Take a bow, Tucker

Tucker Carlson, perhaps best known for being called a dick on national television by Jon Stewart, referring to Canada as a "retarded cousin," and being the only guy under 60 who wears a bowtie, has apparently now decided he wants to be the next Gene Kelly.

The host of MSNBC’s imaginatively titled Tucker with Tucker Carlson, and former co-host of CNN’s partisan screechfest Crossfire, is set to debut on the latest season of Dancing with the Stars. Instead of dancing around George W. Bush’s failings as president, Carlson will be dancing around . . . uh . . . a dance floor.

As if that isn’t horrifying enough, MSNBC is regaling us with details of how Carlson is gearing up for his big chance to "strut his stuff."

"Tucker’s debut dance will be some combination of the waltz, the quickstep (the quickstep?), and a Michael Jackson-esque robot dance. OK. If you continue to run around and say you’re not going to watch, flaunting your 'I have a life' posture or some claim of intellectual superiority or taste, you have zero credibility. Waltz? Quickstep? Robot Dance?"

Carlson doing the robot? Yeah, I’ll go with "I have a life."

But it doesn’t stop there. Having recently shed his bowtie, Carlson’s publicity pics suggest he’s now going for that coveted ‘70s Parker Stevenson look-alike cache.

Hello Danny. Come and play with us forever . . . and ever . . . and ever.

I've long thought the Olsen twins were creepy. Those big heads with their sunken eyes send shivers down my spine. Their anorexic, spider-like frames make Twiggy look like Kirstie Allie in comparison.

But I never entirely realized just how creepy they were until I saw this photo of them modelling dressing gowns from New York designer Badgley Mischka:



There's something frighteningly familiar about that photo.

(Thanks to The Superficial for that one.)

Yeah . . . sure . . .

Cheney accidentally shoots man

The cult of wine

Wine growers truly are full of bullshit, judging from a recent article in Macleans.

I mean that both figuratively and literally.

An increasing number of vineyards, particularly in Burgundy, are resorting to a method called biodynamism. Sure it sounds scientific, but biodynamism is rooted in the teachings of Austrian mystic Rudolf Steiner, who as a child claimed he could visualize the energies produced by plants.

The technique itself sounds something like a pagan ritual:

"Growers following one preparation are instructed to pack manure in a cow horn and bury it among the vines during the fall, dig it up in the spring and stir in rainwater vigorously for an hour, then apply it to the land after 3 p.m."
[Snip]
". . . biodynamic growers also use preparations to harness natural forces. The cow horn in the preparation described above, for instance, acts as an antenna, funnelling power into the soil."

And biodynamism proponents wonder why critics refer to them as a cult?

In all fairness, biodynamism does have some similarities to organic farming, such as eschewing chemical fertilizers in favour of manure. But a cow’s horn funnelling power into the soil?

All that’s missing is dancing naked around a fire.

Sure ya like carrots Billy . . .

Normally, I find Jay Leno about as entertaining as a prostate exam. But I was flicking channels the other night and caught something so gut-busting hilarious on the Headlines segment of his show, I had to share it.

Gravity is still only a theory, too

Well, sanity and reason won out over the burgeoning U.S. theocracy today when District Judge John E. Jones ruled a Pennsylvania school board can’t impose the teaching of intelligent design in its science classrooms.

Jones called it as he saw it, stating that intelligent design is creationism attempting to cloak itself as sound science. For the uninitiated, ID claims "gaps" in the theory of evolution prove the existence of some supreme designer. (Personally, I think the flying spaghetti monster, pictured above, has more credence.)

IDers, of course, are upset. Former board member William Buckingham told the Associated Press:

“I’m still waiting for a judge or anyone to show me anywhere in the Constitution where there’s a separation of church and state. We didn’t lose; we were robbed.”

Um, I’m no expert on the U.S. Constitution, but that would be the First Amendment.

Never mind the possibility that ID proponents are committing blasphemy against the very religion they purport to represent. To Buckingham I would ask: “where in the Bible does it suggest intelligent design?”

Besides, we all know allowing religion to seep into the government produces sane, stable policies, right?

Be careful not to bruise the Chardonnay Muffy

It must be a sign we’re well on our way to yuppie-dom; my wife and I are really getting into wine.

I can even pinpoint how it all started; with a bottle of Chateau Cantemerle. A “barely above average” wine, according to critics, but liquid velvet to my palate. I remember exclaiming that I finally understood why some wines cost so much.

Since then I’ve become a bit of a wine geek; reading the Accidental Connoisseur, leafing through copies of the Wine Spectator and sticking my nose into every glass I meet.

My wife and I are even planning a trip to Napa next month. We hope to tour the family-owned Truchard Vineyards, having discovered their sublime 2000 Pinot Noir earlier this year.

Now to add to my wannabe oenophilism comes Grape Radio, a podcast produced out of Orange County, Calif. The shows feature interviews with vintners, collectors and other aficionados with the intent of helping people like me, who couldn’t tell their ass from their Amarone, better appreciate and understand the world of wine.

Listening to the podcasts, you get the feeling some of these people are just as characteristic as the wines they produce. The Arcadian Winery’s Joe Davis recounts this old saying about two popular varietals:

"Cabernet will rape you and pinot noir seduces you. ... Cabernet will throw you down and rip your clothes off, and pinot noir subtly convinces you to take them off yourself."

It’s the kind of pronouncement you’d expect from Miles in Sideways.

Ever the quick one, my wife had the perfect response:

“So is Merlot the one you feel shameful about the next day?”

(Thanks to Slate for this one.)

Christmas Gift Ideas for the Damned

For the would-be torturer in your family: a Barbie doll.

Renovations

In the interests of making this blog more functional, I have transferred my CJSR playlists to a separate blog site.

Killing is our business . . . and business is good.

If there’s any doubt Graham Thompson is one of the best political writers in Alberta, just head over to his blog on the Edmonton Journal’s site. In one of his recent entries, Thompson muses about how Stanley Tookie Williams’ execution in California this week reminded him of a story he wrote after witnessing the death sentence carried out in Texas several years ago.

Thompson says of the death row inmate’s last minutes:

Callins licks his lips and says in a faltering voice amplified by the microphone: "I just want to let all of my people know and everybody who is here and supported me that I love them and wish them all the best."

The warden nods at the one-way mirror. After a few moments Callins struggles to raise his head off the gurney as if he's trying to get up. He coughs. He's straining against the straps. One last gasp. He slumps back down.

His eyes are closed. He looks like he's asleep. A little muscle in his neck twitches for a few seconds and then stops. Executioners have delivered the lethal dose of sodium thiopental. Bruce Callins is dead.

Thompson was struck by the cold efficiency of the Texas chamber – known as Ellis Unit 1. Walking away from it, he was amazed by his lack of any emotion. Apparently, meting out the death sentence is a matter of rote in the States.

You’ve got to think, though, that it takes its toll on the guards. In his song named after the Texas execution chamber, Steve Earle imagines himself as a guard working on Ellis Unit 1:

Last night I dreamed that I woke up with straps across my chest
And something cold and black pullin' through my lungs
‘N even Jesus couldn't save me though I know he did his best
But he don't live on Ellis Unit One

The lyrics still bring tears to my eyes.

iWaste

Thinking of buying an iPod? Watch this first.

Photographic memory

Back in our school days one of my little brothers hung out with this goofy-looking kid with curly, afro-like hair. He was pretty cool and had a wicked wit, though, so I got along with him fine.

It's always weird coming across some of my brother's friends later in life. I mean, I remember Jason Pfeifer coming over to our family's house when he was in elementary school. Now, he's studying photography in Vancouver and has a mind-blowing blog, to which he's posting one photo a day for the duration of a year.

That's one of his photos above, taken at a church in Vancouver. Damn, he's good. View the full archive here.

Oh yeah, he's not the only talented one in his family.