X-President

It's nice to see former President Bill Clinton mutate into an angry Democrat, even if Chris Wallace isn't the first person that comes to mind when you think "nice little conservative hit job."

This could be the start of something special. With Clinton's ability to slice through right-wing agendas and quickly heal from barbs of criticism, he could be the next Wolverine. I would enjoy seeing what a set of adamantium claws could do to, say, Nancy Grace.

Story 69 September did not have sex with Michelle Malkin.

"The cigars were just the beginning. I used government
pens, SatCom phones, anything I could get my hands
on. And she was oh so willing. I was already the most
powerful man in the world, but I was quickly becoming
the most creative..."

"Mr. President, I must interrupt. We pride our bookstore
as a place for families. Could we move on to, say, the
Seattle WTO meeting?"

"I suppose."

Dirty, rotten...

Among the executive producers for All the King's Men, which I endured last week, two names stand out. One is James Carville, the consultant and strategist who helped Bill Clinton ascend to the White House. The other is Todd Phillips, best known for making Old School. Fortunately, the latter is back in his element with School for Scoundrels, which I saw in advance Wednesday night.

The formula still works: putting emotionally stunted men in an continuing education setting is a situation ripe for comedy. Roger (Jon Heder) is a shy metermaid who is mired in self-help books and has panic attacks and fainting spells at the slightest confrontation. He enlists in a secret class taught by Dr. P (Billy Bob Thornton), who uses wildly inappropriate means to give his students the confidence to become real men.

It's not clear how the class is actually working for the students -- that part seems to have been edited out -- but the film switches gears when Dr. P senses that Roger is doing too well and decides to compete for the affections of Roger's neighbor Amanda (Jacinda Barrett). The rivalry dominates the rest of the movie, and viewers give up continuity to delight in some dirty, rotten tricks.

Ostensibly, this is a dark comedy. A few choice moments, but ultimately I wished it were either more dark or more comedic. Still, it was better than All the King's Men.

Story 69 September at least enjoyed Sarah Silverman.

She watched from the stands as her hero, number 6,
defied gravity. She’d long admired his big hands and
curly locks on television, but had never gotten this
close before.

Another miraculous shutout. She grabbed a notepad,
snuck into the locker room, and worked her magic.

Within weeks she knew she had failed. But there was
hope: her favorite actor was about to shoot a film in
the area.

Spinach alfredo

Last weekend I was at the Olive Garden. I noticed the listing of sauces for the Never Ending Pasta Bowl no longer included spinach alfredo. It wasn't crossed out. There was no sticker over it. Just a blank space where the words "spinach alfredo" used to be. Gotta credit the menu editors on working quickly during this E.coli mess. Hospitaliano takes a back seat to litigatiano.

Story 69 September orders farfalle for formal occasions.

He gazed downward as he spoke. “My first time
wasn’t all that typical. She also worked in the
factory. Few years older, had lips that went on for
days. After hours we’d wandered into the area
where they mixed the shoe polish and…”

He looked up and saw 99 other souls in the room,
transfixed. It was not how he’d imagined it, but the
freshman Senator had the floor.

Bunker mentality

When selling real estate, it helps to have a feature that makes your house stand out in the listings. It can be as common as a swimming pool or a city skyline view, or something rarer, like a waterfall or a courtyard. Up in Blaine, Washington, however, you can find a truly unique item: a 1900 square foot split level house with 3 bedrooms, 2+ baths, sunroom, new roof with skylights, cobblestone driveway, privacy fence, and 1400 square foot underground bunker.

According to Zillow, this massive fallout shelter lies 45 feet below the house and can hold up to 300 people. It even has a kitchenette! A house like this deserves its own website. Go ahead and click on "Subterranean fortress" to see photos. The house comes furnished with more than just furniture:

All bomb shelter supplies are stored on the lower 2 levels. Nitrogen-sealed food containers of wheat, corn, lentils and water. Other items include gas masks, vitamin C, tools, etc.

"Wow" falls short of my reaction. This is a place anyone (paranoid) would like to call home. The websites fail to emphasize another selling point: its proximity to the Canadian border. If we use the metric system -- might as well -- it's 200 meters. Here's a map.

How much do you want to bet that this bunker has a secret transnational tunnel? I'll wager fifty Canadian dollars.

Down there, Story 69 September knows no boundaries.

Charles felt uncomfortable in the community center
basement, listening to the stories of Fetishists Anonymous.
He marveled at these tales of sandal strokers, cellophane
wearers, and vicarious bug crushers. As the center of
attention shifted closer to him, Charles squirmed in his
plastic chair.

When it was his turn to speak he remained silent. He was
too ashamed to admit he got off on consensual intercourse
with his wife.

Franco, American.

In the hierarchy of young actors in Hollywood, where does James Franco stand? Enough to headline a movie, not enough to merit a magazine cover. Yet. Only 28, he's best known as Harry Osborn in the Spider-Man movie series. But he's also a Golden Globe winner for playing James Dean in a TV movie. Already this year he has starred in Tristan + Isolde, Annapolis, and Flyboys, which I saw in an advance screening last week.

With his family ranch subject to foreclosure, Rawlings (Franco) leaves Texas and joins the Lafayette Escadrille, a branch of the French military that welcomed American volunteers. (The United States had not yet entered World War I.) With airplanes still a newish invention, these men -- and their villainous German counterparts -- become the first fighter pilots.

The volunteers are a nice parade of character types: the privileged screwup, the military brat who can't shoot straight, the black boxer who left America for a fair shake, the religious marksman, the guy with the shady past. You don't get too attached to the pilots for a reason; a lot of them are going to die in the air. Leading them is the honorable Captain Thenault (Jean Reno) and the gravely serious veteran pilot Cassidy (Martin Henderson).

Rawlings' strangely flexible training schedule allows him to meet and court Lucianne (Jennifer Decker), a local country girl. She knows as much English as he knows French, but it doesn't matter, because this is a movie and the international language of love will suffice. At least the filmmakers had the good sense to cast a French actress in the role; Decker resembles a young Carole Bouquet.

This is a movie that tells you only what you need to know, plotwise, and lets you marvel in the fantastic battle scenes. (Seriously. Not once did the special effects seem fake.) It's difficult these days for Americans to feel patriotic about the French cause, but Flyboys at least makes you cheer for the Allied front.

Story 69 September still finds the skies extremely friendly.

They remembered vividly their flexible adventures in the
Mile High Club, but didn’t see airplane sex as a viable
option now. So they were delighted to see the State Fair
offer hot air balloon rides.

He curved his back along the round wall and allowed her
to bend toward him. They captured the craft’s rhythmic
movement and rode the skies to dual completion.

The balloon operator was noticeably uncomfortable.

My secret VJ crush

In 1996, MTV started an all-video spinoff, then called M2. It wasn't part of my cable lineup in St. Louis then, but I made an effort to watch it elsewhere if I had access. One reason was the music video genre, which was still relevant then. But the main reason was Jancee Dunn.

Oh, Jancee. An energetic and witty music journalist, she was given free reign to introduce videos and basically be herself. This was back when the MTV networks still liked their VJs to know about music. Now the on-air personalities are high-pitched skinny models, and those are just the guys.

So I was pleasantly surprised when Mostly Modern Media reported that Jancee Dunn had written a book and kept a blog, and I'm embarrassed to admit that I'd forgotten about her. (I stopped watching videos, and probably replaced her in my affections with Tina Fey. Sorry, Jancee.)

While I am not a Jersey girl myself, last I checked, her nostalgic remembrances hit home for me. She alternates between her personal history and her experiences as a celebrity interviewer. Surprisingly, both are equally interesting. Don't believe me? Read the first 8 pages and tell me you aren't hooked.

And it's not just about the nostalgia; Jancee's a compelling writer, and I look forward to her future efforts. After the past month, when I didn't feel like reading, blogging, or watching sneak previews, her book came along at exactly the right time.

Story 69 September tells no tales. Well, besides these.

In the old chemistry lab after hours, two seniors opted
for extra credit. If a Geiger counter measured pheromonal
activity, they’d start experimenting just to stop the damn
clicking.

He focused on her lips, she believed. She glossed her
apparatus and tested her hypothesis by pressing them
against a flask, breathing out. Before long they engaged
in the scientific method.

Man, sex between science majors can be really hot.

Story 69 September

I have a deep, dark secret.

When it comes to stories with an exact word count, 55 Fiction is not the only kind I've ever written. Back in my previous bloglife, circa 2004, I wrote a few stories that had 14 additional words. Do the math, or read the title.

I'm not sure I'll ever be proficient at writing erotica (though I did get some positive responses to this heated 55), but it was fun to try. So I thought I'd republish my works in this new venue by staying alliterative and celebrating Story 69 September.

Finally, I'd like the more skittish readers to relax. My stories aren't graphic; actually, they're more funny than sexy. And after this brief interlude into Parental Advisory territory, this will be a PG-rated blog again.

This, ahem, was my first.

One maroon tie, carelessly single-knotted, hung on the
doorknob. This was no surprise -- Mark, my roommate,
had been dating Teresa for weeks. The steady rotation
of chain restaurants. Banal mixed tapes as daily gifts.
These were his moves.

Through the thin dormitory walls I could hear top 40
balladry on the stereo, and I knew. On the other side
was the most vanilla, trite rendition of sex ever.