A fake rock band reunites to save us from a fake crisis. I guess they figure someone turned the heat all the way up to eleven.

From a world class pitcher. That’s what I call disintermediation, and it’s pretty cool, but I suspect that not all baseball players are articulate enough to do this. And as Joe Katzman points out, the jealousy of the sports writers, and this comment, are pretty amusing.

On a side note, I watched the Tigers blow a game against the Royals yesterday. They’re doing pretty well so far this year, but they can’t give up tying runs in the ninth, and then lose it in the tenth, and get back to the series. Especially against the cellar team in their division.

Don Ho has sung his last song.

There is no consensus on whether or not his head was nappy. After an appropriate moment of silence, let the Imus jokes commence.

I’m always urging people to get their own domain, even if they don’t want to have a web site, because it gives them much more flexibility and permanency in terms of their email address. Here’s an article on the potential job prospects for people with “hip” email addresses.

And of course, what would a story like this be without a hilarious Freeper thread about it?

…of the cable news channels how profoundly uninterested I am in who the father of Anna Nicole Smith’s baby is. They seem determined to not only tell me, but tell me that they’re going to tell me, repeatedly.

…of the cable news channels how profoundly uninterested I am in who the father of Anna Nicole Smith’s baby is. They seem determined to not only tell me, but tell me that they’re going to tell me, repeatedly.

…of the cable news channels how profoundly uninterested I am in who the father of Anna Nicole Smith’s baby is. They seem determined to not only tell me, but tell me that they’re going to tell me, repeatedly.

On the other hand, Firefly is the only series of the ones in the poll that I have much familiarity with.

Here’s an amusing post. And while he wrote some beautiful songs, anyone who imagines that he was a sophisticated political analyst should simply listen to the lyrics of “Imagine,” possibly the most insipid and idiotic song ever written. “Afternoon Delight” sounds profound in comparison. As Glenn says, who’s got more sense–someone who’d marry Barbara Bach, or Yoko?

You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’d like to see a world in which fewer people took such mindless platitudes seriously.

Just like Megan McArdle. I don’t even drink coffee, so I’m even more un-American than she is. If I were the market, Starbucks wouldn’t exist. And I don’t even like watching thrillers that much, let alone try to come up with them.