Bring Back Morgan Freeman as Dracula!

I forget if it's my mother or Ms. Hooz (or someone else entirely), but someone didn't believe me when I said that Morgan Freeman used to be on The Electric Company. Thanks to YouTube, I can now support that assertion. (Oh, Wikipedia mentions it, too.)



This might actually be a better clip, but there's no bath. Or singing.

(via Cinematical)

Shellhead vs. Little Dragon

Couldn't you use one minute (actually, more like 50 seconds) of awesome today? That is, if you haven't already seen this...



Not a surprise, really. If Bruce Lee could take down Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, what chance did Iron Man have? (Spoiler alert, if you didn't actually click on the video.)

If 10-year-old Ian had access to a video camera and super-cool action figures like Iron Man and Bruce Lee, he might have tried to do something like this. Of course, it wouldn't have been any good, and he would've run out of patience after the first 10 stop-action poses. But he might have tried.

And I just found out Bruce Lee's gravesite is in Seattle. That might have to be added to the itinerary when I visit in May. That is, if Mis Hooz will abide.

Metal Health Will Drive You Mad!

"Bang Your Head" likely won't be the song that's in your head after you're finished watching The Wrestler. But two days later, thanks to Randy "The Ram" Robinson (and Darren Aronofsky), Quiet Riot has pounded their way back into my short-term memory.



It's like I'm 10 years old, sitting in front of a cassette player and smacking the edge of my desk with drumsticks all over again. Man, did I want one of those iron masks. (And could you even make a metal video in the 80s without a smoke machine?)

Four-Sentence Movie Review soon to come...

'To the Last, I Will Grapple with Thee... From Hell's Heart, I Stab at Thee!'

Since I posted something about Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan two days ago, it seems only appropriate to note the passing of Ricardo Montalban today.

It would probably be more dignified to run a picture of Montalban in the sartorial splendor of his Fantasy Island character, Mr. Roarke. But I was never much of a fan of that show. And seeing him as a bad-ass fueled by vengeance in 'Wrath of Khan' made much more of an impression on Young Ian. (As it did for Entertainment Weekly's Marc Bernardin.)


It was disheartening to hear the rumor that Montalban's pumped-up chest in that role may have been a prosthetic. That bit of gossip, however, has since been apparently disproven, and I can comfortably go back to thinking that Montalban's sheer pectoral machismo made Shatner and his scenery chewing look feeble.

Hopefully, Mr. Montalban is resting in peace on an armchair upholstered with soft Corinthian leather.

UPDATE: Since Paramount Pictures took down the 'Wrath of Khan' clip that was available on YouTube, here's a trailer from the film instead.

With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility

One of my favorite comic books as a kid was Marvel Team-Up, which had Spider-Man join forces with (or coincidentally bump into, since all the Marvel heroes live in New York) another superhero such as Daredevil, the Hulk, or Iron Man. It was like getting two for the price of one.

Evidently, pairing Spidey up with iconic figures continues to hold some appeal for Marvel Comics. First, he and Stephen Colbert teamed up to take on the wretched hive of scum and villainy. And now, your friendly neighborhood wall-crawler will be sharing a story with Barack Obama for a special Inauguration Day edition of The Amazing Spider-Man.


[Click on the image for a better look.]

How cool is that? And an extremely nice likeness of the President-Elect rendered by Phil Jimenez. (Much better than the version of Obama drawn inside the comic book, as you can see here.) Obama will have to thank his wife for outing him as a childhood Spider-Man reader, which must have influenced this superstar meet-up.

So is there now any publication that hasn't had Obama on its cover?

The Day the Earth Stood Still: A Four-Sentence Movie Review

I know I saw the original The Day the Earth Stood Still on TV as a child (probably on a Saturday afternoon), but other than the iconic image of the big robot (which I didn't even remember was named Gort), what I mostly remember is that any message that much of science fiction from the 50s and 60s tried to convey was totally lost on a kid who just wanted to see laser guns firing and spaceships zooming through battle. So I didn't carry any nostalgia or affection into this remake.

But as I was watching Keanu Reeves drone his way past Jennifer Connelly's wide-eyed disbelief throughout this new version, I wondered if anyone else would've come up with this story and these characters if they weren't following the blueprint of the original movie, rather than just thinking it would be cool to update the special effects and make the message more pertinent to 2008, and if the answer is no, then what was the point of making this movie? However, I could just be cranky about the borderline criminal underuse of Jon Hamm, whose role could've been played by a Jon Hamm's John Ham sandwich.

Making Little Kids Fill Their Pants Since 1978

I probably shouldn't admit this, but Lou Ferrigno as The Incredible Hulk, flexing and roaring in a thunderstorm, scared me a bit when I first saw him as a five-year-old. I'm happy to say that I fast outgrew any fears of overmuscled green men with torn shirts and bad wigs.

But judging from some of the whines, whimpers, and cries I heard from children before a showing of Iron Man yesterday (PG-13 rating, parents!), the 2008 computer-generated version of the Hulk, raging roars and all, might scare a whole new generation of little ones. Or maybe it was having to watch more slam-bam montage with symphony and chorus booming on the soundtrack.



At least those same children won't later have to deal with seeing this version of the Hulk trying to cash in on five years of fame decades later at comic book conventions. (That's right, Ferrigno. I remember you cutting in front of me in the hot dog line eight years ago in San Diego.)

The Most Fun You'll Have All Week?

For those who grew up reading MAD magazine, you surely remember the Fold-Ins on the inside back cover, created by the brilliant Al Jaffee. Jaffee is still drawing those clever visual compositions today, and he got some much-deserved love in the Sunday New York Times this week.


Even better than the feature on Jaffee is the interactive feature the NYT included with the online edition of the article. With a click and drag of your mouse, you can play with a bunch of Fold-Ins from past issues of MAD. Many of the jokes are dated and surprisingly preachy (yet probably much more daring than you see in MAD these days), but the visual trickery and ingenuity still holds up.

I'm sure lots of people have horror stories of mothers throwing out their baseball card or comic book collections. For me, the bad memories center on my old collection of MAD magazines. Mama Cass tossed those out when we moved before I started sixth grade. How I didn't realize what she was up to is something that boggles my mind to this day. (Maybe she knew that I wasn't paying as much attention to those magazines as I once had. It took me a while to discover that I didn't have them anymore.) Thanks to library book sales and appreciations like this NYT feature, however, I get to experience a little bit of nostalgia.

(via The Beat)

I've Been a Fan of Fantasy Sports For Longer Than I Realized

One of the things I often don't admit or acknowledge about my totally geeky youth is the love I had for professional wrestling. It took me a couple of years to completely accept that it was fake competition - and I think that's what pushed me into becoming the big sports fan I am today - but while I was in adolescent denial, I really enjoyed it.

And somehow, I got my dad into it, too, which is something my sister and I chuckle about to this day. He even shelled out to take the whole family to live wrestling events in Detroit, perhaps most famously Wrestlemania III at the Pontiac Silverdome.

What got me reminiscing about the interest that I try to repress in my memory was The Film Geek's post (and Wabi-Sabi's Tweet) about Ric Flair, who retired after his match on Sunday night. And here's what really makes me feel old: Sunday night's match took place at Wrestlemania XXIV. Man, a lot of Roman numbers have been added since the last time I watched wrestling.

Anyway, I was in the stands at Joe Louis Arena in 1987, when Flair lost his championship to Ron Garvin. And, of course, there's video of the match available on YouTube. (I could actually relive my entire wrestling loving childhood in about one afternoon on YouTube.) It's a long clip, and might just bore the crap out of you if you're not into wrestling, but if you fast-forward to the 8:40 mark, that was a pretty cool moment, scripted entertainment or not.



Flair won his belt back two months later in Chicago, but I thought it was so cool to be in attendance when a title changed hands. (Even if it did happen to Flair quite a bit over what was a long, long career.) Now I'm kind of wishing I could've seen that last match on Sunday.

Never Had to Deal with 'The Donger'

I don't recall Long Duk Dong from Sixteen Candles causing me to be victimized by any racial stereotyping when I was in grade school, but that might be because I don't look obviously Asian to some people. I do remember, however, hearing "What's happenin', hot stuff?" and "Oh, no more yanky my wanky" directed at a few of my classmates who moved here from China and Japan.


Adrian Tomine obviously had a mich different experience, however, and has nursed quite a grudge against Gedde Watanabe for propagating offensive Asian stereotypes. Being the brilliant cartoonist that he is, Tomine used pen and ink to release that pent-up aggression, resulting in a comic titled "The Donger and Me" for NPR. It's funny, thoughtful, and beautiful, like all of Tomine's work.

In addition to Tomine's comic, there's also a story on this at the NPR website. And hey, I see Dave linked to it de.licio.us style, too. How about that?

(via The Beat)

Oh, I Do Have Eyes for Snake-Eyes

As a kid, I loved the G.I. Joe cartoon. "Yo, Joe," "knowing is half the battle," and all that. And the action figures were easily my favorite toys. One of the best Christmas gifts I ever received was a Skystriker jet. More than 20 years later, my sister occasionally teases me about how much I played with those things around the house, making jet and gunshot noises.

So I was a little bit excited to hear that a live-action G.I. Joe movie was being made. But not too excited. I'm fine with keeping those feelings in the childhood wing of my memory bank. Besides, no movie is going to give me the same thrill that the cartoon and toys did for Young Ian. Especially not one that's directed by a filmmaker who favors soulless, CGI-laden crapfests like Stephen Sommers.

But this photo that was just posted at Cinematical sparked some of that Young Ian interest:


Snake-Eyes was easily the coolest character of all the Joes. The man in black, whose face you never saw, who could kick your ass in all sorts of ninja ways, yet couldn't speak because of disfiguring injuries he suffered. Plus, he had a thing for redheads, which I could totally relate to.

The movie could end up being completely awful (as all of Sommers' films have been), but they appear to have gotten one thing right. Ray Park was great when he was unrecognizable and mute as Darth Maul in Star Wars: The Phantom Menace, so maybe he'll shine again as another swift-kicking, silent warrior. Here's hoping.

Seeing a cool photo is at least part of the battle.

Remembering Roy Scheider

I just read that Roy Scheider passed away yesterday, due to complications from a staph infection. He was 75 years old. (Here's his obituary from the New York Times.)

While you wouldn't call Scheider an action hero, he was in one of the favorite movies of my childhood, Blue Thunder. Remember those days in the 1980s, when it was all about souped-up super vehicles? Knight Rider, Firefox, Airwolf, etc.? Blue Thunder was the helicopter of the bunch. (I know Airwolf was a helicopter too, but I liked Blue Thunder better.) Here's the original trailer:



(I was thinking of posting a clip from All That Jazz, but most of them aren't entirely safe for work.)

Scheider's probably far better known for starring in Jaws as Police Chief Brody, and that's probably the first movie of his that comes to my mind, too. But I always thought he was cool for getting to fly that helicopter, even if that was far from his best role.

EDIT: After posting this, I remembered that Scheider also played a Detroit Tiger in the made-for-TV movie Tiger Town. Yet another reason I thought the man was cool.

(via Hollywood Elsewhere)

Happy 90th Birthday, Ernie Harwell

Today is Ernie Harwell's birthday. And it's certainly a milestone, as he turns 90 years old. If you don't know who Harwell is, he was the broadcast voice of the Detroit Tigers for 42 years. That work earned him a place in both the Radio and Baseball Halls of Fame. To call him a legend in his field wouldn't be an overstatement, though Ernie might think that was a bit much.

My mother sent me an e-mail this morning, upon hearing the news, and asked me if I could find out how he's lived so long. Fortunately, I don't think it's any big secret. John Lowe detailed his vigorous exercise routine earlier this week in the Detroit Free Press. (I plan on e-mailing that back to Mama Cass, if for no other reason than to see her try lunges, deep squats, and jumping rope. Coming soon to YouTube.) The energy and enthusiasm with which Harwell approaches his life is truly inspirational.

Most every Detroit Tigers fan can recall happy memories of listening to Ernie call ballgames on the radio, whether it was while driving in the car, sitting out on the porch, putting in a late night at work, or at the ballpark. As strange as it might sound, I fondly remember listening to Ernie while doing homework in junior high and high school. For whatever reason, Ernie's broadcast was the perfect background noise. His voice sounded warm coming out of an old Sony radio my dad passed down to me. I could pay attention to the ballgame and still concentrate on my studies. He was never a distraction.

Going into the sixth season since his retirement in 2002, it occurred to me this week that with the Tigers' recent success, there is going to be a whole generation of fans that will have grown up following the team without having listened to Ernie Harwell call play-by-play. (That's presuming that they'd listen on the radio anyway, of course.) It's difficult for me to imagine being a Tigers fan without having Ernie's voice and signature calls woven into your memories.

One more memory from the high school scrapbook: I remember Ernie appearing at the Michigan Union bookstore one Friday afternoon in promotion of his book, Diamond Gems. But the signing was at 2:00 p.m., during my English class. And I loved that class, so I didn't want to skip it. But I had to meet Ernie Harwell. So the day before, I told my teacher, Mrs. Gray, that I wasn't going to be in class on Friday and why. She smiled and said, "That's fine with me. Everyone should have a chance to meet Ernie Harwell. Just write about it for me, okay?"

I believe most of the one-page essay I wrote was about how thrilled I was to hear Ernie say "Hello, Ian" after I introduced myself and said who I'd like him to sign the book to. He also autographed a baseball, which I gave to my father. (I didn't tell Dad that I skipped class to get it, however. He wouldn't have been too happy about that.)

I haven't seen that English teacher since I graduated high school, but if I did, I'd tell her she was right: Everyone should have a chance to meet Ernie Harwell. Wherever you are these days, Liz Gray, thank you.

Happy 90th Birthday, Ernie.

▪▪ Tom Gage talks to Ernie about each of his 10 decades in this life.

▪▪ Check out The Detroit Tiger Weblog's interview with Ernie from three years ago.

Today's Reading - 11/11/07

Chalk the week off to my aching back?  It's feeling a lot better now, so let's make this here blog look current, shall we?

● Why Norman Mailer Mattered

I can't go into a long eulogy or tribute to Norman Mailer, since I haven't read that much of his work (which touches on something I'd like to write about later in the week), but he's obviously an iconic literary figure, the type of which I don't think we'll ever see again.  Everything I've ever read about Mailer made him out to be a rock star within New York literati circles, in terms of his stature, machismo, and provocative behavior toward his peers and the culture at-large.  It's a cliche that I'm sure would turn Mailer's stomach, but his passing really does signify the end of an era.

● TV Writers’ Strike Leaves Jilted Authors Looking for a Bully Pulpit

Most of the media coverage on the Writers Guild of America strike concerns how it will affect the television industry, with late-night talk shows going into immediate reruns and scripted programming only having a handful of episodes left to air.  But this is also affecting another group of writers: those who depend on shows like The Daily Show or The Colbert Report to promote their books.

● Industrial Strength in the Motor City

An exciting event for Detroit will be the re-opening of the Detroit Institute of Arts, which has been closed for renovations and expansion since the end of May.  Here's a profile on one of the artists whose work will be exhibited when the museum opens again for the public on November 23.  Julie Mehretu's architecturally-inspired paintings provide an interesting companion piece to the famous Diego Rivera mural.

● Leroy “Nicky” Barnes: Godfather or Snitch?

Okay, I'm on kind of a Harlem gangster kick, having seen American Gangster and Mr. Untouchable in the past week.  (Four-sentence movie reviews soon to come.)  Nicky Barnes is a supporting character in Ridley Scott's film, yet depending on what else you see or read, he was the drug lord of 1970s New York City, not Frank Lucas.  This is an interview with the director and producers of the documentary of a new documentary about Barnes.

● Little-Bang Theory of Violence: It All Begins With a Toy Gun

I've written before about being the scourge of the townhouse complex I grew up in, running around shooting cap guns from behind fences and trees.  Honestly, I have no idea how I'd react to a little kid doing the same in my neighborhood.  But kids playing with guns obviously carries a far different meaning these days, and apparently, some parents aren't thrilled with a new accessory to the Nintendo Wii that looks a little too much like the real thing in their eyes.  Here's a history of toy guns and the controveries they've stoked.

The Assassination of Jesse James By the Coward Robert Ford: A Four-Sentence Movie Review By the Windbag Ian Casselberry

Whenever I hear that a movie is featuring Jesse James, I'm reminded of the dozens of times I watched The Long Riders on whatever movie channel we had once we got cable, how glorious the gunplay and sex (and Caine as a cowboy!) was to my grade-school self, and how that movie (along with the Clint Eastwood/Sergio Leone flicks) surely must have influenced my current affection for Westerns.  Unfortunately, The Long Riders was a long time ago, and to the best of my knowledge, there hasn't been a portrayal of Jesse James (and that includes the one with Colin Farrell and the chick from Heroes) that's come anywhere near a movie that made me run around our townhouse complex with my friends, shooting die-cast metal six-shooters (cap guns were the shiznit, I reckon), and constantly getting me in trouble with neighbors - and thus the manager of our complex.

Going into this version of the James story, I knew that it was going to be slowly and deliberately paced, with plenty of long, lingering shots of wheat stalks swaying in the wind and clouds moving along the sky, along with the added tedium of characters contemplating... whatever the hell the voiceover narration (blurgh) told us they were contemplating, but was also confident that the presence of Sam Shepard (for any Western to be good, it must have Shepard, Sam Elliott, or Robert Duvall in the cast), as well as the assassination referenced in the title meant that the movie wouldn't be missing too many key ingredients.

The more I think about it, the more I feel like the fable-like tone of the movie - including the camera's loving adoration of Brad Pitt simulating the culture's fascination with the outlaw, and everyone in James' company shivering with fear and suspicion, reminding us that this "hero" was a thief and a killer - is actually perfect, better suited to deal with a legend and whatever tales might come with that, rather than attempt a closely historical account that could demystify any memories - from movies, storybook, or otherwise - that some of us might still enjoy.

I Always Knew Some Day You'd Come Walking Back Through My Door...

Much of the glow from things I loved in my childhood was dimmed with the new Star Wars trilogy (and I'll include Superman Returns in that, too, since it followed the original Christopher Reeve film so closely). So I winced when I heard that there would be a fourth Indiana Jones film. Not just because I fear that yet another childhood memory will be soured, but because - as I've written before - Harrison Ford is just too damn old to be in action movies now.

But it's happening: Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. And despite my angsty whining, I know I'll be there to see it in the first week it opens in theaters. Here's a photo that was posted on Hollywood Elsewhere today:

My first thought at first glance? Wow, Karen Allen looks great! (Between Raiders of the Lost Ark and Animal House, she was kind of a kid crush of mine.)

My second thought? Shia LeBeouf looks like he has a car on bricks in his driveway. And he looks uncannily like a douchebag my aunt once married. If not for that, I'd think he looks hilarious - especially since he's supposedly Indiana Jones' son.

Transformers: A Four-Sentence Movie Review

I can't say Michael Bay gets a bad rap because he's made some rather awful movies (Pearl Harbor, Bad Boys II), but at least you know you'll get a great-looking - though possibly incoherent - action movie that will assault your eyes and ears, and I kind of like that. Transformers might be the best film he'll ever make, because it allows him to shoehorn virtually anything and everything that guys want from their action movies into two-and-a-half hours: jets, helicopters, machine guns, missiles, explosions, Bernie Mac, fast cars, big trucks, laughs, high-speed collisions, burly brawls, violent (though non-human) death, jokes, hot babes, and giant #@$%ing robots!!! Don't snicker at that last thing either, because if you were a nerdy kid in the 80's (I'm raising my hand), giant robots were about as cool as it got until girls at school began to grow boobies. I'm sure if I were to see this movie again, all of the plot holes, story flaws, completely unnecessary subplots, contrived comedy sequences, and occasional inability to discern giant #$@%ing robot from giant #@$%ing robot might make me cringe, but when it had me for the first time, both my inner 12-year-old and current 34-year-old (ugh) were totally blown away.

My Geekish Blood is Rich With Iron

I'm probably getting too old for this stuff, and frankly, Superman Returns was disappointing enough to make me reconsider getting excited about a favorite childhood comic book or cartoon of mine coming to the big screen. For instance, I should be (pardon the pun) climbing the walls with anticipation over Spider-Man 3 hitting theaters this weekend. But I'm a bit subdued. (I should probably save my thoughts on Transformers for now. Oh, Young Ian might get giddy for that one.)

Maybe that's because so much footage has already been shown on TV and the internet (which I've tried to avoid, but if a whole cake is shoved in your face, you can't help but taste it). Or maybe it's because I just feel like there's no way it can be as good as Spider-Man 2. There's too many characters this time, especially on the villains' side. It can't possibly work, can it? (Some people are saying it doesn't.) Of course, I'll still see it this weekend. (And it looks like a Spider-Man 4 is going to happen, even if a new cast and director are necessary. If this is the villain they use, however, Young Ian will pout. And he can really pout.)

Anyway, I'm beginning to ramble. What I was going to say is that there is one comic book movie that will be coming out that I am still excited about. Why? 1) It stars one of my favorite actors, someone who probably should've been a superstar long ago, but let his addictions get in the way. 2) I dig the director. And 3) Of all the comic book heroes that could be adapted into a movie, this is the one that makes the most "real world" sense to me. If you were going to fight crime, wouldn't you want to do it in a suit of armor?


Iron Man wasn't one of Young Ian's favorite superheroes, though he certainly took part in several comic books I bought as a kid. One thing that was always interesting about him, however - as is the case with most Marvel Comics characters - is that he had to deal with some decidedly non-heroic problems. For one thing, Tony Stark built that suit of armor to keep himself alive, with a chestplate that was essentially a pacemaker. Secondly, and probably more important, Stark was an alcoholic. (Curiously, that little character trait is left out of his Marvel Comics profile. And from what I understand, it won't be a part of this movie, though if there's a sequel, it might come up.)

And this is why Robert Downey, Jr. - who seemed like a rather unusual choice, and I was surprised when my buddy Pete told me about it - is almost painfully suited for the role. Tony Stark is a brilliantly talented man whose personal issues and self-destructive character flaws have compromised what success he's achieved. Sound familiar?


This is what the Marvel Comics movies (besides those Fantastic Four flicks) have done really well: pick good actors to play their signature characters. (And considering a couple of them spend sizable chunks of their stories under full face masks or replaced by CGI, the story - or the paycheck - must be compelling enough to attract them.) And it's not just the main superhero or villain, either. Terrence Howard, Jeff Bridges, and Gwyneth Paltrow are in this, too - either as supporting characters or antagonists.

And in a wonderful bit of timing (which affirms my interest in writing about this), Fried Rice Friend Kevin Antcliff just sent me news that an image of the final Iron Man suit of armor has now been released on the internet. (The picture above is the first suit he builds in Afghanistan, I believe as a prisoner of war.) Of course, the movie's set to be released exactly a year from now, so I'm sure breaking this stuff isn't a coincidence.


I appreciate you indulging my geekish glee by following this post to the end, as I've likely embarrassed myself and displayed stunted emotional development. Carry on with your bad selves. I will now resume taping my glasses and deciding which pens will go best with my pocket protector tomorrow. Excelsior!

Message out of the bottle: The Police are back!

With rumors that The Police might reunite gaining heat and smoke over the past few weeks, I'd been meaning to write something about the possibility. I love to tell the kids that Sting wasn't always a lute-playing douchebag who exaggerated stories about his tantric sex marathons, while essentially becoming a younger, quirkier (and, well, less gay) version of Elton John.

No, Sting used to be cool. And he was the frontman for maybe the coolest band on the planet.

At least that's what The Police was to Young Ian. I don't think "Spirits In the Material World" was the first single I ever bought on a 45 (I am sooo giving away my age here), but it was definitely among the first.

And it was like nothing I'd ever heard. The pounding synthesizer beat, with Sting's bass notes dancing around it, and Andy Summers' guitar slashing underneath. Even the record's sleeve stood out, with what looked like red digital Japanese characters against a pitch black background.

Then there was that video. Who the hell were these guys jamming around with their instruments in a barely lit studio? Sting slapped the neck of his bass guitar like he was taunting anyone who dared to watch. Summers hopped around in a torn-up t-shirt that would've gotten me yanked back into the house by my mother. And Stewart Copeland. Damn, was he a bad-ass. Hiding behind sunglasses, lower lip jutting out with determination, he whipped at his drums like he was trying to hurt somebody. When I was eight years old, I knew I wanted to be a drummer. I wanted to be Stewart Copeland.

Their sound eventually smoothed out as Sting started on the path toward the musical wet rag he is today. Less of the reggae-type guitars. Less energy. Less defiance. More arrangements. More craft. More ego. It's hard to argue with the results when you consider how successful "Every Breath You Take" was. But it's also not difficult to see how The Police eventually broke up after that. The band just wasn't the same. And Sting was ready to move on musically, to songs with which he could take all the credit.

I've been reading Andy Summers' recently published memoir, titled One Train Later, about his musical career through the last days of The Police. And as you might imagine, he goes into some detail about the band's deterioration, largely due to Sting's ego-tripping and the resentment it caused. You've probably heard the stories about Copeland taping insults and rants directed at Sting to the skins of his drums. I love that! No wonder the guy pounded those drums so viciously.

As a kid, I didn't understand that, of course. I just knew that one of my favorite bands was breaking up. How do you do that when it seems like you rule the world? I blamed Sting, and it's probably a large reason why I never warmed up to his solo stuff (though I like The Dream of the Blue Turtles), and continue to hold something of a grudge, as silly as that might be.

But to this day, there's not another band that sounds like The Police. Within one or two notes, you know exactly who's playing when you hear one of their songs. The sound they created is still that distinct.

And now it's official: they're getting the band back together again. 30 years after they released "Roxanne." More than 20 years after they shut the whole thing down. After rehearsing in Vancouver, The Police will reunite at the Grammy Awards in less than two weeks. (They performed a one-shot gig at the Rock n' Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremonies in 2003.) Appropriately, they're opening the show. So on February 11, I'm pretty sure I'll be watching the Grammys for the first time in about 15 years.

Will a reunion tour follow? My guess would be no, because of all the hard feelings that have been expressed. Of course, huge money has a way of healing such grudges. Maybe this has been in the works for a long time. Is it possible that Summers' autobiography was an insidious plan to whet the dormant appetites of Police fans around the world?

No, that's being cynical. I can't let that stand in the way of possibly blowing $100 on a concert ticket. 26 years later, long after I gave up those rock drummer dreams, I might finally get to see these guys live in concert.

A young man's head could explode

With one or two exceptions, I don't usually write about movie casting rumors. Can't let those geek feathers fly too often, you see.

But given the history of this blog, and the readers that continue to stop by day after day, thanks to previous posts on Jill Wagner, otherwise known as the oh-so-fetching star of those Ford Mercury commercials (or as she's known in my house, The Future Mrs. Casselberry), I felt I needed to address something I read a few days ago.

It seems that Ms. Wagner, who also recently starred in Spike TV's "Blade" series (and thus was largely the only reason I slogged through all 12 episodes of that now-cancelled show), just met with producers of the new Wonder Woman movie (which I tend to believe will never be made, but hey, Joss Whedon keeps working on it).

Do I even need to type anything more? Draw your own conclusions on how this might affect a young man such as myself. Worlds could collide in my brain, and I'm not sure I'd be able to handle it.

How do I put this delicately? As Wonder Woman, Lynda Carter tipped me off at a very early age that I was a healthy, heterosexual young boy who looked forward to becoming a man. And I don't think it had a whole lot to do with my love of comic books.

It sure as hell wasn't the TV show. I couldn't tell you about a single episode. All I remember is Diana Prince taking off her glasses, letting her hair out of that bun (hot!), and spinning until there was that flash! And then Young Ian (I thought typing "Little Ian" might cause some confusion) was happy.

To this day, a picture of Lynda Carter in that outfit will slap me in the face for attention. How there is not a framed print of such an image bolted to my wall is something I will surely contemplate this weekend. (However, I imagine the answer will become plainly obvious once I give the subject some thought.)

This reminds me of a couple I helped out once when I worked at a bookstore. The woman was wearing a t-shirt with just such a picture on it. And my mind went blank. I had to ask her to repeat her question, while sheepishly admitting to her boyfriend that I couldn't concentrate with that shirt in front of me. You know what? He understood completely. What a lucky, lucky man. I hope those two kids are still together.

Such formative memories are difficult to shake off. I'm reminded of them any time I see Lynda Carter, regardless of how old she gets. Hell, I almost rented The Dukes of Hazzard just because I heard she was in it! Think about that.

(A year or so ago, my buddies Mike and Chris were telling me about the movie, and the... talent Jessica Simpson displayed. But that meant nothing to me. How did Lynda Carter look? That's what I cared about. "Is she still getting it done?" was how I believe I phrased the question. Both Mike and Chris shook their heads and scoffed. "She's getting nothing done," they said. I don't believe them.)

Okay, that was a bit of a tangent. But a tangent with context. This is like the guy eating a jar of peanut butter bumping into the guy eating a chocolate bar. After both men get back up, dust themselves off, and yell at each other for getting peanut butter on the chocolate or vice versa, a realization is made. And a candy bar that changed the world is created. The Future Mrs. Casselberry playing Wonder Woman would be a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup that could bring much joy to Past, Present, and Future Ian.

Make this $#!+ happen, Joss Whedon.

But if you wanted to cast Robin from How I Met Your Mother, I could live with that, too. I'm not a picky guy.