On the Biograph 40th: Baldwin's 'Golden Age Revisited'

Here's a snippet of STYLE Weekly's coverage of the Biograph's 40th anniversary celebration to benefit the James River Film Society:

It's the early '70s: An era when rebellion is mainstream and knowing art films can help a young man score. The drinking age is 18, though bars close at midnight. And, if you can believe it, an X-rated porn film titled "Deep Throat" is banned in New York City while playing to sold-out crowds in Richmond.

Terry Rea, longtime local journalist, publisher, cartoonist and former manager of the Biograph, recalls the period well for someone who was actually there. Located at 814 W. Grace St., the theater lasted from 1972 to 1987, before closing primarily because of the national death of repertory cinema by cable television and video.

"A lot of people found out about great art films there. We were expanding minds," Rea says. "That made up for the horrible seats."

Note: The Biograph Theatre's seats were notoriously uncomfortable. They were literally from the 1920s and in their day were never top of the line.

Click here to read Brent Baldwin's "Golden Age Revisited."

Furiously flapping feathers

The cartoon above is one of mine, it's from a little over six months ago, July 30, 2011.

Now, given how skillfully President Barack Obama has pursued his practical progressive agenda since that contrived crisis, it seems to me that he learned a lesson. Obama's tone and tactics since Labor Day have reflected that he has accepted the sad truth that the most recalcitrant of Congressional Republicans are totally bent on preventing any improvement whatsoever in the nation's general well-being; at least they are for as long as he is president.

So be it.

Of course, the zany series of debates the Republican presidential hopefuls have offered the 24-hour news cycle has helped to underline the sad truth -- as a political party, the 2012 GOP has nothing to offer but angry criticism and proposals warmed over from the Cold War.

So now the furiously flapping feathers of right-wingers trying to defeat Obama are providing wind to fill his sails. Irony from the blow-back of hot air is cool.  

What it is.   

Birth of the Blockbuster

The movie business changed during the summer of 1975. A new style of creating, promoting and exhibiting feature films was established when “Jaws” opened in 465 theaters, coast-to-coast, and became a box office smash.

Typically, in those days, major releases opened initially in the most popular movie houses in a handful of large cities. Which meant the advertising buys were all local. The unprecedented marketing strategy for “Jaws” required enormous confidence, because its distributor had to spend millions on national advertising and strike at least 465 prints of the film.

Before that summer was over “Jaws” had already broken all-time Hollywood box office records.

Washington D.C. was a regional hub for film distribution. Part of the strategy for releasing “Jaws” was that the distributor, Universal, chose not to screen the film for bookers and exhibitors in the usual way. Ordinarily, a feature about to be released would be shown a couple of times in a small screening room downtown; it was run by the National Association of Theater Owners and seated about 50 people. Bookers for theater chains would see the new films to help them weigh how much money should be bid for the rights to exhibit the picture in a given market. But security on admission wasn't all that tight, so any industry insider, entertainment writer, etc. might have been in the audience on a given day.

At this time I managed the Biograph Theatre on Grace Street in Richmond. My bosses were located in Georgetown and I saw several movies in the DeeCee screening room over the 12 years I worked for the guys who oversaw the Biograph on "M" Street.

The first and only screenings of “Jaws” took place about a month before it was to open. It was shown to theater owners and their guests in selected cinemas in maybe a dozen cities on the same night. As I remember it, in DeeCee the function was at The Ontario.

As a treat my bosses gave me four of their allotment of tickets to the special screening of “Jaws.” My ex, Valerie, and I were part of a full house and the show itself went over like gangbusters. The rather jaded audience shrieked at appropriate times and applauded as the movie’s closing credits were lighting up the screen.

Not only was I knocked out by the presentation, I came back to Richmond convinced “Jaws” would be a gold mine. It was the slickest monster movie I’d even seen. The next day I tried to talk my bosses into borrowing a lot of money to put up a big cash-in-advance bid on “Jaws.”

Ordinarily, such a picture would play at the dominant theater chain’s flagship house. I wanted to bet everything we could borrow to steal the picture by out-bidding Neighborhood Theatres, Inc., for the Richmond market.

Well, we didn’t get the money. But it was privately satisfying watching “Jaws” go on to set new records for its box office grosses. Its unprecedented success put its director, Steven Spielberg, on the map.

After “Jaws” everybody in Hollywood rushed out to try to duplicate the way the producers and distributors had handled it. Thus, in 1975, the age of Hollywood-produced summer blockbusters with massive ad campaigns and widespread releases began.

Another thing “Jaws” did was make self-absorbed guys like me feel intimidated by Spielberg’s outrageous success at such a tender age. I can still remember reading that he was younger than me.

Although I actually had a great job for a 27-year-old guy who loved movies, it offered no direct connection to filmmaking. At this time I had one nine-minute film and one 30-second television commercial, both shot in 16mm, to my credit. 1975’s Boy Wonder, Steven Spielberg, made me feel like I was on the wrong track.

Fast-forward 30-some years and I watched a BBC-produced documentary, “Easy Riders, Raging Bulls: How the Sex, Drugs and Rock 'N' Roll Generation Saved Hollywood,” about filmmaking in the ‘60s and ‘70s. It was on Turner Movie Classics. Made in 2003, it was thoroughly entertaining. Directors and other players from that time were interviewed.

Among those who made comments in the documentary were Tony Bill, Karen Black, Peter Bogdanovich, Roger Corman, Richard Dreyfuss, Peter Fonda, Dennis Hopper, László Kovács, Kris Kristofferson, Arthur Penn and Cybill Shepherd.

Dreyfuss, who was one of the stars of "Jaws," spoke of attending one of those pre-release screenings. He said he totally forgot himself as the actor on the screen, because he got caught up in the experience of seeing it for the first time in a crowded theater.

Actress Margot Kidder (best known for her Lois Lane portrayals in the Superman series of movies) appeared on camera several times. She made a joke out of how Spielberg had begun to fib about his age, once he became famous. She had known him before his sudden notoriety, so she noticed it when he went from being older than her to being younger.

Kidder claimed Spielberg was fudging his birth date by a couple of years.

Well, flashing back on my silly jealousy to do with Spielberg’s rise to stardom, when he was supposedly younger than me, I had to laugh out loud.

Then I looked Spielberg’s age up; he’s older than both Margot and me.

So, I Googled around and found some old articles about “Jaws” and Spielberg. Yes, it looks like Kidder was right. Back in the ‘70s, perhaps to play up the Boy Wonder aspect of the story, Spielberg’s birth date was being massaged. Somewhere along the line, since then, it looks like it got straightened out.

Laughing at one’s own foolishness is usually a healthy exercise. Yes, and when the laugh had been waiting 34 years to be realized, it was all the sweeter.

After all, nothing has ever been more integral to Hollywood’s special way of doing business -- before or after “Jaws” -- than making up fibs, especially about one’s age.

*   *   *

This story is part of a series called Biograph Times. All rights reserved by F.T. Rea

Biograph 40

For more information about the films and the event go here. Click on the art above to enlarge it.

To see the Facebook event page go here. 

For plenty of old Biograph stories click on the picture of the theater below. 

Willard’s Wretched Demise

It should come as no surprise to most film buffs that sometimes there was a dark side to the business of doing business after dark. While some saw the Biograph Theatre as a beacon in the night, for others it was a place to hide out from a sad reality. Like any business, sometimes things just went wrong.

A man died watching "F.I.S.T." (1978). The guy was in his early-30s; he breathed his last sitting in a seat in the small auditorium. The movie was bad, but not that bad. His face was expressionless, he just expired.

As the rescue squad guys were shooting jolts of electricity into his heart, and his body was flopping around like a fish out of water on Theater No. 2’s floor, down in Theater No. 1 "The Rocky Horror Picture Show" was on the screen delighting its usual crowd of costumed screwballs.

There was a night someone fired five shots of high-powered ammo through one of the back exits into Theatre No. 1. Five bullets came through a back door's two quarter-inch steel plates to splinter seats. Amazingly, no one was hit. It happened just as the crowd was exiting the auditorium, about 11:30 p.m., and it seemed no one even caught on to what was happening.

Later the police were baffled, leaving us to speculate as to why it happened.

While it’s fun to brag about successful promotions, on the other hand, sometimes I bit off more than I could chew.

On October 22, 1982, “The Honeymoon Killers” (1969) opened as a midnight show. I had seen it somewhere and become convinced it would appeal to the same crowd that loved absurd comedies by Luis Buñuel and Robert Altman, and those trash culture aficionados who had adored previously popular midnight shows, such as “Eraserhead” (1977), or “Harold and Maude” (1971).

A droll murder spree movie in black and white, it turned out “The Honeymoon Killers” mostly appealed to me … when I was in a goofy mood. I saw it as a comedy. In its two-week-run, it nearly set the all-time record for worst attendance for a Biograph midnight show. The absolute worst? That little fiasco's story is best left for another time. 

Sometimes, with unpredictable situations, I just made the wrong call. Perhaps the worst of them was about another death in the Biograph.

Apparently some rat poisons make the victims crave water. Sometime in the mid-'70s, a popcorn-addicted rat we called Willard must have finally nibbled on some the exterminator’s poison; it died in the Coca-Cola machine's drain and totally clogged it up.

The situation called for a manager's quick decision to be made in the field. However, not knowing about the hidden rat corpse, and thinking I knew what to do, I poured a powerful drain clearing liquid -- we called it Tampax Dynamite -- into the problem. My experience told me that stuff could eat its way though any clog in a pipe.

Although the TD had previously done wonders in the theater's rest rooms, well, this wasn't one of my better decisions.

Before long before a foul-smelling brown liquid started bubbling in the drain and then backing up and into the lobby's carpet around the candy counter. There was no stopping its spread, as Willard’s revenge worked its way.

The wretched mess that ensued ran everybody out of there on a busy Saturday night -- the stench was unbearable. We had to close.

Oops!

My forgiving bosses in Georgetown had a new carpet installed in the lobby right away; it was much nicer than the original had been.

Sign of the Times

One summer afternoon in the mid-1970s, I was walking about 20 yards behind a guy heading east on the 800 block of West Grace Street. Then, like it was his, he casually picked up the Organic Food Store’s hand-painted sandwich board style sign from the sidewalk in front of the store.

Without even looking around for any witnesses to his act of dishonesty the sign thief kept going at the same pace.

As I walked faster to close the distance between us we continued down the red brick sidewalk. By the time we had passed the Biograph Theatre, where I worked, I had sized him up and decided what I would do. He was a big-haired hippie, 18 to 20 years old; he could have been a student. Or, he might have been a traveling panhandler/opportunist. In those days there were plenty of both in the neighborhood.

Passing by Sally Bell’s Kitchen, in the 700 block, I was within six or seven yards of him when I spoke the lines I had written for myself while walking. My tone was resolute, my voice clear: “Hey, I saw you steal the sign. Don’t turn around … just put it down and walk away.”

The thief’s body language announced that he had heard me, but he didn’t turn around. Instead he walked faster, with the sign under his right arm, holding the weight with his hand.

Moving closer to him, I said with more force: “Put the sign down. The cops are on the way. Walk away while you still can.”

Without further ado the wooden sign clattered onto the sidewalk. The sign thief kept going without looking back. As I gathered my neighbor’s property I watched the fleeing hippie break into a sprint, cross Grace Street and disappear going toward Monroe Park at the next corner.

Then I carried the recovered property back to the store, which was a few doors west of the Biograph. Obviously, I don’t really remember exactly what I said to the thief over three decades ago, verbatim, but that was a faithful recounting of the events.

What I had done came in part from a young man’s sense of righteous indignation, together with the spirit of camaraderie that existed among some of the neighborhood’s merchants in that time. There were several of us, then in our mid-to-late-20s, who were running businesses on that bohemian strip — bars, retail shops, etc. We were friends and we watched out for one another.

Now I’m amazed that I used to do such things. My tough guy performance had lasted less than a minute. The character I invented was drawn somewhat from Humphrey Bogart, with as much Robert Mitchum as I could muster. Hey, the thief must have felt lucky to get away.

Who knows? Maybe he’s still telling this same story, too, but from another angle.

This much I know — that quirky pop scene on Grace Street in those days was a goldmine of offbeat stories. Chelf’s Drug Store was at the corner of Grace and Shafer. With its antique soda fountain and a few booths, it had been a hangout for magazine-reading, alienated art students since the late-1940s. It seemed frozen in time.

The original Village Restaurant, a block west of Chelf’s, was a legendary beatnik watering hole, going back to the 1950s. Writer Tom Robbins and artist William Fletcher “Bill” Jones (1930-‘98) hung out there. Strangely, that location has remained boarded up for decades, while the new Village still goes on across Harrison Street. That same neighborhood was also home to cartoon-like characters such as the wandering Flashlight Lady and the Grace Street Midget.

During the late-‘60s the hippies had come on strong to replace the beats, as the strip went psychedelic, seemingly overnight. But by the mid-‘70s the hippie blue jean culture had peaked. It was about to be replaced by the black leather of Punk Rock and polyester of the Disco scene. All-night dance clubs became popular.

So, by the late-‘70s the mood on the strip had changed severely. Cocaine was becoming the preferred drug of choice with the druggie in-crowd, replacing pot. Several restaurants were serving liquor-by-the-drink, the dives catering to the young set began having rugged bouncers at the door.

Into the ‘80s I remember an angry, red-bearded street beggar with a missing foot threatening to “bite a plug out” of me, because I had had the temerity to tell him to stop bothering people in front of the Biograph, to move on.

In that moment it was painfully obvious to me that times had indeed changed. Wisely, I didn’t press my case any further that day. Instead, I moved on.

-- 30 --

Cowardly Elephants?

Given the painfully slow recovery from the 2008 economic meltdown and the nasty recession it set in motion, it follows that Obama would struggle to get reelected.

Given the glaring flaws of the two GOP frontrunners, it still mystifies me that the GOP hasn't been able to locate a better candidate to run against Obama.

Given the anxiety and anger in the air, it would seem Team Elephant could do better ... not that I'm complaining.

Fletcher on the Giants and Pats

Probably for Redskins fans only: All-Pro Washington linebacker London Fletcher's take on the Giants, with their stingy defense, and the offensive-minded Pats:

"Absolutely, because of his level of preparation. Because [Brady is] going to know you, he's going to study you, and know what you're going to do and what you like to do. So you've got to be on top of your assignments and execution, because it's going to be as much a mental game as it is physical against Brady.''

 Click here to read the entire article at SI.

Propaganda 101: Control the language

Having grown up in Richmond, Virginia, I understand some things about a certain strain of conservatism. I know that to some conservatives any idea that challenges the establishment will be called “liberal.”

In the 1960s people who opposed the war in Vietnam were called “pinkos,” which was a pale shade of red -- meaning Bolshevik. Citizens who worked to end Jim Crow laws and segregation in public schools were accused of being in league with Moscow. The pinko label was also applied to those who were environmental activists.

Then, in the 1970s, right-to-life people who were opposed to the Roe vs. Wade decision on abortion -- those who wanted the government to regulate women's bodies -- claimed to be the true conservatives.

Today those who stand against the notion of “corporate personhood” are branded as liberals by those who agree with the Citizens United v. Federal Election Commission Supreme Court decision. Taxpayers who insist there be no additional regulation of Wall Street appear to think they are being true to their conservative school.

In this view of the political landscape the self-named conservatives appear to see themselves as standing on the sensible middle ground. To simplify their point of view to high contrast, they see feudalism to the right of them and communism to the left. Fascism is frequently viewed as an aberration to be ignored. 

Confused yet?

Please note that none of the characterizations above really have had much to do with classic stances of the “left” and “right” on basic economics issues.

Many so-called conservatives seem to believe the mainstream media in the United States are inevitably left-leaning. Never mind that in order to believe that fanciful notion you’d have to be convinced that the millionaires who run the giant corporations behind the broadcast networks, the largest newspapers and periodicals, etc., are dupes.

Dupes, because over the decades they would have to have been consistently tricked by liberal writers and producers into presenting a left-leaning version of the news that runs against their financial interests.

Don’t most multinational corporations want to pay little or no taxes on their income? Why would big media bosses deliberately hire lefties? Why would corporations that profit from war insist that news reports about a war be presented from an antiwar standpoint?

In the last year we’ve seen conservatives decry the negatively slanted coverage of Tea Party stories, and at the same time they complained that the Occupy Wall Street movement received too much coverage ... of course, they see that coverage as having been too sympathetic.

Now for the unvarnished truth about this propagandistic labeling business: To the pickled-brains fans of Rush Limbaugh and Fox News, anything they don’t like is seen as liberal. That’s it. And, anything the Democrats favor, they are adamantly against. Even when they were in favor of it a year ago, if Obama is for it, then it’s another dastardly step toward "European socialism" to be avoided at all costs.

In such a strange world of tortured definitions a “conservative” president can launch an elective war over bogus reasons that drives America way deep into debt. Then, of course, it's "conservative" to blame the war debt on the Democratic president that follows ... while calling for another war to be set in motion.

The Biograph's 40th and perhaps a new cinema

At Richmond Magazine Harry Kollatz focuses his blog, The Hat, on the Biograph Theatre's 40th anniversary celebration and perhaps a new artsy cinema in the works: 

The Biograph Theatre closed in December 1987, just shy of its 16th anniversary and amid its “Last Gasp Film Festival,” when the landlord padlocked its doors, ending a consistent run of art-house repertory cinema in Richmond. Since then, in peripatetic fashion, the banner has been taken up by the group known today as the James River Film Society, which is marking the 40th anniversary of the Biograph with a high-quality double feature as part of its effort to establish a “storefront cinema” here.

 Click here to read the entire post.

Click here to see the Facebook page for the event set to unfold on February 11th.

Click here to buy tickets.

Note: Tickets, $20 each, are also on sale at Plan 9 Music, Video Fan and Harrison Street Coffee. Proceeds to benefit the James River Film Society. 

How About 139 Worthwhile Movies?

Why another list of old movies?


With the Biograph Theatre’s 40th anniversary celebration on Saturday, February 11, in mind -- "Breathless" (1960) and "Lonely Are the Brave" (1962) will be screened -- my theater manager's instinct to promote good movies was reawakened.

Whereupon, I forced myself to assemble a big fat favorites list and post it at the James River Film Journal. The 139 movies on the list all played at Richmond’s Biograph during my 139-month stint as its manager (1972-83).

For convenience the list was broken up into three posts. To see Part One, the first 40 titles, click here. The second 40 are here. The remaining 59 movies with film notes are here.

Hopefully, this effort represents a fair overview of the sort of movies that were staples at art houses and revival theaters during what was the Golden Age of Repertory Cinema. The James River Film Society is presenting the Biograph's 40th party as part of its focus this year on that Golden Age. Other events will follow.

The Biograph opened at 814 West Grace Street in February of 1972 and closed in December of 1987, two months shy of its 16th anniversary.

Not exactly the Good Samaritan

So, pretend you're an evangelical conservative down in South Carolina. You're a school-of-hard-knocks, retired military guy.

Today you're wondering which campaigning Republican should get your vote. Since all four hopefuls claim to be purebred conservatives, which of them best lives up to your Christian values? And, of course, it matters which one stands the best chance of beating Obama.

Can you vote for a serial philanderer, who's pomposity is off the charts? Can you vote for a Mormon, who's not exactly the Good Samaritan of the business world? What about that eccentric antiwar doc, the one who's ready to legalize pot? Can you vote for a Santorum?

Dog fights snake to protect girls

Here's a story lovers of good yarns about heroic dogs will like. 

An Australian family's dog is being called a hero after it rescued two young girls from a snake attack.18-month-old River spotted a two-foot-long brown snake hiding under a children's swing just as 7-year-old Michelle Lynch and 2-year-old Kaylee were headed its way.

Go here to read the entire article.

It reminds me of a true story from my own childhood. When I was about five years old I witnessed an event, to do with a snake, I still remember clearly.

In my back yard I saw a big snake that I was later told was a water moccasin. For whatever reason, I wasn't properly afraid of it; I wanted to see it more closely. My golden cocker spaniel, Pixie, would have none of it. She barked at me and nipped at my legs to chase me back toward the porch. Then she went over to the snake in the grass and kept running circles around it, barking continuously.

Suddenly, a kid about 15 named Bud, who lived next door, came to the rescue. With a garden hoe in his hand he jumped the fence. Then he chopped the snake into pieces. Can you imagine how cool that looked to a five-year-old boy?

Later on, some of the neighborhood's old men, including my grandfather, stood around the trash barrel in the yard telling snake stories. Naturally, I took it all in. The snake remains were in the barrel. One of the men told me we ought to separate the pieces of the snake, or it could grow back together, as the sun goes down. My grandfather laughed.

By the way, Pixie suffered no injuries. Needless to say, it was no easy task getting me to come inside the house as twilight descended on the scene. I recall standing guard over the barrel, watching the chunks of that dead snake for any movement whatsoever.

Oodles of Newt

If Newt Gingrich didn't even exist this election year, and, let's say I'm a fun-loving magician. Dig it: I can invent people out of thin air ... and I'm a Yellow Dog Democrat.

Well, I might take a look at awkward-in-his-blue-jeans Mitt Romney -- churning over his tax returns spin -- and say with a smile, let there be oodles of Newt!

Want to make Mitt reveal his tax info?

First you charge that he has paid ZERO taxes in his entire silver-spoon life. He will deny it.

Naturally, the lefty media will howl. Disgustingly, Newt will gain another 10 pounds.

More importantly, Romney is such a chump, it will boost him into admitting that while he has parked zillions off-planet, at times, he frequently paid more in taxes than did anyone in his battalion of secretaries. 

God Creates Sidemen

1. "And so the great Leader Nebulon did embark upon a search for suitable Sidemen for his orchestra, and he could find none; for in those days there were not many, and those he could find were already working.

2. Some worked the Ark with the House of Noah, and some had the house gig at The Walls of Jericho. And many played behind the scat-singing team of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.

3. So Nebulon did return to the Lord and saith, "Lord, there are many musicians, but no Sidemen!", and he rent his clothing asunder.

4. And the Lord did say, "Hast thou looked everywhere? Didst thou call the Union?"

5. And Nebulon did say, "Lord, I have looked high and low, especially low; and only one or two could I find. What shall I do?"

6. And the Lord did afflict Nebulon with boils, saying unto him, "Leave Me to think on this!"

7. And just to buy some time he did also visit a plague of locusts upon Egypt.

8. And the Lord did summon a league of Angels, and sent them forth over the land, commanding them to find Him some Sidemen.

9. And the Angels did go to the four corners of the earth, but the only unemployed Sideman they could find was one holy man in India who did play the horn with the slide.

10. So with great fear the Angels did return to the Lord with the bad news, and filled with wrath He said, "How can this be? At one time the world did teem with Sidemen, as dead oxen do with maggots!"

11. And the Angels did say, "Lord, many left the business, many have become idiots, and some have even become Leaders, and no Leader will work for another Leader."

12. So the Lord did cause drought for 40 days while He thought, and at last the answer came unto Him. He did recall that there was a factory, part of his Beasts Of The Field, Inc. division, that was in disuse.

13. For it had earlier been used to create Golems, for which there had been no great demand, and so He had closed down the operation. And He thought, 'We can retool, and start turning out Sidemen.'

14. And so it was done, and it came to pass that the Sidemen started rolling off the assembly line.

15. But somehow a remnant of the Golem program remained, and the Sidemen did come out acting unpredictably.

16. Some stammered and stuttered, some talked to themselves under their breath, and some would not bathe.

17. Some refused to shave their beards or to have their hair shorn, and some refused to wear the Gigging Toga.

18. And some wore the Toga, but left them crumpled in their chariots in between Gigs, or slept in them, or wore Togas from eons past, with ruffles.

19. And some did not believe in maps, and wandered the land aimlessly looking for the Gig, and some did not believe in the use of the hourglass, and arrived at the Gig whenever they chose.

20. And some loved the wine of dates, and some loved the burning of hemp.

21. And some were created without ears, and some with knuckles where their eyebrows should be.

22. And some did worship the gods Mahavishnu, Sun Ra, Trane, Jaco, Ornette, Cecile, and did therefore mock their Leaders at will.

23. And some did steal food from the buffet line, yea, even before the Guests had dined.

24. And some did try to lay with the Chick Singers, and some with the Guests, and some with the Little Sisters of these, the Chick Singers and the Guests.

25. And some did not Read, and some could only Read, but not Blow. And some could only Read one clef and not another. And some could only Blow in certain keys. And some did Blow the same notes no matter what the "Tune."

26. And some had no social skills, and some had no musical skills. And many of them were Dark, not in pigmentation of the skin, but in the Outlook on Life.

27. But every once in a while the line did miraculously produce a Perfect Sideman: One who followed orders without question; One who believed in the hourglass; One who wore the Toga; One whose chariot always ran; One who Knew all "Tunes" in any key.

28. But these Perfect Sidemen were few and far between, and besides their eyes were glazed, and they were shunned by the rest, for they were boring and knew not how to hang.

29. And soon the land teemed with Sidemen milling about, looking for Gigs, complaining and whining and arguing and occasionally stabbing each other in the back.

30. And the Lord looked down upon his work, and said, "It will do."

*

Note: This was sent to me a few years ago by Gregg Wetzel (piano and vocals).

In 44 days

In 44 days the Atlanta Braves' pitchers and catchers will report to spring training.

"People ask me what I do in the winter when there's no baseball. I'll tell you what I do. I stare out the window and wait for spring" -- Rogers Hornsby (pictured above)

Santorum and McDonnell ticket?

Proving she isn’t as crazy as some thought her to be, today Rep. Michelle Bachmann dropped out of the race to be the GOP’s presidential nominee. 

Wisely, most people wouldn't want to be president of the United States of America. Of course, there are still plenty who would gladly take the job, but running for president 25 hours a day for at least two solid years isn't all that inviting a prospect for people who enjoy life.

Is that why most of the Republicans who would have been decent candidates didn't want to run for the office this year? Like, in another year would they have run?

Perhaps they were simply afraid of facing Pres. Barack Obama?

Or, did the best and the brightest in the GOP decide to sit this one out, because they could see that the Tea Party, which seems to be waning in its popularity with most Americans,  is nonetheless determined to ruin the chances of any Republican hopeful who won’t stick strictly to its backward precepts?  

When all the primaries have come and gone, if Mitt Romney can't close the deal, how likely is a Rick Santorum and Bob McDonnell ticket?

Finally, Iowa's year in the spotlight is over

When you add up all the money spent on behalf of the Republican presidential hopefuls in Iowa over the last year, it's enough to build a high-speed railroad to Mars. 

Now, in the time-honored tradition of presidential punditry, based on nothing more than a willingness -- chutzpah? -- to make a guess, here is SLANTblog's worthless, last-minute prediction for the results in Iowa tonight:

Paul: 23%
Santorum: 19%
Romney: 18%
Perry: 12%
Gingrich 11%
Bachmann 10%
None of the above: 7%

Next up: The squabble is off to New Hampshire.