Mugged


Short story by Tobias Wolff in this week's New Yorker

I long ago stopped reading the weekly New Yorker short story unless it happened to be by an author I know and love, like Wolff. Also in this week's New Yorker, Noah Baumbach wrote the comedy bit, titled "Tom Cruise is My Dog." I heard Baumbach speak after the screening of his movie The Squid and the Whale at Sundance this year. Baumbach, a close friend of Wes Anderson, did not seem like the type of guy who'd write a piece like that, but I guess I was wrong.


Upcoming cookbook by Ferran Adria contains recipes from his famed El Bulli

Will cost $210 and include interactive CD-ROM.


Entourage gets a third season


Tattooed fruit could mean the end of the annoying little stickers you have to peel off


***


I'm away from NYC a lot in the next month, so every day here is spent running errands. This stretch of days where I have to venture out onto the street just happens to coincide with the muggiest weather since I've moved here. Within a minute of walking out into the heat, I feel like a damp towel. NYC feels like a sauna with a concrete and asphalt floor, brick and metallic walls, and the sun for a heat lamp in the ceiling.


***


Every camera store I've been to in NYC so far is owned and run by Hasidic Jews, including the massive B&H. Yesterday I had to drop off my inkjet printer for repair at a local camera store and was greeted by a store full of Hasidic Jews, just like B&H. It's the fourth such store I've visited. Interesting cultural phenomenon.


Do camera stores have really low margins? Are photographers a jealous, misanthropic lot? How does one explain the awful customer service at camera stores (it was the same at Glazer's in Seattle)? A majority of camera store employees I've dealt with are rude and curt, as if they disdain my business. I have no idea why that is but it's really unnecessary.


The late night employees at Whole Foods, on the other hand, are just careless and indifferent. Twice the clerks there have forgotten to pack one of my items, and each time I've had to stand there waiting while the checkout clerk carried on a social conversation with one of their peers. In this heat and humidity, it's more than aggravating to walk 10 blocks round trip to retrieve a single item. When this happened again last week, I had to throw a tantrum on the phone to the manager to get him to credit me for my salad (which I pictured the manager eating himself as he replied "uh-huh" "uh-huh" to my litany of complaints). I'm not going there in the evening anymore.


***


I only caught a bit of the British Open, but it seems safe to say that Tiger Woods' swing changes have worked themselves out. To hurt Tiger, a course needs to punish him for errant drives, and if that doesn't work, competitors have to hope he's putting badly. The rough at the U.S. Open handled the former, and Tiger couldn't putt that week. But the British Open links layout didn't punish him when he hooked or pushed his drives. Errant tee shots landed in the next fairway over, and he simply hit irons from wherever he landed. The fairway bunkers? Tiger drover over most of them.


***


While in DC last weekend, Joannie and I visited the Holocaust Museum thanks to Rich's sister Catherine who works there and left passes for us. Even several years beyond its opening, it's still an attraction that requires advanced planning in order to secure a spot. The main exhibit is linear, winding down from the top floor back to the main floor. For some subjects, like this one, I prefer that format over an open format where you have to choose your own path.


Impressive exhibit and well worth a visit. Of course, I also dragged Joannie to see the insects at the National Museum of Natural History. As a compromise I went with her to view the Hope Diamond and other assorted bling.


Thank goodness the DC Metro stations are air conditioned. It was so hot that wandering from museum to monument to museum felt like strolling in a ceramic kiln. At the Supreme Court we viewed a video interview with the current Justices. Ginsberg commented that when the Constitution was written, women couldn't vote and blacks were still suffering the indignities of slavery, among other injustices to be rectified in later years. While she spoke, the video cut for a few seconds to the face of strict constructionist Scalia, and it was all he could do to keep from rolling his eyes. High comedy. Scalia's a nut.


The trip to DC was a success. Joannie found an apartment in the Capitol Hill neighborhood. It will be great to have her and Mike closer by, just a three and a half make that four five hour bus ride away. The bus drivers this time around sure took their sweet time.


On the way down, the in-drive movie was that awful movie in which Jennifer Lopez and her daughter and haunted by a crazy guy, presumably her ex-husband (I wasn't watching that closely). The lunatic was played by the guy who played Carter Buckley on The O.C. this season. Finally, after being terrorized by the guy for the entire movie, J.Lo trains herself in boxing and goes after him. Our arrival in DC cut off the final fight scene, to no one's dismay.


***


I keep receiving a phishing e-mail for eBay, an excerpt of which appears below. This fraudster needs a copy editor. If you want to steal someone's money, at least put some effort into it.


It has come to our attion that 95% of all fraudulent auctions are caused by members using stolen credit cards to purchase or sell non existant items. Thus we require our members to add a Debit/Check card to their billing records as part of our continuing commitment to protect your account and to reduce the instance of fraud on our website. Your Debit/Check card will only be used to identify you and bill any open seller fees incase your initial credit card gets declined. If you could please take 5-10 minutes out of your online experience and renew your records you will not run into any future problems with the eBay® service. However, failure to confirm your records will result in your account suspension.

George!




George Hincapie triumphant on Pla d'Adet (Image from AFP)


Women love him because he's, well, George, and men admire and appreciate him for his loyalty to Lance. He's always been the Pippen to Armstrong's Jordan, the talented and trustworthy comrade, the selfless wingman, and today he got his first ever stage win at the Tour de France on the hardest stage of the Tour. Everyone loves George, always such an unassuming good guy. For such a big guy, he's made a miraculous transformation in the past several years, becoming a very respectable climber. He's married to a podium girl and living the dream.


George and Brunyeel decided that since T-Mobile had been attacking early to shed Armstrong's teammates, Hincapie should go with an early break so that if the leaders caught up, he'd be there to stay with Armstrong. T-Mobile parried, and Team Discovery Channel countered. Since he was in the lead group purely to wait for Lance, Hincapie didn't have to pull. His only goal was to stick with the group and wait to see if Armstrong would show up. Thus he didn't have to work as hard as the others in the lead group, and when they all fell away, he had the freshest legs for the finishing sprint.


Such a story-dense stage on the climb to Pla d'Adet. George was racing for the stage win in the lead group. Armstrong marked Ullrich and Basso, and then just Basso. Ullrich, again, couldn't keep the wheel of Basso and Armstrong when they accelerated, but he tried to keep them in sight, paced by his teammate Oscar Sevilla. Behind him, Rasmussen fought to preserve third place, and just behind his wheel was Mancebo, his face always a rictus of pain, trying not to lose too much time to Ullrich in the GC.


No more massive mountain finishes, though a few challenging stages remain (these things are all relative, as all the stages are killer to mere mortals like myself). But Basso couldn't shed Armstrong, and so it looks like a week-long coronation for Lance as long as he can avoid trouble. There will be some interesting battles among riders in places 2 through 11, especially in the stage 20 time trial, and a good battle for the green jersey between McEwen, O'Grady, and Hushovd, but for the yellow jersey this is sendoff week for its greatest champion.


Needles in haystacks


Back from Washington, DC, arriving to a snowstorm-sized pile of links in my newsreader...


The World Series of Poker's main event is down to just 12 players

Just one pro remains, Mike "The Mouth" Matusow, in 8th place (profile of Matusow in the NYTimes). Phil Ivey, one of the last big names, finished in 20th place, while last year's champ, Greg Raymer, finished 25th. Kate Hudson's brother Oliver earned the dubious honor of being the first player to be knocked out of the tourney, and on his very first hand. He had a pair of 10's, raised pre-flop, and Sam Farha called. The flop came A-A-10, and both guys found all their money in the center of the table. Farha had A-10 and left Hudson almost famous, befitting Kate's brother.


Esquire Magazine's Sexiest Woman Alive will be revealed in the November issue, but the clues give it away: Jessica Biel


Matthew Barney and Björk collaborate on a film which debuts at a museum in Japan

From the article, a summary of the movie titled Drawing Restraint 9: "Björk and Barney arrive as guests on board the ship. During a storm, they marry each other in a mysterious ceremony, morph into whales and then swim off towards the Antarctic. In this dream-like story, nothing is really narrated." Yep, that sounds like a Barney/Björk movie. Björk also revealed that "she and Barney plan to sell their New York home and live on a houseboat." That also sounds like something they'd do.



UCLA grad student plays Russian roulette as performance art, terrifying his classmates

Huge hubbub ensues, including possible legal action and the retirement of two professors known for controversial performance art of their own, but in the end all returned to normal and the student received an A-minus for the course.



Simpsons-Family Guy feud

This is sure to end with Homer gunned down in front of Kwik-E-Mart by Stewie Griffin.



Mansquito! Attack of the Sabretooth! Dog Soldiers!



At the Tour de France, Bobby Julich is riding elliptically-shaped chainrings

These chainrings change the effective gear ratio as you pedal. In this case, Julich's O.Symetric Harmonic chainrings maximize the gear ratio when pedals are horizontal, when you can theoretically apply the most effective perpendicular force to the pedals. Then the gear ratio decreases for the bringing the pedal across the top and bottom of the pedal stroke. Shimano once made a similar pedal but abandoned it because it's so tricky to integrate with the front derailleur (the chain is moving up and down through the derailleur cage).


Morgan Freeman buys a pop-a-shot machine

Since Freeman narrates every other movie out there these days, this is timely. And funny.


Countdown of features in the upcoming Movable Type 3.2


The bizarre and sometimes disturbing world of bioart



Everything, and I mean everything, you ever wanted to know about the male hug

Mine is a hug-happy family.


Trump tries on some bad idea jeans


Texas chainring massacre

Well, okay. He's still the daddy. Stunning.
Separation day in the Tour de France, with a mountaintop finish on Courchevel. It's not the steepest mountain in the Alps, but it's such a long climb that its slope seems to rise up every kilometer you ride. It's also long enough that, placed at a finish, such a mountain causes a decisive split between the pretenders and the contenders. Climbs like this put a magnifying glass to any disparities in power to weight ratio among the riders.
Who would have thought the list of contenders would contain names like Michael Rasmussen and Alejandro Valverde while the list of pretenders might just contain everyone else? Rasmussen is tall and lanky, and he looks like a white praying mantis with chicken pox in his king of the mountains jersey and bug-eyed sunglasses. The Tour checks riders for blood doping, but they might need to check Rasmussen for lack of blood he's so pale. How a guy can ride four to five hours in the blazing sun each day and still look like an albino is a mystery to me. Maybe Rasmussen is a descendant of Dracula. Whatever he is, he's a damn good climber.
It's occurred so many times in his six Tour wins, but the sight of Armstrong riding away from his opponents on the first mountain stage of the Tour is still an awesome spectacle. Team Discovery does resemble Apollo 13 on these monstrous climbs, each domestique exerting maximum effort before flaming out and falling away, ultimately leaving Lance to rocket ahead towards the finish line. The obscene pace of the race the first week manifested itself today in all the early explosions among the peloton.
I struggled up Courchevel once, a few years back, like a man crawling uphill on his stomach. Seeing Jens Voight riding up Courchevel as if pedaling in a vat of olive oil brought back those painful memories. Tomorrow is even tougher, with three mountains I remember with a wince: Madeleine and the linked pair of Telegraphe and Galibier. Madeleine is like Courchevel, moderate in slope but extremely long. The Telegraphe-Galibier combination is worse: longer and steeper. The day I rode the two, I felt strong, yet it still felt like the climb would never end. You have to be able to sit in the saddle and just pedal for an hour, not ideal for someone like Vino, not a pure climber. It's difficult to attack Armstrong on such a climb when Discovery Channel rides so hard you're gasping for air like an asthmatic smoker.
If Lance and his rivals feel the same tomorrow as they did today, the time gaps Lance could open up could effectively put the Tour out of reach to all but Valverde (I don't think Rasmussen's time trialing will allow him to threaten the yellow jersey). Chris Carmichael said he thought Lance would win the Tour by his largest margin ever this year, and that's starting to look prophetic. Lance has to be licking his chops at a chance to punish his opponents on the slopes of Telegraphe and Galibier, while his rivals have to be glad it's not another mountaintop finish.

We got ourselves a bike race


Thrilling stage in the Tour de France today. The finishing climb was a category 2, but only because it was near the finish of the stage. It wasn't that steep, maybe 4% or 5%, but it was long, and finishing climbs like that, especially early in the Tour de France, can make for exciting finishes because more riders can hang around than on the Alpine or Pyrenean climbs that can kick up into the 10-12% slope range (that's not to say I'm not amazed that professionals can turn a big chainring and crank up a mountain like the Col de la Schlucht at around 25 mph; that's just sick).


Everyone knew Vino would attack, but few expected the following:


  • Team Discovery Channel didn't have anyone strong enough to hang with the late attacks, leaving Armstrong isolated with his chief rivals on the final climb. Lance was clearly disappointed in his team after the stage, though he tried to be respectful, saying perhaps his team had been worked too hard. But Brunyeel and Armstrong aren't going to sleep as easy tonight, and no one will feel worse than Lance's teammates about not being there for him at the end. I don't think Brunyeel or Armstrong will chew the team out tonight. Everyone saw what happened and knows what they have to do. Still, all the confidence and psychological advantage Team Discovery earned in the prologue and team trial evaporated on the Col de la Schlucht today.

  • Andreas Kloden, who'd had a very disappointing early race season, looked super strong in finishing second, and that was a finish that even a photo couldn't clarify.

  • Pieter Weening wins the stage with after attacking on the last third of the stage. His winning attack was particularly impressive given how high the pace has been and how many A-listers were attacking on that final climb. Great day for Rabobank, with Rasmussen donning the polkadot jersey. Somewhere, the Dutch crazies were partying on some mountaintop. They may not have been seeing their self-composed can-can tune "Boogerd is the Best," but Weening has two syllables and fits in nicely. "Weening iiiiiiiiiis, the best-he-is-the-best. Weening iiiiiiiiis the best-he-is-the-best. Wee ning is the best-he-is-the-best. Wee-ning is the best-he-is-the-best." I'm not kidding, those are the lyrics. It's much more exciting when you're dancing in your bike cleats and singing it with several hundred Dutch youths dressed in cow suits on the side of the road on Alpe D'Huez.


I can only imagine what Brunyeel was shouting into the team 2-way radio on the final climb when Salvodelli became the last team member to drop off, leaving Lance alone.


"C'mon boys, we can't leave Lance ah-lone. Dis ees vuh-ry baaad. C'mon Paolo! C'mon Popo! Venga venga venga! C'mon guys! We can't leave Lance like this. Get up to the front, boys!"


If Kloden really is regaining his from from last year, then they can launch him, Vino, and Ullrich against Armstrong in alternating waves, as they did today. As soon as Lance covered Vino's second attack, he didn't have a chance to catch his breath before Kloden launched off the front. If Armstrong gets isolated again, things could get ugly. Toss in Landis, Leipheimer, and Basso, and Armstrong may not have one restful day in the mountains. Also, we have yet to hear from Heras and Mayo, and I'm anticipating some attacks from them in the Alps and Pyrenees. If Lance has any chinks in his form, he's unlikely to be able to hide them on a stage. Brunyeel will have to be in the team car doing lots of calculations to decide which attacks Lance should cover; depending on who has opened up which gaps, and depending on how much time he and Lance think he'll take from them on the final individual time trial, Lance can decide when to accelerate and when to sit tight. Ooh it's going to be a doozy of a Tour.


Armstrong's face looks particularly gaunt this year. Today he wasn't particularly strong, but at the end of the day he lost no time to any serious GC contenders, and that's with T-Mobile burning their three top guys pretty hard on a stage that wasn't decisive. Lance wasn't as explosive relative to the other riders as he usually is, in part because the slope was so gentle, but he still covered all the key attacks and finished with the same time as every rider that mattered.


Team Discovery Channel is more suited for staying around Lance on steeper climbs, and I suspect they'll bounce back when the roads rise up more quickly. It's been an interesting Tour thus far, with fortunes changing dramatically from one day to the next. One day Zabriskie is in yellow jersey, then a few days later he's almost dead last. One day Team Discovery Channel looks like they'll dominate, then the next day they seem to be the most vulnerable of the major teams. Early in the Tour, Boonen seemed like the next Petacchi, then a crash and a few more stages later, Robbie McEwen seems like the sprinter to beat.


A riders fortunes can change in one day on the mountains. Eddy Mercx, the greatest cyclist ever, seemed destined to win his sixth Tour. Then, on the ride up to the mountaintop finish at Pra-Loup, he cracked, and just like that it was over for him. The pace has been unbelievably high in the Tour this year. It's the fastest Tour in history thus far, and so I expect some riders to crack suddenly over the next two weeks. It's always difficult to predict who those will be, but it will happen.


Can't wait for tomorrow's stage, and in about half an hour, correction, in about half a minute, I guess it will be on television. Might as well stay up at this point and catch the first half, though I'll be on a bus headed to DC during the stage conclusion. I'll have to catch the replay in the evening.


Tidbits


Cory Doctorow to virtually sign a virtual edition of his latest novel in Second Life


Download some live tracks by The Flaming Lips for free


***


In the Tour de France, you often hear how the Discovery Channel Team and Lance don't mind if another team takes the yellow jersey because then that other team will have to defend the jersey. What that means is that the team which has the yellow jersey rider will drive the peloton to chase down breakaways in order to keep their man in the yellow jersey for as many days as possible, even if that man has no chance of winning the Tour. This is one of the odd things about the Tour, where just being a leader for part of the race is worth fighting for. Each stage of the Tour is a mini race in itself. I don't believe you make any money for winning a stage, but the economic incentive often cited as the reason for contending for these intermediate goals is to garner more exposure for your sponsor, whether on the podium accepting the yellow jersey or in newspaper articles or on television in a breakaway. I'm skeptical that the math works out--team sponsors seem to go bankrupt every few years in cycling, but it does create dozens of stories within the overall drama that is race to win the Tour.


***


Speaking of cycling, Vinokourov went high risk-high reward today and attacked late on rain-slicked roads to take second place and make up 19 seconds on Armstrong with a 7 second gap and the 12 second time bonus. Vino has to be seen as Armstrong's chief competitor, chiefly because he's not intimidated by anyone and he's always attacking, something that can't be said of Ullrich or Beloki in years past. Vino will likely lose at least a minute to Armstrong in the last individual time trial so you know he'll be attacking in the mountains. Two alpha dogs butting heads will make for some exciting stages, especially if Ullrich becomes Vino's sidekick. Some have faulted Vino for taking too great a risk for such a short time gain, but I believe Vino recognizes he has to take risks to even have a chance to topple Armstrong. You can't sit back and wait for Armstrong to crack; the odds of that are as slim as the new Lindsay Lohan.


***


Say what you will about Tom Cruise, and many people have called him crazy, but he is acting with the passion of a true believer. That is, if he really does believe that Brooke Shields is hurting herself with whatever drugs she's taking, and if he really does believe that Scientology offers a better way out for her and others sharing her condition, then his behavior is consistent with those beliefs. Few are the people who tout their beliefs and act on them with equal ardor. That's not to say he's necessarily right, and I'm no expert on the topic, but he's at least consistent. And his interview with Matt Lauer was a refreshing change from the usual ass-kissing puff pieces that are celebrity interviews.


***


I was reading Chuck Klosterman's new novel Killing Yourself to Live : 85% of a True Story yesterday, and in it he opines that Radiohead's Kid A feels as if it predicted 9/11 in a way. He goes on to describe what he thinks each track signifies. Curious, I popped the CD in. Exhausted, I dozed in and out for most of the album. The next morning, my clock alarm radio woke me not with music but with the absence of music. Two serious voices gave updates on a developing situation in London, and the variance from the usual music caught the attention of my subconscious. It was that same divergence from my clock radio's usual morning music alarm that woke me the morning of 9/11.


I had a class in SoHo this aftenoon and took the subway. I wasn't sure if it was the London attack that had scared people off, but only one other person was in my subway car on the ride down.


***


The kickball team I'm on won its sixth game yesterday when the other team failed to show on a rainy day while the bare minimum eight of us trekked all the way up to Riverside Park in the storm. It's the second or third game we've won via forfeit. Our chief skill is attendance.


***


Boxing fans who missed it the first time around will want to set their TiVo for Showtime on Aug. 6 when they televise a replay of the epic Diego Corrales-Jose Castillo slugfest before the Jeff Lacy Robin Reid fight. They put their heads together from the opening bell and just pounded on each other from close quarters for 10 rounds. Nothing seemed to slow either of them down. By the eighth round, Corrales' left eye was a slit and Castillo's left eye was streaming blood. Each fighter was so possessed that even several low blows seemed to have no effect. In the eighth round, Castillo hit Corrales so hard that Corrales's mouthpiece flew out, but he kept fighting and landed a left that wobbled Castillo. Both fighters seemed indefatigable, throwing punches as if they were attached to button-mashing videogame players.


Then, in round 10, Castillo knocked out Corrales with a massive left hook to the chin. Corrales got back up but looked dazed, and Castillo proceeded to knock him down again with another left hook. Corrales stood up just on the ten count and said he was okay, but the ref fined him a point for excessive spitting out of his mouthpiece (a delaying tactic). He looked done, but then he proceeded to rise from the dead in one of the most amazing comebacks I've ever seen, pinning Castillo against the ropes and pounding his head like a pinata. Only the ropes seemed to be holding Castillo upright and the ref stepped in and stopped the fight.


Just a magnificent, brutal fight, as close to a modern day gladiator battle as I've ever seen. I may need to subscribe to Showtime again; all the best fights this year were on Showtime, not HBO, and a rematch is tentatively scheduled for Oct. 8 though nothing's been signed yet.


Four explosions in London transit system kill double digits


Three explosions in the Tube and one that ripped apart a double decker bus killed an unknown number of people today and shut down the entire transit system in London. Blair spoke and blamed terrorists for timing the attacks to the G-8 summit opening in Scotland.


A group calling itself "The Secret Organization of al-Qaida in Europe" claimed responsibility, supposedly. As expected, in the chaos, many of the early reports are unconfirmed. I was extremely worried when I read that Marylebone was among the Tube stations closed in the aftermath of the explosions, but as soon as I e-mailed Peter he e-mailed me back saying he was okay.


Review: Marathon, Princess Raccoon, Mindgame


I grabbed Scott to see the Korean movie Marathon last last Sunday night as some inspiration for his upcoming attempt at an Ironman. The last several Korean movies I've seen have been excessively disturbing, with graphic violence and sex a magnitude of order higher than anything in American movies. Though I have nothing against such movies, I wasn't in the mood for that Sunday night. Marathon's description portrayed it as a feel good movie, and though I've been fooled by such for Korean movies in the past, thank goodness this one wasn't kidding.


Based on a true story, Marathon was the top-grossing movie in Korea this year. Cho Won is an autistic young boy. Like other autistic children, he has problems relating to other people, including his younger brother and parents. Fortunately for Cho Won, his mother (Mi-suk Kim) is strong and loving, with the type of patience only a mother could have. When we jump forward and see Cho Won at age twenty, his mother is still caring for him, though her husband lives elsewhere, perhaps driven away by his wife's all-consuming interest in her Cho Won, or perhaps just unable to summon the same patience and energy needed to raise such a child.


Cho Won's mother has found an outlet for him in running. He's good at it and places in 10K's in his special classification. She decides to find him coaching so that he can train to run a marathon. When a former Boston Marathon winner is assigned 200 hours of community service at a school for autistic children for a DUI, Cho Won's mother senses and opening and asks him to coach her son as a way to work off some of his community service obligation. The coach's best days are behind him, and he lives from one beer to the next in a slovenly apartment. I'm going to take a wild guess and say that Jung-wook translates as Morris Buttermaker.


Autistic children display a very limited range of emotions, and as such they serve in movies as mirrors through which we see the nature of the people around them, their problems and natures, as in Rain Man. Do people try and take advantage of them? Do they try and care for them? How do they handle the autistic child's inability to show gratitude or love? Autistic children interpret everything literally, and some comedy ensues in the failure of the coach to understand that about Cho Won.


Does Cho Won actually enjoy running? No one is certain. When asked if he likes running or not, Cho Won says he likes it. But phrase the question a different way and he'll say he doesn't. Can Cho Won even run a marathon safely if he doesn't learn how to pace himself? The story of Cho Won is mostly a story of his mother and how she struggles to best raise Cho Won. Does she want him to run a marathon because it's what she wants? Is he only a puppet for her own dreams? Whenever she lets her attention wander for just a moment, Cho Won seems to get himself into trouble, yet at other times she's accused of clinging to him too tightly or ordering him around simply to make her own life easy. It's a complex role, and Mi-Suk Kim plays it from one end of the emotional spectrum to the other with genuine heart.


The movie builds to somewhat of an expected ending, but the road there twists in surprising ways. The climax of the movie stays with Cho Won all through a race, the only sequence in the movie where its emotion seemed forced. Since Cho Won is autistic, it's not clear that all the flashbacks and thoughts shown on screen could actually be his, and we can't empathize with an autistic character the way we'd empathize with the other characters. It's one of the few times where I wanted more cutaways to the mother, brother, and coach during a climactic sports scene.


But it's a minor quibble with a touching story, one that resonated with me even more when the on screen epilogue noted that Cho Won's character was based on a real-life autistic Korean boy who ran a marathon in 2002. His time, just over 2:57, is still a record of some sort (the details elude me). As The Sports Guy often writes, it was mighty dusty in that theater.


***


Princess Raccoon (official Japanese site) is an operetta by Seijun Suzuki, whose Tokyo Drifter was a stylish post-modern gangster movie in which the lead character whistles his own theme song. Suzuki is nothing if not unique; when you see one of his movies, you knew who the hell directed it. That applies even more so to Princess Raccoon, so odd a merger of operetta, costume dramas, animation, film, and commercials that it's utterly incomprehensible. I'd summarize the plot but I'm sure I'd be doing the movie an injustice even if I happened by chance to be accurate. Still, for reference's sake: a vain king seeks to kill his son, the prince Amechiyo, when a prophet envisions that soon Amechiyo will surpass the King in beauty. Fortunately, Princess Raccoon (Zhang Ziyi) has eyes for the prince and protects him with some magic.


Some of the visual cuts and transitions are kind of brilliant, and the very mannered performances, much like those of singers in an opera, are so different from those in almost all other movies that they provide a type of cognitive dissonance that one hopes to find at a film festival. Much of the movie is a comedy of the absurd. On the other hand, the story is both too simple in its overall structure and too unintelligible in its detail to hold a viewer's interest for nearly two hours. I was glad I didn't bring someone with me to sit through the movie; this one should be rated D, for daring audiences only. Some plotless movies speak to the subconscous with their surreality; this one's simply a Tokyo drifter. At one point a golden magic frog appears on screen and starts speaking. If you can get your hands on one, I recommend trying to smoke it before watching Princess Raccoon.


***


Even if you don't smoke some golden frog, though, you'll feel like you did while watching Mind Game, a remarkable animated feature film from Japan (trailer). Recent Japanese animation has been a letdown. Appleseed had an insufferably banal plot while Steamboy offered one-dimensional characters, long a bane of anime.


Mind Game has a hero with a soul and a personality in Nishi, and the wide-ranging animation styles on display are not just for show; each style reinforces the character's feelings or the scene's mood in a synergistic way that reminded me of well-drawn manga. On average, though, the animation is less Ghost in the Shell and more The Triplets of Belleville on acid.


Nishi has been in love with his childhood friend Myon as long as he can remember. Since he met her when she was but a child, we can presume he loves her for more than the outrageously ample bosom she sprouts by the time we meet them in their early twenties. Nishi is shy and neurotic, though, so passive he can't express his true feelings for her, and now she's engaged to marry another guy. The three of them meet up with Myon's father in a diner to catch up over a meal when suddenly two members of the Japanese mafia drop by in search of the owner. The tension in the diner escalates, and one thing leads to another, culminating with Nishi in heaven, conversing with God. Nishi wants a second chance at life, a second chance to tell Myon how he feels. He feels so strongly he outraces divine creatures to return to the world and change his fate.


And then the movie really takes a turn for the bizarre. What seems like a straightforward story transforms into almost a religious or metaphysical fable in the second half, the plotline involving the gangsters discarded like a dream. If I sound vague it's only because I don't want to ruin the story; the unexpected turns are part of the movie's joy.


***


The New York Asian Film Festival feels like an underground movie festival. The bad:


  • The Anthology Film Archives Theatre, where the first half of the festival screened, is a dump of a movie theatre. The projection is too dark, the seats are uncomfortable, and the air conditioning barely works.

  • The popcorn at ImaginAsian Theater, where the second half of the festival screened, feels and tastes like salty packing peanuts.

  • A Venn diagram of nerdy film geeks who attend the NY Asian Film Festival and people who don't shower daily would show two circles sharing a lot of area.


The good:


  • Good movie selections, on a whole.

  • The ImaginAsian Theatre serves Asian snacks and drinks like Pocky and Guava Juice. Mmmm, guava juice.

  • They don't show the festival's promotional commercial before every movie.

  • At each screening they raffle off a few prizes before the movie starts. I won lousy DVD and $2 of Jet Li postcards, but who am I to turn a cold shoulder on a gift horse?

  • One of the festival's promoters introduces the movies with breathless enthusiasm, somewhat of a welcome change from the usual dull speech from some film festival promoter explaining exactly why you should enjoy the movie you're about to see.

Team Time Trial, and my breakaway attempt


A highly competitive team time trial today, the closest ever, marred by David Zabriskie's crash near the finish. It's one of my favorite events, as I love the feeling of riding a blazing pace line with other riders. One of the things I most look forward to about going to France each year is flying through the French countryside with a couple of other riders, each taking a short turn up front. A group of riders like that can go faster than any one of the riders can alone, so a paceline like that allows you to sustain higher average speeds for longer periods of time. The feeling is exhilarating, and the formations of the professional teams resemble flocks of birds in their precision, a beautiful color-coordinated backlash of man and machine.




Photo ©: Roberto Bettini www.bettiniphoto.net


It's still not clear what happened to Zabriskie. The commentators theorized that he crossed wheels with the rider in front of him, but I haven't read any definitive account of the crash. A rider usually knows when he crosses tires with someone in front (UPDATE: Zabriskie has blamed a skipped chain). CSC is very fortunate in one sense in that they'd just come out of a corner, slowing them down just before the crash. Otherwise, I'm fairly certain that Roberts and more importantly Basso would have gone head over heels over Zabriskie. That would have lost Basso another minute or two on Armstrong (the crash was outside the 1km red flag, so Basso would not have received the protection of sharing his team's time).


Cyclists everywhere had to be wincing in empathy watching Zabriskie roll slowly to the finish line, the left side of his cycling shorts ripped open, revealing a massive patch of bloody, gravel-scored skin. As any rider knows, Zabriskie is in store for some hellaciously painful showers and several days of riding with a mixture of throbbing soreness, joint and muscle stiffness, and a sharp stinging pain. On a positive note, he's a bit lighter now, having lost some blood and skin to the road.


Team Discovery Channel set a team time trial record, averaging 54.93 kph or 34.13 mph. To sustain that for over an hour and ten minutes is absurd. Just silly fast. I'd need a long stretch of downhill to get myself up to that type of speed, and if I was lucky enough to sustain it for several minutes my heart would explode. That's assuming I could even turn over a 55-11 gearing. With a flat course and a tailwind, the conditions did not seem to favor huge time gaps, and the negligible time difference between CSC and Discovery Channel showed that to be true.


The next few days will be somewhat uneventful, as Lance and Team Discovery would prefer. They spoke of perhaps sending George up in some breaks to see if they could transfer the yellow jersey from Lance to George, but I'm skeptical. It would tire George out needlessly before the mountains. I'd love to see it happen, though. These are the least interesting stages of the Tour de France, everyone riding together to the finish, perhaps chasing down a break or two, before the sprinters amass for the insanity of the bunch sprint. The first several stages, with the team time trial and a longer than usual prologue, has probably left many riders exhausted, so riders will be more reluctant to break away the next day or two.


Tom Boonen has just been a beast this season (he won the Tour of Flanders and the fabled Paris-Roubaix), and it's just a shame Alessandro Petacchi isn't at the Tour so the two leading sprinters in the world could duel it out. That would make this first week more compelling.


***


I went for a bike ride yesterday, trying to find my away to the George Washington Bridge and across into New Jersey. I printed out a cue sheet and stowed it in a sandwich bag in my rear jersey pocket. The first time I reached for it, up in Harlem, it was gone. I may have lost it within a block or two of leaving my apartment. Finding my away across the GWB wasn't difficult, but once over to the other side, I had no idea where to go.


Though most cyclists seemed to have stayed home to avoid the auto traffic for the 4th, I managed to run across a local who talked me through a moderately hilly loop just on the other side of the bridge. He was a scrawny, stick-armed, middle-aged man with a big white beard and a deep tan, riding an old, beat-up road bike. I imagined him to be the town crazy, spotted everywhere but rarely spoken to, the kind that turns out to be a former Nobel Prize winner in the movies. He had a voice like Will Ferrell's Old Prospector from SNL.


Harlem streets are rough (literally). My rear tire flatted on the return trip. It wasn't a blowout, so I managed to drag myself home by stopping every two or three miles to put a few pumps of air in. I'll have to change that tube and find some tires more suited to shattered-glass-and-pothole complexion of New York city streets.


I didn't realize so many New Yorkers abandon the city on summer weekends, especially holiday weekends. I should have stolen away, somewhere, anywhere. I think I need a time out from the city. Riding around the city by myself and past so many families out at parks with picnic coolers and BBQs, I felt a vague sort of longing that the warm summer air always seems to stir up. A yearning for something, but I wasn't sure what.


Well, that's not exactly true. I am yearning to be in France, where my life would be as different as possible from life in Manhattan. My daily concerns on Tour de France bike vacations has always been so wonderfully circumscribed. Wake up, prep my bike clothes and equipment, eat a good breakfast, study the route map, check the bike and pump up the tires, and set off. Then you eat, stroll through quaint little French towns, watch the race finish, and choose a restaurant in which to eat a two to three hour dinner. Then it's back to bed or on to the next town.


Everything moves slower except the cyclists. People walk more slowly, meals are eaten at leisure, and one senses that everyone around them has the same, simple outlook and daily concerns. Even when I'm out for a leisurely stroll around NYC, I can't help but be swept up by the current of suits streaming in both directions on sidewalks and subway. People here are like molecules compressed into a low volume space, oscillating at higher speeds under the pressure. Compare it to Los Angeles, a horizontal city as opposed to New York's vertical configuration. With so much horizontal space per person, everything moves more slowly, and even those looking to speed around get caught in gridlock.


I do think that finding some routes out of Manhattan on my bike will help. My breakaway didn't quite succeed, but attack enough and one day you'll outrun the peloton. I'm going to tape that cue sheet to my forearm on my next trip.


Tour Day 1


Well, I guess Lance is in good form. His performance today was like coming out in the decisive game 7 of the World Series and knocking out the other team's starter in the first inning, or coming out in the first round of a prize fight and knocking his opponent to the canvas twice. Or like Michael Jordan reversing baseline to elude a double team against the Knicks and then throwing down on Patrick Ewing. In actually catching and passing Ullrich, Lance dealt a humiliating psychological blow to one of his chief competitors. It sounds as if Armstrong and Brunyeel and everyone in the know consider Vinokourov the chief competitor from T-Mobile anyway, but it was still a bit shocking and sad to see Ullrich actually passed in a medium length time trial (TT). Mentally, it's always easier to chase a target on a bike than to be out front, and as soon as Lance saw Jan, everyone knew what was going to happen.




(Image by famed cycling photographer Graham Watson): check out Lance's

sweet custom Bontrager rear disc wheel, covered with graphics of significance

from his life, including the number 7 and the Zodiac symbol for Cancer.





Another timely pic by Graham Watson: Armstrong lines up Ullrich.


Ullrich was fortunate to be able to mount his bike at all today. In a TT training ride yesterday, Jan was pacing behind his team station wagon when a truck cut them off. The station wagon braked hard, and so did Jan, but as anyone knows, road bike brakes suck. Jan flew through the rear window of the station wagon head first and ended up in the back seat, shattering the rear window. He's lucky to be alive.


Prologue winner Dave Zabriskie showed that his TT win in the Giro was no fluke. He rode the second fastest average speed in a TDF TT ever. Amazing! In 19km, he was putting gaining about 3 seconds a km on riders like Vino, Landis, Cancellara, Voigt, and Ullrich. On a flat TT course that's massive, requiring a large advantage in power output. The future of American cycling may not be that grim after all.


The future may be grim for Lance's Shimano rep or mechanic, though. I'd hate to be that guy. Lance came out of his pedals at the start of the TT, just as at the Dauphiné. I believe Lance still rides Shimano Dura-Ace pedals. Don't expect Lance's cleat to pop out in Tuesday's TT, or they'll be building another roadside memorial for someone.


Bill Gifford writes in Slate that the Tour de France has become a bore and suggests some ways to spice it up. The article is a bit of a mess, and it's not entirely clear what Gifford claims is boring. At first he blames the French and the course layout. He feels the template of flat stages, a time trial, followed by the mountain stages is dull. The Tour organizers have actually altered the course every year the past few years to try and make things more challenging for Armstrong, but it doesn't work because the best rider is the best rider, and Armstrong adapts to each course and turns it to his advantage. I don't think Gifford seriously considers going back to a Tour with fewer, longer stages (in the past, some stages have run nearly 300 miles and forced riders to ride on into darkness) or to a Tour with riders slogging through unpaved roads. He cites both as evidence of the good ole days of the Tour.


Then Gifford writes that the riders today are "overtrained automatons," reminiscing about colorful characters like Eddy Merckx and Jacques Anquetil, "whose ideal race preparation consisted of 'a good pheasant, some chapagne, and a woman.'" The truth is that there are colorful characters in cycling now, but a cyclist who drank and ate and didn't train to his full potential wouldn't survive in today's Tour, nor would they in most other sports.


Gifford's first suggestion is to put more mountain stages in the first week of the Tour, or insert some steeper mountains like Spain's Angliru, a mountaintop finish so steep that David Millar got off his bike a foot from the finish line and retired in protest after riding up Angliru in the rain one year. I'm fine with more mountaintop finishes, even steeper mountains, but adding these, especially in the first week of the Tour, would likely just give the Tour to Lance sooner. You'd also lose all the top sprinters, many of whom retire when the mountains arrive anyway, and I enjoy watching the huge sprinters haul ass towards the finish at some 45mph the first week.


Gifford also suggests adding more unpaved roads to the route a la Paris Roubaix. Well, the Tour added cobblestones in last year's route. By virtue of having the strongest team, Lance was out front safe while Mayo crashed and never recovered, effectively dropping out of contention that day. Gifford wants more mountains to separate the contenders from the pretenders, then asks for more unpaved roads, which just add more random accidents that might actually hurt the real contenders.


His next suggestion: lose the dope. Sure, everyone would love to see that, though that doesn't necessarily correlate with a more interesting Tour. It's just the right thing to do, but Gifford doesn't offer any proposals as to how to clean up the sport.


Lose the race radios. An interesting idea, to remove the element of on-course tactical coaching. This is how cycling used to be. It could be interesting to do so, allowing for more breakaways and forcing cyclists to rely on themselves on the road. In practicality, live television coverage means even the average spectator knows how far ahead a breakaway is, and without radios domestiques would simply have to ride back to the team car to get an update from a coach watching a live feed on television or hearing it over the cell phone from someone in a hotel room. Gifford believes this would allow more breakaway packs to stay away, which might be true, but a pack of unknowns in a breakaway has never really been all that exciting to me. A solo breakaway? Yes, that makes for good drama, and with race radios, they're all the more compelling when they succeed, which still happens at least a few times each Tour.


I agree with Gifford that the French are over-represented in the Tour. The race organizers favor French teams, even when they don't earn their spots on merit. It dilutes the field, and last year the Tour missed the flamboyant Italian sprinter Cipollini, who earned a fine in every Tour for wearing an outlandish costume of some sort.


Finally, Gifford comes to what feels like the crux of his argument: "Lance must lose." Gifford felt Lance rode defensively last year. I seem to remember Lance sprinting to a stage win over Kloden, even when he didn't need it. Asked why he hadn't just given Kloden the meaningless stage victory, Lance replied: "Pas de cadeaux." Lance won five out of the last eight stages, hardly riding defensively. I think Gifford simply doesn't like the fact that Lance dominated the Tour last year. Maybe Gifford should mail Lance a pheasant and a bottle of bubbly to share with Sheryl in the hopes of throwing the king off his game.


What the Tour needs are some challengers to push Lance in the mountains, like Pantani did in 2000. Vino, if healthy, is a lot of fun to watch, always attacking, and if Ullrich throws his support to Vinokourov, that would be a compelling storyline. Another potential adversary of not would be Iban Mayo if he survives to the mountain stages without losing too much more time and if he can find his pre-Tour form from last season. Maybe former teammates Floyd Landis or Levi Leipheimer or even Roberto Heras will attack in the mountains.


Another way to spice up the Tour might be to toss in a time trial as the final stage, as in the 1989 Tour when LeMond edged out Fignon to win by 8 seconds in the closest Tour ever. In all of Lance's Tour victories, the final stage has been ceremonial, a victory parade up and down the Champs Elysees.


The truth is, however, that Lance peaks for the Tour and is always the strongest rider coming into the race. No amount of meddling with the course will hold off the inevitable, especially when he rides on the strongest team. Contrarian sentiments are always refreshing, but Gifford's critique of the Tour lacks punch.


***


I wouldn't go so far as to call Wimbledon a bore, but the absence of the pure serve and volley game at the All England Club saddens me. On the women's side, all the top girls are baseline mashers. Since Navratilova, I can't recall a single woman other than perhaps Novotna who played the serve and volley game on grass. On the men's side, Tim Henman and Taylor Dent seem like the last of the serve and volley grasscourters. Federer actually came to net less than Hewitt in their semi. Part of this is because racket technology has increased the effectiveness of the backcourt game. You can hit a lot more winners off the ground, and increased spin and pace on passing shots and service returns decreases the effectiveness of going to net. There was something beautiful, though, about seeing guys like McEnroe and Edberg charge net and turn a huge return into an unreachable, angled volley. Maybe with so many hard hitters and big returners in the juniors, no one ever develops a serve and volley game. Grass court tennis is starting to look just like tennis at the Aussie Open or U.S. Open.


Doyle Brunson wins his 10th World Series of Poker bracelet. And, though I didn't even know she played poker until James and Angela told me she did, actress Jennifer Tilly won one, too. There are so many WSOP events that soon there will be as many WSOP bracelets going around as Livestrong bracelets.


It's Tour time, baby!


Ever since 1999, July has meant one thing in my mind: Lance in France. The 2005 Tour de France kicks off Saturday morning, and I'm all geeked up. One thing, though, does have me down. I'm not headed over to watch the Tour in person for the first time in four years. The cost proved prohibitive this time around, and I'm going to ache as much as if I had to work through the Christmas holiday season. There's nothing like being in France and watching the Tour in person. It's the type of vacation I could do every year for the rest of my life, and for a while I thought I just might. Everyone should try it at least once.


I'll miss riding through the beautiful sun-drenched French countryside, hundreds of thousands sunflowers swaying in the wind; suffering up the gorgeous but soaring Alps as if climbing into the azure skies; inching up the steep and unforgiving Pyrenees in sweet agony; eliciting a few cheers of my own from spectators from all over the world, camped out on the roadside waiting for the Tour to pass by; burning so many calories that no amount of delicious French food can keep me from dropping a few pounds; struggling to make sense of sweat-drenched paper maps and unmarked backcountry roads; French cheese and bread; the thrumming bass of helicopter blades from further on down the mountain, portending the arrival of the head of the peloton; the sound of several hundred thousand fans, worked up to a frenzy; partying with crazy Dutch contingent on a mountaintop finish (so generous the past two years with their satellite television, their beer, their music); the invigorating chaos; feeling the breeze from these god-like cyclists screaming by at 35 mph just a foot or two from my face; les femmes françaises; discussing cycling with people who've followed the sport nearly all their lives, who know cycling like few people in the American public do; Paris.


I wish I could be there to watch Lance's last Tour. As those of you close to me know, I feel a particular kinship with Armstrong. I lost my mother and grandmother to cancer in 1998, the year Armstrong came back from cancer to prepare for the Tour. My left knee exploded (just about) that same year, that awful year, and after surgery my physical therapist prescribed cycling, a low-impact way to regain mobility in my knee and strength in my legs. In 1999, when Lance Armstrong shocked the cycling world by winning his first Tour de France, I purchased a road bike and became a cycling junkie. In 2000 I completed the Seattle to Portland (STP) one-day ride with a group of friends. In 2001 I got a taste of what it means to suffer in the mountains during the Ride Around Mount Rainier in One Day (RAMROD).


In 2002 I really learned what it meant to suffer in the mountains during a Tour de France cycling camp led by Lance Armstrong's coach, Chris Carmichael. Tom Simpson died on Mont Ventoux in 1967, and under a scorching French sun I thought I might join him. In 2003, on my second tour of duty in the south of France, Lance survived all sorts of calamities to tie the record of five Tour victories. And last year, my most recent trip to France, Lance broke that record.


Though American television has carried very little of Lance's race season, I've followed his performances online. He looked strong in the Dauphiné Libéré, and he looks to be peaking at just the right time. Meanwhile, Jan Ullrich looks just a bit heavy and slow, as if he'll have to ride himself into shape during the Tour yet again. Some things never change.


I don't see any reason why Lance shouldn't be favored to win again. He has Tour preparation and his team dynamics down to a science. Despite living at the eye of a hurricane of publicity and fame, he has an iron grip on every variable in his control.


The team he's bringing to the Tour de France is, on paper, the best cycling stage team ever. The new ICU rules requiring teams to enter all the Grand Tours actually consolidated power with the top teams, and Discovery Channel Cycling is now the strongest team in the world. Among those shepherding Lance around the outside of France:


  • Jose Azevedo, sixth in the Tour in 2002 and fifth in the Tour last year.

  • Manuel Beltran, three time top-10 finisher in the Vuelta.

  • George Hincapie, Lance's faithful lieutenant, someone who's evolved into the ultimate domestique. Also the guy who's lived every male cyclist's dream by hooking up with one of the Tour de France podium girls.

  • Yaroslav Popovych, perhaps the best of the rising young stars in the cycling world and Lance's future successor as Discovery Channel team leader.

  • Jose Luis Rubiera, four time top-10 finisher at the Vuelta and Giro.

  • Paolo Savoldelli, winner of the Giro in 2002 and this year!


If they stay healthy, they'll be a juggernaut.


At this stage in his career Lance would not ride the Tour de France unless he felt he could and would win. The athlete Lance reminds me of most is Michael Jordan, and not just because they both have their own buildings at Nike HQ. Both are hyper competitive, brash and magnificently arrogant, and both maximize their freakish genetic athletic gifts with an unmatched work ethic. Both say the right things to the press, managing their public images with meticulous care, yet ask any of their opponents and they'll tell you that Lance and Michael are vicious, ruthless killers. I remember reading an article by Jason Williams (the one who shot someone on his estate) in which Williams described Michael as a "hard, hard man," that if you crossed Mike on the court he'd track you down and utter, "I'll f***ing break you" in what I can only imagine was a voice from hell. Mike even cracked many a teammate in practice, before they'd even made it into an actual game. One of the images of Michael I'll always remember is his face-off with Xavier McDaniel in the 1992 Eastern Finals. The Knicks had been beating up on the Bulls all series, and the X-Man had finally crossed a line. Michael locked foreheads with McDaniel, shooting him a look of raw fury and uttering what I doubt was the Lord's prayer. Then Jordan went out and led the Bulls to a Game 7 rout.


Various stories of how Lance and Mike gain a psychological edge on their chief competitors circulate among followers of the sport like myths. Lance calling his competitors during the offseason from mountainside climbs and asking them if they knew where he was. Michael trash-talking opponents like Charles Barkley during offseason rounds of golf, probing for any sense of doubt or weakness. Jeff Van Gundy called Michael out on it one season in the press, and the next time the Bulls played the Knicks, a game I was at, Jordan dropped 51 on the Knicks and then cussed Van Gundy out from the court after points 50 and 51 dropped through the net.


They both also demand absolute loyalty from those around them. Slip up once and you'll go from the inner circle to the doghouse just like that, and that doghouse is like a max security prison. Pippen was the perfect teammate for Jordan because he didn't want to be the alpha dog. Hincapie is the perfect sidekick for Lance because for three weeks each July he has no thought other than to put and keep Lance in yellow. Lance's teammates who've left for other teams--Kevin Livingston, Roberto Heras, Floyd Landis--well, let's just say Michael Corleone telling Fredo, "You're dead to me now" comes to mind. One can't shake the sense that even those loyal to Michael or Lance are scared of them. Tiger Woods is the same way, as his former caddy will attest. At this year's Tour of Georgia, when Lance Armstrong helped lead out teammate Tom Danielson to the overall race lead over ex-teammate Floyd Landis on the brutal Brasstown Bald climb, Lance pointed at Landis and then the race clock as they crossed the finish, as if to point out that Floyd could have had the race lead if he'd just stayed by Lance's side.


Even if they didn't have enemies, I suspect Lance and Michael would conjure some up. Both athletes have origin stories for their greatness, almost like comic book heroes. Peter Parker became Spiderman when bitten by a radioactive spider and when his neglect of a criminal led to his Uncle Ben's death. Michael Jordan set out to prove the world wrong when cut from his high school basketball team. Lance Armstrong carries an eternal chip on his shoulder because his father abandoned he and his mother to grow up in a rough neighborhood in Dallas. Later, the cancer that nearly killed him actually transformed him into a champion. Mentally, he had cheated death, and no human competitor could ever intimidate him. He'd live life to the fullest because he had been given a second chance. Physically, it didn't sap his power but did shave some ten or fifteen pounds off his frame, turning him into a that rare combination: a cyclist who could climb and time trial. Who knows if these events have any significance at all? The stories may be passed around more for the rest of us than for Lance or Michael.


Both elevated their sports in unique ways. Jordan, as documented in Playing for Keeps by David Halberstam, Jordan was a once in a lifetime player on the court and off the court, transcending his country, sport, and race to become an international mega celebrity. The NBA is still searching for Jordan's successor as its international mega-ambassador. Armstrong's first Tour win came a year after international cycling seemed ready to collapse under a series of drug scandals. Though cycling still has the drug-use sword of Damocles hanging over it, Armstrong has stayed clean and remained the sport's top story. Having beat cancer, Armstrong is more than just a cyclist; he's an living miracle, an all-purpose motivational speaker, and a deity in the cancer survivor community. Though not everyone loves to see one person dominate a sport year after year, having a single lightning rod for the fan's adoration and attention or hatred allows mythologies and legends to sprout. The NBA hasn't been the same draw since Jordan retired from the Bulls, and I highly doubt the Tour de France will see the same number of American spectators in 2006 that it did in 2004.


Lance's toughest competitors in the 2005 Tour? Himself and bad luck. He's definitely older, not quite as dominant in the time trials on mountains as he once was. For a professional cyclist he's an old man at 34. In a three week stage race, when only minutes or seconds separate the top several riders after over 90 hours on the road, any number of mishaps can cost a rider the race. A crash, an injury, one bad day on a mountain, food poisoning, an overzealous fan, a political protester, mechanical failure.


After that, his toughest competitors, as named by Johan Brunyeel, will be Jan Ullrich, Alexandre Vinokourov, Ivan Basso. Ullrich is a great time trialist but isn't explosive on climbs, and he's like Patrick Ewing or Karl Malone to Armstrong's Michael Jordan: perhaps just not vicious or cold-blooded enough to deliver the winning blow. Vino is a brave, aggressive rider, but not a great time trialist, and he'll be marked the whole race through this time around. Basso hung with Armstrong on two mountaintop finishes last year, but his time trialing isn't in that topmost echelon. Levi Leipheimer, and old teammate of Armstrong's, is also a strong time trialist and climber, but his team may not be strong enough to carry him through. None of Armstrong's former teammates has ever really damaged Lance in the Tour, and there may be a psychological barrier at play there.


Two ways to get pumped for the Tour this week: read Lance Armstrong's War by Daniel Coyle and watch the Lance Week programming on the Discovery Channel family of cable networks. Sang first alerted me to Coyle's book (his cousin used to date Coyle), and then I spotted a few rave reviews in the press. I'm a sucker for any non-fiction Lance Armstrong and/or cycling-related book, and the details at the book's official website sealed the deal. In particular, don't miss the Q&A with Coyle about Lance. Coyle moved to Europe and followed Lance for the year of his sixth Tour de France win, living my dream life, and in doing so, Coyle appears to have captured a more intimate portrait of the man. Most people who've been around cycling for many years know that Lance can be brash in a Texas-sized way, and Coyle donned his wings for a flyby of the sun. This quote from a Velonews interview with Coyle is revealing: "he is a good hero for my 10-year old son, but I wouldn't necessarily want him to date my daughter." Sounds like Michael Jordan, no?


I just received my review copy of the book today, and it will be a miracle if I don't devour it in the next few days.


Tour coverage in the U.S. will be on OLNTV, as usual, live from 8:30 to 11:30am EST daily, with several replays on into the evening. In most years, the Prologue doesn't provide much separation among the race contenders. This year, however, the Tour begins with a medium length time trial rather than the more customary short prologue time trial. This will limit the top finishers to true time trialers, of which Lance and Ullrich are two of the best, and it might provide significant separation among the contenders right away. Santiago Botero and Michael Rogers are also excellent time trialists, and Lance's former teammates Leipheimer and Floyd Landis could be near the top as well.


Follow daily updates on the Tour online at Velonews. Find collections of links at the Tour de France blog, which I'll be checking out this year for the first time and through which I discovered this gorgeous infographic on Lance (PDF). Read commentary at The Paceline and Team Discovery Channel websites. And this year Sirius is offering a daily Lance in France podcast during the Tour; iTunes 4.9 makes it a cinch to subscribe.


And to ease the blogging load on myself so I can keep up with the Tour, I'll try to post bits from my personal journal from my first visit to the Tour de France in 2002.


Google Earth


Google Earth, an interface to the world's geography.

[Sniff] Not available for the Mac.


Hollywood plans a remake of Don't Look Now

The original is one of the creepier movies I've ever seen, but most people who've heard of it know it only for the brilliant time-jumping lovemaking scene between Donald Sutherland and Julie Christie. Don't wait for the remake; just watch the original.


In the latest round of man vs. machine in chess, it's the machines by a huge margin

I enjoy reading the articles by the Brits summarizing the matches. Much like their countrymen in the golf broadcasting booths, the English have a knack for pulling off the colorful metaphor. In golf, instead of hitting into the water, a golfer's golf ball plummets into a watery grave. Instead of being badly beaten by the machine, Michael Adams "was cut down by the monster machine with one ruthless thrust."


Disney and Dolby Labs to roll out new digital 3-D digital projection systems

Chicken Little, a cartoon, will be the first to try the new tech on for size.


Wimbledon.org has a feature called Shot Tracker that displays animated views of each shot in a match for featured matches

Sadly, the website does not have any feature allowing for animated 3-D views of Maria Sharapova. The statistical summaries of each match are quite impressive. I've never seen tennis coaches charting tennis matches the way baseball scouts chart opposing pitchers in baseball. I wonder if it's because they can grab all the info from technologies like Shot Tracker after the fact.


Maverick Remote-Check Wireless Thermometer allows you to multi-task while bbq'ing

Nifty. Too bad I live in NYC and can't grill. Here's the product page.


Salon.com looks into Scientology so the curious don't have to risk their own lives doing so

Parts 1 and 2 of the 4-part series are up. Tom Cruise is rumored to have reached the OT-VII level, one of the highest echelons of Scientology (OT standing for Operating Thetan). Supposedly at this level one gains the skills to master one's universe. Mock him and Scientology at your own peril. BTW, the term "clear" has now gained a few new meanings for me: (1) a steroid-like cream and (2) an optimum individual who has had engrams removed from the reactive mind. Hmm, not so clear anymore.


The latest Six Feet Under soundtrack has some intriguing exclusive tracks

Including one by Arcade Fire and one by Interpol. I don't appreciate albums like this that try and force the buyer to purchase an album for the few exclusive tracks they don't already own. The Apple Store only allows you to get the Arcade Fire and Interpol tracks if you purchase the entire album. Sorry, no thanks.


Paris is the leading candidate for the Olympics in 2012, just ahead of London and Madrid

New York is second to last, just ahead of Moscow, this all according to Gamesbids.com's BidIndex


Corrales-Castillo, or King Kong vs TRex? Yes please.


Corrales-Castillo II? Oh yeah.

I finally tracked down the torrent and downloaded a video of their first fight. Unbelievable. Just an epic fight.


Here's that new King Kong trailer

The link goes straight to the Kong-sized version. Trying to navigate from the main site through the trailer link just sent me to the Volkswagen site. Very annoying. I'm looking forward to seeing the Kong vs. TRex fight. I was two years old when the John Guillermin version of King Kong came out. It was the first movie I ever cried at. I was sad that the big monkey got killed.


Oodles of pixels


How many megapixels is your digital camera? Try 4 billion.

The gallery zooms in on tiny portions of the master image to show you just how much detail the camera can capture. Let's turn this on Nicole Kidman's face and see if she has any pores.


An opera composed by Tan Dun, with libretto by Ha Jin, directed by Zhang Yimou, and sung by Placido Domingo

Coming to The Met Dec. 21, 2006.


I applied for David Letterman tix online, submitting three free days off my calendar. Only a day later, I got a phone call from the box office. I had to answer a trivia question and two guaranteed tickets would be mine. I haven't watched Dave much recently, so I flubbed an easy question and missed out on seeing Tom Cruise on Letterman.


Elizabethtown trailer and music video


10 seconds from Peter Jackson's upcoming King Kong movie. The teaser trailer airs on the NBC networks tonight.


Chicago Police try to combat prostitution through public embarrassment, posting photos of solicitors online (via Freakonomics)


If I'm Hermes, I work quickly to cut off the Oprah PR disaster. Free purses for everyone in the studio audience! On the other hand, perhaps Oprah is the only one on set of her shows who can afford to shop there regularly.


James told me to tape the World Poker Tour Saturday, and I did. Scanned it last night to watch Doyle Brunson destroy Lee Watkinson heads up at the final table. A thing of beauty.


Trailer for videogame Alan Wake


Videogames and movies continue to converge in style and marketing


@&*#!


How much cussing is there in Deadwood? A lot (audio, not for @#$%&*-ing sensitive ears).


Since Michael Lewis published Moneyball, have major league front offices corrected for the undervaluation of on base percentage (OBP)? These professors suggest they have, due in part to the ascent of some members of the Oakland A's front office to General Manager positions elsewhere. Valuation of OBP took a huge jump up in 2004, leaping above the valuation of slugging percentage (SLG) for the first time.


New York Metro profile of Jean-Georges


Upcoming videogames: The Warriors, and The Godfather

Videogames borrow from movies, movies borrow from videogames. Paramount is big on derivative stories: Aeon Flux, War of the Worlds, The Honeymooners, The Manchurian Candidate, The Bad News Bears. Related: an e-comic adaptation of H.G. Wells's The War of the Worlds (with art by D'Israeli).


Godzilla Final Wars


I saw Godzilla Final Wars at the New York Asian Film Festival yesterday evening (video clips here). Of all the movies at the festival, this was the first to sell out. The Godzilla following remains strong. Fans of Godzilla and campy movies will eat this up, much as yesterday's groupies did. Every time Godzilla belted out his trademark roar, the audience erupted in kind.


At some point in the future, suddenly all of Godzilla's past monster foes appear all over the world and start razing cities. The Earth Defense Force tries to fight back, but they are helpless, especially when the monsters are discovered to be in the control of aliens called Xiliens. It looks grim for Planet Earth, but the most dangerous weapon the Earth has ever known remains frozen in ice at the South Pole...GODZILLA!!!


The camp knows no bounds. This is the "man in rubber suit destroying mini models of famous landmarks and cities" school of Godzilla movies. Some characters speak in Japanese with English subtitles; Captain Gordon (Don Frye), who provides the most memorable of the movie's intentionally histrionic performance, speaks in English with Japanese subtitles. Everyone understands everyone else perfectly. Apparently they can see the subtitles also. Characters toss the term "monster" about as if it is a scientific term.


Before the movie began, festival promoters gave away prizes to those who could answer obscure Godzilla trivia. These were truly some hardcore fans, able to selectively recall which monsters appeared in which of the three different Godzilla movie series. This lizard is right up there with Zatoichi in Japanese cinematic productivity.


I am unfamiliar with all of Godzilla's foes, but among the ones to make an appearance in this movie are an armadillo, a spider, Rodan (who appears to be a descendant of a pterodactyl), what appears to be a giant Gremlin with Mad Cow Disease named King Caesar (sp?), a flying ant, the three-headed mutant offspring of Hydra, and Gigan (a cross between a lizard, a wooly mammoth, Cyclops, and a chainsaw). Also appearing are Mothra (yes, a giant moth) and what looked like a baby Godzilla; did the big guy father an illegitimate child somewhere along the way? Godzilla junkies got more of a kick out of each of these monster's appearances than I did, though even a novice like myself could revel in the paradox that is the movie's realistic yet completely unrealistic look. It's similar to the child-like joy of seeing stop motion animation, like seeing one's childhood toy fantasies enacted on a larger scale. Combined with lots of sake and a sushi dinner, Godzilla Final Wars could make for a fun night out.


The movie's score is by Keith Emerson of Emerson, Lake, & Palmer. Ryuhei Kitamura (Versus, Azumi, Alive) directs.


Fe Fi Fo Fum, here's the Yes review of an Englishman


Anthony Lane reviews Yes, a movie spoken in verse, in verse


“Darling, ‘Yes’ is playing. We could go

And skip the ‘O.C.’ rerun. Shall we?” “No.”


More Commencement speech stuff: Barack Obama's Commencement speech at Knox College (via TNR) and the audio of Steve Jobs Stanford Commencement speech (via Carpe Aqua)


Trailer for Peter Jackson's King Kong to hit television June 27th


Are you a precog? Take these tests of your psychic abilities.


Want good seats to a hot concert? Good luck.

In a city like NY, one might think the sheer wealth of cultural offerings would counteract this phenomenon, but getting tickets to anything here in NYC, even a reservation to a popular restaurant, is a challenge.


Paris, je t'aime: a movie loveletter to Paris, with a huge roster of directors focusing on one arrondissement each


Via AICN, the poster for Cameron Crowe's next and highly-anticipated (at least by me) movie, Elizabethtown, starring Orlando Bloom and Kirsten Dunst:




Come out and get your whuppin, Charlie

New teaser trailer for the next Tony Jaa flick Tom-Yum-Goong
Part of a Thai food trilogy?


War of the Worlds tix available for pre-order (Movietickets.com, Fandango, AOL Moviefone)

Internet exclusive 5th trailer available at the official site if you log in


World Series of Pokerbots

Most of the competitors acknowledged testing their programs by running them on PartyPoker, against that site's rules. I don't see why a computer program can't someday soon be competitive at the World Series of Poker. A computer's inability to read his or her opponent can be offset by a massive amount of recall on opponents' previous hands, and a computer's playing speed can be varied with complete randomness. At the highest levels, most players say that opponents mask their tells very well, for the most part. Still, I do suspect that the best players have an intuition about his or her opponents that may be almost subconscious (or simply something they cannot verbalize), and a computer also can't easily tell when his or her opponent is getting flustered and how to press the advantage. I'd be interested in seeing an amateur like myself playing with a computer partner against a world-class player.


No. 1 on David Letterman's top 10 list of "Things Overheard During the Michael Jackson Verdict" last night: "Another case of a white guy getting preferential treatment."


Cutting Edge 2?!


Did anyone watch Evander Holyfield on Dancing with the Stars this week, dancing the Jive in a fluorescent yellow dress shirt? Oh, sweet mercy. He was awesomely bad, and he scored 13 out of 30, by far the lowest score of the night. I laughed and cried, and this is one of those times when that the simultaneity of those two acts made perfect sense. As the judges heaped harsh criticism upon him, I felt two things. One, pity. This poor former heavyweight boxer, despite competing against amateurs like Stacy's Mom (Rachel Hunter) and J. Peterman (that dude from Seinfeld, I have no idea what his real name is), was thoroughly outclassed. You take thousands of punches over the years and lose one earlobe to Mike Tyson's mouth and see how nimble you are on your feet. And, as Holyfield's face fell, that false smile fading into a grim and bitter stare of humiliation, I felt fear, for the judges, for his partner. At the end of the show, they just toss a couple out right then and there, unlike American Idol in which elimination is delayed by a day. It was too late for me to call in and register my vote to try and keep Evander on the show, and he was eliminated. He was the only reason I watched the show for the first time this week, and now they went and tossed him out, the best part of this show. To further push their luck, they actually forced the losing couple out onto the floor for a final dance. Evander was pissed, and he looked none too happy to have to prance around the floor one last time after his dismal evening. I expected him at any moment to toss his partner aside and go after the judges a la Ron Artest. "Come out and get your whupping, Charlie!" This was a great television moment cut too short. Really, does anyone care who the best dancing C-lister in show business is? Bring back Evander. I've always had a soft spot for Evander, even though he's fathered something like thirty children. The man got robbed in the Olympics in 84' and his just due tonight. It should have been the reverse.