Interesting news from Canada today in the field of cancer research. Usually I don't get into the medical journals, but certainly this is worth mentioning!

It appears that researchers from the University of Alberta have discovered what may be a major step in the right direction when it comes to actually curing cancer! The answer apparently lies within the chemical, dichloroacetate, or DCA. DCA has been shown to be effective in treating, reducing and often killing lung, breast and brain tumors in lab mice. In most cases the mice make a complete recovery with no obvious side effects.

How does this miracle cure work, you ask? Well, I'll be happy to tell you. Cancer is unique in that it makes its own energy throughout the cell body instead of using organelles as power stations, as normal healthy cells do. It has been long assumed that the mitochondria were irreparably damaged by the cancer, thus forcing them to find alternate methods of energy production to survive. However, in these tests, the addition of DCA to the cancerous cell has awakened the mitochondria, causing the cancerous cells to die.

In normal cells, mitochondria activate apoptosis, a process by which abnormal cells are destroyed from the inside out. To circumvent this problem, cancerous cells shut down the mitochondria and energize themselves through a process called glycolysis. The answer now seems shockingly simple... wake up the mitochondria (see below, click for a larger image).
Of course, the question now becomes, "why isn't this on the front page of every newspaper in America?" As with everything, there is a sinister underside to this issue. DCA is already in use, actively treating some metabolic problems in patients as we speak. However, the drug was issued without a patent. This would, of course be incredibly good news as a drug without a patent could be widely marketed in generic forms and sold to the public at bargain basement prices. Some estimate that the cost of a dose of DCA to a cancer patient could be as low as two dollars and could be quickly disbursed to the world after passing human testing.

So, who would stand between the public and a cheap, available cure for a disease that, in this state alone, will kill 9,360 people next year?

Of course!

A drug without a patent is a useless to pharmaceutical companies that turn staggering profits as the result of cancer TREATMENT... not cancer cures. Each year Americans spend billions of dollars treating this disease, so imagine the impact on the industry if those same Americans were able to completely eradicate their cancer with the pennies in their couch cushions. Many, many overpaid slime balls would find themselves out of a job... perish the thought!

They aren't alone.

The American Cancer Society, an allegedly impartial body, free of the crushing fist of government, accounts for 1/9 of the overall health budget of the United States. These people seem insulated from scorn, as it's nearly impossible to throw stones at a group that we believe to be actively searching for a cure to the modern equivalent of the plague. However, just like any other government body, the ACS is wrought with corruption. I won't try to explain how, I'll just let Dr. Ralph Moss, a leading proponent of alternative treatment and research, do the talking:

If you look at the board of directors of MSK [Memorial Sloane Kettering] you will find that the drug industry has a dominant position on that board. One company in particular, Bristol Myers, which produces between 40-50% of all the chemotherapy in the world, and they have top positions at MSK hospital.

When asked if this constituted a serious conflict of interest, Dr. Moss replied:

They are selling their own drugs to that particular hospital but they have written into the by-laws of the centre that it does not constitute a conflict of interest to sell their company drugs to the centre. They get around it by not taking a salary. They are not paid, they are volunteers. Look what happens. You have a man like Benno Schmidt, who was first head of the president's cancer panel under Nixon, then becomes head of MSK. He then goes on using the knowledge he gained at MSK to set up his own drug company to make tens of millions of dollars. [Another revolving door.] You bet, and a big one. We have had 50 years of American Cancer Society (ACS) brainwashing on the question of cancer, so most people out there believe we are making progress in the war on cancer. We are not, we are losing the war.

Of course, simply blaming the ACS and pharmaceutical lobby for this type of thing isn't enough. There's always someone at the top actively trying to screw us over... luckily, in one case, it happens to be one of my favorite targets.

In 1974, government research was conducted in an effort to prove that smoking marijuana caused irreparable damage to brain tissue. Although it was never proven that the drug was damaging the brain, a startling discovery was made. THC, one of the active components of marijuana, was actually causing brain tumors to shrink and in some instances completely die. The DEA immediately shut the study down and President Gerald Ford, seeing the promise of THC but still remaining completely out of touch with reality, gave exclusive license to... you guessed it... the pharmaceutical companies to develop a form of THC that would give patients the benefit of the drug without the "high."

Apparently there is no worse thing in the world than having a pleasant experience derive from the drug that's actively treating your cancer... not even the cancer itself.

In 1983, the Reagan/Bush administration began pressuring universities and research centers nationwide to destroy any studies of the medical advantages of THC created between 1966-76. Since those requests the information, according to Dr. Manuel Guzman of Madrid, has been "nearly impossible" to obtain.

In the time it has taken me to research and write this, four people have died in the United States of breast cancer alone. Between fifteen and thirty people have died from lung cancer and three have died from prostate cancer. As these lives tick away our government plays moral and political games built around a personal ideology, not the good of the nation. I don't know how to stop this, or if there's any way to do so, however I do know that education is the first step. Knowing what you're up against makes the fight considerably easier... just something to keep in mind when you take to the polls in the coming years and shape the future of not only your nation, but possibly your own life.

I seem to have come down with a dastardly disease. I may not make it to you tomorrow, as I'm nearly certain that my vital organs shall soon become the topic of the latest Dustin Hoffman/Cuba Gooding Jr. picture. Anyway, I wanted to get my Oscar picks out there, just in case they're right...

Best Picture (the only category I have enough energy to declare):

Dreamgirls
Babel
Little Miss Sunshine
The Queen
The Departed

Thanks to Brinton's gift of modern technology, I've seen these films (not to mention others) in the last few days. If you've missed any of them, now's the time to catch up. My winner... honestly... The Queen.

2nd Place... The Departed.

Begin yelling at me now.

Finally, we have bipartisanship on the Senate Floor!

After years of bickering and pouting, the Senate Democrats and Republicans have finally come to an agreement on something, the internet is scary. Apparently, with the Iraq War spiraling out of control, New Orleans still in a state of emergency and health care costs making it impossible for Americans to simply go to the doctor, the United States Government has decided to take on the real enemy... bloggers!

As you read this, there is a bill floating around the Senate that would require any blog with a readership of 500 or larger to "register" with the government and submit quarterly reports. Of course, this isn't the spelled-out focus of the bill, it's hidden inside a larger bill on ethics reform targeted at our elected representatives and their relationship to big money lobbyists. However, I find it very difficult to believe that someone with a blog readership of 500 people would count as a powerful lobbying group. Surely any sane person would agree.

I'd love (oh, how I'd love) to blame this one on the embattled Republicans in Congress. Unfortunately, this bill is cosponsored by members of both sides of the aisle, including Senator Chuck Schumer (D-NY) and everyone's favorite, Mitch McConnell (R-KY). Apparently, the growing popularity of blogs has Washington shaking in their boots.

Obviously, this isn't going to change the way I do business on this particular blog in the least. I'd absolutely love to have a regular, daily audience of around 500, but I don't think anyone would believe me if I even suggested that it might even be close. In fact, I have a small, but apparently dedicated base of around 50 people that seem to genuinely care what I have to say. However, in the grand scheme of things, what's the difference between fifty and five hundred? In a nation of 300,000,000 people, does anyone believe that an e-pulpit with a congregation of 500 is going to make a difference? At that's assuming that the 500 readers of a given blog are slaves to that particular writer and fully plan on voting exactly the way they are told.

The idea of blogging, for me at least, is centered around one's ability to share thoughts, stories and ideas with anyone willing to read. It's like talking to your neighbors in an age when your neighbors now have five locks on the door and are afraid to make eye contact with you. It's a round of drinks at the pub in a time when the pub is now overrun with conversation-killing dance music and gaudy decor. However, to your politicians, blogging seems to be a terrifying and unchecked means of affecting political policy. It seems that they've become so fearful of the idea of actual free speech that it has become a top priority, in a world gone straight to hell, that they find a way to regulate, control or at least supervise what's actually going on.

I have issues with campaign finance reform. I've always felt that it was wrong for huge industry to use their muscle in such a way as to change domestic and foreign policy. We've seen it time and time again as "big oil" keeps us in a constant state of pollution and warfare, as "big tobacco" killed off millions of Americans and as "big internet tech company" (still too new to have a flashy name) grows ever richer on the back of monopoly. However, I do find it difficult to tell someone to whom and how much they're allowed to contribute their own money in an election. It's a slippery slope either way, so I tend to err on the side of caution and try to keep them out of the People's House as much as possible.

However, this is a completely different animal. This is reaction to fear. This is an effort to keep track of free speech, not being spewed by multinational industries with agendas, but by regular people with opinions. No one owns my blog, there is no editor, there is not staff... it's just me with a keyboard (and a series of goofy images - see below).

Frankly, it comes down to a very simple fact. The people don't trust the government and the government doesn't trust the people. I certainly don't, and most people I know don't either. The problem with all of this registering, documenting and eavesdropping goes deeper that the initial shock. It's a slow, methodical process to keep an eye on everything that we say and do the "post-9/11 world" in which we live.

No one is going to come to your house and strip you of your rights tomorrow. That kind of shock would cause rioting in the streets. This kind of thing always happens in a far more subtle manner. Slowly, things that you take for granted start to disappear, and before you know it the America that you grew up in no longer exists.

It's easy to dismiss this kind of claim, to blame it on the conspiracy nuts. However, let's think about the conspiracy nuts for a second. Sure, they come off with some pretty crazy ideas from time to time, but let's not forget that occasionally their ideas have merit. Thanks to conspiracy nuts we now know that the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki wasn't really necessary, we know that the "lone gunman" theory brought about by the Warren Commission is probably bunk, and we know that the Gulf Of Tonkin incident was a fraud. This doesn't mean that any crackpot's ideas are 100% accurate, but it does mean that they're a relevant part of the American discourse and should be allowed to flow as freely as the opinions of the establishment.

No one has the right to tell you that your ideas aren't valid, that they're dangerous, or that they don't have a place in modern society. No one has the right to keep track of your opinions, intimidate your thought or monitor your speech. Above all, no one has the right to tear up the United States Constitution for any reason, not for safety, not for the "good" of society, and CERTAINLY not to be re-elected.

My opinions are my opinions, and if Mitch McConnell or Chuck Schumer want to monitor them, they can do exactly what you're doing right now. They can point their browser to www.corygraham.blogspot.com and check it out for themselves. But try to keep the hits to a minimum, as I'd rather keep it under 500.

This morning was like every other morning. I strolled out to the car, plugged in the Ipod and made my way to work through the frozen countryside. However, this morning I happened to glance at the aforementioned Ipod's screen before actually getting on the road. One of my favorite Ipod features is the tiny image of the album cover of the song that you're currently listening to. As I rocked out to "Out In The Street," I took a glance at the cover of Bruce Springsteen's "The River." I'd never really paid much attention to it before, but this morning something became painfully clear... it's awful. The blues, the flannel shirt, the unkempt hair, the dreadful close-up... this seemed to be less of a disheveled troubadour and more of a very, very tired man.

This, of course, sent my mind wandering into other directions. Specifically into the realm of the worst album covers I'd ever seen. I worked in a record shop in my younger days, which meant that I had the dubious honor of looking at the jackets of albums that I would otherwise never have seen. Of course nearly every metal album sucked, with bands like Helloween and guys like Ronnie James Dio really standing out. But it was the ones that you didn't see coming, the bands that weren't supposed to have horrible album covers that really cranked out the winners. I thought I'd share a few of my favorites this morning.

For my money, this may be the worst album cover ever. It takes a few puzzle pieces fitting neatly together to really assemble a dreadful album cover, this would be a prime example. Here we start with the terrible title, "Surfing With The Alien." I'm not exactly sure how you'd go about doing that, but even Joe Satriani, with all of his guitar noodling is still limited to the confines of gravity and oxygen. Part two is, of course, the actual album cover. Here we have a fairly stock-standard image of Marvel Comics' Silver Surfer with very little explanation, other than the fact that he is, in fact, an alien and surfing. Finally, the artist. If you're not familiar with Joe Satriani then fall to your knees and that God right this moment. Does this guy actually have fans? If two of them exist, do the have conversations about his music?

Bill: Hey, did you get that new Satriani record?
Jeff: Yeah, I sure did.
Bill: It's great, isn't it!? What's your favorite track?
Jeff: Oh man, they're all great, but I'd say that I really love that one where he makes the bendy noise with the whammy bar!
Bill: Yeah, that's a great one, but how about the one where he hits the same note for fifteen minutes, wasn't that great?
Jeff: That's the one that I'm talking about.
Bill: Oh, I thought you meant the OTHER one where he makes the bendy noise with the whammy bar.

To be perfectly honest, this album cover really isn't as bad as the rest of this list. It made the cut for two reasons. One is the fashion choices that Salt N Pepa made at this point in their career. They certainly never came off as the most feminine bunch, so they rushed this record to shelves, full of smoky songs about men, boys, dudes and whattamen in an attempt to soften their image and declare their heterosexuality. Unfortunately, in the rush they also decided to include an image of themselves wearing flannel shirts, Carhartt jackets and, I'd imagine, Timberland boots. Clearly, nothing says femininity quite like that.

Secondly, the album's title cracks me up. Usually a title works to either sum up the content of the record (Dr. Dre's "The Chronic"), promote the big single (Michael Jackson's "Thriller") or make a statement... possibly while doing all three (Bruce Springsteen's "The Rising"). On this record, Salt N Pepa clearly went with option three, but what was the statement? I can only imagine that it was a reaction to someone in a boardroom at the label saying, "A new Salt N Pepa album... is that really necessary?" To which they replied, "oh yes."

This album may just defy explanation. Honestly, it's entirely possible that Limp Bizkit may be the worst band ever... ever. However, they decided to take juvenile crotch-rock to a whole new low (was that possible) by naming their album after pee pees and butt holes. As anyone knows, the only way to class up an album named after these body parts is to cover your record with images of aliens smoking marijuana. I'll give a shiny new nickel to anyone that can explain to me what anything on this album cover has to do with anything else on this album cover... and furthermore what any of that has to do with "Rollin'." The obvious obsession with these specific aspects of the human body certainly flies in the face of prior single, "Nookie."

At this point I decided to do a quick Google search for a few albums that I may have forgotten about. I typed in "worst album covers ever," only to find that I had missed the boat. These three were bad, but in a world of bad album covers, they were at the bottom of the pecking order. I now present to you three records that I've never actually seen, but now desperately want...

I just don't even know what to say about this one.

Show me one church where this is part of Sunday Service and I'll be there promptly at 11 AM every week.

This truly is something special. However, if it was an album of turntable beats, it would REALLY be something special.

It really makes you wonder how these albums were made. But nothing can change the fact that they were. They're here, and they're now part of our collective consciousness. This may have given birth to a new obsession. I'm going to be digging through crates in record stores for the next ten years, but I don't really expect to do much better than these.

And now, a Blogjammin' look into the ravages of aging and its effect on our most precious natural resource... celebrities.

Those of you that happen to be regular readers of the Internet Movie Database (or, IMDB.com) will surely by now have noticed that each day the site is updated with a small box on the right side indicating exactly who's birthday it is. Usually it leads off with a particularly famous person, often delving into near obscurity by the time you hit the fourth person on the list (oh wow, the gaffer from Ace Ventura 2: When Nature Calls is having a birthday... and here I am without a cake!). However, some days just don't have the star power to keep readers interested. On those days IMDB will often throw in a dead movie star or celebrity from another field that may at some point have scored, cameoed in or perhaps watched a movie.

One such day IMDB decided to roll out two consecutive pictures of famous people who share a birthday, one a movie star, the other a country musician... these men were Billy Dee Williams and Merle Haggard. A quick look at the bio noted that not only did these men share the same birthday, but were born in the same year, making them exactly the same age. However, as anyone should have noticed by now, Merle and Billy Dee are, well, slightly different in appearance. Billy Dee still looked like the king of smooth, still able to stroll into the club and pick up any woman he wanted with a wink and a tall, cool Colt .45. Merle, however, looked as if he'd been doing his absolute best to live up to his last name.

Since witnessing this discrepancy I've regularly visited (mostly in my own mind) the topic of age in entertainment... primarily rock music. It seems as if these guys never really age in our mind. You look at the album cover, watch the old videos and catch those performances from yesteryear on VH1 Classic (almost always in front of a giant banner reading "MUSIK LADEN"), never noticing that time is creeping up on your favorite rock star. Some have aged well, some just haven't.

For me, one of the most shocking realizations was to actually process that Lou Reed is currently 65 years old. Now, I don't want to suggest that 65 is "old" necessarily... from what I see on those Oscal commercials 65 year olds ride jet skis, go skydiving and breakdance (which reminds me, since I can't do any of those things I should probably pick up some Oscal after work). However, when you're accustomed to thinking of someone like Lou as the absolute embodiment of "cool" in the late sixties, it's hard to get your head around the fact that he's currently getting Social Security checks in the mail.

Lou Reed, 65 years old and still much cooler than you.

To be honest, Lou looks pretty good when you consider that the majority of his life was spent on a steady diet of heroin and whatever he found to snack on while really, really high on heroin. He never quit smoking, and to the best of my knowledge he never actually quit doing drugs (feel free to correct me on that one). I can't say for certain that Lou never put the needle down, but he did release an epic album of strange Lou Reed music that's only vocals were his voice reading the works of Edgar Allan Poe. That doesn't bode well for any sobriety claims.

Of course, not every heroin starved, pre-punk, underground super hero fared as well. Take David Johansen of the New York Dolls (or Buster Poindexter of "Hot Hot Hot" fame) if you will. The Dolls' fusion of 70's glam and dirty guitar licks laid the groundwork for the punk rock movement of the late 70's, unfortunately culminating in a break-up before the punk movement actually arrived and relegating them to relative obscurity (by obscurity I mean in comparison to The Ramones, The Sex Pistols, The Clash, etc). Times were (apparently) very hard for Johansen in the decade that he seemed to disappear right off the face of the planet before reemerging as Buster Poindexter and giving rise to a series of car commercials.

Maybe Johansen should take a cue from KISS and reapply some foundation.

Is it just me or do some of these rock stars, as they age, begin to take on the physical characteristics of old ladies in war-torn Eastern European countries? Really, Johansen is just lacking a shawl and a tattered dress.

Of course, not everyone fared so poorly. Take, for example, Morrissey. Granted, at the age of 48 Morrissey is hardly a geezer, but he's still old enough to have left barely a faint hint of that sorrowful appearance that certainly helped propel The Smiths onto the British charts in the 1980's. Perhaps Moz just didn't do the copious amount of drugs that are required to properly mummify a rock star, but he has somehow managed to look like James Bond as he heads toward his golden years.

Granted, Mr. Morrissey still has several years ahead of him before he reaches the average age of the gentlemen on this page, but if his current appearance is any indication, he should fall into the Sean Connery category, as opposed to the Iggy Pop category... yikes. Granted, Iggy never really looked that great to begin with.

Uhmm... I think I've developed a man-crush on Morrissey... er, uhm, just ignore those last couple of paragraphs. Boy, I sure do love girls... mmmm, girls... let's watch some Baywatch and scratch ourselves!

Of course, there was no way in hell that I was going to make it through this post without mentioning the Grandaddy of 'em all.

The oldest man on the planet.

The most haggard rock star to walk onto a stage in 2006.

The hardest rockin' case of rheumatism to ever make a record.

The man that believes in Jesus because he actually attended the Sermon on the Mount.

The single largest shareholder in the Gilbey's Gin company of London... not because he owns stock, just because he owns all of the Gin.

Do I have to say his name?

No... I don't.

Keith Richards stands now, as he will forever, as the best example of exactly what years of the rock n' roll life can do to the human body. All jokes aside, it's really pretty impressive that he manages to get his handlers to wheel him up to the stage every night, carry him to his guitar and prop him up beside Mick Jagger. He's a role model to silver foxes worldwide.

Keef is yet another prime example of rock stars looking like old ladies in Eastern Europe. Luckily, it seems that Mr. Richards has embraced this look and is well on his way in a fetching head scarf. I can't say for certain, but I'm reasonably sure that Keith Richards actually brought me into his home for lunch on a cold, rainy day in Lexington and served me some traditional Serbian dishes. His kindness was certainly appreciated.

Most people would just stop at Keith Richards. They'd crack a few jokes on his age, wipe their hands on their pants and just call it a day. But I like to go the extra mile for you guys. You see, the body most-ravaged by years of living it up doesn't belong to Keith Richards at all.

There's a bigger cheese out there.

A man that may have done more hard livin' than all of the Rolling Stones combined. That man's name is...

David. Allen. Coe

I can't say for sure from what planet David came, or when they'll be back to collect him, but his study of the effects of drugs and alcohol on the body of an Earthling must nearly be complete. It is staggering, I repeat, staggering to grasp the concept that David Allen Coe is still alive. It must come as a shock even to him.

However, in the interest of fairness, I should also point out that DAC may actually be the least photogenic person in the history of mankind. Each photo that Coe releases to the public just seems to say, "yeah, I look like hell, say somethin' about it and I'll stab you in the gut." It really makes you wonder exactly what he looks like on an off day. Obviously he can't possibly wear all of that shit around all of the time, but good GOD I hope he does. Jut once I'd like to run into David Allen Coe in the grocery store looking exactly like he does on stage.

I guess what's truly amazing is that, on some level, he thinks that he actually looks good or cool or whatever in these pictures.

Fresh from the Mothership

Sexy... just pure sexy

Introspective

David expresses an interest in kicking your ass

I guess, when it's all said and done, we should remember that these guys are just human and as humans they're bound to age. Well, except for DAC... I firmly believe that he'll be receiving his new "human suit" in the mail very soon and will be reborn as the son of Shooter Jennings to continue his studies.

EVERYBODY PANIC!

I'm not the type to get worked into a frenzy over ominous signs of things to come. I don't see the end of the world in every newspaper in America or worry endlessly about global warming (although, I'm certainly worried about it). However, a news story caught my eye the other day that certainly seemed telling...

The city of Austin, Texas was forced to shut down major parts of downtown due to a mysterious collection of dead birds. Dozens of birds simply fell out of the sky, landing beak-down on the asphalt, as Daxon would say, "deader'n four o'clock." I can't remember ever hearing about anything like this before, and with the shocking weather we've had this year I can't really say that I'm too terribly surprised. However, who isn't disturbed by the thought of bird after bird simultaneously dropping dead and crashing to the earth?

Remember folks, I'm from mining country, and if there's one thing that you learn growing up around a family of coal miners, it's that when you see a dead bird you get the hell out of wherever you are. Unfortunately, if you're in open-air downtown Austin, I don't know that you really have anywhere to run... Houston maybe? Nah, you'd just get shot in Houston.

So, what does this all mean? I like to think that it means that the end of the world is just around the corner. Now, before you start pointing out that I just went on a tirade against people declaring to know exactly when and how the world would end I'd like to point out that I have no idea when or how the world will end. I don't know if we're looking at months, years or decades, but I'm fairly sure that mass bird suicide isn't a valid explanation for what's going on here.

Just to make things more interesting, I came across this little gem while checking up on today's headlines. Apparently, at the same time, on the opposite side of the world, a rather large group of birds simply fell out of the sky in Australia. Surely this rules out a suicidal bird cult, as it would be rather difficult even for the most dedicated of migratory birds to actually get the message all the way to Australia. Besides, birds don't have watches or calendars... how could they possibly coordinate such an effort?

So, with that ruled out, we're back to the "end times." I'm sure that there's something in every religious text that could be bent around this bird crisis to show that the rapture is just around the corner. I'm entirely too lazy to do that (not to mention the blasphemy), so I'll leave that up to the big boys. If you'd like to know how dead birds are a sign that Jesus, Muhammed, Buddha or L. Ron Hubbard will be returning to earth in the next 72 hours or so, please direct yourself to the specific websites of those deities, I'm sure they're all over it.

But, c'mon, will the end times be that bad? It's kinda like Santa Claus. If you've been good, you get to go to heaven and play with the best toys ever. If you've been bad, you have to stay here with the murderers, rapists, child pornographers and Ann Coulter. Sure, there's that pesky "eternal torment" thing to deal with, but just think of all the free Sport Utility Vehicles and widescreen televisions that will be up for grabs when all of the true-believers are gone! Just getting all of those minivans with soccer ball decals off of the road will lower the price of oil in such a way that those "left behind" will finally be able to drive the roads of this great nation for pennies on the dollar!

So, sit back and relax. If the end times really are upon us then there's really nothing to worry about. Heaven's like a really posh nightclub with a very strict bouncer. You're either in or you're not, and I don't think they take bribes. Either way you have something to look forward to! Eternal bliss or free swag... it's a toss up. Of course, if some of my atheistic friends are right, we're all just going to die and that's going to be that. At least we're spared from a few more years of "Flavor of Love" and "I Love New York."

Oh, and take an umbrella today. I didn't check the forecast this morning, but they may be calling for showers of birds in your neck of the woods. Better safe than sorry.

I, for one, am devastated.

Maybe it's because I love an underdog, maybe it's because I hate both Florida and Ohio State, or maybe it's just because I'm a jackass... but I refuse to recognize the Florida Gators at the 2007 National Champions.

I hereby declare Boise State to be the winner of college football's top prize. Argue all you'd like, I'm not backing down on this one.

If you watch the Bill Maher show on HBO, you'll notice that each night he closes the show with a list of "New Rules." These are rules, passed by his personal legislative body, that take effect immediately and may not be violated for the sake of advancing society. Of course, like most of Maher's self-important diatribe, this is tongue in cheek, but each "New Rule" offers a bit of insight into our society... today I'd like to institute my own "New Rule."

New Rule: No one of any religious denomination is allowed to talk about, politicize or predict the date of the end of days.

This trend in apocalyptic prediction for 2007 began when the Middle East's greatest nutball, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, declared that Jesus and the 12th Imam would return in the Spring of 2007 to kick ass and take names in a way that would impress even Chris Tucker and Jackie Chan. For those of you behind on your Twelver Shi'ism, the belief is that Muhammad was born in 868 to a Byzantine Princess and Hasan Al-Askari, the eleventh Imam and then guardian of all Muslims. Due to Shi'a persecution, the 12th Imam was hidden from society and will reappear in the future to bring about a global Muslim state, slaughter the infidels and usher in paradise with Jesus by his side (actually, just slightly behind him).

Now, reading the verse of the Qur'an in which we learn of how Muhammad will return, it's pretty easy to see exactly how Muslims, especially those in beleaguered areas of the Middle East, would believe that his return is imminent... read it for yourself:

"During the last times, my people will be afflicted with terrible and unprecedented calamities and misfortunes from their rulers, so much so that this vast earth will appear small to them. Persecution and injustice will engulf the earth. The believers will find no shelter to seek refuge from these tortures and injustices. At such a time, God will raise from my progeny a man who will establish peace and justice on this earth in the same way as it had been filled with injustice and distress."

That having been said, let's not pretend that anyone, not even Mr. Ahmadinejad, knows when this is going to happen. Not only is it categorically insane to declare that you know exactly when the end times will be upon non-believers, but it's even crazier to declare that it will happen in A FEW MONTHS! Granted, if Jesus and Muhammad (wasn't that a Confederate Railroad song?) rock up out of the sky and hand me a Qur'an, I'll drop that pork chop and start looking for Mecca faster than the drop in enrollment at Liberty University... but it ain't gonna happen.


But it isn't just our friendly neighborhood Shi'a dictators that are in on the fun, the good ol' USA's own Pat Robertson is also weighing in on what exactly it was that God told him over the New Year's Eve break. Apparently Mr. Robertson is predicting storms, terrorism and Godlessness in 2007. On a related note, he is also predicting that Spider-Man 3 will do well at the box office, some celebrity couple will divorce and I will use the "F-word."

Robertson has a long history of making predictions straight from the mouth of God to his ear, few if any of which even remotely come to pass, yet for some reason people (usually over the age of 70 and with the 700 Club donation line on speed-dial) rush out to the store to buy up all of the milk and bread then promptly hide under the table. Pat, maybe you should get your hearing checked, because I'm pretty sure that God has better than a .190 average when it comes to predicting events in the world that he created and oversees. Did you ever consider that maybe God is just screwing around with you? Trying to make you look stupid? Next time you talk to him, ask him who his 2008 Superbowl pick is, if he says "The Texans" then you'll know for sure.

The fact of the matter is that whether or not you believe in a great spiritual being that will one day come down from heaven and deliver us all from evil, we can all agree that anyone declaring to know exactly when this is going to happen is crazy. Spring will come and go, flowers will bloom and Major League Baseball will kick off to another boring season. We will complain about the US Congress, walk the dog and buy the combo meal at our favorite fast-food joint. All of these things will happen just like they do every single year. And if Muhammad, Jesus, a combination of the two or some sort of Robo-Buddha with lazer eyes and a bazooka happens to arrive while that's going on, it's not because you said so.

... I assure you, world religious zealots, you had nothing to do with it.

It's the new year, and as countless movie nerds throughout the country toss out their old calendars, conversations start to turn to the upcoming Academy Awards races. Granted, the Oscars don't really pack the punch that they once did, as every year some deserving artist loses out to some sort of mindless, sympathetic trash. This year will probably be no different, and the "I can't believe that _______ wasn't even nominated!" game will start within seconds of the announcements. I'd like to throw out a best picture demand in advance, and when it's snubbed I'll feel justified in skipping the Oscars this year... brace yourself for Zyzzyx Road!

This may be the "under the radar" picture to end all "under the radar" pictures. Not because it's being overlooked by the Academy, not because it lacks potent star-power to get the attention of the masses and not even because it's particularly good. Frankly, I haven't seen it. However, I'm certainly not alone in having missed this one... you see, Zyzzyx Road (which, incidentally, is giving my spell-checker fits) only brought in a whopping $30 at the box office.

I'm not kidding, that's not a typo... this film brought in thirty dollars at the box office. Assuming that on average a movie ticket runs about ten bucks in most theaters, we can safely assume that three people actually saw this film. Granted, if the tickets were cheap we could get up to as many as six, but certainly no more than that. This brings new meaning to the phrase, "no one saw this film," really, no one did see this film. Zyzzyx Road has three main "stars," clearly even those three people didn't see this film. The extras didn't even bother to see it. The extras' mothers didn't even bother to see it.

According to IMDB, the estimated budget of the film was $2,000,000. In the world of fiscal disasters, could ANYTHING rival an investment of two million dollars, of which thirty were recovered? From time to time you'll see a store open up in your neighborhood, it doesn't seem to really take off and then a few months later the doors close. Look, even in that circumstance, the owners can still sell the equipment and the building.

So, what kind of film could possibly generate such a disaster? Well, here's the plot, also from IMDB:

Grant is an accountant with a bad marriage and a daughter whom he loves. He takes to the road to service his accounts in Las Vegas. While there he meets seductive Marissa. They have a week-long affair which culminates in the arrival of Marissa's ex-boyfriend, Joey. Joey attempts to kill the lovers, but Grant gets the upper hand. Grant and Marissa then drive Joey's body to Zyzzyx Road and Grant buries Joey in the desert there. But in the morning the body is missing and something is trying to kill Grant and Marissa. In the DEATH OF A SALESMAN meets LOLITA ending, Zyzzyx Rd. reveals a shocking, tragic twist.

Are you kidding me!?

Perhaps one of the problems was the crew's inability to properly spell the name of the road in question.

A friend of mine that has worked on screenplays in the past, and as such was privy to "under development" titles, once told me of a storyline that was described as "Romeo and Juliet, but with clogging." I felt fairly certain that I'd never hear of a more ridiculous plot twist, that is until I heard of the shocking "Death of a Salesman" meets "Lolita" climax in Zyzzyx Road. But, of course, who better to sell this type of picture than the mighty Tom Sizemore.

These days it's actually more impressive to get through a film with Tom Sizemore than it is to actually make money with a Tom Sizemore film. Between drug/alcohol binges and the endless stream of hookers, just getting Tom onto the set should be grounds for at least a Golden Globe nomination.

Y'know, we've really reached an interesting point in this country when it comes to sex and fame. You may recall that a while back a sex tape featuring Mr. Sizemore and an assortment of nubile young ladies hit the internet. Now, for whatever reason, be it morbid curiosity or a genuine desire to see a middle-aged, out of shape, past-his-prime actor shag the daylights out of some poor young woman, people didn't hesitate to drop a few bucks to check out streaming feeds or even download this cinematic masterpiece. So, we've found ourselves at the point where we'd rather see Tom Sizemore the porn star than Tom Sizemore the actor.

Of course, that type of thing makes sense when you're talking about Paris Hilton or Pamela Anderson (or Lee or Rock or whatever the hell she is this week), but have you SEEN Tom Sizemore?

The more I think about it, the more that whole "Lolita" tie in to the shocking twist makes sense. Perhaps, realizing that they were cranking out a disaster of a film, the studio just decided to cut in a few minutes of Tom's sex tape at the end. The audience probably wouldn't notice, and it might entice at least three or four more people into the theater, thus doubling the box office take.

Just to put all of this into perspective, when I was in high school I made a crappy student film for a project. It featured earthquakes, car chases and my friend Howard dressed like God sitting in an Oak tree... I know for a fact that at least thirty people saw it. This makes me a more successful director than John Penney (who oversaw the creation of Zyzzyx Road) in at least one calendar year. I thought of using that logic to petition the production company for a three-picture deal, until I noticed that it was produced by "Zyzzyx LLC."

... I don't even know where to start making jokes about that, so I'll just stop right now.