I give you Jude Law: A Man For All Ladies by "McVicar" (the '70s stick-up artist?). This has everything a title could possibly need, with the possible exceptions of taste, charm and attraction. I particularly like the evocation of a play and film with which Law has no obvious connection, and which has nothing to do with the title's overall premise, which is presumably that Law has some kind of irresistible appeal to the fairer sex (Fiona prefers Peter Lorre).

I will say this for Law -- he makes a very good robot.

A cowboy was taken prisoner by a bunch of Indians. The Indians were all prepared to kill him when the chief announced that due to the celebration of the Great Spirit, they would grant the cowboy three wishes before he would die. "What do you want for your first wish?" asks the chief.

"I wanna talk to mah horse!" says the cowboy. He goes over to his horse and whispers in its ear. The horse neighs, rears back, and takes off at full speed. About an hour later, the horse comes back with a naked lady on its back. Well, the Indians are very impressed, so they let the cowboy use one of their teepees. A little while later, the cowboy stumbles out of the teepee, tucking in his shirt. "What do you want for your second wish?" says the chief.

"I wanna talk to mah horse!" says the cowboy. Again, the cowboy whispers in the horses ear. The horse neighs, rears back, and takes off at full speed. About an hour later, the horse comes back with another naked lady on its back. Well, the Indians are very impressed indeed. So, once again, they let the cowboy use one of their teepees. The cowboy stumbles out a little while later, and the chief asks the cowboy "What do you want for your last wish?"

"I wanna talk to mah horse!" says the cowboy. He grabs the horse by the ears and yells,

"You stupid animal, I said POSSE, POSSE!!!!"

I am a firm believer that we live in the moment, and each moment is nothing more, nothing less than a simple moment in life. Being that life can be so many years old, there can be an enormous number of moments. So many in fact, that people fail to understand what a moment is. It may be a nanosecond. But each moment, no matter how great or how inconceivably small, is a respectable memory.

According to how significant the moment is spent determines greatly if one will remember the moment or not. We take for granted the essential part of life that keeps us all going; breathe. Breathing occurs so rapidly that we do not think twice about it. We do not have to remind ourselves to do it and we do not recall every breath we take, therefore as essential as it is, it is far from being a significant moment.

This leads me to a story, because we have sometimes, moments that we may never forget. The smallest and most simple things in life may sometimes be the moments that leave a lasting impression on our lives.

My sister has just decided that her life destiny is to major in Physics. Now there are some people who may never figure out what it is in life that gets their wheels spinning and their heart pumping. Those people may or may not go through life content, with or without progression forward at all. I tend to always look for progression. I like to set goals and accomplish them and then strive for yet one more goal. I honestly do not believe that I will accomplish everything in life that I plan to, because my goals will be endless. A goal is what keeps me moving forward. It gives me life. My sister is much like me. She is young and vibrant and she is not content where she is at in life. She has a mind that never stops thinking and contemplating about the simplest units of life.

So she has determined after many hours and years and moments in life, that she wants to be a Physics major. She planned a trip to Cal State University San Bernardino, the very school I graduated from. I was thrilled and offered to accompany her for her very first visit.

While on campus we ventured to the Physics department. As we were being introduced to some machines that are capable of exploring fuel cells, a young man walked in the small room that we were standing. Amongst our curiosity of the new toys in the lab, my sister ventured to ask this man a question. “So, how do you like Physics?” We both stood looking at him in anticipation of his answer. He looked at us with this dumbfounded expression. Silence crept over him and suddenly this moment that we were in seemed to be on pause. Time seemed to stand still, and then…starting with a sigh that he mustered from the pit of his belly, “ugh…I love it!” The man managed to draw out his expression without thought of how he sounded. He truly did love it because he sounded as though nothing else in the world mattered to him more than the capability to go to school and play with toys that have the capacity of exploring fuel cells.

My sister and I just laughed in his face soul heartedly. We intended no harm but we were taken back by his response. This one moment in our life, a moment that we shared, was one of the funniest moments of our life. The way this man expressed himself was so incredibly funny that we had no response other than that of a laugh. Thoughts of Clint Eastwood quickly flooded my sister’s head, with images of a cowboy standing in the middle of a dirt road, tumble weeds blowing past him in the wind. We could almost hear the wind with the music in the background. And the young man stood there, gazing at us in bewilderment. He was dazed and confused as though he had just sustained a TKO from Mike Tyson. And we laughed some more. We tried to explain it to him, but he didn’t get it. I do not know if he will ever get it. It doesn’t even matter.

But that moment, that minute amount of time in our lives, has left a lasting impression on my sister and me. For many moons we will be able to look at one another, call one another, text one another, and the simple words, “I love it” will produce uncontrollable laughter between the two of us. Three words and one drawn out moment has created an infinite memory between the two of us.

What a moment.

L.B. (this one is for you sis...may we laugh many laughs together)

Vi propongo lo spezzone stavolta doppiato in italiano, con un comunque efficace "Coraggio, fatti ammazzare!" che farebbe spegnere le velleità a qualsiasi teppistello di borgata...

La frase originale è "Go ahead, make my day", ed è stata citata, copiata e parodiata in un'infinità di film,  telefilm e canzoni, tra i quali citiamo in ordine sparso i Technotronic, Ronald Reagan, Ritorno al Futuro III, Borat, Beetlejuice, Miami Vice, Xena, Mrs. Doubtfire, Babylon 5 e tanti altri...

I think I feel most alive when fear and excitement are coursing through my veins, so this weekend I went to a shooting range in New Hampshire to get my fix.

Let's get all the ugly puns out of the way right now: Kate rode shotgun and we had a blast.

We took I-93 out of Boston and arrived in Manchester, NH about an hour later. I believe we got off exit 2 on I-293 (Google says I believe well), made a left on Brown, a right on Winston, and another right on Gay St (/childish giggle) and amongst a strange industrial mix of buildings and baseball fields stood the Manchester Firing Range on the right at 50 Gay.

The kind of crowd you'd expect to be hanging outside of a firing range was there smoking cigarettes and loafing at a few picnic benches in their dungarees and NASCAR apparel. They were in no way menacing, but my nerves began to stand at attention walking towards the entrance the way they seem to do whenever I arrive at orientations. I think it's the fear of fitting in, paranoia that people I don't yet know are judging me as a freshman, a n00b.

Kate held my hand as I opened the door, and I don't know if she was gripped by the same fear and wanted me to take charge and step inside or just wanted to show some affection (probably the latter), but once we got inside there was no turning back. Even if that meant an waiting for an hour+.

"It's worth it," the nerdy-looking gunsmith wearing a Glock smock (OK technically it was an apron, but smock goes nicely with Glock) standing behind a glass case filled with an array of unloaded pistols testified.

We took his word for it and put our names on the waiting list for one of the ten lanes to open up. They took our driver's licenses and made us sign a waiver. I'm assuming they did a background check while we went outside to kill some time, but I don't know for sure.

"A lot of couples come in here," one of the other gunsmiths told another couple. "Lot of girls, too. Especially on ladies night. And a lot of them are better shots than the guys."

While we were waiting, I tried to observe some of the other people in the waiting/gun and ammo rental zone so I would know what I wanted to shoot and not look like a complete moron when I went up to ask for it. I ended up choosing a Glock 9 millimeter and a .44 Magnum.

Not gonna lie, pop culture picked my guns for me and made them cool. I wouldn't know what the hell a Glock or a "fo-fo" was if it weren't for any number of rappers and/or action heroes. Hunter S Thompson, one of my favorite writers, loved guns. I guess that's why I went in the first place. I just wanted to see what it was like to do something that so many of the badasses I read, watched, or listened to did.

Plus I like fire and explosions. (Who doesn't?)

I made no bones about my level of skill with the gunsmith when he called to set us up for our lane. He explained the process of loading and firing the Glock (which I'm not going to share because that kind of information should probably not be floating about the Internet, even though it likely already is) and gave us our ammo, targets (we picked the one that looked like a person with a bull's eye in the chest), and protective eye and ear gear.

I soon discovered how necessary the shop glasses and landscaper headset we were given were. When we got into the range it was loud as hell. Shells were popping and flying everywhere. I mean, I'm used to things that are violently loud noise because I'm into that kind of music, but this was LOUD. LIKE HOLY SHIT THREE EXCLAMATIONS!!! LOUD!!!

We passed a few people firing oh you know, just your everyday machine guns, and found our spot. I clipped our target in and sent it 5 feet away with the flick of a little metal knob. I tried to load the bullets into the clip, but I'll admit I forgot which way the gunsmith told me to put them in and I was scared one of them was going to explode in my hands if I did something wrong. (Can that even happen?) Kate remembered which way was right and put the first five in, I loaded in the rest.

I cocked it, took my stance, aimed the sight at the target's heart, and fired.

Wow. Just wow. I don't think I hit it on that one, but I hit somewhere on the chest, and that was good enough for me. I shot the rest of the clip so quickly I remember being surprised when it clicked out. I set it down gently and let Kate have a go. We traded off until we ran out of bullets. I moved the target further and further back with each reload. 10, 15, 20 feet. Not surprisingly, the shots got more inaccurate as our distance from it increased.

You always hear about how powerful these things are, but I don't think you can really understand it unless you fire one. Especially the .44, I shot that one next. It was a six-shooter like you'd see in the wild west or a Dirty Harry movie, and you're damn right I felt lucky holding it. Kate wouldn't touch it, and I don't blame her, because that thing had one hell of a kick.

The bullets were huge and they went through the target paper much cleaner than the 9 mm shots did. That is, when I hit the paper. You aren't supposed to shoot the target in the head... and I didn't mean to, I was aiming for the chest. Wish I could have gotten a little better with this, but no one was really in there to coach me on my technique. I'm sure one of the friendly staff members would have been glad to help, but they were pretty busy in there, and I didn't think to ask. I finished my box of bullets and went in to pay.

All told, an hour there cost us about $130. You only live once (twice if Bond) so I didn't really worry about the money. They charge per lane, per gun, per targets and per ammo. The .44 ammo was significantly more expensive than the 9 milli ammo, so I got one box rather than two of that.

Some final reflections.

Gotta say I have a lot more respect for Wesley Snipes now. He's always shooting dudes who are 20+ feet away and MOVING.

This was a lot of fun and I'm glad I had the experience, but I don't think I'd ever want to own a gun, and I'm glad that more populous states like Massachusetts and New Jersey have the gun laws they do. The danger I spoke of at the beginning of this was only exciting because I don't experience it on a daily basis. These are powerful machines capable of so much damage within one short burst.

I respect the second amendment, but I don't think most modern urban and suburban life requires us to bear arms, or at least it shouldn't. You have to take into consideration that when that law was written, much of our country was a vast wilderness and man vs. bear is not as effective as man with gun vs. bear. I do think it's OK for guns to be available in rural states like New Hampshire because I'm not morally against hunting
and/or protecting your family and property from wild animals.

I myself wouldn't want to own one. Too much could go wrong. And I think I'd feel safer living in an apartment building where little to no one owned a gun. But would I ever want to shoot another one at a range or in the great outdoors?

Well, what do you think?

This slice of cornball Americana is so much fun you'll be tempted to stand up and salute. Director and costar Clint Eastwood manages to turn what might have been ludicrous into a jubilant tribute to age and experience, and Space Cowboys succeeds as two movies in one--a comedy about retired pilots given one last shot at glory and an Apollo 13-like thriller with all the requisite heroics. With a dream cast of Hollywood vets playing old farts described in tabloids as "The Ripe Stuff," the movie jumps from a 1958 prologue (establishing their lost bid for space travel) to 40-plus years later, when the retired Air Force aces (Eastwood, James Garner, Donald Sutherland, Tommy Lee Jones) volunteer to rescue a falling Russian satellite that only Eastwood's character can repair.

It turns out that Russky bird is a cold war leftover equipped with live nuclear warheads, and Space Cowboys revs up to a rousing climax in which our heroes prove their mettle. But first the comedy: watching these codgers struggle to pass NASA's physical tests is a total hoot, with running gags about wrinkles, dentures, and oysters for sagging libidos. (Sutherland is the scene-stealer, but they're all having a blast.) Once in space, the movie gets down to business, and the visual-effects wizards at Industrial Light and Magic provide stunning vistas from Earth's orbit; a shot looking down at the boot of Italy is particularly beautiful. A subplot involving a weasely NASA administrator (James Cromwell) is rather perfunctory, but it hardly matters. Space Cowboys earns its wings, once again demonstrating Eastwood's comfort with any genre he chooses. --Jeff Shannon

In 1958, the members of Team Daedalus, a group of top Air Force test pilots, were ready to serve their country as the first Americans in space but were pushed aside. Now, as a Russian satellite fails and is about to crash into earth, Team Daedalus is back in action in a rescue mission.

Space Cowboys is available at Amazon for $10.99. To Order click here
Amazon Product Pages contain a lot of other details on this product as Customer Reviews, Sales Ranking, Special Offers, Alternate products that customers are going for and much more.Want to read these details? click here

Want to get some other Format / Binding / Version? You can search for them from here

Other Products of Interest

• The Mummy (Widescreen Collector's Edition)
• The Fugitive
• The Dirty Dozen
• Unforgiven
• Apollo 13 [HD DVD]

And Bagel and Finch, I have no idea who you are, but God bless ya. Thanks for leaving me a comment on yesterday's post and telling me that it would be mean to shut this here blog down. God bless ya indeed.

Anyway, I was thinking of ways I could make my posts less lame. Actually, "ways" is too generous a term. I only came up with a way. One. Uno. Un- is that French? I took French in fourth grade. I remember numbers (or not), some colors and the fact that my French teacher, who was actually from France, couldn't say my name correctly. She had a problem with the "th" sound at the end of it, so instead of ElizabeTH, I was Elisabet. Eeee-leee-sah-bet. Doesn't that sound much more charming? I think I might start telling people my name is Eeeleesabet just to watch the reaction on their faces. And to charm them.

But that's not the point of this post. The point of this post was that I was thinking up a way to make my posts more interesting. Lindsay made a comment over on my Facebook that Matthew looks like a regular mountain man in this photo:

He does sort of. Too bad he's not wearing red flannel. And suspenders. He used to wear suspenders sometimes when we first met. But that's when he was weird, before the Marine Corps flogged that out of him. I think he should wear them again, with a bow tie. He used to wear those in kindergarten. I should dig that school picture out sometime and show you. Remind me to do that. It's unbearably cute. And a bit embarrassing. Which is why I should show it to you.

I think mostly, Lindsay was seeing the beard when she made that comment. She first met him when he was still in the Corps (Doesn't that sound tough and gritty? Like Clint Eastwood. Or the Wendy's cheeseburger I had last week.) and this type of facial hair would not have been acceptable so he was clean shaven all of the time. Otherwise, he would have been flogged. For his facial hair and the nasty civilian clothes he's wearing. Did you know that's what Marines call us, nasty civilians? They do. It's what Matthew used to call me when we started dating again five years ago. I was his nasty civilian. And now he's my nasty civilian. I tell him that a lot. It's straightens him up.

Matthew and I had a conversation about his beard last night in fact. I told him that I didn't mind him having it, but he has to keep it trimmed up. He was starting to look too much like a nasty civilian. He agreed with me. I think he was afraid that I'd tell him to get rid of it completely, but that would be counter intuitive, wouldn't it? I mean, if he shaved it off completely, I couldn't refer to him as Mountain Man on this blog, and then it would still be lame. And that would be sad.

But I could refer to him as Jason Bourne, like some of his friends do. Not because he necessarily looks like Matt Damon (Although my mom says that he reminds her of Nick Lachey. Does your mom even know who Nick Lachey is? Mine does.), but because he's got mad killer skills like Jason Bourne. Seriously. He's a trained weapon. A weapon of mass destruction. He even refers to himself that way.

Quite often.

Weapon of mass destruction. Maybe I should call him that instead, WMD?

The Pioneer Woman has her Marlboro Man and Stretch Marks has her Attorney General. I need something. What do you think, Mountain Man or WMD?

And Bagel and Finch, I have no idea who you are, but God bless ya. Thanks for leaving me a comment on yesterday's post and telling me that it would be mean to shut this here blog down. God bless ya indeed.

Anyway, I was thinking of ways I could make my posts less lame. Actually, "ways" is too generous a term. I only came up with a way. One. Uno. Un- is that French? I took French in fourth grade. I remember numbers (or not), some colors and the fact that my French teacher, who was actually from France, couldn't say my name correctly. She had a problem with the "th" sound at the end of it, so instead of ElizabeTH, I was Elisabet. Eeee-leee-sah-bet. Doesn't that sound much more charming? I think I might start telling people my name is Eeeleesabet just to watch the reaction on their faces. And to charm them.

But that's not the point of this post. The point of this post was that I was thinking up a way to make my posts more interesting. Lindsay made a comment over on my Facebook that Matthew looks like a regular mountain man in this photo:

He does sort of. Too bad he's not wearing red flannel. And suspenders. He used to wear suspenders sometimes when we first met. But that's when he was weird, before the Marine Corps flogged that out of him. I think he should wear them again, with a bow tie. He used to wear those in kindergarten. I should dig that school picture out sometime and show you. Remind me to do that. It's unbearably cute. And a bit embarrassing. Which is why I should show it to you.

I think mostly, Lindsay was seeing the beard when she made that comment. She first met him when he was still in the Corps (Doesn't that sound tough and gritty? Like Clint Eastwood. Or the Wendy's cheeseburger I had last week.) and this type of facial hair would not have been acceptable so he was clean shaven all of the time. Otherwise, he would have been flogged. For his facial hair and the nasty civilian clothes he's wearing. Did you know that's what Marines call us, nasty civilians? They do. It's what Matthew used to call me when we started dating again five years ago. I was his nasty civilian. And now he's my nasty civilian. I tell him that a lot. It's straightens him up.

Matthew and I had a conversation about his beard last night in fact. I told him that I didn't mind him having it, but he has to keep it trimmed up. He was starting to look too much like a nasty civilian. He agreed with me. I think he was afraid that I'd tell him to get rid of it completely, but that would be counter intuitive, wouldn't it? I mean, if he shaved it off completely, I couldn't refer to him as Mountain Man on this blog, and then it would still be lame. And that would be sad.

But I could refer to him as Jason Bourne, like some of his friends do. Not because he necessarily looks like Matt Damon (Although my mom says that he reminds her of Nick Lachey. Does your mom even know who Nick Lachey is? Mine does.), but because he's got mad killer skills like Jason Bourne. Seriously. He's a trained weapon. A weapon of mass destruction. He even refers to himself that way.

Quite often.

Weapon of mass destruction. Maybe I should call him that instead, WMD?

The Pioneer Woman has her Marlboro Man and Stretch Marks has her Attorney General. I need something. What do you think, Mountain Man or WMD?

Today was "Cowboy" day on AMC.

I told myself I'd clean the house and watch John Ford's "The Searchers" as I went from room to room. I've perfected these delusions over the years so don't go rolling your eyes.

I stayed in one room and went to other rooms only during the advertisements which, as the movie went on, increased in frequency just as my cleaning forays diminished. It's not a very efficient way to clean a house. But, apparently, that is not the goal of AMC. Um..nor mine. There, I've said it.

They run the initial few minutes of the movie without interruptions and then they begin throwing more and more ads at you with maddening, irritating frequency. I was grumbling about the constant ads when I had a lightbulb moment.

I realized that there had not been a moment in the entire movie when advertising wasn't going on. At all times, the AMC HD icon was on the lower right hand corner. On the lower left hand corner were advertisements of three lines of ascending sizes of red and yellow type for "Starsky and Hutch", the movie with Ben Stiller and Luke Wilson, alternating with ads in white type on three lines, same ascending size, for AMC's popular series, "Mad Men".

As I watched John Wayne swaggering around the screen, in and out of advertisements for "Starskyand Hutch" and "Mad Men", I thought about the academy award winning director of the movie, John Ford, a man of legendary temper and fits of pique.

If he wasn't already long dead, this might do it. At what point does the art of this film become compromised when the viewer is constantly forced to think about goofy Starsky and Hutch and not Chief Scar and kidnapped Debbie?

I'm not kidding. Directors used to complain about their films being "edited" for TV. Do they ever complain about their masterpieces being served up as an elaborate lunch board?

After the movie was over and I looked at my still messy house, I noticed that Sergio Leone's "Fistful of Dollars" starring Clint Eastwood was coming up next.

Poncho clad, squinty Clint took a drink from the well.

Starsky and Hutch popped up before he could swallow.

Attention, genius mythical cowboys and directors, dead and alive:

Your art has been lassoed and branded by Starsky and Hutch.

Not my idea of "Cowboy Day", AMC.

Fistful of Dollars, indeed.

©Pat Coakley 2008

PHOTOGRAPHS CANNOT BE USED WITHOUT PERMISSION

He wore the same poncho, without ever having washed it, in all three of his "Man with No Name" Westerns.

Got his role in "Rawhide" (1959) while visiting a friend at the CBS lot when a studio exec spotted him because he "looked like a cowboy."

1950-1954: Drafted and served in the United States Army, assigned to Special Services. He was a swimming instructor.

It's interesting, given his penchant towards directing or starring in westerns, that his name, Clint Eastwood, is an anagram for 'old west action.'

For many years he was the owner of the nation's largest known hardwood tree, a bluegum eucalyptus, until a larger version of the tree was discovered in 2002.

6/8/02: Sworn in as Parks Commissioner for the state of California at Big Basin Redwood Park, Santa Cruz. Holding up his new commissioner's badge, he told the crowd, "You're all under arrest.". (I love that one)

He was going to play the villain Two-Face on the "Batman" (1966) TV series, but the show was canceled before the project began.

At age 74, he became the oldest person to win the Best Director Oscar for Million Dollar Baby (2004).

2000: Received an honorary Doctorate from Wesleyan University in Connecticut. Wesleyan is also home to his personal archives.

Some of his favorite movies are, The 39 Steps (1935), Sergeant York (1941), The Ox-Bow Incident (1943) and Chariots of Fire (1981).

Claimed that the trait he most despised in others was racism.

The boots that he wore in Unforgiven (1992) are the same ones he wore in the TV series "Rawhide" (1959). They are now a part of his private collection and were on loan to the 2005 Sergio Leone exhibit at the Gene Autry Museum of Western Heritage in Los Angeles, California. In essence these boots have book-ended his career in the Western genre.

He maintains a vegan diet consisting of fruit, veg, soy and tofu produce.

At a press conference for his movie Mystic River (2003), Eastwood condemned the Iraq war as a "big mistake" and defended Sean Penn's visit to Baghdad, saying he might have done the same thing but for his age.

Fluent in Italian.

Learned mountain climbing for The Eiger Sanction (1975) because he felt the scenes were too dangerous for him to pay a stuntman to do for him. He was the last climber up The Totem Pole in Monument Valley, and as part of the contract, the movie crew removed the pitons left by decades of other climbers. The scene where he was hanging off the mountain by a single rope was actually Eastwood, and not a stuntman.

An accomplished jazz pianist, he performs much of the music for his movies, including the scene in the bar in In the Line of Fire (1993).

[what he says after a take, instead of "Cut!"] That's enough of that shit.

Segundo a produtora FF Filmes Fundo, a longa-metragem de João Botelho, rodada em 2007 e 2008, foi uma das 18 seleccionadas este ano para estrear mundialmente no festival nova-iorquino não-competitivo que não tem categorias e não atribui prémios.

Entre os filmes que serão exibidos no festival, que decorre no Ziegfeld Theatre de Nova Iorque, estão "Changeling", de Clint Eastwood, "Let it Rain", de Agnès Jaoui, "Summer Hours", de Olivier Assayas, "Ashes of Time Redux", de Wong Kar-Wai, e "Happy-Go-Lucky", de Mike Leigh.

"A Corte do Norte" conta a história, passada na Madeira, de cinco gerações de mulheres e tem como figura central Emília de Sousa, inspirada na atriz Emília das Neves, a primeira vedeta feminina da representação dramática em Portugal.

A atriz Ana Moreira protagoniza o filme, interpretando sete personagens diferentes em épocas distintas, entre 1860 e 1960.

Integram igualmente o elenco do filme os atores Ricardo Aibéo, Rogério Samora, Laura Soveral, João Ricardo Custódia Gallego e Margarida Vila-Nova, além de Rita Blanco e Virgílio Castelo, em participação especial.

Produzido por António da Cunha Telles, Pandora da Cunha Telles e FF Filmes Fundo, com o apoio do ICA (Instituto do Cinema e do Audiovisual) e da RTP, e inteiramente rodado em digital, "A Corte do Norte" será o primeiro filme português a ser projectado em 2k no circuito comercial.

A estreia nas salas de cinema portuguesas está prevista para a primeira quinzena de Novembro e contará com o apoio da Guimarães Editora, que reeditará o romance "Corte do Norte", publicado em 1987, e lançará ainda um álbum com fotografias e diálogos do filme.

© 2008 LUSA - Agência de Notícias de Portugal, S.A.

first off here is a link to some serious journalism on the subject, for those of you who like your local news to be more "news-y" LINK

for those who have stayed to hear my report, it can be found below.

(below)

(a little further down)

(almost there)

so- i get on my lowrider rat patrol bike, known as clint eastwood
(mel and clint)
and by the time i make it up to winchell's, which shares a parking lot with the food-love of my life, Rancho Bravo Taco Truck, i've got myself a flat back tire.

so clint and i walked home, to switch out for my 56 times faster, but 14 times less cool road bike, Nacho. (Nacho and i, after a violent hail-storm of a commute)

so i pick up Nacho and roll up to Phinney Ridge where the race will begin at a little place i like to call "el chupacabre" (mostly because that is what it is called. it's named after a creature of questionable existence)

after registering and getting my shirt and very important dead baby drink bottle, i sat around and looked at some great bikes until the race began.

ok, here is the secret-- it's not really a race. it's a bunch of people riding their bikes down a bunch of hills in order to arrive at a giant bike party with lots of beer. don't tell anybody. i mean, there is an actual messenger race that's a part of it, but i'm not a messenger so that is not relevant.

we get to the spot after some shenanigans involving bubba's kid bike chain coming off, him ripping the chain guard off with his bare f-ing hands and then finishing the ride, and a giant "conference bike" rolling down 2 lanes of traffic.

i forgot my camera, so there are no actual shots of the party here. it's sort of like bigfoot- if i did have pictures, they'd be all shady and shaky anyway, as it's a requirement to be drinking the entire time (ok, i made that part up- you only have to drink two thirds of the time).

i saw some impressive bunny-hopping skillz, ate a burger, and listened to some rockabilly while in the beer line. i spent a lot of time in the beer line. this was not because it was exceptionally long, it's more to do with the fact that i drank a lot of beer.

after a few more competitions i decided to hop on Nacho and ride home at about 11:30. this is because i am old. i am almost 31. that's about 1/3 of john mccain's age. unfortunately, this means that i missed the tall-bike jousting, but i was pretty... "tired", so i left. here is a youtube of last year's race/party. i couldn't find one of this year's (weeeeak)

so on my way back, i'm riding on the burke-gilman, trying not to stop, fall over, get hit by cars, fall over, or fall over, when all of a sudden, i fall over. on my side. on the pavement. it still hurts.

i am an idiot.

it was also pretty funny.

Pregunta: -¿Quién dirige?
Respuesta: - Quien tiene dinero, MUCHO dinero. Porque ya no vale cualquier producción.
Pregunta: - ¿Y dentro del cine quién tiene dinero?
Respuesta: Además de las grandes productoras, aquellos que llevan dentro del negocio muchos años y han ganado tanto dinero que ya no saben qué hacer con él. Claro ejemplo, las grandes estrellas de cine.

No quiero generalizar, pero hasta hace unos años, dirigía quién valía e interpretaba quien podía, y con ello no quiero decir, que cualquiera valga para interpretar, al contrario, cada vez es más difícil ver una película en la que el elenco al completo sea admirable. Ahora parece que la interpretación de un equipo al completo es salvable con que uno de los protagonistas sea bueno. Grave error si tenemos en cuenta que más del 50% de la calidad de una película depende del equipo artístico con el que cuentes para contar tu historia. Puedes tener a los mejores directores de fotografía y de efectos especiales y aún así que la crítica no te acompañe. No debemos olvidar que a los espectadores nos enamoran los actores, sus sentimientos y su forma de contarnos la historia y no el encuadre, la iluminación o una gran explosión, aspectos que si están bien logrados por supuesto que se agradecen, pero no son imprescindible. Sino, echad un vistazo al pasado y os daréis cuenta de que todas las grandes películas son así consideradas porque detrás de ellas se esconde una buena historia y unas muy buenas interpretaciones.

Todo esto es culpa, sin duda alguna, del atroz capitalismo que se ha adueñado de un arte, que en muchas ocasiones ha abandonado su esencia, y se ha colocado a merced de la industria, como si su elaboración consistiese en un trabajo mecánico y no en una convicción artística cuya madurez es alcanzada después de un arduo proceso de lucha interna y sentimientos transformados en acciones que sólo unos pocos son capaces de transmitir de forma coherente.

Llegados a este punto os pregunto: ¿Quién debe dirigir una película? ¿Quién puede o quién vale? Si sois de pensamiento academicista pensaréis que quien vale, porque para eso el cine es un arte y los que lo materializan son artistas, y por supuesto, no todos valemos para ser artistas. Pero aquellos que se decanten más por un pensamiento mercantilista seguro que consideran que quién debe hacer cine es quién pueda, quién tenga medios, quién tenga dinero. Mi opinión personal es que las dos visiones son correctas, es decir, por supuesto que quién hace cine es quién puede, porque es una forma de expresión cara y necesita de capital, pero creo que es importante que no perdamos de vista la esencia artística del cine que muy pocas personas tienen y que es necesaria para conservar la actividad cinematográfica como algo exclusivo y capaz de ilusionar y hacer soñar día a día a millones de personas. ¡Vale que es un negocio, pero no cualquier negocio!.

Después de esta extensa reflexión os preguntaréis que dónde quiero llegar. Pues bien, hace unos días me enteré por los periódicos y foros especializados que Natalie Portman, mundialmente conocida por interpretaciones como las de "Star Wars", o "Closer" y una de las actrices más reconocidas y deseadas de Hollywood, presenta en la próxima  Mostra de Venecia un corto dirigido por ella misma. Una obra de 17 minutos de duración que cuenta con dos estrellas del cine estadounidense Lauren Bacall y Ben Gazzara y que narra una historia de amor en la tercera edad en clave de comedia. Este es uno de los ejemplos que me ha servido para reflexionar sobre la cuestión que inicialmente os he planteado. Aún no he podido ver su trabajo por lo que no puedo afirmar si se trata o no de una de esas obras hechas más por alguien que puede que por alguien que vale.

Aún así, este no es el único ejemplo que me ha servido de inspiración, hay millones. De hecho muchas de las estrellas de Hollywood, consideradas celebridades de la interpretación, en algún momento de su vida se han puesto detrás de una cámara a dar órdenes. Véase el ejemplo de George Cloney (Buenas noches, Buena suerte), Robert De Niro (El buen pastor), Kenneth Branagh (La flauta mágica) y un largo etcétera que hacen del arte un oficio mercantilista, rebajado al súmun de la ordinariez.

Por suerte hay excepciones que confirman mi regla: Clint Eastwood y películas como “Mystic River” y “Million Dollar Baby”, dos obras que merecen, bajo mi punto de vista, la etiqueta de excepcionales y que de alguna forma han marcado un antes y un después en la carrera profesional de este fantástico actor-director, acepción a la que muy pocos puedo atribuir.

Harry atraviesa la calle hacia donde se encuentra el cuerpo abatido del francotirador. Mastica chicle. Tranquilo. La sombra de su revolver se dibuja junto a la escopeta del asesino en la acera. Lentamente la sube y le apunta a la cabeza.

- Sé lo que estás pensando. Si disparé las seis balas o sólo cinco. La verdad es que con todo este ajetreo yo también he perdido la cuenta, pero siendo éste un Magnum 44, el mejor revólver del mundo, capaz de volarte los sesos de un tiro ¿no crees que deberías pensar que eres afortunado? ¿Verdad que si Vago?

La  sombra del revólver y la mano del negro intentando acercarse a la escopeta, se dibujan en la acera, mientras el negro cañón apuntaba certero a su cabeza.

De repente, el sucio policía recoge la escopeta, baja su arma y se daba media vuelta.

- Eh!, Necesito saberlo. -desde el suelo le grita el francotirador abatido.

El poli se da la vuelta, le apunta de nuevo con la Magnum y dispara.

Clink. Sonrisa burlona.

Una sirena de policía sonando al fondo. El chorro de la boca de riego cierra la imagen de una calle de San Francisco.

Podía verla cientos de veces, la misma escena. Rebobinaba y volvía al momento en el que Eastwood volvía a cruzar la calle. Minuto y medio glorioso. No se cansaba de verlo.

For the three people that don't know, MAGNUM FORCE stars Clint Eastwood and his hair.  His hair did get separate billing this flick.  Quite a shock of it, too.  This is the flick that's notable for having David Soul and Robert Urich as vigilante cops.  And don't miss Eric "Otter" Stratton as another of the vigilante cops.  Good stuff.

Now the flick itself is not very good.  C'mon.  You know it's not good, even with Mark Twain holding a gun on Dirty Harry, and berating Harry every chance he gets.  (As an aside, Holbrook tried to get his hair its own billing, too, but there were issues with trailers, and the hair lost out to the star of the flick.)

But the reason to watch it is 'cause it is so unaplogetic in its treatment of cops and vigilantes.  I think it wanted to say some deep things about it, but then said, fuck it, it's got Clint Eastwood in it and it's written by John Milius  and Michael Cimino so how fucking subtle can we get?  It's not like they were making CITIZEN KANE.  No, we just want to see the bad guys get killed, and Dirty Harry do some detectin' 'cause apparently the rest of the SFPD were busy doing other things other than police work. 

This came out a year before DEATH WISH and I think it captures the "average joe's" attitude at the time:  the bad guys had rights and the victims did not.  Even more so than DIRTY HARRY, MAGNUM FORCE reinforced the thought that all the bad guys were getting away with murder and the cops were powerless to do anything about it.  The bad guys were getting off on technicalities so a rogue band of cops took the law into their own hands.  Justice was being served, though it was reflected through a lens of simplistic propaganda since Harry was really nothing but a vigilante with a badge anyway.  I mean, he pretended he was a pilot in order to get on board the hijacked plane.  (Another aside:  the guy playing the co-pilot deserved an Oscar.  I don't think I've ever seen such a great deadpan reaction when Harry asks him to start the flight sequence or whatever the hell pilots do.  Makes me think that the guy was an actual co-pilot and no one told him they were making a movie.)

The police work is all fucked up.  Harry dismantles a bomb in his mailbox 'cause he's THAT good, while he can't get in touch with his partner to let him know the same thing.  I guess his partner forgot to wear his pager that day.  So instead of calling the cops to let them know about the bomb, Harry spends the next six days or so on the telephone trying to get in touch with his partner.

What else?  Silencers used on revolvers.  Revolvers that never seem to run out of bullets EXCEPT when they're on the police range 'cause, more than likely, it was a real range with real cops who called bullshit on 'em everytime they tried to pretend they had thousands of bullets.  Mark Twain leading a group of vigilantes even though everybody knows Mark Twain would never do something like that.

Seriously though, this is one of those movies that you need to rent and watch with your buddies just to point out the fiction 'cause even when you're doing that you've got Eastwood and his hair doing a slow burn throughout the flick.  Hell, Harry is quite the chick magnet: A drunk/crazy cop's wife hits on him, and the little Asian chick downstairs from his apartment wants to fuck Harry. 

You can't take this movie seriously.  Just sit back and let the right-wing propaganda envelop you.

Today, I feel compelled to call the public's attention to the upcoming release of a screen musical titled Repo!: The Genetic Opera. Articulating an explanation as to why anyone should care about any screen musical is a daunting task, but if anyone can carry out that task, I can.

I trust that the majority of individuals who posses a reasonable familiarity with contemporary cinema have experienced the exhilarating sensation of utter astonishment induced in a film's audience when that film introduces a certain actor, song, or oblique reference in a context in which he, she, or it seems gloriously out-of-place, the sensation inspired by a young Clint Eastwood's small role in Revenge of the Creature, or by David Duchovny's voiceover work on the video game Thirteen. I project that Repo!: The Genetic Opera will embody the quintessence of this feeling. The following trailer will corroborate my assertion:

Less than a second into the preview, we observe that this rock opera is produced by Twisted Pictures, the enterprise responsible for gore-porn franchise Saw. Repeat the end of that sentence to yourselves: "this rock opera is produced by Twisted Pictures, the enterprise responsible for gore-porn franchise 'Saw'".  Even before the girl from Spy Kids appears, I'm shitting bricks.

Astoundingly, former child star Alexa Vega is the member of this cast least likely to elicit an audible " 'the fuck?". Anthony Stewart Head of Buffy the Vampire Slayer fame attempts growling vocals and dons on a glowing helmet. Andrew Lloyd Webber's ex-wife and originator of The Phantom of the Opera's lead female role, Sarah Brightman, conceals an alabaster face with a goffik hood. Nivek Ogre of seminal industrial band Skinny Puppy, singing opposite venerable horror player Bill Moseley, has someone else's face paper-clipped to his. Though this was difficult for me to determine at first due the black wig she wears, the woman who conducts a drug deal with a man as he is ensconced within a dumpster is, in fact, Paris Hilton, whose appearance in this film nearly seems the result of some divinity's sense of humor, as I can't conceive of any reason for which anyone would involve themselves in Repo! The Genetic Opera beyond genuine interest or desperation, neither of which I imagine to be an influence on that particular wealthy heiress. Moreover, as goth as I am, I must note that David J and Daniel Ash of Bauhaus contributed to sound production.  

I suppose most would consider me remiss were I not to provide some elucidation as to this movie's plot, but I'd rather just refer my readers to more absurdity: 

Check out that overdubbing on Paris. Hopefully, that this picture is only screening in a few theatres will prevent related merchandise from being sold at Hot Topic, so that I can still love it and be cool at the same time.

-Gothicus Maximus

2- Wood & Stock: Sexo, Orégano e Rock'n'RollQuem tinha aquelas Chiclete com Banana amareladas sabe do peso de um filme como esse. Sabe como é, primeira Rê Bordosa a gente nunca esquece, a minha foi a morta.

3- Sonhando Acordado (La Science des Rêves)É um filme fofo. Tudo é fofo nesse filme, Gondry, Gael, Gainsbourg, o cenário, a trilha sonora, tudo fofo. Diz-se à boca miúda que as únicas pessoas que gostam desse filme são as que se identificam com a personagem de Gael, eu me identifico. Ame ou odeie.

4- O Homem Duplo (A Scanner Darkly)Gosto do Linklater, gosto do estilo de animação dele que na prática cai como uma luva na teoria de Phillip K. Dick. Um tipo de adaptação que caiu bem nas mais distintas perspectivas.

5- O Cheiro do RaloTípico filme que te ganha só com a atuação do ator principal, no caso Selton Mello, mas de brinde ainda leva um texto incrível e perícia cinematográfica dentre as melhores vistas não só naquele ano, mas de toda essa década.

Real melhor filme do ano: Cartas de Iwo Jima (Letters from Iwo Jima)

Top, top, ¿Quién es? Clint Eastwood. Ah, pues pase. ¡Qué me molan las pelis del oeste!. Es un género que aunque de origen y ambientación yankee se ha hecho muy nuestro, muy peninsular gracias al spaghetti western y el desierto de Almería. Los videojuegos, como productor de ocio en masa, también tiene reservado un hueco para los juegos con esta temática, y desde las primeras generaciones de computadoras hemos disfrutado de duelos al sol digitales. Así solo pensando un poco por encima me salen una veintena de títulos para comentar, por lo que me voy a limitar a enumerar en forma de manido ranking los juegos ambientados en el lejano oeste que más me han llegado a mi corazoncito salvaje. Como decía la canción del Cherry Coke, no hagas el indio, haz el cherokee.

5.- RED DEAD REVOLVER

Muy posiblemente muchos ni sepan cual puñetas es este juego, pues agárrate porque es de Rockstar. Apareció para PS2 y Xbox en 2004 tras unos cuantos rebotes y carambolas en su desarrollo, ya que en un principio el juego empezó a ser desarrollado por Capcom, pero se ve que echaron un poco el pedo al no verle salida a un juego de estas características, así que tiraron la toalla y se centraron en las sagas de siempre, Resident Evil, Devil May Cry, Street Fighters y demás dinosaurios para ir sobre seguro. Menos mal que llegó la compañía de la erre y la estrellita y prosiguió su desarrollo, cambiando la ambientación hacia el spaghetti western para darle ese ambientillo cutre y pasado de vueltas que tanto nos gusta.

Así resumiendo, esto es un Gta pero con revólveres y dinamita. Eso sí, el escenario no es una representación a escala 1:1 del oeste del río pecos, pero la mecánica y el control es muy similar a la de la saga antes mencionada. Manejamos al prota en tercera persona (que es un descarado clon de los personajes interpretados por Clint Eastwood en la trilogía del dólar), y nada, a matar bandidos y forajidos. Un juego que alcanza la denominación de “fresquito fresquito” y que recomiendo a todos los amantes de los juegos ligeritos para entretenerse en estas noches calurosas de verano.

4.- OUTLAW

Podría comentar juegos de recientes generaciones pasadas que representan de una forma más fidedigna el género, pero si hay que mentar el primer título de este palo al que tuve el gusto de catar fue sin duda al Outlaw, donde la cosa iba de un duelo entre dos vaqueros con un sistema de juego más simple que el mecanismo de un chupete. Manejado a nuestro pixelado vaquero, debíamos disparar la pistola controlando el ángulo de tiro para acertar a nuestro adversario, ya sea de frente a través de los obstáculos que separan a ambos contendientes o haciendo rebotar la bala con las paredes en una mecánica que no sé por qué me hacía recordar al Arkanoid.

A los más guarrones el que se les vendrá a la mente es el Cluster’s Revenge, juego también de Atari 2600 y además western, en el que en vez de balas teníamos que controlar otra cosa que yo me sé para apaciguar el malestar de la hija del jefe siux. ¿Es posible pintar una picha con tan solo 3 pixeles? To infinity… and beyond!

"Ivy en 8 bits"

3.- FREDDY PHARKAS: EL FARMACEUTICO DE LA FRONTERA

Aunque la época dorada de las aventuras gráficas estaba liderada por el emporio Lucasarts, existen unos cuantos juegos de su rival Sierra que me llegaron al corazón. El Laura Bow y la daga de Amon Ra, los Ecoquest o los King Quest a partir del 5 fueron algunos de los que me encandilaron, pero sin duda, con el que más he disfrutado fue con el Freddy Pharkas. Este género siempre ha despuntado por la originalidad de sus argumentos y situaciones, y la verdad es que aquí se llevaron la palma.

En este caso, nos poníamos en el papel de Freddy, el boticario de un pequeño pueblo del oeste, donde debíamos atender a los clientes que se acercaban a nuestra consulta, con problemas de diversa índole, desde el tifus o un balazo mal dado hasta diarreas de caballo y otras originales dolencias. La gracia del asunto es que con el juego venía un extenso librito que hacía las veces de vademécum alternativo, el María Moliner de la medicina, explicándonos como curar las diferentes enfermedades y los ingredientes necesarios a mezclar para tener un mejunje curativo, que debíamos crear en la trastienda usando vasos de precipitados, morteros y demás utensilios alquímicos.

Ah, y en la taberna tocaba el piano Larry Lafter. ¿Qué más se puede pedir? Bueno, que no saliera nunca el “game over” tan típico de las aventuras de Sierra cuando metías la pata, pero en este caso solo salían en muy concretas ocasiones y si hacías algo mal no tenías que empezar el juego desde el principio, que me cago en esa característica. Gran recuerdo tengo de la famosa espada que se rompía en el primero Alone in the dark y que era indispensable mantener intacta para resolver uno de los puzzles del final del juego. Tosuputamadre. Pasamos al siguiente título, que me pierdo.

2.- SUNSET RIDERS

Todo un clásico de los salones arcade de principios de los 90 y uno de los must have en la carpeta roms de nuestro Mame. Esta especie de shoot’em up pegando tiros es una de las joyitas de la compañía tanto por la animación caricaturesca de los personajes como por lo aditivo que resultaba.

Detalles como pegarse un hostión en la cara al pisar un rastrillo, tener que correr desesperadamente sobre los lomos de los búfalos en una estampida o el hecho de que el personaje seleccionable de origen mejicano vista de rosa hacen de este título lo que es, un clasicazo.

Konami estuvo sembrada al hacer el juego, siendo unos expertos en el género, como demuestran por ejemplo el TMNT o la saga Contra. Apareció en 1991, y un par de años más tarde fue portado a Megadrive y Super Nes con los correspondientes recortes en algunas fases, que aunque fueran realizados en parte por las diferencias entre plataformas, muchísimos de los cambios fueron debidos a la censura al poner indios en pantalla y demás movidas similares.

1.- LOS JUSTICIEROS

Esto es lo que hay. Si hay un juego que merece estar en el podio de las mejores representaciones del lejano oeste tenía que estar producido en el desierto de Almería. Recuerdo que la primera vez que vi el juego fue en unos recreativos pijos de Marbella, y tras jugarlo supe que el futuro estaba aquí. Este shooter sobre railes con escenas cinemáticas fue distribuido por Dinamic Multimedia en los tiempos en los que empezó a hacerse de oro con el PC Futbol y enciclopedias multimedia en plan “La edad de oro del pop español”, obligando a la peña a comprarse su primera unidad de cd marca Mitsumi de velocidad cuatro por.

La producción corrió a cargo de Picmatic, una empresa de máquinas tragaperras de alto standing para casinos, ya que en un principio el juego fue pensado para ser una máquina arcade, pero como ya digo, el formato cd-rom abrió las puertas de los excesos en el ámbito de lo multimedia, así que un año después de su lanzamiento fue portado a compatibles. El reparto de actores estaba formado por intérpretes de medio pelo de principios de los 90, siendo la estrella sin duda el feo de los hermanos Calatrava, que hacía de jefe indio. La grabación estuvo dirigida por el director patrio Enrique Urbizu, quien es conocido aparte de por unos cuantos cagarrillos cinematográficos españoles, por ser el mayor partícipe de la creación del guión de La novena Puerta, basada en el libro de Reverte El club Dumas. Bueno, también dirigió La caja 507, que no está mal.

Los que hayáis jugado recordaréis con cariño esas voces de los protagonistas, así como la voz en off que nos informaba cada vez que conseguíamos un item. “¡escopeeeta!”, “¡baaalas!”. Ay, que me pita el marcapasos con tantas emociones.

Race matters… No matter how many times I say it, it still doesn't sink into many people that I talk to. Some of my white friends take it as a joke, and some laugh. They attempt to placate me and tell me that couldn't happen. Dr. King was a long time ago, they would say. Things like that don't happen anymore, and the times are changing, so don't worry, Obama is going to win!

Probably another voter for McCain! Good luck with that…

Yes, that is exactly what I am worried about, that he is going to win. Let me be very clear, since I know some racists read this blog. I want Obama to win, and I know that he is clearly, without question, the best candidate that ran and was in the field. Given the chance, I think that he can make a small difference. As someone who lives in the real world, I know that the president, whoever he or she may be, has limited control of the world. The world is run by money and the elites are not going to just allow anyone to wrest control from them. Putting that aside, he is the one that is going to have his finger on the button and in control of the United States.

The Secret Service has one main job to do, which is to protect the president. I remember one movie that I really enjoyed was In the Line of Fire. The movie starred Clint Eastwood and John Malkovich. Here is a synopsis of the movie.

Frank Horrigan is a secret service agent who keeps thinking back to November 22, 1963, when, as a hand-picked agent by President Kennedy, he became one of the few agents to have lost a President to an assassin when Kennedy died. Now, former CIA assassin Mitch Leary is stalking the current President, who is running for re-election. Mitch has spent long hours studying Horrigan, and he taunts Horrigan, telling him of his plans to kill the President. Leary plans to kill the president because Leary feels betrayed by the government -- Leary was removed from the CIA, and the CIA is now trying to have him killed. After talking to Leary, Horrigan makes sure he is assigned to presidential protection duty, working with fellow secret service agent Lilly Raines. Horrigan has no intention of failing his President this time around, and he's more than willing to take a bullet. White House Chief of Staff Harry Sargent refuses to alter the President's itinerary, while Horrigan's boss, Secret Service Director Sam Campagna, is supportive of Horrigan. (Thanks IMDB…)

I would really hope that Obama has a detail that is comprised of agents like Frank Horrigan. But, reading stories like this, I doubt the possibilities.

A newspaper has asked John McCain's campaign why a black reporter assigned to cover a rally was singled out by security and told to leave a backstage area.

Stephen Price, a reporter for the Tallahassee Democrat, was among four Florida capital press corps reporters behind the scenes at a Panama City rally Friday when a Secret Service agent approached and asked if he were with the national media traveling with McCain. Price said no, and the agent told him he had to leave. Price said he then pointed out that there were other state reporters in the same area, but was still told to leave. The other reporters were white.

A Panama City police officer quickly approached with his hand on his holster and asked what the problem was, Price said. At the same time, Palm Beach Post reporter Dara Kam came to Price's defense and was told she also had to leave, Price said.

The other two reporters, Alex Leary of the St. Petersburg Times and Marc Caputo of The Miami Herald, weren't removed.

Caputo, however, said that initially he also was told he had to leave the area.

"Security was tight and was a bit over-controlling, which is par for the course at these events. And, as par for the course, I tried to get near the candidate when I saw another reporter there (Alex Leary). Security tried to throw me out, but I found a McCain staffer I knew and the person vouched for me," Caputo said in an e-mail to The Associated Press.

Leary said nobody questioned why he was in the area. He added that he didn't see the exchange Price had with security.

The McCain campaign said it asked Secret Service to look into the events. Campaign spokesman Brian Rogers said it "found that no one from the campaign was involved."

Secret Service spokesman Eric Zahren said two other Florida reporters were removed along with Price and any other reporters who weren't with the national press should have been removed as well. At all campaign events, national and local press are separated for logistical reasons.

"Race played absolutely no role in any actions taken by our employees or anybody else in this case," Zahren said.

McCain's campaign called Price and Bob Gabordi, the newspaper's executive editor, on Tuesday and apologized.

"I accept the apology," Price said. "I definitely wish I was never singled out. I came up there to do a story, that's all I wanted to do is write a story."

The campaign said McCain personally would call Price in a few days, according to the newspaper.

"It's the right thing for the McCain campaign to do," Gabordi said. "Our issue remains with the Secret Service agent. His actions are still a problem. The senator's campaign has done the right thing and we appreciate that."

Price had said he could think of no other reason why he was approached other than his race. He said he had to show his media credentials to get into the area, and that he was there for several minutes before being removed.

"It was just a really crazy situation. We were being carted out of there and everyone was looking," Price said, adding that he felt upset and humiliated.

It is never good enough to be black and good, you need to be Super Negro to be taken seriously. Obama for President takes the first step towards recognition, but who has his back?