According to AICN, Steven Spielberg may not be directing the fourth Indiana Jones movie after all. I don’t know…I can’t really get too worked up about that, really. I’ve never been all that enthusiastic about another Indy movie, as much as I love the previous three — I think that Harrison Ford needs to start doing something else, and I think that the character of Indiana Jones has been explored as well as needs be. Now, if they have a killer script, that’s one thing. But I’m pretty much on the “I can take it or leave it” side of this one.

(As for the originals, my preference mirrors the order in which they were made, although for a long time I didn’t like Temple of Doom all that much. Now I prefer it to Last Crusade, which I think has “aged” the least successfully of all three. Raiders is, of course, magnificent.)

(UPDATE: Now, AICN is reporting that the original report was wrong. Those responsible have been sacked.)

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In the “Filling Space on Byzantium’s Shores by Boldly Stealing Stuff from MeFi Department”, we have the goofiest interpretation of the song “American Pie” ever.

Wow-za….

(Here is a more prosaic, and more likely, interpretation of the song. Oh, and it’s never been conclusively established that “American Pie” was the name of the airplane that took Buddy Holly and the others to their deaths.)

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A lot of press is being given to the new “National Do-Not-Call List” which just started up. I like the idea of the list, but I haven’t signed up, because I came up with a simpler way of evading marketing calls a while back: I simply stopped answering the phone. That’s right, I never answer it. Period. I let the machine (or my handy-dandy Internet answering service) handle every incoming call. If a marketer calls and gets a machine, they won’t leave a message; and if it’s the autodialer, the machine will generally stop recording before the actual marketer comes on the line.

Even on the rare occasions when I do slip and answer the phone, thus encountering a telemarketer, I simply hang up immediately. I don’t play any games with the poor slob on the other end of the line, nor do I demand to be placed on their do-not-call list. I just remind myself not to answer the phone. Works for me. (But then, I hate phones. I’ve always hated phones. The only person in the world I don’t hate talking to on the phone is my wife. And probably my daughter, I suppose, but I’ve never tried and I’m a bit unwilling to tempt fate on that score. So, my solution might not work for everyone, but once I realized that there’s no law — physical, moral, or otherwise — requiring me to come running every time some electronic gizmo in my home makes a “ringing” noise, life got a whole lot simpler.)

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I’m afraid Christopher Moore may be slipping. I started Fluke, or, I Know Why the Winged Whale Sings last night, and I didn’t get my first good belly-laugh until page seven. By Moore’s standards, that’s like not finding any magic in a Harry Potter novel until chapter twelve!

To be fair, though, I did also find this lovely passage on page 27:

“It says here that you last worked as a forensic calligrapher. What’s that, handwriting analysis?”

“Uh, no, actually, it was a business I started where I would write people’s suicide notes for them…it didn’t do that well. No one wants to kill himself in Hawaii. I think if I’d started it back in New Jersey, or maybe Portland, it would have gone over really well. You now business: location, location, location.”

“I thought that was real estate.”

I had to put the book down for five minutes at that point. Those of you who haven’t read Moore, well, what’s stopping you?

(UPDATE: I got to the passage that Matt mentions in the comments. Oh, my God….what a mental image….)

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Joseph Duemer has a new home on the Web, so update your links.

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It’s days like this that I’m reminded of an old George Carlin routine in which he describes ways to keep people “on their toes”, such as walking into a gift shop and demanding your gift. The one I’m thinking of is, walking up to a person at random on the street and saying, very loudly, “Excuse me, I’ve got nothing to say!”

So that’s enough blogging for today, I think. I have to get my quota of “actual work” done before I’ll allow myself to dip into Order of the Phoenix. (Last night I sat down to read a few chapters, and three hours later I’d read three hundred pages….)

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Forget about Amazon and Ebay and all the rest…by far, the single greatest source on the Net for both coolness and utility is this outfit.

But watch out for those unintended consequences, and whatever you do, read all documentation!!!

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AAAIIIEEEEE!!!!!

And to think, when the day finally comes, I live in what is likely to be one of the first points of invasion….

Oh well….a very Happy Canada Day to our fine neighbors to the north, who have given us, among so much else, this guy:

But then, I’m not sure I should be wishing the Canadians well, seeing as how they’ve just outlined their plan for world domination and seeing as how we’ve already classified them as Level One Enemies of the United States….so, have a nice day, Canada. But I’m afraid we’re going to have to kill you…eh?

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Over on the Bright Weavings forums, fantasist-extraordinaire Guy Gavriel Kay drops welcome tidbit today.

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I know he’s not called “The Grim Reaper” for nothing, but still, this is just sad.

Damn it all. My favorite Buddy Hackett roles were Marcellus Washburn in The Music Man and Tennessee, the mechanic with a fondness for Irish coffee, in The Love Bug.

I think that Death needs to rethink his priorities a bit.

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