Ever play this game? Seven Wonders of the Internet World–go:

1. Amazon
2. IMDb
3. Google
4. Facebook
5. Fark
6. Wikipedia
7. Youtube

Got different ones?

Joel Silver says “the studio” wants him and Guy Ritchie to focus on a new Sherlock Holmes movie instead of something called Lobo, which, judging by the picture at the link, is a comic-book adaptation that I, personally, will not bemoan the lack of. IMDb lists “Untitled Sherlock Holmes Sequel” as in development, in content not available to those of us as yet unwilling to pay for IMDb Pro.

Hooray for more Downey-as-Holmes! Dear Mssrs. Silver & Ritchie: I loved Sherlock Holmes. Please get some wittier screenwriting this time around. Dear Mssrs. Downey & Law: Please carry on full speed ahead. Love, Anwyn

A bunch of my favorite games, and a bunch I’ve never heard of, rendered in … cupcakes.

H/t: Daddyman.

Interviewing Rod Blagojevich and using words unfamiliar to him, such as “accountable.” Apparently it kind of pissed him off.

Blagojevich became so riled by the questioning, Hunt jokingly asked for “a sidebar.”

“You went to law school, I didn’t,” she says. “I’m only a nurse, but I might inject you with something just to get you to quiet down.”

If we can’t have any more movies like Return to Me, at least we can hope she’s going to keep interviewing bigger and bigger politicians in the same way.

Via Hot Air headlines.

Cutting to the chase: Nine hundred-plus Dragon*Con participants doing the “Thriller” dance in hopes of breaking the Guinness record. They start out well, some sputter a little in the middle, but they don’t seem to run out of gas.

It surprises me occasionally what sinks deep into the cultural part of my brain and psyche without me being totally aware of it. I’ve never been a Michael Jackson fan; I acknowledged his talent but disliked watching him grab his crotch and for the most part despised his vocal style. When he died, I thought Sippican had summed it up best, well before his death: Did you know Michael Jackson could sing?

But Quincy’s magnum opus was fixing it so you didn’t notice that the greatest child soul singer, ever, couldn’t sing a lick anymore. Every bit of Quincy’s talents were needed to foist this future circus freak on the public, when the freak had nothing left in the tank but a visually disorienting dance step. And Quincy kept moving the musical cups around so you couldn’t find the little ball under the one marked “He can’t sing.” Because poor old Michael couldn’t sing a lick after his Adams Apple showed up.

… it was over for Michael when his voice changed, and he knew it. And it’s probably what drove him crazy. And if Michael Jackson is anything, it’s crazy.

Perhaps you’d go crazy too, if you were given that gift, and then it was taken away from you like that. And it is a gift. Michael’s father Joe couldn’t beat that sound out of Tito or Jermaine, after all, no matter how hard he tried. Michael had it, and out it came.

So I had a lot of sympathy for Michael Jackson (notably after his death, however), and a certain amount of grief and disgust over an American talent and celebrity descending into a not-quite-psychotic mental twlight, but wasn’t what I would call a fan. So I can’t really explain why I actually got tears in my eyes over this: Nine hundred-plus Dragon*Con participants doing the “Thriller” dance in hopes of breaking the Guinness record. They start out well, some sputter a little in the middle, but they don’t seem to run out of gas.

Is it worth what he went through and what he became to have such a deep and lasting impact on people? I don’t know. What does that impact consist of? Individual resonance, certainly, but also shared cultural watermarks and experience. Sharing that experience over millions of people is no small feat, notwithstanding the fact that of course he never did it alone. How frustrating that the bigger the celebrity, the bigger potential for a harder fall into a nastier trough–harder because even if he/she gets away with whatever he/she pulls, the public knows and never forgets, and nastier because for whatever they do to whomever, it’s played out on national television. RIP, Michael Jackson.

I wondered, as I watched the video, how they taught all those people all those moves in the proper order; it’s not a short song, after all. Check it out:

H/t: Calisuri.

I’ve been meaning to post this for a while. Isn’t it pretty? Matches my writing table, an’ all. I do wonder if Mr. S grumbles as he paints over the grain of tiger maple, though. Still haven’t decided what kind of Sippican I’ll get next. Did you know he has a nifty little branding iron that puts the maker’s mark onto the underside of the wood? So that when your stuff goes up for estate sale, somebody will say, “Hey look, a Sippican, I have to bid on that.” No use looking for it in thrift stores before that; who would part with a Sippican voluntarily?

Not I.

A bit late in the day, but with warmest birthday good wishes.

Paper. Can you believe these Star Wars models are made of paper? You can download the instructions and make your own. In my next life, maybe, where there will be twin suns and more hours in the day and more days in the year. Wow.

Beware, some these models are somewhat difficult to build.

You don’t say!

H/t: J.

Is there anything cuter than David Boreanaz, except of course for Nathan Fillion?

(Aside: Joss kind of has a type, doesn’t he?)

(Aside: I feel so sorry for Rachael with her voice problem. I hope her doctors and therapists are able to sort her out. Judging by the sound of her voice on the above video, they are still postponing surgery.)

(Via Whedonesque.)

… badass.

Via the boys at Ace’s house.

Plus a few more speechless moments. I don’t think I’d have included Pulp Fiction but otherwise pretty darn good.

Pinched from Average Gay Joe.

Gib’s wife has had a baby whom the Bean has pronounced up to code. Congratulations, Crosbys!

Time for any and all Portland- or Northwest-area like-minded blog-conscious conservative-stripe folks to get together for the proverbial drink. Last year’s effort was great fun–and in Portland, let me tell you, it is a huge relief to sit down for drinks with people who you already know won’t foam at the mouth if you dare mention the Name of Bush or announce you’re a racist by saying you didn’t vote for Obama.

A commenter at Ace’s, Rasputin, is putting this together. Email him for details at snitch20032@live.com and feel free to email me as well, anwynsnotes at gmail, to say you’re in. Hope to see you there!