Lucy's Electric Bubblegum Sing-Along Blog

Lucy reviews A Visit From The Goon Squad

2011-05-18T12:55:00.001-04:00

Hard at work on my next blog entry.

I don't mean to brag, but I liked Jennifer Egan's A Visit From The Goon Squad long before it won the coveted 2011 Rooster from The Morning News Tournament of Books. Then it won the Pulitzer, and people really started paying attention. HBO reportedly picked it up and will begin production on a series.

Before I get to my review of A Visit From The Goon Squad, I'm going to list a few other things I liked before they were cool:

1. Tricycles
2. Global warming
3. Polar bears

4. Stomping hippies
5. Bacon
6. Sippy cups
7. Community
8. Elmer's glue
9. Axe Cop

A Visit From The Goon Squad is either a novel, a set of interconnected short stories, or something else. I'm not quite sure how to classify something that features an entire story/chapter told via Powerpoint. It really doesn't matter, I guess. All you need to know is that it features a huge cast of characters that are all somehow connected to aging record producer Bennie Salazar or Sasha, his kleptomaniac assistant. We jump all around in time, from the late 1970s to the future. We have multiple points of view. The action takes place on both coasts and in foreign countries.

So what's it about? Egan's theme can be summed in one exchange between Bennie and his former band-mate Scotty: “Time’s a goon, right? You gonna let that goon push you around?” Hardly anything new. Heck, I was considering this theme months ago (back when I still slept in a crib) as I slogged through that piece of crap Middlemarch by George Eliot. Thankfully, Egan doesn't spend any time complaining about trains and what they might do to nature (answer: make it more awesome) like that pansy Eliot.

Looks riveting, huh?

Characters come and go, but they all have one thing in common: they are looking forward to the future, to where they'll be in five, ten, fifteen, twenty years or they're looking to the past. Not a single one is concerned with the present. So Egan gives us glimpses of the past and one mildly unsettling glimpse of the year 2020 (2020? 20/20 vision? Hindsight is 20/20. Man, I'm a clever little bugger) where everyone has become so connected thanks to the internet that it is hard to find a truly unique experience that hasn't already been streamed, live-blogged, and shared with the world. Entertainment is instantaneous (and boring) and somehow impure because so many cooks were in the kitchen when it was created, and its distribution is sterile and devoid of interaction. Bennie, nearing the end of his career as a music producer, stops looking forward and reaches into his own past to pluck out a man who never succumbed to the digital age, never had a profile on Facebook, never blogged anything, and never even owned a computer. He plops that man up on a stage in New York city with a microphone and a guitar, and guess what happens?

One more thing: If you want to belabor the Middlemarch point, you can analogize all of Eliot's bedwetting over trains with Egan's bedwetting over the internet. Back in the 1800s, trains were a big deal because they connected people across a country in a way they hadn't been before. Same thing with the internet, except it's all digital. Seriously, Notre Dame, just give me a diploma now. I can spout crap like this all day with one hand tied behind my back.

I'm not going to lie. Egan isn't saying anything new or groundbreaking in A Visit To The Goon Squad. But she is saying it in a way that it hasn't been said before. And she crafts an entire chapter/story into a Powerpoint presentation that somehow ends up being the best in the book instead of a lame, hipster-y gimmick. Pretty amazing, if you ask me. I've embedded that chapter below:

Great Rock and Roll Pauses

View more webinars from JenniferEgan

I award A Visit From Goon Squad 8 out of 10 juice boxes. I deducted one juice box because I don't really like the way she bashes the internet. The internet is where I find loads of cool stuff, like this:

I deducted the other juice box because I drank it.

So next time you're in a bookstore, pick this one up. You can trust me. I have my finger on the pulse of our nation, and I know whether a thing's cool or not, oftentimes before you even knew that thing existed.

Lucy Reviews A Game Of Thrones

2011-05-08T15:23:00.001-04:00

This is Ned. He's about to chop some dude's head off with the giant sword.

I'm a little late to the party on this one. George R.R. Martin wrote A Game of Thrones, the first volume of his Song of Ice and Fire series, in 1996. And I may never have picked it up if not for HBO and the buzz around its new series based on the book. HBO, consequently, has been putting just about every other network to shame with its offerings. Word on the street is that they picked up Thrones for a second season AND greenlit another series based on Jennifer Egan's A Visit From The Goon Squad, easily my favorite book of the last year or so. Anyway, back to A Game of Thrones.

First thing you should know about this book is that it's long. 831 pages, including an appendix. Way longer than anything the brilliant Sandra Boynton ever wrote. Man, I thought I had gotten myself into a real pickle: a giant book in a genre (fantasy) that I don't particularly care for, and it doesn't even have the courtesy to feature much, if any, rhyming. Ridiculous.

This is Daenerys. She is about to eat that horse's heart. Seriously.

But then I started it. And guess what? This ain't J.R.R. Tolkien or one of his legion of copycats. This book is slick. Martin plunges you into a world where summers can last for years and winters even longer. There is a vague hint of the supernatural/magical, but it all takes a backseat to the characters. And man, are there a lot of characters! It took me about 50 or 60 pages to orient myself, but from there I tore through the rest of the book.

Here's the plot in a nutshell (courtesy of Publishers Weekly):

In a world where the coming winter can last decades, kings and queens, knights and renegades struggle for control of a throne. Some fight with sword and mace, others with magic and poison. Beyond the Wall to the north, meanwhile, an army of the dead prepares to march south as the warmth of summer drains from the land. When Lord Stark of Winterfell, an honest man, comes south to act as the King's chief councilor, no amount of heroism or good intentions can keep the realm under control.

Sounds kind of lame and soap opera-y, huh? Sort of like The War Of The Roses? Yeah, I guess. If The War Of The Roses had a foul-mouthed midget, wolves, and a crap-load of violence. It's hardly an original comparison, but this is more like a medieval version of The Sopranos. And you know what the best part is? Martin can write. Chapters fly by. Characters are three-dimensional, and there are no clear heroes.

Also, don't get too attached to anyone, because Martin isn't afraid to kill a character he's spent hundreds of pages developing. This is a strategy that pays off. No one is safe, and the reader knows it. The end result is a built-in level of suspense missing from a lot of books. These are fully realized characters operating in a fully realized world.

One of the big failings of the fantasy genre is its tropes. I can write one of these suckers with my eyes closed. A common-born boy discovers he has great power and goes off on a quest with a band of unlikely heroes to combat some dark force in a far away land or destroy some stupid artifact. SPOILER ALERT: He accomplishes his mission. Not so with A Game of Thrones. Though there are echoes of this formula, Martin is too smart to let things devolve into predictability. Heck, he discards the idea of quests pretty quickly. Most of the novel's action takes place after characters have reached their destinations, not during the journeys themselves. This is one of the smartest decisions Martin makes, because nothing makes me throw fits more than having to read about characters searching for edible roots or repairing the shoes.

I award A Game of Thrones 10 out of 10 stuffed bears. Amazon Prime couldn't get A Clash of Kings, volume two of A Song of Ice and Fire, to me fast enough. Bailey and I waited and waited and waited for the mailman. Amazon Prime likes to make you think they get things to you right away, but it took two whole days. But at least I made friends with the mailman. Turns out his name is Cecil, and he has three prison tattoos. His pet snake is named Ginger, and Cecil likes to feed her baby kittens.

Bring me my book, Cecil!

An Explanation Regarding My Whereabouts For The Last Year Or So

2011-05-05T21:29:00.002-04:00

Enjoying a much-deserved serving of yogurt with a side of

gummy bears and democracy

It's time we get back to business here at LEBSAB. I've got some book reviews in the works for some great new stuff that will be published this coming July. I've got opinions about the NFL lockout, the Royal Wedding of the kind of pretty girl and the balding dude, and the state of Yo Gabba Gabba! (hint: it's not good--they are focusing way too much of Toodie while characters like Brobie get pushed aside. Oh, and whatever happened to Biz Markie's Beat Of The Day segment?).

But first, you need to know something. I haven't spent the last year twiddling my thumbs or playing kick-the-can with Spanky and Buckwheat while this blog collected cobwebs. No, I was on a mission. You see, the first thing my daddy taught me was that the when the President of the United States comes knockin', you best answer regardless of your political affliations.

And one hot July night, Barry O. came a-knockin'.

And answer I did.

I've already been contacted by a number of media outlets to tell my tale, but I decided I owed it to you, my loyal followers, to get the story first. After all, you've been very patient. And I've learned that it is easier to get what you want by being patient and saying 'please' than it is by throwing fits and pulling mommy's hair. It may not be nearly as fun, but we all must sometimes make sacrifices to get what we want.

So here it is, in slightly abridged format:

JULY 23, 2010. A PHONE RINGS IN A ROOM LIT ONLY BY A WAXING MOON. EMPTY JUICE BOXES AND DISCARDED GUMMY WRAPPERS ARE STREWN ABOUT THE ROOM. LUCY SITS UP IN HER CRIB AND GROANS. SOMEONE'S BEEN ON A BENDER. AGAIN. BLEARY-EYED, SHE REACHES FOR HER PHONE.

Lucy: This better be good.

President Obama: Lucy, this is President Obama. I need you to report to D.C. immediately. Your unit has been activated.

Lucy (yawns): Do you know what time it is, Barry?

President Obama: 8:45.

Lucy: Yeah, well my bedtime is at 8.

President Obama: Duty calls, young lady. Seal Team 6 needs you.

LUCY FINDS A JUICE BOX AND TRIES TO TAKE A SIP. IT'S EMPTY. SHE THROWS IT OUT OF HER CRIB WITH THE OTHERS.

Lucy: You're in luck, Mr. President. I'm fresh out of apple juice. Have some waiting for me when I get there. I'll be there in a few hours.

THE OVAL OFFICE, 5 HOURS LATER. LUCY SITS IN A HIGH CHAIR SIPPING ON A JUICE BOX. HER THIRD. PRESIDENT OBAMA EYES HER WARILY.

President Obama: I've read your file.

Lucy: Congratulations.

President Obama (opening a manila folder and reading aloud): Black Ops. Special Forces. Demolitions expert. It says here that you've won every medal we can award. And you're not even two yet.

Lucy (taking another pull from the juice box): Early bloomer, I guess.

President Obama (closing the file): You want to know what I think?

Lucy: Not particularly. But you're going to tell me anyway, aren't you?

President Obama (smiling): I think that you're reckless. I think that you play by your own rules. I think you're undisciplined. But Seal Team 6—they listen to you. They respect you. God knows why, but they do. So here's what your country is asking of you.

PRESIDENT OBAMA SLIDES A PHOTOGRAPH TO LUCY.

President Obama: I want you to find this man and terminate him with extreme prejudice.

Lucy (whistles): You realize that if we're successful, you run the risk of alienating all of the pretentious academics who are your staunchest supporters?

President Obama: I do.

Lucy: Get me on a plane to Guantanamo Bay. I'll start there.

President Obama (smiles): Done.

Lucy: Do they have apple juice there?

President Obama: I doubt it.

Lucy: You'll need to fix that. It's going to be a long few months, but I'll get you an answer.

President Obama: Your country thanks you, and so do I.

Lucy: You should probably send some diapers too.

CAMERA PANS DOWN AND LINGERS ON A PHOTOGRAPH OF OSAMA BIN LADEN. LUCY CIRCLES HIS EYES WITH A PURPLE CRAYON.

Lucy (whispering): Looks like we'll be setting up a playdate.

SCREEN FADES TO BLACK, THEN IS REPLACED WITH A MAP OF THE WESTERN HEMISPHERE. A DOTTED REDLINE WITH ITS BEGINNING POINT IN WASHINGTON, DC MAKES ITS WAY SOUTH TO GUANTANAMO BAY, INDIANA JONES STYLE, THEN BACK NORTH TO WASHINGTON, DC.

OVAL OFFICE, ONE MONTH LATER. LUCY BURSTS THROUGH THE DOOR.

Lucy: He's in Abottobad, Pakistan.

President Obama: You're sure.

Lucy: I'm sure.

President Obama: And do I want to know how you know?

Lucy (shrugging): Your call.

President Obama: I trust you didn't use any … enhanced interrogation techniques.

Lucy: You'll have to be a little more specific.

President Obama: Some people call it waterboarding.

Lucy: Well, I call it giving terrorists a bath.

President Obama (furious): You're a loose cannon, kid! I want you out of my sight.

Lucy: With all due respect, Mr. President, #$%* that. Seal Team 6 is manned exclusively by loose cannons. If you want Bin Laden, I'm the only one who can give him to you.

President Obama: If we do this, we do it smart. We need confirmation. We need to do know for sure. It could take months.

Lucy: I've got the time if you've got the apple juice.

And I guess you know the rest of the story if you've been paying attention to the news lately. If not, I think this gentleman sums up the final result of the operation nicely:

Enough already! I'll make a blog post!

2010-07-25T21:33:00.000-04:00

Some of you people are relentless. I've been fielding calls the last two months or so, and I'm sick of your pleas. I'm sick of your whining. I'm sick of your idle threats (frankly, I expected more from the IRS). So I'm capitulating. I'm back. For a little while.

The questions I've been getting have been neither varied nor sundry. It's like listening to a broken record with you people. I can boil them down to the following:

1) Lucy, what have you been doing?

2) Lucy, when are you going to post a blog entry again?

Well, my answer to number 1 is classified, and I'm guessing you don't have proper security clearance for me to divulge all the details. Let's just say that I've been helping out the military with a top secret project that is going to revolutionize modern warfare. In other words, it's going to make it a whole heck of a lot cooler.

I really can't say any more.

No really. Stop asking.

A hint you say? I can't give you a hint. That would make me a traitor. I would be no better than Benedict Arnold or Madonna.

Well, that's very flattering of you. I agree that I'm a pretty cute little girl - certainly cuter that your kids. How very nice of you to publicly admit that! I suppose I can give you a small, teensy weensy hint.

*cough* Chainsaw Rocket Launcher *cough*

If Petraeus comes around asking, you didn't hear it from me, OK?

As for number 2, I guess you have your answer, don't you? I'm back and will continue feeding your addiction until I get bored or distracted by some other project. Like sitting in the sink. I figure I'm only going to fit into one of these things for so long, so I might as well get my fill while it's still comfortable

This is humiliating.

2010-05-14T23:31:00.001-04:00

Remember last year when mommy decided to run a half marathon in San Francisco? Sure you do. Well, she's at it again, but this time she'll be competing in a triathlon for Team in Training in Washington, D.C. on September 12. That's where you run, bike, and swim. Of course, she's helping to raise money for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society too. In case you were wondering, they are against Leukemia and Lymphoma. So please help support my mommy by donating! Click HERE to give a few bucks. Every little bit helps.

Of course, the triathlon has to be scheduled on a Notre Dame football weekend. The Michigan game, no less! This will make two weekends in a row that I will be forced to not watch the game on my awesome 73 inch TV.

Sometimes I swear that mommy is off her rocker.

But then mommy said "Lucy, I know you're disappointed about not being able to watch the Fighting Irish curb-stomp the Michigan Skunk-Weasels from the comfort of your own home. But guess what!"

"What?" I said, refusing to look her in her traitorous face.

"You can come on bike rides too!"

"GET OUT OF TOWN!" I yelled. I've always wanted to go on a grown-up bike! It's on my bucket list, right after getting into a bar fight and breaking a pool cue over some random dude's back and right before visiting the Louvre.

"And you know what else?"

"Mommy, there can't possibly be more. This is the best news ever."

"Oh, there's more Lucy. I got you a pretty bike helmet."

"Hold the phone," I said. "This is America. Helmets are for Europeans. And I'm no European. I take baths, for Pete's sake. You make me!"

"Sweetie, I just want you to be safe."

So she put the helmet on me (against my will, I might add). I feel like a real schlemiel.

Of coures, the rides themselves are a good time. I get to sit in my seat and enjoy the peaceful scenery while mommy does all the work. If you want a visual, think of a rickshaw. A nice shiny red rickshaw. It really is a great time despite the helmet.

That is, until mommy decides to start singing "When You're Happy And You Know It."

Lucy reviews ... Kick-[REDACTED]

2010-04-18T21:43:00.002-04:00

I've run into a little problem. See, I'm not allowed to swear, but the movie I am about to review for you has a swear word in the title. So when I was dictating this review to daddy, I told him to go ahead and edit it as he saw fit. I'm apologizing in advance if this causes any confusion.

To intelligently discuss Kick-[REDACTED], you have to understand how it was made, and why it is a small miracle that the film is even playing in theaters right now. See, no studio would touch the script with a ten foot pole. Some outright rejected it. Others wanted to make the characters older or water down the violence. Instead of giving in to these idiots, director Matthew Vaughn independently financed the movie outside the broken studio system. And then sold the final product back to them once test audiences started going nuts for it.

So what's Kick-[REDACTED] about? It's the story of teenager Dave Lizewski (Aaron Johnson) and his decision to become a superhero (codename: Kick-[REDACTED]) despite the fact that he has no powers. It's also the story of Hit Girl (Chloe Moretz) and Big Daddy (played by a delightfully wacky Nicolas Cage), a ruthless crimefighting father-daughter duo out to take down a local crime boss.

There are so many things that could have gone wrong with this movie, and the fact that none of them did is a testament to Matthew Vaughn. He knows when to ease off the campiness and have something genuinely shocking happen. The man manages to get a good performance out of Nicolas Cage, for God's sake. That guy's been mailing it in for years. But in Kick-[REDACTED], he infuses Big Daddy with genuine emotional depth and a truly bizarre Adam West-like quirkiness. How can you cheer for a guy who has essentially raised his 11 year old daughter in a way that allows her to crush a guy in giant trash compactor? He's pretty much robbed this girl of a childhood and turned her into a relentless killing machine named Hit Girl, yet we still empathize with him.

And then there's Kick-[REDACTED] himself--an awkward, sort of annoying teenager with some sort of deranged desire to fight crime. It seems like he's not really that into the whole truth and justice thing--he just wants to be a superhero for the sake of being a superhero. What kind of person does that? A slighly unbalanced one, that's who. Yet we care about this weirdo, and we can't help but get a little bit nervous every time he puts on his gear. In the world of Kick-[REDACTED], it's a genuine possibility that this loser is going to get the crap beat out of him and a knife in the gut. In fact, that actually happens early on in the movie.

What's even more amazing is that this uneasiness about the well-being of Kick-[REDACTED] and Hit Girl continues throughout the WHOLE movie. Just as you get used to the idea that Hit Girl is pretty much unstoppable, she gets into a brutal fistfight and you all of a sudden remember that she's an 11 year old girl who, without her kitana blades and guns, is not a physical match for a grown man.

So should you see it? Well, let me ask you this. Are you American? Are you a bed-wetting, politically correct namby-pamby? If your answers to those questions are yes and no, respectively, then you should see Kick-[REDACTED]. It's unapologetically fun, and it is hard evidence that movie-making can still be fun.

Want to get a taste of what Kick-[REDACTED] is all about? Just check out this clip featuring a nice father-daughter moment between Big Daddy and Hit Girl:

Matthew Vaughn has found himself a genuine star in Chloe Moretz. Watching this 11 year old girl cut her way through a room full of thugs with nothing but a kitana blade is more fun than anything I've seen on screen in years.

In fact, Hit Girl is my new hero. I asked my daddy if I could be Hit Girl for Halloween, and he said yes. We haven't broken the news to mommy yet. As far as she's concerned, I'm still going as Elizabeth Lambert, a truly great soccer player for New Mexico State:

Lucy reviews .... Next by James Hynes

2010-04-13T21:22:00.010-04:00

"You lost me 40 million Deutche Marks, Hank! 40 million! You know what, Hank? You're fired.

Pack up your things and don't let the door hit you on the way out, deadbeat.".

After a long day at work, there's nothing I like more than kicking back, enjoying a juice box, and reading a good book. And boy do I have a treat for you. Next: A Novel by James Hynes.

Next: A Novel follows middle aged protagonist Kevin Quinn as he spends a day in Austin, Texas on a job interview. Boring, right? And even worse, Kevin is a self-absorbed jerk (strike one), a pinko commie liberal (strike two), and an editor at the University of Michigan (strike three). So James Hynes has really dug himself into a hole almost immediately. A hole so deep, I thought, that even James Joyce would have a hard time writing himself out of it.

Well, James Hynes is no James Joyce, but he does pull off something amazing in Next: A Novel. He makes the mundane interesting, and then pulls off an ending that a lesser writer would have fumbled (I'm looking at you, Dan Brown).

What's even more amazing is that he makes a Michigan employee sympathetic. I didn't even think they had humans up there! But by the end of Next: A Novel, I was actively rooting for him to straighten his personal life out and find some sort of solace, whether it's in Michigan or Texas.

I am awarding Next: A Novel 8 out 10 Stuffed Pink Bunnies (I'm a bit too old for rattles now). Next: A Novel is available now, so run out and pick up a copy today.

After I finished Next: A Novel, I went out and bought two of James Hynes' other novels: Kings of Infinite Space: A Novel and Publish and Perish: Three Tales of Tenure and Terror (James Hynes apparently likes to make sure you know what you're getting, whether its a novel or a tale). I'll let you know how those are once I finish them.

My thoughts on the ending are after the jump, so beware of spoilers.
I have one word to describe the last 30 pages of this novel: AWESOME. So Kevin gets killed in a terrorist attack on the building he happens to be interviewing in. That's right. Terrorists decide to attack Austin, Texas and shoot missiles at the tallest building in town. And you know what? I bought it. I also bought Kevin's last second redemption as he falls to his death. You should definitely check this one out.

I'm Back!

2010-04-10T22:33:00.000-04:00

I have a great excuse, I swear. See, I've been doing a real bang-up job of tearing the house up. The messes I make surprise even me sometimes. It drives mommy crazy! So back at the end of January, my mommy and daddy put their noggins together and decided that they would finish the basement so I could have MORE room to make messes in.

Real smart, I know.

So how does this relate to blogging? Well, I count on my daddy to do all the typing. I just dictate. But he's been busy for the last two months trying to get the basement done. In other words, he's basically ignored me and my blogging demands. It was horrible.

But we're past all that now. I'm back, and badder than ever. There will be more mailbags. There will be more reviews. There will be 100% more punching eagles in the face.

100% more games!

More abuse of the infirm!

100% more Bailey!

So stay tuned!

Family Night was a success!

2010-01-30T22:15:00.000-05:00

For the last few weeks, me and mommy and daddy have been kicking around some ideas for Family Night. Now that football season is over (almost), we need something to look forward to on weekends. Daddy wanted us to all to join a gun club, which I was all for. Mommy, however, only selectively approves of the Bill of Rights.

Mommy's idea was for us all to help feed the poor on Family Night. Both me and daddy had a good laugh at that one. Finally, I spoke up. "Look, folks," I said. "Family Night should mean fun. It should mean games. It should mean great food. It should mean a trip to The Incredible Pizza Company."

So The Incredible Pizza Company it was. I had heard about this place on the radio, and it definitely lived up to its name. There was pizza everywhere and games and rides galore. Oh yes, there were rides. Rides designed especially for little kids like me.

The first ride I went on was pretty uneventful. It was a sad looking alligator. "Hey, fella," I said. "Cheer up, why don't you?" He didn't respond. Poor guy. I felt sort of bad, but then my mommy paid for the ride and I forgot all about whatever this guy's problems were. Better him than me, I figured.

Next was a ride on the Merry-Go-Round. There is only one word to describe this ride: BORING. I just sat there and spun in a circle. I can do that on my own at home! And it doesn't cost a dollar!

Finally, I was allowed to go in the ride I'd been itching to get on all night: the race car.

Oh man, was this a great ride. It went around in a nice little circle and was reasonably fast. That is, until my mommy frantically dragged me out of it. See, I tried to climb out of the car because I thought it would be a good idea to try to stand on the hood like a stuntman. Mommy, who can be a little bit of a spaz sometimes, jumped onto the track and dragged me out of the racecar. Immediately after she dragged me out, she stopped paying attention to the racecar, which was making its rounds. And then BAM! The racecar hit her, and she stumbled forward, crying for my daddy to rescue her.

So we got mommy off the track and gave her some ice cream to calm her down. I patted her head because I knew that the racecar really scared her. "Do you want to go home?" I asked.

"Mmm-hmm," she nodded.

I turned to daddy. "She's had a long day. Maybe we should get going."

"Good idea, Lucy."

So Family Night was over. Even though my mommy got hit by a car, I'd classify tonight as a raging success.

Don't be an Avatard.

2010-01-22T23:00:00.033-05:00

I know that I've already reviewed Avatar. And I thought I'd said what I had to say about it. But then the piece of crap goes and starts winning awards, and everybody in Hollywood starts falling all over themselves to make every movie in 3D. Still, I was going to let it go. After all, I'm just 14 months old. What do I know about the movie industry? More than you might think, actually. I know a good movie when I see it. And Avatar wasn't it.

So why am I so fired up, you ask? Shouldn't I be playing with Emilio and Esteban? Shouldn't I be walking on the treadmill? Shouldn't I be learning how to say things other than "hi", "dada", and "ba"? All of that can wait! This needs to be said now.

James Cameron is a hack.

People who like Avatar are idiots.

2009 saw not just one great science fiction movie released. It saw two. And both were from first time directors. The higher profile of the two was Neil Blomkamp's District 9.

District 9 was made for just over $30 million dollars and asks what would happen if one million extraterrestrial refugees were stranded in Johannesburg, South Africa. The answer probably doesn't surprise you, but the movie takes a tired allegorical premise and makes it completely enjoyable. Sure, the movie has stuff to say about apartheid (it's no accident that it takes place in Johannesburg), but it also has a lot to say about aliens blowing people up with totally awesome weapons. It's funny, sad, and action-packed. And it was made for about 1/10th of the budget of Avatar.

The second great science fiction movie of 2009 was Duncan Jones' Moon.

Moon was made for $5 million dollars, and it may very well be the best picture of the year. Sam Bell (played by the criminally underrated Sam Rockwell) is a solitary lunar employee nearing the end of his three stint harvesting a new form of energy from the lunar soil. His only companion is GERTY, a robotic assistant reminiscent of HAL from 2001: A Space Odyssey (but don't worry, this ain't 2001: A Space Odyssey, and no one will flash random patterns of light at you for ten minutes). During his last several days on the dark side of the moon, Sam begins to experience a series of personal crises that I don't want to spoil here. My only advice to you is this: watch it. It was made for 1/60th of the budget of Avatar.

I've spelled it out for you. I've done the math for you. For what it cost to make Avatar, we could have had 10 movies like District 9. We could have had 60 movies like Moon. But instead we got $300 million dollars' worth of 12 foot tall noble, blue cat-monkeys worshipping a tree and some mixed message about how technology is bad despite the fact that the whole point of the movie is to showcase the advanced technology used to make it. Huh?

I'll get off my soapbox now. It's late, and I have a long day ahead of me. Tomorrow's Saturday, and that means daddy's home. And that means I'm going to have to spend the whole day entertaining him. I would never tell him this, but at about 3 o'clock on days like tomorrow, I just start counting the minutes until it's his bedtime. I mean, I can only take everything out of the cupboard and spill uncooked rice everywhere so many times. It just gets exhausting after awhile.

Avatards are everywhere, not just in Hollywood.

Your neighbor could be one. Or your mother.

There could be an Avatard in your home right now.

Something is wrong with Bailey

2010-01-20T21:28:00.011-05:00

I was watching this great channel the other day. It's called Animal Planet, and they had these great shows about these people who have problems with their pets. And them some weirdo comes in and teaches them how to beat their pets into submission or something.

You see that? That's a dog with a broken spirit! It wants the cupcakes so bad! You can see it in the doggy's eyes! But its more afraid of what its owners will do to it if it takes the cupcakes. Torture? Likely. But the real question is what form that torture will take. Waterboarding? Thumbscrews? A simple beating? Forcing it to watch Oprah? That's the best part! The doggy has no idea what will happen if it disobeys, but it knows that it will be bad.

I've tried to put what I've learned from Animal Planet into practice with Bailey, and it isn't taking. I'm not sure what I'm doing wrong, but Bailey just won't act like Cupcake Dog. She's stubborn and doesn't listen at all. It really makes me angry. Sometimes I just want to eat my pear and be left alone. But in trots Bailey, tongue hanging out of her mouth and tail wagging. She looks all cute and cuddly, but she has one mission: take Lucy's pear. To wit:

I am in training

2010-01-13T21:25:00.004-05:00

I'm just going to go ahead and address the elephant in the room. The IOC denied my many requests that they allow me to participate in this year's Winter Olympics. Look, IOC, I said, I'm almost half as old as those Chinese girls who won all those medals in gymnastics a few years ago. Of course, they denied me. They hid behind their "rules" and told me to take a hike.

But don't think for one second that I don't know what's going on here. The IOC is terrified of the beatdown I would put on all the crap countries out there (I'm looking at you, Portugal), and they've decided to stonewall me.

This won't stop me from competing in 2014, though. I'll be five whole years old. Until then, I'm going into training. In fact, I had my first session today with my daddy. He told me that if I stick with him, he'll turn me into an absolute war machine. Portugal won't know what hit 'em.

I miss my mommy

2010-01-09T20:24:00.000-05:00

You know, mommy gets a bad rap around these parts sometimes. I've accused her of being a terrorist, I've thrown things at her, I've bitten her. But guess what? When she leaves for the weekend, things around the house really change. And I'm not sure I like it very much.

See, daddy's in charge. Don't get me wrong. I like daddy just fine. He makes me laugh. We play hide and seek. He lets me stand on things that mommy won't. But there are, uh, differences.

Take today for example. Things started off fine. I got my milk and a nice breakfast of eggs and sausage. Things were going swimmingly. Then we ran out of milk. Normally when this happens, me and mommy take a trip to the store.

But not with daddy. He took my bottle and filled it up with something called "Red Bull" (which is like milk, I guess?).

It didn't taste terrible, and I finished the whole bottle. I don't really remember much about the next two hours except that I spent most of it chasing Bailey with a stick. My doggy can't even look at me without flinching now.

And after that, I didn't really feel too good. So what did daddy do? Did he give me medicine for my tummy? Did he hold me and tell me that everything was OK? No. He handed me a hunk of cheese and told me to walk it off.

Mommy wouldn't have let any of this happen, and I really miss her schoolmarmishness. She may not be as fun, but she's just a little more thoughtful. She wouldn't have given me Red Bull and cheese for dinner. She wouldn't have made me watch horror movies and football all day. And she certainly would've changed my clothes when I spilled apple juice all over myself instead of making me wear a barrel the rest of the day.

It turns out that mommy is not a terrorist after all

2010-01-02T23:23:00.001-05:00

Being a kid is rough. People just assume that you know basic things. Take snow, for example. No one ever bothered to tell me what that stuff was. So it's only natural that I got curious over the last week or so. I would look out the window and watch this strange white powder fall from the sky.

There had to be an explanation! And, after lots of thought and analysis, I reached the only reasonable conclusion I could reach given my limited understanding of how the world works.

It was anthrax, and the terrorists were dumping it all over my yard. But why?

Then the pieces started to fall into place. It was an inside job orchestrated by none other than mommy.

Oh, I was surprised too. She seems so sweet and loving when you meet her. But that's exactly what a double-agent terrorist would have you believe. They gain your trust, and then WHAM, terror is knocking at your front door.

The missing piece of the puzzle was mommy's endgame. Was it simply to elicit terror? What could she possibly have to gain by aligning herself with the enemy? Money? Unlikely. She seems to have a limitless supply of that on a little plastic card she keeps in her wallet. Power? Perhaps. But to what end?

Questions abounded, and answers were few and far between.

Just as my suspicions were reaching their zenith, my mommy and my daddy bundled me all up and took me outside. At first I thought it was just another routine trip, but as soon as they put on my mittens and boots, I realized that this was no ordinary trip to the gas station to buy scratch-offs and butane.

They intended to put me IN the anthrax!

Unconscionable! I started to scream in--you guessed it--terror. I was scared and I felt betrayed, especially by daddy. How could he be in on this? Was he a terrorist too? Mommy, I could buy. But not daddy.

Anyway, as I'm sure you figured out by now, it wasn't anthrax on the ground. It was snow. And you know what? Snow ain't that much fun. It's cold. It stings. It's slippery. If I wanted to get frostbite, I'd hang out in the freezer.

So, yes, mommy isn't a terrorist. But believe you me, this whole incident is going in the dossier I keep on her.

Nice try, Santa

2009-12-25T20:28:00.002-05:00

Christmas morning. Is there anything better? Not in my book. I woke up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. And, man, was I excited. I got even more excited when I saw the Christmas tree and everything under (and in the general vicinity of) it.

I immediately tore into the presents. Surely, somewhere in this mess of Christmas joy was my lock pick set.

Hmmm, no lock pick set here

The slide caught my eye and I forgot about the lock pick set for awhile. There was this dopey looking stuffed animal on top of it, but I just knocked him off. I've seen slides at the park before, but I never knew you could get one for the living room! I had to hand it to Santa. I'm not sure what park he swiped this slide from, but I'm thankful.

Hey, thing, get off my slide!

But I wasn't about to let Santa off the hook so easily. I asked for something specific, and he should deliver. That's how this whole darn thing works. If we don't stick to the rules, we're no better than the Europeans.

A bag of Chex-Mix and a tube filled with ball bearings? Uh, thanks?

We got through all the presents, and surprise, surprise. No lock pick set. Another year, another unfulfilled wish. Normally, this is where I'd launch into an anti-Santa tirade and remind him that I have a long memory and an Old Testament sense of justice, but it seems like he at least tried this year. The slide is a definite winner, and I spent a good portion of the day climbing to the top and sliding down.

Climbing to the top of my slide with a red block in my mouth. Don't ask why. It just felt right.

Oh yeah. One last thing. Santa left me a new friend, Professor Dogosaurus. Professor D is a pretty good guy. He's originally from Buffalo, New York and did his post-graduate work at Columbia. I've already introduced him to Emilio, Esteban, and Benedict. They got along fabulously, and I think we're all going to make a great team. Me and Professor D are the brains, and Emilio and Esteban are the brawn. Between you and me, Benedict is dead weight, but I keep him around for comic relief.

Hangin' with Professor D.

Overall, it was a great Christmas. I got some great new toys. I watched A Christmas Story on TNT at least four times. Mommy, daddy, and Bailey played with me all day. What more could a little girl ask for?

Oh yeah.

A lock pick set.

DING DONG DING DONG

2009-12-24T21:40:00.003-05:00

It's good to be boss

2009-12-23T16:34:00.108-05:00

Some of my more faithful readers may remember last Christmas when my Uncle Don and Aunt Mary Beth gave me Beastgore, my faithful triceratops. Well, they've topped themselves again. I am now the proud owner of two shares of Hasbro, Inc. stock. Uncle Don and Aunt Mary Beth, I just want to assure you that I take my new responsibilities as an owner of Hasbro very, very seriously.

It's like I've always said. Successful toy companies don't just make toys--they manufacture popular culture. With that mantra in mind, I've developed three company-wide initiatives that I would like implemented immediately.

Initiative No. 1: Define what we mean when we say "success"

Success in the 21st century will be vastly different than success in the 20th century. The Hasbro of old may have been content hawking GI Joe action figures to Johnny McAverage and baby dolls to Jenny O'Normal. Not the Hasbro of the 21st century. The Hasbro of old may have patted itself on the back for being the second largest toymaker in the world. But not my Hasbro.

When we at Hasbro say "success", we really mean complete and total domination of our competitors and anyone who would dare oppose us. I'm looking at you, Securities and Exchange Commission. This new attitude must be instilled in our employees immediately. I'm therefore ordering that all employees report to a three week deprogramming/boot camp.

At this camp, our valued employees will learn valuable life skills, including (i) how to survive underwater when bound and gagged; (ii) close range combat; and (iii) a clear focus on achieving measurable and quantifiable financial returns on whatever project those employees are currently working on.

Initiative No. 2: More Stuffed Animals

Look, I'll be the first to admit that this animatronic stuff is pretty cool. Heck, Beastgore is animatronic. But Hasbro has lost sight of the power of traditional stuffed animals. Some of my best friends are stuffed animals. There's Benedict, Emilio, Esteban, Bunny Bear (he's a bear in a bunny costume), Raj, and Silly Bunny. Also, some of my worst enemies have been stuffed animals. *cough* Ghost Frog *cough*

We need to refocus our energy on revitalizing this ciritical arm of our empire.

Stuffed animals, my friends, will pave the way to the top of the business world.

Initiative No. 3: Green Manufacturing

You can't swing a dead cat without hitting someone who wants businesses to be more environmentally conscious. This is sometimes colloquially referred to as 'going green'. Well, I think we should go green too. But not the green everyone's talking about. I ask you, what else, beside trees and grass is green?

That's right. Money.

Effective immediately, we'll be moving our manufacturing operations to the poorest of countries and paying our assembly line workers a generous 5 HasbroBuck a day. Once a worker earns 1,000 HasbroBucks, he can redeem them for a toy (valued at no more than 8 dollars) or he can exchange them for cold, hard cash. Every 1000 HasbroBucks a worker earns can be redeemed for 4 U.S. dollars.

I'll have a more detailed presentation for the board of directors after the first of the year.

But I have a lot to do before then. Tomorrow's Christmas Eve, and you know what that means. More breaking and entering from that crook Santa Claus. You better bring my lock pick set, fat man!

Lucy reviews ... The Unnamed by Joshua Ferris

2009-12-22T20:38:00.007-05:00

Then We Came to the End by Joshua Ferris is easily one of my favorite books of this decade. It takes place in an ad agency just after the dot-com bubble burst and was hailed as the Catch-22 of the business world and Kafka meets The Office. Throw in the narrative tweak of second person plural and you have something worth reading.

So how does Joshua Ferris follow up the brilliant Then We Came to the End? Does he rely on narrative gimmicks and end up being a one trick pony? Or does he hit another one out of the park? The answer is neither. But he does manage to hit a triple with The Unnamed. The Unnamed is the story of hotshot New York attorney Tim Farnsworth. He lives in a beautiful home, takes extravagant vacations with his wife, and works on the most high profile cases. But there's a problem. On occasion, he's compelled to walk great distances. He walks until he collapses. He has no control over where he walks, and he is unable to stop regardless of how hungry he might be or how treacherous the weather.

You know, as I recently learned to walk, I totally get this. Walking is great! I can get from Point A to Point B in quick fashion, or I can decide that Point B is suddenly boring and go to Point C instead. So I didn't totally get what the big deal was when Tim had to battle his 'affliction' for the first half of the novel. Just enjoy the walk, man! That's what I do. Sometimes, I walk back and forth between my room and the kitchen for absolutely no reason. I don't know why. I just sort of feel like it sometimes. And no one's writing a book about me.

But then things got interesting in the second half of the novel. Rather than trying to control the impulse, he attempts to allow it to run its course as he crisscrosses the United States on foot as his family begins to unravel at home. The impulse or affliction or whatever you want to call it begins to take on its own persona as Tim weakens both physically and mentally.

In case you didn't know, books now have trailers just like the movies. Here's the trailer for The Unnamed:

So, yeah. It's not the most uplifting of reads, but it is an interesting commentary on the duality of human nature (that was a really English major-y sentence, right there). It's another unique plot from Ferris, but he takes what could easily be a gimmick and turns it into something thoughtful. So is it worth your time? Absolutely. But it is huge departure from his previous work. And you know what? That's fine with me. This just goes to show that Joshua Ferris is one to watch.

I award The Unnamed 8.0 rattles out of a possible 10. Thanks to my pal Miriam at Hachette Book Group for sending a copy of The Unnamed. You can pick up a copy of The Unnamed on January 18, 2010, and I really recommend that you do.

See you tomorrow!

This Santa character is hard to get on the horn

2009-12-21T20:44:00.000-05:00

I was at the mall the other day, and I saw Santa Claus. Oh, I know. I was stunned too. Why in the world would Santa be wasting his time hanging out at the Washington Square Mall? It isn't exactly in the best neighborhood, and there are a lot of empty stores. I waited in line to ask him what the deal was, but then they tried to charge me 15 bucks to sit on his lap and tell him what I want for Christmas. Well, that answered my question. The greedy pig was at Washington Square Mall to squeeze a little green out of the hard working residents of the east side of Indianapolis. Charging kids for the opportunity to give their wish lists to him? Disgusting, if you ask me.

Moral objections aside, I still had to find a way to get my wish list to Santa. If I didn't find a way to talk to him, how else would he know that I want a lock-pick set for Christmas?

So I did what any reasonable kid would do? I ordered a background search on Kris Kringle to figure out a way to reach him. Turns out that he keeps a winter place in Boca Raton. Thanks to modern technology, the whole North Pole operation is automated, so Santa doesn't really need to supervise. All he has to do is show up on Christmas Eve and do his thing. Anyway, I called the number.

Santa (answering the phone): Yeah.

Lucy: Uh, Santa?

Santa: No this is, uh, Guy. Guy Incognito.

Lucy: You're busted, fat man. I know it's you.

Santa: [Censored]

Lucy: Real mature.

Santa: What do you want, kid?

Lucy: That's more like it. What I want more than anything in the whole wide world is a stainless steel lock-pick set. Make sure it includes the 0.078 tipped tension tool AND the 0.093 tipped one. Oh, and I want a nice leather carrying case too.

Santa: Alright, kid. I need your address. Can I put you on hold for a second while I grab a pen and paper?

Lucy: Certainly.

(pauses)

Lucy: Santa?

(another pause)

Lucy: You there?

(30 seconds pass)

Lucy: This is taking an awfully long time. I wonder if he's OK.

Guess how long I was on hold. Go ahead, just guess. That's right. ALL NIGHT. I didn't want to hang up because what if he was about to come back? I finally fell asleep around five a.m.

Is that any way to treat your constituency? Santa may be in for a rude awakening come election year.

In the spirit of the season, I've gone commercial

2009-12-20T20:03:00.004-05:00

In case you haven't noticed, there have been some minor changes around here. I've "monetized" this blog. What does that mean, exactly? Well, it means that Google is now placing advertisements on this site (below the most recent post and on the sidebar to the right). When you click on one of those advertisements, this baby gets PAID. So click away.

Also, when I do book reviews or recommend movies, I'll be provided a link if you want to purchase what I'm talking about. I get a 15% cut of any merchandise I sell via these links. For example, I'll be doing review of Stephen King's Under the Dome: A Novel and the forthcoming The Unnamed by Joshua Ferris. If you decide that you want to buy one of these books, simply click through and purchase it.

What does a baby need with so much cash? Well, I've got expenses. I have stuffed animals and toys to care for. Benedict the octopus needs fresh salt water every week or so. Emilio and Esteban--my twin polar bears--need tacos and sombreros. Francis, my car, needs oil changes and gas. These guys are expensive! So help a baby out and click on an ad or buy a book, OK? And don't even get me started on Christmas presents. I don't even know where to start with that. What the heck do you buy for a stuffed octopus?

Avatar is thinly disguised hippy propaganda

2009-12-19T20:23:00.005-05:00

By now, you're probably sick of the Avatar media blitz. I can't turn around without seeing a billboard or an advertisement for this movie. The kids in my play group won't shut up about it. Adults are even worse, fawning over James Cameron and his "decade long labor of love" that is Avatar. Do these people not remember that James Cameron is the man behind that crapfest Titanic?

But I have to admit, it looked pretty cool. I didn't think for one second that it would live up to the hype, but I sort of hoped it would exceed my very minimal expectations. So I went into the the theater a bit conflicted.

The story takes place in a future where the human race is experiencing a major energy crisis. The answer may lie in substance known as Unobtanium, which about the stupidest name for an energy source that I've ever heard. You spend over 300 million dollars on a movie, and you can't take even ten minutes to think of a better name than "Unobtanium"? Anyway, "Unobtanium" can be found in large quantities on a planet with an equally ridiculous and heavy-handed name, Pandora. The problem is that the natives of Pandora -- large blue cat-looking things known as Na’vi – don’t want strangers messing with their eco-system or something. Which is totally unreasonable, by the way.

Sam Worthington plays Jake Sully, a crippled ex-marine sent to Pandora in a last-ditch effort to reach some kind of mutual agreement via the use of an avatar. Avatars are cross-breeds of Na’vi DNA and the DNA of whomever will be controlling them remotely. The Avatars look just like the Na'vi, which is a brilliant idea. We want to obtain the, er, Unobtanium, so what better way to do that than to infiltrate the Na'vi culture and bring it down from the inside?

At this point, I was sort of enjoying the movie, and I couldn't wait to see us humans wreak havoc on these completely unreasonable aliens. But then what does Jake Sully do? He goes native, and helps the Na'vi defend their world against its human invaders.

I started to see where this was going, and I didn't like it. The Na'vi are really just a bunch of blue-tinted hippies who sit around and worship nature and talk about how everything is, like, connected, man. Blah, blah, blah. I dozed off during this part because I knew what was going to happen. The Na'vi would drive off the human invaders, and the bovine audience filling the theater's seats would learn a valuable lesson of environmentalism or colonialism or something.

But then something completely awesome happened. Col. Miles Quaritch (played by Stephen Lang) gets together all of his warships and lays waste to Hometree, a gigantic tree that the Na'vi worship.

Needless to say, this bright spot is short-lived. Things play out pretty much as you'd expect.

So, did I hate the movie? No, I didn't. Visually, it was stunning. Pandora is without precedent in film history. Never have I seen a totally imagined world come to life in the way Pandora does in this movie. But the story just wasn't on par with the visuals. It wasn't a bad story, just an uninspired and forgettable one.

I award Avatar 6 rattles out of a possible 10.

On an unrelated note, I'm happy to report that this is my 100th post here at LEBSAB! So thank you to all who have been with me from the beginning and those who have jumped on the bandwagon along the way. I'm looking forward to the next 100, and I hope you are too. And how can you not love this face?

Christmas means one thing: REINDEER JERKY!!!

2009-12-18T19:51:00.006-05:00

Christmas is a great holiday, and not just because of the presents and good cheer. You see, it's about so much more than that. If you're a good little girl or little boy, this guy named Santa Claus (who is a apparently a representative of the meat packing industry) delivers twelve reindeer to your house on Christmas eve. If you're a clever little girl (like I am), you can have your pick of the bunch. All you need is one of these:

And one of these:

Last year, I misfired and only managed to bag one of the second-tier reindeer (Donner, you were delicious). But this year, I'm going for that upstart Rudolph. Now, all you namby-pamby environmentalists are probably wondering what a 13 month old little girl is going to do with all that fresh meat. Just throw away what I don't eat after the carcass starts to spoil?

No way, Jose.

I make reindeer jerky, and it will last me all year (or at least until the Easter bunny makes his rounds).

If you want to make your own reindeer jerky, you should consider my own special recipe.

Ingredients:

1 teaspoon of liquid smoke
1 tablespoon of brown sugar
3/4 cup of soy sauce
1/2 teaspoon of ginger – grated
1/2 teaspoon of garlic – minced
1/2 teaspoon of pepper
1 teaspoon of salt
1 pound of Rudolph

Directions:

Put a portion of Rudolph in the freezer for about half an hour, just until firm. Slice steak across grain, about 1/4 inch thick.

Mix all ingredients together with the exception of the strips. Allow the ingredients at least 15 minutes for flavors to blend.

Add strips. Marinate at least one hour. For longer time, place in the refrigerator in a covered container or an air-tight plastic bag. Remove from marinade and place in your dehydrator until dry.

Refrigerate for long-term storage.

You're not getting a penny of my money, Barry!

2009-12-17T20:20:00.006-05:00

If you're like me, you'd sooner staple your own head to the carpet than give the government one red cent of your money. Last year, I went to great pains to avoid paying taxes. This involved a number of offshore shell companies, Swiss bank accounts, and a few other things I'd rather not discuss.

This year, though, I'm a little older and a little wiser. For instance, I can now say "Bad Bailey" when Bailey steals Cheerios from me and I can give Eskimo kisses. And you know what else? I've learned something new about the tax code! You can donate to worthy charities and take a deduction! Ha! Take that, Barry Obama!

But the problem is finding a worthy charity before the end of the calendar year. I was going to donate to the United Way, but they're kind of pushy. Then I was going to donate to the church, but I found out my contributions would go to pay the gas bill and fund the purchase of a solid gold backscratcher for the Archbishop.

So I decided to talk it over with Benedict, my stuffed octopus, and my new stuffed twin polar bears (Emilio and Esteban). Benedict was totally useless, but then Esteban spoke up. "¿qué sobre esa organización con la cual su papá ayuda hacia fuera? ¿Qué se llama?"

"Oh yeah," I said. "The Second Story! That's a great idea! Thanks, Esteban!"

In case you don't remember, my daddy is on the board of directors of an Indianapolis based non profit organization called The Second Story. The Second Story helps kids in the Indianapolis area form positive attitudes about creative writing and improve their skills as writers. And that's where my money went.

So if you're looking to cheat the government out of some of your hard earned money, please consider donating to The Second Story via the PayPal link at the upper right hand corner of this page.

If you want to know where your money will be going, just check this out:

And, in the spirit of Christmas, I'm promising daily posts until the big day. You'll be getting some new book reviews, my Christmas list, and lots of other Christmas related content.

Merry Christmas!

It's all just too much

2009-12-05T10:54:00.006-05:00

Relax everyone. Just give me a break, OK? The last few months have been a real struggle for me. First, we went to San Francisco in October. Then Florida in November. It was stressful, and I've decided I don't much like flying. And let's not even mention Notre Dame's collapse, Charlie's subsequent firing, and the ongoing coaching search. Then there's the Steelers and their losing streak. Oh yeah, and I Drink Your Milkshake, my fantasy team, went on a three game skid and I lost to a number of vastly inferior teams run by a cadre of mouth-breathers. It's just too much for a little girl to handle! So I stopped posting for a bit. Can you blame me?

But now I'm back, just in time for Christmas. And I have a lot of catching up to do. So where to start? My birthday party? My 3 hours of screaming on a flight from San Francisco to Denver (which has gone down in Air Tran history lore as Nightmare at 30,000 Feet)? Or maybe, just maybe, I should tell you about my little trip to Norman, Oklahoma the other night.

What do you think?

Yeah, me too. Norman, Oklahoma it is!

It all started last Monday after Notre Dame Athletic Director Jack Swarbrick fired Charlie Weis. I was just sitting around, playing with Francis, my car (pictured below), when my cell phone rang. Guess who it was? Jack Swarbrick himself! Now, some of you may know that Jack and my daddy used to work together, so you might be thinking that he called to talk to him.

Me and Francis are pals

Lucy: I'll get my daddy, Mr. Swarbrick.

Jack: No need, Lucy. I called to talk you.

Lucy: Me?

Jack: That's right, Lucy. I've been reading your blog. That is, until you stopped posting back in October. And it gave me an idea.

Lucy: You've got my attention.

Jack: Since you've been flying so low under the radar lately, I have a mission for you. I need a new football coach.

Lucy: Yeah. Good job on canning Charlie, by the way.

Jack: Thanks.

Lucy: So, how can I help?

Jack: I'd really, really like to hire Bob Stoops away from Oklahoma.

Lucy: That's a great idea!

Jack: But the only problem is that I don't know what his buyout is. So I need you to do some, uh, breaking and entering. Is that OK?

Lucy: OK? I'd be delighted! I'm pretty good at getting into places I'm not supposed to be.

Jack: Well, Norman, Oklahoma isn't exactly the dishwasher or your doggy's waterbowl.

Lucy: I'm well aware of that. Is it safe to assume that my mission is to kidnap Bob Stoops and deliver him to some sort of deprogramming facility?

Jack: What? No.

Lucy (smiling): Oh, I get it. They don't call you Savvy Jack for nothing! Don't you worry Mr. Swarbrick. I'll hack into the OU database and financially cripple their football program so that Bob will have no place to go but Notre Dame.

Jack: Uh, not exactly.

Lucy (whispering): Jack, are you asking me to kill Bob Stoops?

Jack: Lucy, no! I just want you to break into their facilities and get me a copy of his contract so I can figure out how much to offer him and how much his buyout is.

Lucy: Oh. That's it? I can do that!

So, under the cover of darkness, with nothing more than my blankey, a crowbar, and two of my marine-themed stuffed animals (Benedict the Octopus and Guillermo the Crab), I drove Francis to Norman, Oklahoma.

Their security, by the way, was a total joke. Benedict and Guillermo held off the a few rent-a-cops while Francis created a diversion by leading half of the Norman police force on a high speed chase.

Meanwhile, I jimmied open the athletic director's office and swiped a copy of the contract (which can be viewed here). Guillermo and Benedict flagged down Francis, and we all hopped in and made it back to Indianapolis by morning.

And you know what is most interesting about the whole thing? THERE IS NO BUYOUT IN THE CONTRACT. Go ahead. Read it for yourself.

Stoops is Irish. Mark my words.

2009-11-06T21:27:00.000-05:00