SHOCK AND AWE

EXTRA! EXTRA! READ ALL ABOUT IT! LANCE BASS GAY!
EXTRA! EXTRA! READ ALL ABOUT IT! N'SYNC MEMBER GOES FOR GUYS!
EXTRA! EXTRA! READ ALL ABOUT IT! SKY BLUE!

I mean, talk about not a surprise. Out of the three major boy bands of the 90's (four if you count O-Town [seriously, do not count O-Town {seriously}]), *Nsync, Backstreet Boys and 98 Degrees, you had to know at least one of the guys was going to be gay. As far as *Nsync went Lance was the hands on favorite. Also, did you SEE "On The Line"? Not that I have or anything... but this ummmm... guy, I know. Wait no, a guy that I know knows a guy who saw it... in Canada. Because he lost a bet.

So Lance Bass likes guys, big whoop. Over 55% of the world likes guys. Your mom, for example, likes guys. Unless she doesn't, but if she's your mom, she at least faked it long enough for you to be here. I don't understand why this is news. At the moment we have people in outer space, Israel trying to blow Lebanon off the map, and the Brewers thinking of trading Carlos Lee, yet the big deal is that a dude and another dude are dating.

Trust me, if someone you don't even know personally coming out of the closet is breaking news, you're in for some world changing newsflashes over the course of your life.

So that's big news in the world of homosexuality, but I think this story also begs some consideration as well as at least a little outrage. Sergeant Copas, kicked out of the military for... c'mon I just said it, being gay. Besides being a decorated solider he also had a little skill in speaking Arabic. Which, as we all know, is a language that is kinda sorta in high demand right now, what with the entire Middle East doing its darndest to fold in on itself. But who cares about what he brings to the table skillwise, the man thinks Ben Affleck is DREAMY! Quick hold your breath, he might have left some gay in the air before he was discharged!

In A League Of Their Own Tom Hank's character is talking to Geena Davis about how he wasn't able to be drafted for the war because he has no cartilage in his knee. He starts bending his finger back and forth like he's pulling a trigger and says I can do this though, isn't this all you need? Shouldn't it be the same thing here? I have some friends in the military and I think it's incredibly brave of them to be willing to put their lives on the line for all of us considering the minimal benefits and the high possibility of dying on the job. If you're willing to make that sacrifice you should be congratulated and supported no matter whether you'd rather sleep with Brad Pitt or Jessica Alba. Or both. What you shouldn't be is punished for it.

Surprise! He's gay!
So what?

WORZALA'S WEDNESDAY WORD 7-26-06

Today's word is "memoir" as in "Say 'au revoir' to reading my memoir."

In a move that came as no surprise to me, I failed to qualify for the final cut of The Memoirists "get your memoirs published" contest. I thought my story was both interesting and funny, but I was pretty sure it wouldn't be unique enough to win. I think one of the qualifiers was raised by goldfish until she was 14 and another one was forced to cross the U.S. one summer in a wheelbarrow. And then there was one who just put out to all the judges.

It's not a big deal, at this age I don't really feel I have a book's worth of "memoir worthy" stories to tell. I'm just glad I took a chance on the opportunity and, if nothing else, I've learned how to spell memoir without looking it up.

In other writing news, because I'm sure you're all curious, I've finished the rough drafts of my entire play. You know, the one that opens in... 6 weeks. Cor. It it just six weeks? Did it suddenly get hard to breath in here?

*gasp* Anyway, that's coming along really well and who knows? I just might turn a profit. And if I do, then I look forward to picking up goldfish girl's book, "Living In A Fisheye Lens" at my nearest Borders. If people keep clicking on my ad, maybe I'll have enough to pick up a second copy. That would be nice. My coffee table's been leaning lately.

FOR YOUR CONSIDERATION

From the makers of Star Worz and Matt's MySpace account...

Along side some people you've never heard of before but would probably like if you met at a party...

Comes...

www.TubaPants.com

I DON'T CARE WHO YOU ARE

I just saw this as the "recent headline" on top of my g-mail page:

"Israel seeks German aid in getting European support"

That's funny. I don't care who you are.

SHE DID IT AGAIN

About a month ago Tani wrote me all excited for a new opportunity for me to take advantage of. A quartet of authors, known collectively as "The Memoirists" had set up a contest to help a lucky writer get their memoirs published. Any one could submit a portion of their proposed memoir to the site and then the top five would be selected to submit another sample of their work. Those five would then be narrowed down into one lucky winner. I was actually intrigued by the idea, though I doubted my life at this point was exciting enough to warrent a memoir, so I fell back on my days as a college R.A. and took one of those stories and entered it.

I doubt I'll win, but maybe someone will read it and say "Hey, that was good. What else do you have?" And then I'll show them this and they'll say "Awesome! Oh, and you can click on the ads? Genius!" Maybe I'll tell them about my television idea about time traveling cowboys. Maybe. I don't want to rush things.

Here's the story I put up, hope you enjoy it.

Joe met me at the door. When a resident meets you at the door, it’s always going to be trouble.

“Matt, it’s Dave’s birthday. Can we have a stripper in the lounge?”

Well, that was a new one.

Our lounge, due to overcrowding in the housing system, was currently serving as living quarters for four additional guys. I guessed they wanted to have the stripper there, as it would allow them to jam in the most people without overcrowding. When seeing a stripper, no one wants to be packed in like sardines, especially horny sardines.

“No,” I said.

“Please?” he begged.

“No,” I said.

It wasn’t like I was unsympathetic to their plight. What heterosexual, freshman boy doesn’t want to see a stripper? I remember as a freshman walking four miles in the rain to see one. So I wasn’t going to begrudge them their God-given desire to see a naked woman and, after all, it was Dave’s birthday. But rules were rules. And I was pretty sure the university didn’t want strippers in housing. Even temporary housing. But Joe was not one to give up easily.

“Show me the rule.”

It was so ridiculous of a request I actually laughed out loud at him. Show him the rule? Prove the law? I’m the housefellow, I AM the Law. If I say it’s quiet hours, it’s quiet hours. If I say your guests need to leave, your guests need to leave. If I say Thursdays are Hawaiian day, you better be wearing a grass skirt when I see you. Show him the rule. Ha!

“Okay,” I said. “Come with me.”

During training, every housefellow is given a tome full of housing rules. They list, in detail, why anything fun you want to do is illegal. Here we go, I thought, this will settle things once and for- where is it? I could have sworn it was right here.

“Ummm…hold on,” I muttered, trying to buy time. Drinking, no. Painting, no. Throwing Stars, no. X-rated film screenings, no. But heaven help us all, there was nothing against having a woman come to your room and shake her moneymaker while you slipped singles into her thong.

“I… I guess there’s… well I’m sure it’s implied that… as long as you…Fine.” I sighed with defeat. “You can have a stripper. But the door has to stay closed, and you can’t make a profit. Most importantly, try to keep the whole thing quiet. Got it?”

“HEY DAVE!” yelled Joe, tearing down the hall. “HE SAID WE COULD HAVE ONE!”

“What did I just say!?!” I shouted after him.

Other than free food, nothing rallies boys together faster than the promise of nudity. Less than twenty minutes after I had given my reluctant agreement, 30 guys were crowding in my lounge under the pretense of “watching the hockey playoffs.” They had even made a sign “Hockey Playoffs In Here.” They may as well have written “Suspicious”. I stepped into the hall to find three girls from the fourth floor waiting for me.

”Why are all those guys in the lounge?” they asked.

I decided the best course was to play dumb. “What’s the sign say? Hockey playoffs? They’re probably watching the hockey playoffs.”

“They’re not watching hockey. We asked if we could come in and they said we couldn’t. And what ever it is, they’re charging money for it. We heard it was a stripper.”

“Well this is the first I’ve head of it,” I said, quickly excusing myself to the safety of my room. Then I saw my voice mail light. Now what?

Beep! “Hey Matt, it’s Sarah, is there a stripper on your floor? That’s what my residents are saying.” Well, that wasn’t too bad. Nothing a little fervent denial couldn’t clear up.

Beep! “Hey Matt, it’s Matt. There’s a crowd of people forming outside of your lounge window. Apparently there’s a stripper inside. Sounds like a fun time.” A crowd outside the building? I couldn’t get six guys to come to floor events and the “Hockey Playoffs” were on overflow seating? Maybe I needed a stripper of my own for the next diversity roundtable.

There was a knock on the door and Joe was suddenly back in my room.

“What now?” I asked.

“Stripper's gone.”

I checked my watch. “Already? She was here five minutes.”

“Yeah,” Joe agreed, sitting on my couch. “She wasn’t as hot as we thought she was going to be, and she didn’t appreciate it when we said so. So she grabbed her stuff and left. Well, good night.”

Five minutes. Somehow I knew the meeting I was destined to have the next day with my supervisor about this incident would not be that short. I went to bed planning my defense.

WORZALA'S WEDNESDAY WORD 7-19-06

Today's word is "bulletin" as in "You need to chill out with your bulletins on MySpace."

As many of you know, I have a friend named Tani. Tani is the reason I started this blog as well as the reason why I got a MySpace page. Tani seems to spend a lot of her down time coming up with ideas for me. Which is fine, because it frees up my thinking time for drinking or playing video games. When Tani comes up with an idea for me I've learned that it's best to just go along with it. Otherwise it's just like fighting quicksand, you're only going to get tired resisting.

So now I have a MySpace page and it's pretty nice. You can listen to music, find old friends, trick girls into flying to the Middle East to be your child bride, all sorts of things. One of the other things you can do is post bulletins. Bulletins go to all of your friends and are a nice way of saying "Hey, here's something interesting." At least, that's the theory behind it.

Wade Randolph, who is a funny guy, sums up the problem pretty well in paragraph five of "Sunday Morning Bliss" right here. The language is a bit crude, but he's got a good point. A lot of bulletins are just clutter. If you're my friend and you send me something like "How (name of your state)-y Are You?" I can't get rid of it. I don't Want to have it, because I don't really care to know "How Many Old TV Themes Do [I] Know?" and I don't really care to pass along another chain letter that is sure to get me a call from my secret crush. And yet you send them to me and there's nothing I can do about it. And now I'm stuck with it because bulletins give you two awesome options: reply or delete friend.

That's right, you can't just delete the bulletin, you have to cut your friend loose, like a lagging climber on a glacier summit. I don't dislike my friends, I just dislike being notified everytime you got bored and changed your wallpaper. We're friends, I've been to your page in the last week, I SEE that you've changed your wallpaper. I didn't know you liked the PowerPuff Girls that much dude. I mean, it's nice and all, the heart waterfall is a bit much, but I don't want to cast you into the darkness over it. Not with all the weeping and gnashing. I guess I could resort to constantly deleting and re-adding friends, but that's too much work and I think they'd get just as sick of it as I would. Then suddenly you're not friends any more because they keep putting up "Child of the 80's??" lists and nobody's happy.

So please, for both of our sakes, think about what you're sending before you send it, okay? If you're not sure, just wing it to me over e-mail, bulletins are just fancy chain letters 90% of the time anyway. Those I Can delete. And I probably will because, while I love you, I don't care that you've never been to Hawaii but you have smoked clove cigarettes.

Sorry.

THINGS I'VE LEARNED...

ABOUT YOUTH SOFTBALL

1) On offense you're only as strong as your girls. If you stack your team with nothing but your pretty girlfriends who aren't sure if they're even holding the bat right, you're going to lose more often than not. One of you has to have a friend that's at least mildly athletic, get her and then one of her friends.

2) On defense you're only as good as your pitcher. It doesn't matter how high the arc or how fast the pitch, if the pitcher can't hit the broad side of a barn, you're going to walk people. And those walks are going to turn in to runs. If your pitcher is crap, your team is crap. It's the transitive property of team sports. If your pitcher IS crap, practice during the week and become better than they are. Then convince people you should have the job. Then have them erased from team records and photos and ship anyone that mentions them to the gulag. ...wait, that's how to become the leader of Russia, sorry. But up to the "erase their existance" part, that's good advice.

3) If you're wearing batting gloves in slow-pitch, it means you're a loser. If you then tuck them in your pocket after you hit, it means you will die a virgin.

4) You can bench 300 pounds and run a 4.4 40 but if you dip your shoulder, you're just going to fly out every time. Few things are more embarrassing.

5) Don't watch strike three. That's more embarrassing. Especially in high arc.

6) Don't be afraid to walk. Guys have this fear that taking a free ride to first will magically emasculate them in front of their peers. You can't score runs without runners, and you should never turn down something free. At the same time, swing if it's close. Don't be a sissy.

7) Please, no more than 3 Napolean Dynamite references per game. Yes, we've all seen the movie. Quoting something funny, does not make you funny. After the third time it just makes you annoying. P.s. Don't say "Need a little Bingo", that makes no sense. Just say "Get a hit."

8) If you are no good, just play catcher. No offense to all the catchers out there, but in most rec softball there is not an easier position, short of "batting order list holder". In high arc you don't even have to catch the ball, just pick it up when it stops rolling and throw it toward the pitcher. Doesn't even have to be a good throw. You don't even really need a glove. Just a thick mitten.

9) If you are going to make a big deal about the runner turning the wrong way after crossing first, you better be ready to run them down. Because if you miss the throw to second (and you will, c'mon, we've all seen your arm) the runner's going to take third while the ball bounces around the outfield. Now they've got a triple and you look like an idiot. Sorry, idiot.

10) I know you're 17 years old, and that automatically makes you the coolest person on the diamond. Every word that comes out of your mouth, when you aren't hilariously saying "Give me your tots!", is said with the wisdom of Solomon. You've been watching baseball highlights on ESPN since you were 12. Guess what? I am still the umpire. You are still out. No, raising your voice isn't going to change my mind. And speaking of that, When is your voice going to drop anyway?

THE NAME GAME

I just ran a letter through the mail that was address to, no joke, a R. Olson-Olson.

Huh.

What kind of balls would you need to hyphenate the same name? I understand having pride in your family's heritage or not wanting to take the man's name, but seriously, what the heck? Did you lose a bet? Some sort of crazy bet? Possibly involving the consumption of hot wings? I'm surprised they weren't laughed out of the licensing office.

Name.
"Olson"
Name.
"Olson"
Sorry, Maiden Name, please.
"Olson"
... and you wish to hyphenate this?
"Yes please. Olson-Olson."
"You mean Olson-Olson dear, the woman's should go first."
"I'm sorry darling, you're right. Olson-Olson."
.... yeah.

It's not even spelled different, I double checked. If you were Kim Jones and you married Jon Jonzz, that'd be something different. One, because it'd be Jones-Jonzz and two, because he's the Martian Manhunter. But this is Olson-Olson. Why? What possible purpose could it serve?

They could have even merged their names, that's a hip thing now that the kids are doing. Change it together to Olsen, or Neslo or Oollsseenn, even. But this? I just don't understand it.

So if anyone can explain this, I'd be happy to hear it.

Otherwise, enjoy this picture of a kitten.

PARK'S CLOSED, MOOSE SHOULD HAVE TOLD YOU

I used to work for an amusement park up here in Wisconsin. (Or down here if you're Canadian. Hello neighbors to the North!) The park was owned by the city and, despite the low cost of ride tickets, made money hand over fist. One way this was accomplished, however, was by having had paid for all the rides decades ago. I wish that was more of a joke, but it's not. Our Ferris Wheel, for example, was 90 years old if it was a day. That is, before it self-destructed.

Since the ride was so old, it wasn't operated by a motorized axel, it was instead operated by a cable that ran through little hooks and was more than half powered by gravity. That meant if the ride wasn't balanced, at best the ride would crawl for half the cycle and then zip around the second half. Some people enjoyed the ride better this way. At worst, the weight would force the throttle over into neutral and begin racing backwards. No one seemed to enjoy the ride better this way. Most of the time that wasn't a problem, as a full ride is more or less going to keep itself running correctly, and the line stays pretty busy through out the day. But on slow days especially and occasionally even on busy days, you got a car of 8 year olds in carts 3 and 4 and a husband and wife in seat 9 that tipped the scales at 450. (You never notice how many people in this world are pear shaped until you've worked an amusement park) You'd sit on the bench next to the throttle and just look over the line thinking "Okay, one cart, two, three, you can go there, six, eight... good to go." And then you start loading people and suddenly all the little kids that should be matched with adults are riding by themselves and your careful calculations have sunk like a leaky boat to the bottom of Deep Crap Bay.

One way we tried to fix the weight issue was by making kids under a certain height ride with an adult. That usually insured that there'd be at least SOME weight in the cart. At our park an "adult" was defined as "someone who is at least 18 years of age." This is apparently a harder concept to understand that you think. Of course, you are also apparently literate.

Me- I'm sorry ma'am, he's going to have to ride with someone.
Mom- Why's that?
Me- He's not tall enough to go on alone.
Mom- Jason, get on there with him.
Me- Ma'am, he needs to ride with an adult.
Mom- Jason is his older brother.
Me- How old are you Jason?
Jason- 16.
Me- I'm sorry ma'am, he has to ride with someone 18 or older.
Mom- But I don't like heights.
Me- I'm sorry ma'am.
Mom- Well it's his brother and I say it's okay, so can he go now?
Me- Ma'am. He needs to Ride With An Adult.
Mom- Fine. Get off the ride sweetie, he's not going to let you on. You know, I wish you'd put up a sign or something before we waited an hour in line.
Me- Ma'am there's a sign at the entrance to the ride. And there's one where you buy tickets.
Mom- Well I didn't see it. You should have one at the front of the line.
Me- I guess we should ma'am. Don't forget your tickets.

The Ferris Wheel eventually met its demise my third summer at the park. The wheel the cable ran on was outside of the "engine room", a little shack that housed the breaker and was probably only a few years younger than the ride itself. The cable wheel had a big wooden cover that had, over the course of the summer, slowly come unhinged, tilting closer and closer to what was becoming a spinning circle of death.

I came in for the second shift that day to find the Wheel sitting idly and all the carts covered. Now, this was a Saturday and short of the Big Slide the Ferris Wheel is THE Money Maker for the park. So short of Linda Blair covering every seat with pea soup, there's no way the ride shouldn't be operating.

As the story goes, the operator was just doing her job and the ride was clicking along when the box cover finally gave up the ghost and leaned far enough back to catch one of the cable hooks. The entire ride JERKS to a stop, and since they're free swinging carts, everyone gets jostled pretty good. Smoke is pouring out of the engine room and two of our supervisors have to shut the machine down and then manually, hand over hand, pull the wheel around to let everyone off. As I've mentioned, this has to be done in a sequence of opposite seats or things are going to get worse. Of course, no one wants to stay on a ride that just tried to bodily throw them into the future, so the supervisors have to also spend their time yelling at people to stop fiddling with their restraints and stay put before they had someone panic and tumble to the gravel below. It took them almost a half hour to unload the whole machine and then get everyone out of line.

Best part of the story? The Ferris Wheel's entire operating mechanism was totally shredded. Belt, gears, wheels, throttle, the whole kit and kaboodle. And because the ride was an eyelash short of a century, it wasn't like you could run to Wheel-Mart and pick up a spare. The parts had to be custom ordered and custom made off in Chicago or Germany and the wheel sat idle for the entire rest of the summer. If I remember by the time the repairs were done maintenance had welded the cover box back into place, welded over the weldings, and wrapped the whole thing in a cocoon of duct tape. Apparently they weren't taking any more chances.

Next time, I'll tell you the story of the Tilt-A-Whirl, or as we called it "The Baby Killer".

GETTING IT OFF MY CHEST

In case you've been living in a cave at the bottom of the ocean on the moon the last week and a half, I'd like to thank you for sticking your head out of your space cave long enough to read my blog. Since you've been out of the loop let me be the first to break the news to you. Last weekend during the World Cup Finals France's Zinedine Zidane headbutted Italy's Marco Materazzi in the chest, leading to Zidane's red card expulsion from the game.

It was, in a word, Awesome.

Here watch it again. Grab, running, running, running, turn around and BOOM goes the dynamite! Right in the chest.

There are some people that think Zidane's actions are a disgrace to the sport of soccer. Some people out there are complete idiots. That's a disgrace?? Only if "disgrace" is a fancy European word for "totally sweet". Have these people ever heard of soccer before? Soccer fans regularly toss FLARES onto the field during games! Soccer is the sport most likely to get you shot for a) screwing up and b) cheering. Materazzi's just lucky he didn't wind up under the cleats of England's Rooney or Brazil's Cafu, just a few of the men who have been penalized in recent years for stepping on downed opponents groins during the game. C'mon, a headbutt to the chest is the end of the universe as we know it, but stomping a man in the nuts with your cleats is just good clean fun? Who created this game, eunichs? Apparently offsides isn't the only thing about soccer I have a hard time understanding.

Until recently I was proudly ignorant when it came to soccer. This time last year I could have probably named three male soccer players. One was Pele', one was David Beckham and the third was "you know, that guy with the Z names". Zinedine Zidane is a big deal in the world of soccer. I mean a Big Deal. He's won the Intercontinental Cup, The World Cup, he's been the FIFA World Player of the Year and he's won championships in basically every league he's ever played in. He also set a world record for highest salary when he was signed by a team for 73 MILLION Euros ($93.2 Million). In soccer it doesn't get much bigger than Zidane and, as you may have heard, soccer's more than a little popular right now. Zidane had already stated he planned on retiring after the Cup, and he certainly went out with a bang. This was like Wayne Gretzky sucker punching a goalie in his last hockey game. It was like Micheal Jordan chopblocking the center before putting up his final fade-away. It's like Barry Bonds hitting his 756th homerun and then going into the stands and eating a small child. Wait, scratch that, I think that's what he's already got planned. Sure you laugh now, but if he starts coming to the plate wearing a lobster bib, you better make your way to the parking lot post-haste.

France may have lost to Italy, but Zidane still walked away with the MVP award and after collapsing Materazzi like a cheap card table, he's become the most talked about name in all of soccer. No matter how you slice it, in the end Zidane comes out ahead.

Get it? "A head"? Ahhhh, I kill me.

WHEN YOU WISH UPON A STAR

I first read about this story maybe 6 months ago. Long story short, the man traded his way from a red paperclip all the way up to a free home to live in.

It just goes to show, if you have a dream, some determination, and Corbin Bernsen on your side, you really can make dreams come true.

Crazy, time consuming, possibly drug fueled dreams.

But Dreams None The Less!!

HIT THESE LIKE YOU'RE ZINEDINE ZIDANE

In a self-serving attempt to expand my interfluence (that's influence on the internet [and yes, I did just coin that phrase now. Feel free to use it]) I like to occasionally post links to other blogs that I enjoy reading. I came across two more today that I think you might enjoy. After all, you all enjoy Jenifer and Tani's blogs, right? Cause you should, those suckas is hilarious! Check out Jen's today to see her father-in-law's mustache. Sweet Rip Taylor's Ghost!

The self-serving part of course is that you'll go to these sites, read them, comment on a post and then the author, curious creature that they are, will trace you back to me. Kinda like when The Empire let the Millennium Falcon escape the Death Star so they could follow it back to the Rebel Base. ...only in a way that makes me sound less like a dork.

Now, OBVIOUSLY when they arrive here at Star Worz they will be astounded by my wit and charm and instantly want to become my friend and boon companion. And in return all I will ask is that they occasionally, you know, ick-clay my oogle-gay ad-ray. Which they will do all too happily, because they are my friend and because they never want to see me write "oogle-gay" again.

These are my two lucky new friends. Sparkwood & 21 by Brittney Gilbert. To twist a quote from Wedding Crashers, "She may be insane. She might also be a genius." She blogs professionally and she likes Twin Peaks. That's a one-two punch of Cool right there. Words For My Enjoyment is by Paul Davidson. The columns feel like they go on a wee bit too long sometimes, but what's there is very fun to read. His lime juice scare for one or his nefarious plan to be an evil guidance counselor. He has a book out full of fictious blogs from historical people. I hope it sucks, only because I'm jealous I didn't think of that idea first. It's GENIUS.

Look at the time, I should probably do some work here at the office.

GO SEE SUPERMAN NOW!!

I saw Superman Returns this weekend with my sister.

Wow.

That sums the movie up right there. Wow.

I'm a big fan of the Superman movies. Well, it probably goes without saying that I mean the first two, right? I remember seeing Superman III in the theaters and being scared out of my mind when Superman was shackled to to the wall and the computer was about to stab him in the neck and change him into a machine. (in my defense I a) was, at most, 5 years old and b) am a giant wimp.) But now as an adult, I know that that movie was not very good. Though I remember the Clark vs. Superman fight being really neat. Still, ten minutes of neat doesn't make up for 80 minutes of garbage. Otherwise 2 Fast 2 Furious would be an Academy Award winner.

Superman IV isn't even worth discussing beyond this one point. Nuclear Man, when left on the *ahem* DARK SIDE OF THE MOON, is re-energized when sunlight reaches him... on the DARK SIDE of the MOOOOOOON. Christopher Reeves only agreed to be in the movie in the first place because the studio agreed to finance another of his projects if he did. Point of Order. When your main character thinks the movie he's in is a crappy movie, odds are good your end result is going to be a crappy moive. End Point of Order.

Superman Returns blows the memory of both of those movies out of the water. I don't want to give away too much for those of you who haven't seen it yet, but it is really something to behold, if for no other reason than to see Superman fly. When Superman flies... I can't even put it into words. He soars, he zips, he floats effortlessly. He punches through the clouds, he punches through the atmosphere, he punches through the wing of a plane, he punches through the earth itself. Everytime he took off I tensed in my seat out of pure excitement.

The movie is funny, sad and exciting. In short, a great superhero movie. It is not better than Superman or Superman II but it is equal to those two films. I highly recommend you go see it, because then you will, as the first movie's tag line said, Believe a Man can Fly.

RANK AND FILE

A few months ago Bravo put out their list of The One Hundred Funniest Movies. Now, no one is claiming that Bravo is a font of wisdom, but the list was really bad. Take the Top 10 Movies as your example.

10. Arthur
9. Ace Ventura: Pet Detective
8. Blazing Saddles
7. The Wedding Singer
6. Airplane
5. South Park: Bigger, Longer, Uncut
4. There's Something About Mary
3. Shrek
2. Caddyshack
1. Animal House

Where to start, where to start, where to start? How about the fact that There's Something About Mary is a pile of garbage that kick started the whole "Isn't it funny when bad things happen to Ben Stiller? Wait, here comes something else bad!" genre of films. Yet, according to Bravo, it's the 4th funniest comedy. Funnier than Dumb and Dumber, funnier than Duck Soup, funnier than Airplane. That's right, funnier than "'Surely you can't be serious.' 'I am, and don't call me Shirley.'" Airplane.

Even worse than that is Shrek at number three. Shrek is a fine cartoon, and ha-ha, they're in fairy tale land, but if Micheal Meyers saying "Donkey" in a Scottish accent is all it takes to get the number three slot, of All Time, then where, may I ask, is So I Married An Axe Murderer?

I shouldn't even have to explain how wrong Wedding Singer being in the Top 10 is.

So my friends and I created our own list. Our qualifications? We know what's funny and we know more about movies than you do. And apparently more than the people working at Bravo. So without further ado, here are The 10 Funniest Comedies of All Time.

10. Airplane
9. O' Brother, Where Art Thou?
8. A Christmas Story
7. Duck Soup
6. Annie Hall
5. A Fish Called Wanda
4. Caddyshack
3. Monty Python and the Holy Grail
2. The Three Amigos
1. The Big Lebowski

There you have it. A flawless list. Rent one this weekend and enjoy. No need to thank me, clicking on the Google Ad above this column is thanks enough.

No seriously, please, go click the ad, that's how I get paid for this.

Seriously. Do it. Please.

MAKE LIKE THE POPE

"I took my daughter camping this weekend. You have no idea how hard it is to get a three year old to pee in the woods."

Just have her pee her pants.

"Pee her pants? Yeah, like I'm going to have her do that."

She's three years old. What does she care? What are you doing taking a three year old camping? Bears can eat three year olds.

"There are no bears in my parents' back yard."

That's what everyone says, till a bear shows up in your back yard to eat your child.

"If any bears showed up-"

Wait, you were camping in your parents' back yard?! Why are you making your daughter pee in the woods?!?

"I'm trying to teach her that you don't have to be girly all the time."

There's a BATHROOM twenty feet away in the house!

"It doesn't hurt to learn to wipe with a fig leaf."

Your parents have figs??

This Public Service Announcement Brought to you by The Coalition of Three Year Olds Against Peeing in The Woods.

WORZALA'S WEDNESDAY WORD 7-5-06

Today's word is "form" as in "Here's a handy form letter you can use if you'd like."

To Whom It May Concern:
Re: Your Fireworks Display

First, let me commend you on your patriotic spirit. Truly, we live in the greatest country in the world and the 4th of July is an excellent time to celebrate this fact. There are many different ways to celebrate. Parades, memorial services, movie marathons, bar-b-ques, and of course fireworks. I see you have chosen fireworks, congratulations on your selection. I see you have also chosen to begin lighting these fireworks at 11 o'clock at night. This is where you and I hold a difference of opinion. You seem to think you should keep shooting off explosive projectiles, I think you should have a tree fall on your head, and then be eaten by a bear.

I apologize, that was unnecessarily harsh of me. Please accept my apologies, I don't know why I am so on edge. Perhaps it's the fact that it's now past midnight and yet you keep firing what is rapidly appearing to be a limitless supply of roman candles. But that is probably my own fault. If I were more of a patriot I'd be right out there with you instead of laying in bed, attempting to get more than 6 hours of sleep so that I may function properly at my job tomorrow. Oh, that's right, I work in the morning. I can only assume that you do not. I can only assume that your July 5th plans include sleeping in until TRL comes on MTV and then going to the mall to "hang" with your friends over by the kiosk that sells decorative knives.

I'm sure you have a perfectly good reason. Maybe you had to work until 11 p.m. and had promised a dying child that he would see fireworks before he passed away at 1 a.m. this morning. Maybe zombies were attacking your home and you were trying to frighten them off. Maybe your kid brother was abducted by aliens years ago and has recently returned to earth, without aging, and now he navigates a shape-shifting spaceship and you were trying to lead him to the new house. Maybe you're an idiot. I couldn't rightfully say.

In conclusion, I would just like to say that while I enjoyed your pyrotechnical display last night, the type of display you can only get by dropping $50 at the gas station fireworks tent, I would appreciate it if, in the future, you limit your celebration to a more reasonable hour. If the urge for late night explosions is too much to resist, might I suggest some alternate locations. Inside your house, for one. Or in your pocket. Perhaps even up your own butt, if you can pull your head out of there long enough to light the fuse.

Think about it, won't you?

Your neighbor and fellow American,
(your name here)