There is nothing new under the sun.

Isaac Newton v. Gottfried Leibniz


I really hate it when ideas I have turn out to have already been done by other people. It twists the thrill of invention into the agony of knowing that you are not unique, or thoughtful, or insightful, and probably just don't remember that you were watching "Histories Biggest Catapults" the night before. Damn it, I was sure I was the first to think of launching heavy rocks at buildings to smash them into a pulp. Anyway, one could take some solace in knowing that many of histories great ideas have been co-discovered.

Take, for example, the legendary dual discovery of calculus by Isaac Newton and Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz. Leibniz was working on a paper on differential calculus when he was shown unpublished papers by Newton, who had beaten him to it by a good decade. Leibniz maintained that he'd come up with it without hearing anything from Newton, but contemporary scholars had a hard time trusting someone with such a ridiculous haircut.

Darwin's theory of natural selection was independently arrived at by Alfred Russell Wallace. Ol' Chuck began formulating a method for how species evolve after returning from his leisurely cruise of the Galapagos. Darwin worked on his theory for 20 years until he found out Wallace had arrived at the same conclusions he had. I'd like to imagine the smug look of satisfaction on Darwin's face as he broke it to poor Wallace that the Texas School Board would never even bother to omit him from their textbooks.

The only problem with these simultaneous discoveries is that they're too simultaneous. If you really want an embarrassing co-discovery, you have to have a little more space in between. Consider the work of John Smeaton, civil engineer. He had a breakthrough in using quick lime to make concrete. Concrete was a strong, cheap, pourable building material that allowed for the construction of a diverse range of structures. Which is why the Romans used it extensively, all the way back to at least 100 B.C., when the engineer Vitruvius wrote down a recipe for concrete comparable in strength to what we use now. But, the secret of concrete was lost for around 1300 years, until Mr. Smeaton brought humanity back to where they were before Visigoths ran wild throughout the Western Roman Empire. Probably with some kind of device that could hurl big rocks at those concrete structures... Damn you, Visigoths!

Don't Act So Surprised, Haiti

For the life of me, I cannot fathom why people are outraged over Pat Robertson's comments in the wake of the Haiti earthquakes. In case you haven't been watching the 700 Club, let me bring you up to speed. In the immediate aftermath of one of the most devastating natural disasters in history, Mr. Robertson opined that Haiti had it coming for its pact with the devil at the end of the 18th Century. Mr. Robertson believed that the slaves of Haiti, shipped over to work in sugar plantations to feed the endless appetite of the English for tea sweetener after the local population was almost totally annihilated, were unable to unshackle themselves from their cruel overlords without the machinations of satan. Living in brutal conditions in which the life expectancy for new arrivals was best measured in months, the slaves of Haiti revolted against their harsh French masters (preceding sentence only funny if you are not Haiti, Vietnam, or Algeria). But instead of heroically mounting the first successful slave rebellion in the Western hemisphere and establishing a republic with broad rights on their own, they had to drag the devil into it. In return for two centuries of crippling poverty and corruption, some sucker on Haiti got an eternity of damnation. Granted, not the best deal with the devil that's ever been made, but Haiti should have known that no deal with the devil works out well. Unless it's an arrangement to teach fiddle skills. Then you're probably ok.

Other famous deals with the devil:
-Johann Faust: A hobo chemist and astrologer (hey, the 1500s were weird) of Germany, Mr. Faust entered into a deal with one Mephistopheles to make him into an astrologer to the stars. After several years of being a well respected advisor to the court, Faust, or bits of him, were discovered in the aftermath of a gruesome alchemy experiment.

-Lando Calrissian: In order to secure the freedom of Cloud City, Lando, the dashing administrator of a successful mining operation, strikes a bargain with Darth Vader to deliver his best friend to a bounty hunter and Luke Skywalker to the Emporer. In return, a princess would be his alone, and his city would be spared. Lando (and Lobot) selfishly broke this bargain, dooming the rest of the inhabitants of Cloud City to an agonizing death and ensuring that Princess Leia would prefer a man/wall decoration to the equally charming Billy Dee Williams.

-Pat Robertson: A young Mr. Robertson went to the Tchula Junction in Mississippi and traded his immortal soul for the ability to go on television and blame natural disasters on the victims. Who but one in league with Lucifer could remain on the air after attributing terrorist attacks to lesbians and the ACLU, hurricanes to abortions, and the robot invasion of the Upper Midwest to women's suffrage? Will ol' Pat remember this deal so fondly when he is toiling in Hell's brimstone mines and writhing in the sulphur fields of eternity?

-Kobe Bryant: I don't know what the terms were, but no one will ever convince me that the Grizzlies gave up Pau Gasol to the Lakers for a bag of magic beans and Javaris Crittendon.

Penthouse View of Insanity

My apartment has two skylights, which would be great if I lived somewhere where you could see the sky while you were home for more than three months out of the year. Instead, my apartment lets me get a magnified volume version of whatever type of weather is currently occurring. Tonight, it's a rainstorm*. Because the sound of the rain and wind has made it impossible for me to sleep at a god-fearing hour, I've been forced to turn to my dark subconscious and television for succor. In a cruel twist of fate, they were both focused on the 1993 film, "Demolition Man."

I first saw "Demolition Man," in high school. I grew up in the country, and spent many a Saturday night hanging out with my brothers watching public television. Occasionally, our attention would wander to one of the other late night stations; and in North-Central Iowa, one of them would invariably be playing "Demoliton Man." The film, a dystopian action film, or at least a movie that aspires to be a dystopian action film, stars Wesley Snipes, Sylvester Stalone, and Sandra Bullock as people, um, in a future where there is no violence except that violence propagated by Wesley Snipes. Also, Taco Bell is the only restaurant (see, Annie, the future's a bright place). Anyway, the movie is completely ridiculous in the most mediocre of ways possible. Stuff blows up, Sylvester Stalone pretends he's read "A Brave New World," Sandra Bullock enjoys one last moment as a starring actor, and Wesley Snipes plays a prisoner who refuses to play by societies rules. I can't remember if he didn't pay his taxes, or if it was something else. The film survives in two forms. One, as a cheap movie that any channel can presumably secure the rights to play in exchange for a bag of yogurt covered pretzels, and two, as a pinball machine that is uncommonly prevalent in the Pacific Northwest. I've seen four "Demoliton Man," pinball machines between Seattle and Portland. Or put another way, one machine for each person who saw the theatrical release. The mere presence of the "Demoliton Man," machine at the bowling alley I frequent seems to have led to an increase in the showing of the film on late night television, particularly on nights I can't sleep. I can only conclude that this is part of a conspiracy by the Illuminati to dull the senses of the already slow-witted parts of the populous. Well, to you, shadowy conspiracy members, I say, um, it's working. That film is a train-wreck, and I cannot stop watching.

*Counter to stereotypes, I have not experienced that many rainstorms in Seattle. The city seems more prone to a constant grayness from October to May than to any outright fits of ill-weather.

Movies that could be pornographic titles without changing the name.

Anyone who has accidentaly wandered into the adult section of their local videostore while looking for a copy of Air Bud: Seventh Inning Fetch will have noticed the tendency for pornographic films to change the name of existing movies into more risque titles. Romancing the Stone is perverted into Romancing the Bone. The timeless coming of age story A River Runs Through It becomes A Wanger Runs Through It. I'll leave you to guess the twisted inspiration behind Edward Penishands, White Men Can Hump, Come with the Wind, and Schindler's List of Woman He'd Boned Who Were Totally Ones... Anyway, it occured to me that there are several films that you wouldn't even need to change the title to make them into pornographic films. And since my girlfriend isn't awake yet to be disturbed by my cleverness, it's list time!

Deep Impact
Hancock
Chitty Chitty Bang Bang
The Private Life of Henry VIII
Ed Wood
Bound for Glory
Guess Who's Coming to Dinner
Rick Steves' Europe Through the Backdoor
Fire Down Below
The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen
Free Willy
The Bone Collector
Mary Poppins
Beauty and the Beast
Rambo: First Blood
The Last Temptation of Christ


Wow, now that I think about it, that's a lot of Van Damme movies that could also be pornos. They'd probably all involve him getting into menage a trois with his twin. But that's a post for another day.

Double Impact
Double Team
Desert Heat (the UK title of the mediocre Inferno)
Knock Off
Hard Target

Who's watching?

Ahhh, a nice Sunday evening. Think I'll just sit down on the couch, try to finish off this Elmore Leonard novel. Hey, where did I put my book? I could swear I put it down right here. Somebody must have mov...




Oh shit! It's the money I saved with Geico. Four dollars and ten cents. Watching me. And presumably hiding LaBrava. Good one, money, you really got me this time.

In which I don't give a shit about the ACORN scandal

So, an undercover camera crew caught a couple of non-profit employees giving advice to the world's most stereotypical pimp and prostitute. Color me unimpressed. Or, if you're British, colour me unimpressed. So you can find a couple employees to give ridiculous advice to two morons. Whoop de-doo. I don't like to bring my work onto the internets, but if you were to call my office with a ridiculous story, you'd have about a 15% chance of me giving a hypothetical statement of how to move forward to get unemployment. And, if you edited out the parts of my statement where I listed all the problems with said ridiculous claim, you'd have me giving advice on how to skirt the law to people similar to the Acorn pimps. The nerve of people to go after an incredibly minor transgression on the part of low-level people at an organization who try and help those on the bottom rung simply infuriates me.

Anyway, with any luck, this will be the only thing I write that doesn't mention Jurassic Park, tacos, or my intense desire to own a flame thrower.

You, uh, stabbed her and then, um, you uh, killed her.

So, who should I find on Law & Order: CI but detective Ian Malcolm? That's right, America's favorite chaostician is now using his consideable mental prowess to solve crime in New York City. Yes, the twisted mind of a serial killer is no match for a man who has survived an island where dinosaurs have been returned to life in a, um, terrible subversion of the natural law. Detective Ian Malcolm becomes the latest renowned crimesolver in the Law & Order franchise, joining such luminaries as Sgt. Lenny "innappropriate wise-crack" Brisoe, Detective Mike"Oh my God it's Carrie's boyfriend! yes I know Annie" Logan, Elliot "Chin" Stabler, Apparently not a cop killer Ice-T, and whatever the name of that guy Vincent D'Onofrio plays. The one who solves crimes through the use of contrived plot points. The one who's the most irritating detective in the history of fiction; jeez, this is driving me nuts, what's his name? Anyway, the point I wanted to make was that Jeff Goldblum needs money. Apparently, very badly.



Possible Detective Ian Malcolm interrogation:
Det. Nichols - So, uh, what happened.
suspect - I didn't do nuthin.
Det. Nichols - The, um, arrogance, you're displaying here is just unbelievable, I mean, uh, who are, um, you to play God and decide who lives or dies?
suspect - Uhhhh?
Det. Nichols - I looked at each drop of blood at the crime scene, and uh, I got to tell you, there was no predicting where the next one would go. I mean, you stabbed her. And you stabbed her, and uh, that's chaos.
suspect - listen man I...
Det. Nichols -You're afraid to dive into the plasma pool aren't you? You're afraid to be destroyed and re-created, aren't you? I'll bet you think that you woke me up about the flesh, don't you? But you only know society's straight line about the flesh! You can't penetrate beyond society's sick, grey fear of the flesh! Drink deep or taste not the plasma spring, see what I'm saying? Now, I'm not just talking about sex and penetration, I'm talking about penetration beyond the veil of the flesh! A deep, penetrating dive into the plasma pool!
suspect - Sweet Jesus, I did it! I did it. Just get the fuck away from me.
Det. Nichols - This uh, just um, shows that crime, doesn't pay.