t even understand.
It is difficult to describe how it feels to gaze at living human beings whom you’ve seen perform in hard-core porn. To shake the hand of a man whose precise erectile size, angle, and vasculature are known to you. That strange I-think-we’ve-met-before sensation one feels upon seeing any celebrity in the flesh is here both intensified and twisted. It feels intensely twisted to see reigning industry queen Jenna Jameson chilling out at the Vivid booth in Jordaches and a latex bustier and to know already that she has a tattoo of a sundered valentine with the tagline HEART BREAKER on her right buttock and a tiny hairless mole just left of her anus. To watch Peter North try to get a cigar lit and to have that sight backlit by memories of his artilleryesque ejaculations.13 To have seen these strangers’ faces in orgasm—that most unguarded and purely neural of expressions, the one so vulnerable that for centuries you basically had to marry a person to get to see it.14 This weirdness may account for some of the complex emotional intercourse taking place between the performers and fans at the Adult CES. The patrons may leer and elbow one another at a distance, but by the time the men get to the front of the line and face the living incarnation of their VCR’s fantasy-babe, most of them turn into quivering goggle-eyed schoolboys, sheepish and salivaless and damp.
Notorious villains France and Brazil both breezed their way into the quaterfinals today, rounding out the eight. I missed both games because I forgot to set the VCR this morning, which may have been a blessing in disguise. Back to back losses for heroes Ghana and Spain would have been disheartening to watch.
In the end my prediction accuracy for the round of sixteen was a barely passable 5-3. I'd like to beat that record in the 8. The teams I'm rooting for are in bold, predicted winners are in red.
FRIDAY, JUNE 30 11 AM EST, Germany v. Argentina. And now I'm already regretting promising to pick winners. This is a really tough match to call, as both teams are at the top of the sport and either could easily go on to win the whole thing. I've grown to loathe Argentina more than I loathe Brazil, though, so the hero pick is easy. Germany has the home field advantage, Lord knows we all deserve some good news, and in any event I think they're the slightly better side. Whoever wins this match will probably go all the way to the finals against Brazil. 15 PM EST, Italy vs. Ukraine. Despite my fondness for the country itself, I've taken to rooting against Italy ever since the Italy-U.S. debacle. Nevertheless, they should easily beat hard-luck Ukraine, who should feel lucky to have gotten this far.
SATURDAY, JULY 1 11 AM EST, England vs. Portguese. This Cup has really opened my eyes to how much I dislike the Portguese soccer team. Both teams are missing key players, but Portugal is missing their top man, and no amount of dirty play will save them this time. 15 PM EST, Brazil vs. France. Well, they've finally found a way to make me root for France. But I don't have to like it. Brazil wins, also beats England, and goes on to the finals.
At the Guardian blog, Phil Maynard argues this is a good thing:
Children have to learn to deal with death sooner or later, it's the reason they have hamsters for pets. Or so it was once explained to me one tearful morning when Hammy wasn't on his wheel.
By fronting up to the fact that heroic Harry has gone for good, so the theory goes, children will be able to understand important lessons about life and the consequences of their own actions. They will see bravery in its true context and see that nothing good (or bad) ever lasts forever.
Every era gets the superhero it deserves, or at least the one filmmakers think we want. For Mr. Singer that means a Superman who fights his foes in a scene that visually echoes the garden betrayal in "The Passion of the Christ" and even hangs in the air much as Jesus did on the cross. It's hard to see what the point is beyond the usual grandiosity that comes whenever B-movie material is pumped up with ambition and money. As he proved with his first two installments of "The X-Men" franchise, Mr. Singer likes to make important pop entertainments that trumpet their seriousness as loudly as they deploy their bangs. It's hard not to think that Superman isn't the only one here with a savior complex.
Sadly, the L.A. Timesagrees, calling the film "a hummingbird in reverse": "The tiny beast shouldn't be able to fly but does, while the massive movie should soar but only sporadically gets off the ground."
The movies have always misunderstood Superman and what makes him work as a character. They wasted Lex Luthor, they just about ruined Lois Lane, they relied far too heavily on Jor-El and Kryptonian nonsense magic (for my money Krypton has always been the worst part of the Superman mythos and any direct contact with it should be avoided at all costs), and worst of all they constantly gave him ridiculous new powers like an amnesia kiss, the ability to split into two people for no clear reason at all, the ability to rebuild a wall just by looking at it, and, most infamously, the ability to turn back the rotation of the Earth and thus, for some reason, time.
Superman's not about any of those things, or X-ray vision, or superstrength, or even about the flying. The Superman story is a human potential -- not in terms of superpowers, but rather in terms of decency, of basic moral goodness.
He is, in essence, the better angel of our nature.
The only thing that ever really worked in any Superman movie was Christopher Reeve, undeniably the perfect man for the role, who despite dated special effects and often terrible scripts can still make you believe a man can fly. He was the living emodiment of Superman, his humor, his strength, his innocence, his good heart. Without any exaggeration the casting of Christopher Reeve in Superman may well be the single greatest instance of casting in film history. Without Reeve the Superman films would be merely an embarrassing cinematic footnote; with Reeve they endure, despite their many flaws.
I've seen nothing that makes me think Brandon Routh has that sort of gravitas, and that, more than anything else, gives me a sinking feeling about Superman Returns.
Ben also links to a fine profile on Haruki Murakami from the Sydney Morning Herald. Murakami has a new book out in August, so I expect we'll see more of these in the near future.
Superman Returns, of course, tomorrow. I was going to wait until the weekend, but I think I'll see if I can successfully drag Jaimee out to the 10 pm show.
I'm sure glad I taped that Italy-Australia game. What a finish, though I wish it had been the Socceroos' day, and the penalty kick was basically won on a dive...
Anyway, now I can watch the tail end of the Swiss-Ukraine game, now in its 110th minute, still 0-0.
WELL AFTER THE FACT UPDATE: I'm glad it was Ukraine, but man, my once-proud prediction record has really taken a hit in the last 48 hours. I'm down to 4-2 -- getting close to coin-flip/broken-clock/infinite-monkey accuracy.
* Jeanette Winterson (and her new children's book, Tanglewreck) profiled at the Guardian.
* The hometown of Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Aracataca, Columbia, decided not to rename itself Macondo in honor of Marquez and One Hundred Years of Solitude. Burn on Marquez, or "Gabo," as Aracatacans know him.
This must be one of the greatest passages ever in the history of the New York Times Book Section:
On Saturday, campaigning for his referendum, Mayor Sánchez climbed on the roof of a dilapidated Dodge Dart to lead a caravan through town, using a megaphone to make his pitch. "We need to attract foreign investment in the tourism sector," he shouted. "This is not for me. It is for our community."
Many of those lining the unpaved streets flashed thumbs-up signs, while others shook their heads to say no. But most agree that Aracataca, where people seeking diversion were torn Saturday night between the town's cockfighting ring and the film "Poseidon" on television, needs something new.
In honor of the big move we've been added to the Triangle Bloggers blog aggregator, more or less the Raleigh-Durham-Chapel Hill equivalent of Greensboro 101. If you're from the area, check the site out; I've added them to the sidebar.
And People Complain That Soccer Isn't Physical Enough
If you're missing it, a hockey game has broken out during the second half of the Portugal-Netherlands match. It's been about a yellow card a minute for a while here.
GAME-OVER UPDATE: Portugal wins. What a clusterfuck. But the Dutch deserved to lose -- they had every opportunity and advantage over the Portuguese and they just couldn't make it happen. There were 16 cards handed out during the game, including 4 second yellows/reds. I understand that's some sort of record.
There have been 23 red cards handed out in the tournament so far, which is also a new record.
UPDATE 2: Oh, and this kills my perfect record of correct predictions, ruining my credibility as a good guy at sports and making the Portuguese indisputably the greatest villains in World Cup history.
England wins in a squeaker against Ecuador, despite a valiant effort by Jaimee's favorite team. Now she's shifting all her love to Portugal, possibly entirely out of spite (because I backed England and I'm still picking Netherlands).
Meanwhile, and more importantly, the astonishing predictive power of Backwards City is three for three.
Helen Simpson in the Guardianpraises Angela Carter's excellent -- if twenty-year-old -- collection of reimagined fairy tales, The Bloody Chamber, while in the Times Luc Sante and Robert Greenfield remember LSD guru Timothy Leary and Michiko Kakutani totally hates on Morris Berman's vituperative new decline-and-fall narrative, Dark Ages America.
Mexico up by one after five minutes. Argentina ties it up at nine. This is a great game.
END OF REGULATION TIME UPDATE: This thing has been hard-fought. I think that late Argentina goal was probably legit, as he didn't look offsides to me, but I'm not going to complain. Come on Mexico! Just half an hour more.
GAME OVER UPDATE: Yeah, Argentina wins in overtime. But Mexico made them work for it, until the end at least, when they sort of gave up. Let's hope Germany crushes Argentina next week.
So far I'm 2-for-2 on predictions. Amazing, I know. I should coach.
I would have loved to have been wrong about this game, though.
SATURDAY 11 AM: Germany v. Sweden: I was happy to root for Germany before I found out they were playing the hated Swedes. Germany for sure. I think they'll win this one, too. 3 PM: Mexico v. Argentina: I've found myself rooting for Mexico in every game they've played so far, and against Argentina, so this isn't a tough choice either. I think the Argies will win, though.
SUNDAY 11 AM: England v. Ecuador: This is the game that puts Jaimee and I at loggerheads. She's rooting for Ecuador, but I like England. I think either team could take this one, as they seem pretty evenly matched to me -- but England can bring it when it counts, so I'll give the edge to them. 3 PM: Portugal v. Netherlands: Definitely picking the Netherlands here, but not for any particular reason.
MONDAY 11 AM: Italy v. Australia: I'm sort of hoping that Australia knocks out the now-hated Italians, but on the other hand I really enjoyed my trip there last year, and in any event it's all moot because Italy will almost certainly win anyway. No especially strong preference here, but I'll probably cheer for Australia because they're the underdogs and the Italians are notorious fakers. 3 PM: Switzerland v. Ukraine: I would love to see Ukraine take revenge on the Swiss for that horrible call just now. But the Swiss have been unexpectedly strong in the tournament thus far and I predict that will continue. ESPN just said that they're the only side to advance to the Round of Sixteen without giving up a single goal.
TUESDAY 11 AM: Brazil v. Ghana: No hard feelings against Ghana here, even though they knocked out the U.S., as they take on the tournament's strongest team and biggest heels. I'd be ecstatic to see an improbable upset here. 3 PM: Spain v. France: I love the city of Paris, but like all decent people I could never bring myself to cheer for France. ¡Viva Spain!
The ref in the South Korea-Switzerland game just allowed a goal to stand even though the linesman had (correctly) thrown up the flag for offsides. What a ridiculously unfair call -- absolutely the worst call I've seen in the entire tournament thus far. It even beats the infamous ejections in the U.S.-Italy game.
I know they always say "Play 'til the whistle," but the ref was in the wrong here, both for overruling the linesman and for allowing the goal to stand after play had effectively been stopped.
O’BRIEN: In 2004 you came out very strongly in support of John Kerry and performed with him - your fellow guitarist, I think is how you introduced him to the crowd. And some people gave you a lot of flack for being a musician who took a political stand. I remember…
SPRINGSTEEN: Yeah, they should let Ann Coulter do it instead.
O’BRIEN: There is a whole school of thought, as you well know, that says that musicians – I mean you see it with the Dixie Chicks - you know, go play your music and stop.
SPRINGSTEEN: Well, if you turn it on, present company included, the idiots rambling on on cable television on any given night of the week, and you’re saying that musicians shouldn’t speak up? It’s insane. It’s funny.
O’BRIEN: As a musician though, I’d be curious to know if there is a concern that you start talking about politics, you came out at one point and said, I think in USA Today listen, the country would be better off if George Bush were replaced as President. Is there a worry where you start getting political and you could alienate your audience?
SPRINGSTEEN: Well that’s called common sense. I don’t even see that as politics at this point. So I mean that’s, you know, you can get me started, I’ll be glad to go. […] You don’t take a country like the United States into a major war on circumstantial evidence. You lose your job for that. That’s my opinion, and I have no problem voicing it. And some people like it and some people boo ya, you know?
On a more apolitical note, there was also a good review of Bruce's new album and his current tour in the Times this morning.
'He Who Fights with Monsters Should See to It That He Does Not Become a Monster Himself'
Gary Kamiya at Salon reviews Ron Suskind's new portrait of a Bush administration "liberated by 9/11," The One Percent Doctrine, and gets a little political besides.
We are in a peculiar moment, one in which our politicians seem unable to articulate or even grasp the train wreck unfolding in front of them. Someday in the future, if the Democratic Party manages to transform itself from a cowering shadow to something approaching sentience, perhaps what really happened during the Bush era will be publicly debated.
Perhaps then we can ask how it happened that the government of the United States was hijacked by a bullying, fact-averse religious fanatic and his puppetmaster, an evil courtier out of Shakespeare. How we were plunged into a disastrous war simply because a cabal of ideologues and right-wing zealots, operating in autocratic secrecy, decided they wanted war. And how all of the normal workings of a democratic government -- objective analysis, checks and balances, transparency -- were simply trashed by an administration waving the bloody shirt of "terror."
In the history of cities, ancient Ur holds an important place. It was a center of Sumerian culture as well as the birthplace of Abraham, "a stranger and a sojourner" who sired three of the world's most important religions. Now another stranger and sojourner--a young French-man with autism--has created an ur-city of his own. Starting with Legos more than 20 years ago, 34-year-old Gilles Tréhin has created a vast imaginary metropolis he calls Urville, which he has documented over the years with astonishing sweep and single-mindedness in some 200 drawings accompanied by extensive historical notes.
Here is the artist's Web site, with a history of the project and a ton of drawings. (via Gravity Lens)
The Highest-Concept Prime-Time Cartoon of All Time: A Rope of Sand
Way way back in the 1980s, secret government employees dug up famous guys and ladies and made amusing genetic copies. Now the clones are sexy teens now, they're gonna make it if they try. Loving, learning, sharing, judging, a time to laugh and shiver and cry. Clone High.
It's a bit hard to find, but it can be yours for cheap at Amazon.
Friday World Cup Roundup: Groups G & H, Postmortems, Microcosms
Group play ends today with Group G and Group H, which means that by this evening I should be able to post my full and eagerly awaited list of heroes and villains for the Round of Sixteen.
* Group H plays at 10 am EST. Spain is guaranteed to go forward whether or not they beat Saudi Arabia, but the other slot could still go to any of the three teams. The Ukraine-Tunisia game is probably most promising, as Spain seems pretty likely to beat the Saudis: they beat Ukraine 4-0, and Ukraine beat Saudi Arabia 4-0.
* The situation with Group G at 3 pm EST is rather more complicated, but excites me more. I was very excited by the South Korean squad in last weekend's tie with France, and I'm hoping they can hold their own against Switzerland and advance. As Wikipedia and WorldCupBlog explain, the trouble is South Korea probably needs to win outright, as France is extremely likely to beat Togo.
Looking backward to yesterday's loss against Ghana, the Meesher's Boyfriend has a post about things wrong with the U.S. Soccer Team with a lot of good links. As may come as no surprise to regular readers of the Backwards City comments section, he especially has a problem with coach Bruce Arena.
Meanwhile, my good friend and former fellow Three Guy Shankar D has some very worthwhile thoughts on the World Cup as "a microcosm for what plagues contemporary American political discourse." When I started watching this year, I wasn't planning on rooting especially heavily for the American team -- but in the end I found I couldn't help it. While I can sympathize a bit with the soccer snobs who refuse to root for America to win, I just can't join them -- and the mindless conservadrone disdain for soccer drives me completely nuts as well. Even if you don't acknowledge agree that it's the greatest sport in the world, how can you deny that it's exciting?
I really wish our side had advanced yesterday, but as others have said, Ghana wanted it more. Though if not for the unbelievably, existentially bad officiating in that second game...
With that goal in mind, mega-church pastors recently met in Inglewood to polish strategies for using global communications and aircraft to transport missionaries to fulfill the Great Commission: to make every person on Earth aware of Jesus' message. Doing so, they believe, will bring about the end, perhaps within two decades.
In Iran, President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad has a far different vision. As mayor of Tehran in 2004, he spent millions on improvements to make the city more welcoming for the return of a Muslim messiah known as the Mahdi, according to a recent report by the American Foreign Policy Center, a nonpartisan think tank.
To the majority of Shiites, the Mahdi was the last of the prophet Muhammad's true heirs, his 12 righteous descendants chosen by God to lead the faithful.
Ahmadinejad hopes to welcome the Mahdi to Tehran within two years.
Conversely, some Jewish groups in Jerusalem hope to clear the path for their own messiah by rebuilding a temple on a site now occupied by one of Islam's holiest shrines.
Artisans have re-created priestly robes of white linen, gem-studded breastplates, silver trumpets and solid-gold menorahs to be used in the Holy Temple — along with two 6½-ton marble cornerstones for the building's foundation.
Then there is Clyde Lott, a Mississippi revivalist preacher and cattle rancher. He is trying to raise a unique herd of red heifers to satisfy an obscure injunction in the Book of Numbers: the sacrifice of a blemish-free red heifer for purification rituals needed to pave the way for the messiah.
I tried that red heifer thing five years ago. It didn't do jack.
When I got home I was very excited to see Japan up by one, but what a goal by Ronaldo in stoppage time to tie the game mere seconds before the close of at the half. Croatia and Australia are also tied at the half. As I said before, it's anybody's group.
UPDATE: Oh come on. This has been two Brazilian goals in how many minutes? Japan has completely fallen apart.
UPDATE: 4-1. Come on. I wish I were watching the Croatia-Australia game. That thing has seesawed.
Italy and Ghana (!) move to the next round after an apparently controversial penalty kick earned Ghana an extra goal (not that we would have advanced even if we'd tied). I missed the whole thing because I was in class, which is probably for the best. WorldCupBlog has the games liveblogged here.
After their strong performance against the U.S., I'm a bit shocked that Czech Republic didn't advance. Ghana definitely earned its slot, though.
Next up: Japan v. Brazil and Croatia v. Australia to determine who from Group F joins Brazil in the Round of Sixteen. It's anybody's round. If I race back to Durham I can just miss kick-off.
Special Topics in Gerry Canavan, Summer 2006 Edition
The second summer session starts at UNCG today, which means I'll be driving back to Greensboro for German in the morning and then teaching an Intro to Narrative course immediately afterwards in the afternoon. Here's the syllabus. It's not very different than a fall or spring lit. course -- just very condensed.
Radiohead has much in common with the Grateful Dead, including passionate fans who follow the band from city to city, trade bootleg recordings of shows, puzzle out the meanings of the band’s cryptic lyrics, and (in Boston, at least) dance badly while smoking expensive-smelling weed. But Radiohead’s main interest is not improvisation, nor do the band’s affinities to modern classical music and electronica mask the fact that its dominant syntax is pop.
...is actually pretty good (I know, I know...), but even so I think this Billboard review gets things right in both the best and worst senses:
Why is it the opening notes on "Rain King" from the Counting Crows New Amsterdam: Live at Heineken Music Hall sound so elegiac, so utterly lost and sad? When this song was first released on August and Everything After, it sounded like an anthem. Here Adam Duritz sounds tired, lost, and perhaps even afraid, and he lets it be known in the grain of his voice that that's exactly what was going on. While the band roars to life on "Richard Manuel Is Dead," Duritz lets out the words "I've been walking in the dark/but now I'm standin' on the lawn..." like he's singing from someplace so deep inside himself it's as if the band (pianist Charlie Gillingham was still a member then) has disappeared behind him. It's the only moment where this happens, but it's so significant because it's obvious that he's out on some ledge hoping and praying for rescue that may be available but he can't see it, and he wants to enter the world so bad you can almost taste the desperation...
Half of the groups will be settled after today. Earlier this morning Mexico lost to Portugal but still advanced to the round of sixteen; they'll play the winner of the Netherlands-Argentina match, about which, go Netherlands, because Argentina is almost as pure evil as Brazil.
The big, big action is tomorrow, of course, during Group D play at 10 AM EST, which I have to miss because I'll be in class. That's when the United States will probably not advance to the round of sixteen, unless they beat Ghana and Italy absolutely decimates beats the Czech Republic. I may tape it.
UPDATE: Willey in the comments gets it right. Italy just has to beat Czech Republic. Goal differential doesn't come into play. I guess I still can't believe that Ghana didn't just tie Czech Republic, they beat them.
I unpacked my Little Calendar of Zen today to discover that nearly every quote I've missed in the last few weeks pertained to the process of moving one's residence. Clearly, moving to Durham is the essence of Zen.
If you're afraid of being grabbed by God, don't look at a wall. Definitely don't stand still. -Jiyu Kennett
People in the West are always getting ready to leave. -Chinese Proverb
The bluebird carries the sky on his back. -Thoreau
Wherever we go, whatever we do, self is the sole subject we study and learn. -Emerson
Wherever there is a feeling of the mysterious, we can say there is Zen. -D. T. Suzuki
Paradise is where I am. -Voltaire
That wasn't even all of them. That was just the highlights.
Move in Saturday to an apartment which doesn't have any cable jacks after all? Check. Can't get an installation appointment until Wednesday? Check. Hard drive crashes that morning? Check.
But we should be good to go now. Nothing else bad can happen to my internets.
It turns out there's a new Counting Crows album coming out tomorrow. Although they were once my favorite band, in the last few years decade Counting Crows has become increasingly embarrassing. As I've grown slightly less lame I've lost much of my interest in the band, as evidenced by the fact that I didn't even know this album was coming out until my father told me earlier this evening -- but I'll still probably get it. For old times' sake.
Also their live albums are usually pretty good. Also I'm still more than a bit lame.
There are three important games today and one completely irrelevant game. In Group A, which plays at 10 AM EST, it doesn't matter whether Poland beats Costa Rica or the other way around -- both teams have been mathematically eliminated and can't advance. In the other game, Germany and Ecuador play for first place and the advantage of not having to face England in the next round. Ecuador has the edge on goal differential and will win group A unless Germany wins outright.
Group B is where the action is. England has already definitely qualified for the semis and will win the group with either a draw or a win against Sweden. Sweden will win the group if they beat England, which they probably won't, and will qualify for the semis if they don't lose, which I certainly hope they will.
If Sweden does lose, the Paraguay-Trinidad & Tobago game suddenly becomes very interesting. Paraguay is mathematically eliminated, but Trinidad & Tobago can still make the semis if they beat Paraguay and then win on goal differentials. That would have to mean a goal differential swing of +3 in favor of T&T, which isn't at all outside the realm of possibility.
On the plus side, if Sweden does advance, they will solidify their status as this tournament's truest, vilest villains so far, which will make their inevitable loss to either Germany or Ecuador quite satisfying.
We've never met, but last month I sent you a letter. You didn't answer, so I'm trying again. I'm a novelist who grew up in the Boerum Hill neighborhood of Brooklyn, and who lives there now (I've also lived in Oakland, Toronto, and in rural Maine, in case you find my perspective suspiciously parochial). The subject of my letter is the ill-conceived and out-of-scale flotilla of skyscrapers you propose to build on a series of sites between Atlantic Avenue and Dean Street in Brooklyn, in your partnership with a developer named Bruce Ratner and his firm, Forest City Ratner Companies.
I think Lethem is totally overreacting here. It's not like Gehry's going to build some ugly-ass monstrosity and ruin what used to be a nice campus place to live. Besides, he's probably got those solar death ray and snow avalance problems fixed by now. (via Bookslut)
Speaking of Extreme Weather: An Inconvenient Truth
I don't have the time to talk about much it, as we're about to head back to a sports bar to watch the France-South Korea game and we don't have Internet yet in our new apartment. But we saw the Al Gore movie last night and it really is quite good. The only problem is that it was very hard to come away from An Inconvenient Truth with any feeling except that we're just plain doomed.
You should see it, though, if you haven't yet. Greensborovians and Research Triangolians can see it now at either the Carolina 3 in Durham or the Chelsea in Chapel Hill, or they can wait until July 1st to see it at the Carousel 15 in Greensboro.
Moving went well with a little help from our friends, including Neil F. and Shankar D., who came all the way down from D.C. to help lug some incredibly heavy furniture up some very long stairs with a surprisingly narrow doorframe.
But everything's inside. Now we just have to set it up.
In soccer news, the officiating in the US-Italy game was the worst of all time. Two bogus red-card ejections against the U.S. squad left us barely able to eke out a 1-1 tie.
We can still advance, but we'll have to get lucky.
Passersby were stopped and asked to sing, from memory and with no practice, the Beatles’ Yesterday. They were given headphones with an instrumental track to help them out. If they couldn’t remember the words, they were told to “just make it up.” (via MeFi)
We're moving out of the 'Boro today and tomorrow to that big Research Triangle in the sky, so things may be a little quiet this weekend. Things will be back up to speed on Monday.
I just finished reading Don DeLillo's first novel, Americana, and I don't really have much to say about it at the moment except how interesting it is to find the seeds of a writer's later, betterwork so early on. This is not to say that Americana doesn't stand on its own two feet or on its own merits -- just that the way DeLillo's later preoccupations are presaged by this text is quite striking, and a bit disconcerting.
It's the sort of thing that makes you wonder just how many good ideas one person has, and perhaps explains why even the best artists seem only to repeat themselves as time goes on.
Despite being the massive underdog in "the greatest mismatch in the World Cup," Trinidad and Tobago (rapidly my most beloved side in the entire tournament) has kept the much-favored England scoreless at the half. It would have been 0-1 Trinidad, even, if not for an absolutely inhuman goal-line save by John Terry in the 45th minute. Terry basically kicked it backwards over his head and out of the goal. I couldn't believe what I was seeing.
GAME-OVER UPDATE: Ah well. They fought like hell until the end, when they just ran out of gas. Let's hope for a Sweden-Paraguay tie.
Via Ben comes the storyboards and concept art for Tim Burton's failed Superman Lives project over at the Superman blog, Kal-El.org. It's a bit out there for me, well into Edward Scissorhands territory -- but it probably would have been an awesome movie all the same.
Bask in the glow, kids, because somehow backwardscity.blogspot.com is currently alternating between the first and second hit on Google for world cup update. Second place: NPR.
I just wish I had something intelligent or interesting to say about the World Cup.
Two games today where stoppage time made the difference. I missed Tunisia v. Saudi Arabia because I stupidly thought it wouldn't be a very interesting game. Lucky for me we got more or less the same excitement in Germany v. Poland, with a goal in the 90th minute thwarted by an offsides call followed immediately by a legit goal in the 91st minute. Poland defended like hell but Germany deserved it -- they spent nearly the entire second half taking shots at Poland's goal.
Tomorrow: Can Trinidad and Tobago do it again against England? Let's hope so.
An early contender for worst novel of the 21st century, Douglas (Generation X) Coupland's dated, incorrigible JPod fails both as a work of literature and as a piece of performance art. I'm not sure which Coupland intended it to be, but let's hope it's the latter. At least that way, having failed spectacularly in book form, he can attempt to embellish it with some naked interpretive dance or Tuvan throat singing during his Seattle appearance.
The most amazing part of this astoundingly harsh review is the photo caption, which is simply two words: Coupland annoys.
This Rolling Stone article by Robert F. Kennedy, Jr. has been getting a ton of play. It was cited in Bob Herbert's column in the New York Times today, just for example. Over the last few weeks I've seen references to it all over, but I've been avoiding reading it because I still find the subject of the 2004 election much too depressing to think about -- but at last I have finally broken down and read it.
The central thesis, which is meticulously researched and footnoted, is that John Kerry very likely would have won Ohio if America had a marginally functional electoral system. The problem -- whether or not you accept that particular claim as true -- is that the electoral system in this country is fundamentally broken and will remain so as long as its unreliability benefits those in power. I have no idea what we can do about that.
But what is most anomalous about the irregularities in 2004 was their decidedly partisan bent: Almost without exception they hurt John Kerry and benefited George Bush. After carefully examining the evidence, I've become convinced that the president's party mounted a massive, coordinated campaign to subvert the will of the people in 2004. Across the country, Republican election officials and party stalwarts employed a wide range of illegal and unethical tactics to fix the election. A review of the available data reveals that in Ohio alone, at least 357,000 voters, the overwhelming majority of them Democratic, were prevented from casting ballots or did not have their votes counted in 2004(12) -- more than enough to shift the results of an election decided by 118,601 votes.(13) (See Ohio's Missing Votes) In what may be the single most astounding fact from the election, one in every four Ohio citizens who registered to vote in 2004 showed up at the polls only to discover that they were not listed on the rolls, thanks to GOP efforts to stem the unprecedented flood of Democrats eager to cast ballots.(14) And that doesn't even take into account the troubling evidence of outright fraud, which indicates that upwards of 80,000 votes for Kerry were counted instead for Bush. That alone is a swing of more than 160,000 votes -- enough to have put John Kerry in the White House.(15)
The study, performed by VA Ann Arbor Healthcare System and University of Michigan researchers, involved more than 540 adults who were either between the ages of 21 and 40, or over age 60. All were asked to rate or predict their own individual happiness at their current age, at age 30 and at age 70, and also to judge how happy most people are at those ages. The results are published in the June issue of the Journal of Happiness Studies, a major research journal in the field of positive psychology.
“Overall, people got it wrong, believing that most people become less happy as they age, when in fact this study and others have shown that people tend to become happier over time,” says lead author Heather Lacey, Ph.D., a VA postdoctoral fellow and member of the U-M Medical School’s Center for Behavioral and Decision Sciences in Medicine. “Not only do younger people believe that older people are less happy, but older people believe they and others must have been happier ‘back then’. Neither belief is accurate.” (via Boing Boing)
Right now the begrudgingly tolerated Swiss are keeping the hated French at a 0-0 draw. Earlier this morning sort-of-liked South Korea almost gave it up to my beloved Togo, but came from behind to win 2-1 in the end.
But the big game today comes at 3 pm EST, when plucky, hardscrabble Croatia takes on the most-hated Yankees Brazilians. Tell your God to ready for blood.
The eye is a bold horizontal slash that connects to a downward diagonal apparently signifying a nose; below is a thinner line suggesting a mouth. These features are drawn in black on a face-shaped rocky mass in a cave near Angoulême in western France; discovered in February, the image has only now been made public after scientific testing by French archaeologists that has apparently convinced them of its authenticity and age - they claim the drawings in it were done 27,000 years ago, which makes the Vilhonneur grotto one of the oldest sites of rock art in the world, predated only by Chauvet in the Ardèche (32,410 years old) and some of the paintings at Cosquer in Bouches-du-Rhône (28,370 years old).
1. Lord of The Flies by William Golding Lord Of the Flies was published in 1954 but is still utterly relevant today. It centres on a group of boys who, following a plane crash, are stranded on a desert island. At first they work together, building shelters and gathering food. But soon group tensions split the group as Ralph tries to maintain reason, order and structured discipline, opposed by Jack and his band of painted savages. Primal instincts take over and civilisation crumbles into animal savagery and violence. Golding uses the playing field of adolescence to explore the roots of evil, tracing the defects of society back to the defects of human nature. The moral of the story is that the backbone of a society depends on the ethical nature of the individuals who founded it, and not any government, or politics.
That may be a moral of the book, I guess, but the more important moral is pretty plainly that human beings are essentially savages and that any higher ideals we profess to believe in (including, especially, our "ethical natures") are predicated on the comfort and convenience of our fragile modern society.
#6, The Catcher in the Rye, is also a classic, of course. I haven't read either book since I was in high school. I'm somewhat afraid to revisit books I liked back then for fear I'll hate them now.
Stephen has also attempted to impede the publication of dozens of scholarly works on James Joyce. He rejects nearly every request to quote from unpublished letters. Last year, he told a prominent Joyce scholar that he was no longer granting permissions to quote from any of Joyce’s writings. (The scholar, fearing retribution, declined to be named in this article.) Stephen’s primary motive has been to put a halt to work that, in his view, either violates his family’s privacy or exceeds the bounds of reputable scholarship. The two-decade-long effort has also been an exercise in power—an attempt to establish his own centrality in regard to anything involving his grandfather. If you want to write about James Joyce and plan to quote more than a few short passages, you need Stephen’s consent.
Well, I teach a lot of different classes but I always try to teach Isaac Babel's stories. I really like the Russians, especially Chekhov and Tolstoy and Gogol.
What books have you always wanted to assign but are afraid that the students would never, ever read?
My students will read anything -- there's nothing I'd be afraid to assign to them at all. We've done Bely's "Petersburg," and all kind of obscure Russian stuff. We've done everything from watching "City Lights" to looking at local histories and medical histories of the foot to try and steal tonal things. If it works, we'll read it. No fear.
I missed the first twenty minutes of the game, and the first goal, but the U.S. was looking pretty outclassed there in the first half. With Jan Koller apparently out in the second half things might go better for them.
Honestly I'd be pretty happy with either team winning -- I have sympathies with Czech Republic that date back to high school, and naturally I'd like to see America do well -- though if the first half is any indication the Group of Death may actually be the group of people killed by Czechs.
GAME OVER UPDATE: That was a massacre. The Czech Republic walked away with it. I'm going to have a hard time choosing whether to root for Czech Republic or Italy on the 22nd. Now, where can I get a Czech jersey...
* Via MeFi, the classic "Shakespeare in the Bush" essay which debunked (among other things) the notion that the story of Hamlet (or any story) is universal.
* The US plays the Czech Republic (#2 in the FIFA rankings) today in what's being called the Group of Death. Italy plays Ghana. Get your previews here. While you're waiting for the game to start, check out the Goal of the Century (video), which occurred just a few minutes after the infamous Hand of God goal.
* And Polite Dissent highlights Mark Millar's Superman for the Animals comic as part of their PSA week.
Where Are the Fiction, Poetry, and Chapbook Contest Winners?
We're nearly done deciding. Trying to organize the decision-making process between three states has proven more challenging than originally expected, but we're very close to a final decision and we'll publish the results on the Web either later this week or on Monday of next week.
We're sorry we're running late. Thank you for your patience.
I have to say, despite what I said earlier, I'm really pulling for Trinidad and Tobago in this game against Sweden. I'd love to see them do well in their group.
1:30 UPDATE: Forget everything I said before. I hate Sweden now. Forever. Bunch of fakers.
GAME OVER UPDATE: Trinidad and Tobago tie! Trinidad and Tobago tie! Justice is served. Shaka Hislop (the goalie) rocks. And where can I get a Trinidad and Tobago jersey?
Today I Will Get a Biggie and I Will Put It Inside Me and I Will Feel Better
Wendy's is getting rid of its Biggie-size. What this means is two things: (1) Future generations will not be able to understand the best piece in Joe Wenderoth's Letters to Wendy's (blogged). (2) People are going to be getting a truly disgusting amount of soda from Wendy's.
At rival McDonald's Corp., the largest burger chain, a 32 ounce soft drink is designated a large. At Wendy's, a 32 ounce drink will now be called medium, instead of Biggie.
Wendy's is also adding a 42-ounce soft drink -- the equivalent of 3-1/2 cans of soda -- as its large. The large drink will come in a more durable, portable plastic cup that fits in a car cup holder for diners on-the-go.
One wonders, not about the person who orders a 42-ounce soft drink, but about what it is that holds us back.
Jaimee has informed me that our house is also pulling for Ecuador. She's wearing the Ecuadorian shorts she bought on her trip to the Galapagos Islands today in solidarity.
Almost every school day, at least one of my four children comes home with art: a drawing, a painting, a piece of handicraft, a construction-paper assemblage, an enigmatic apparatus made from pipe cleaner, spangles, and clay. And almost every bit of it ends up in the trash. My wife and I have to remember to shove the things really down deep, lest one of the kids stumble across the ruin of his or her laboriously stapled paper-plate-and-dried-bean maraca, wedged in there with the junk mail and the collapsed packing material from a 12-pack of squeezable yogurt. But there is just so much of the stuff; we don’t know what else to do with it. Of course we don’t toss all of it. We keep the good stuff, or what strikes us, in the zen of that instant between scraping out the lunchbox and sorting the mail, as good. As worthier, somehow: more vivid, more elaborate, more accurate, more sweated-over. A crayon drawing that fills the entire sheet of newsprint from corner to corner, a lifelike smile on the bill of a penciled flamingo. We stack the good stuff up in a big drawer and then when the drawer finally gets full we pull the good stuff out, and stick it in a plastic bin that we keep up in the attic. We never look at or revisit it. We never get the children’s artwork down and sort through it with them, the way we do with photo albums, and say, “That’s how you used to draw curly hair,” or “See how you made your letter E’s with seven crossbars?” I’m not really sure why we’re saving it, except that getting rid of it feels so awful.
The Quidditch World Cup begins today. ESPN and Yahoo both have solid splash pages devoted to the subject, and I've already pointed you to the massive World Cup Blog.
If you don't have cable, you can pretty much only get matches on the weekend -- but the BBC will apparently be streaming games as they happen. UK users only! Bullkidneys.
With Ireland out of the equation, I think our household will start out rooting for Italy, and if that fails we'll most likely switch to Germany or Japan*. I realize those are the Axis powers, but they've reformed now, and I for one believe in redemption. In any event, as is the case with all sporting events, my loyalties are effectively random.
* I also have soft spots for the Czech Republic and Sweden.
The New York Timesreviews a new portrait of a homeless man.
When the "black mist" overcame him, Stuart would become paranoid, angry and violent. At one point, he threatened his girlfriend with a knife, then threatened to kill their infant son if the police stormed the house. Over the years he racked up a conviction sheet 20 pages thick and came close, many times, to killing himself. He was addicted to glue, alcohol and heroin, and engaged in frequent bouts of self-mutilation using razors and glass. He led, as he said, "a very controversial, unpleasant life."
Yet the Stuart depicted in this book was also a man with a fierce sense of justice and honor — a frank, funny, eloquent and often thoughtful individual, who eventually got himself off the streets and into a detox program and became an advocate for the homeless.
Since we rag on Franzen here occasionally, I wanted to put in a quick plug for his new collection of essays, How to Be Alone, which is quite fine. I actually enjoy Franzen's nonfiction rather more than his fiction, which is probably backwards from the way most people experience his work. The best essay in the book is the first one, and you can read it online: "My Father's Brain," about his father's decline from Alzeimer's. (You may have seen this one before, as I had.) The other essay which best grabbed my attention was a sort of journalistic human-interest piece about the failures of the Chicago postal system which doesn't seem to be online anywhere.
If those two essays sound like they shouldn't be in the same book, you've stumbled upon my central critique of How to Be Alone, which is a startling lack of either stylistic or thematic unity. Some essays are personal, some essays are objective, some are highly imaginative, some are quite prosaic -- this doesn't feel like a collection the way, say, The Undertaking or even Lethem's The Disappointment Artist (blogged) does. It's a good book, just oddly disjointed.
Caprica would take place more than half a century before the events that play out in Battlestar Galactica. The people of the Twelve Colonies are at peace and living in a society not unlike our own, but where high technology has changed the lives of virtually everyone for the better.
But a startling breakthrough in robotics is about to occur, one that will bring to life the age-old dream of marrying artificial intelligence with a mechanical body to create the first living robot: a Cylon. Following the lives of two families, the Graystones and the Adamas (the family of William Adama, who will one day become the commander of the Battlestar Galactica), Caprica will weave together corporate intrigue, techno-action and sexual politics into television's first science fiction family saga, the channel announced.
The Two Sweetest Words in the English Language: Tax Deductible
We finally got back word from the IRS today that we've been granted status as a 501(c)3 nonprofit organization. Among other things, this means (and this is where you come in) we can now solicit and accept delicious tax-deductible donations.
* 
Notorious villains France and Brazil both breezed their way into the quaterfinals today, rounding out the eight. I missed both games because I forgot to set the VCR this morning, which may have been a blessing in disguise. Back to back losses for heroes Ghana and Spain would have been disheartening to watch.
Superman links:
* Via 
