Cat Yack Fever

On Sunday morning, one of my cats vomited into my cable box (through the ventilation holes) so I missed seeing the Chiefs lose to the Dolphins. And now Tony Gonzalez is sidelined? With the number of injuries the Chiefs have sustained, I'm starting to wonder if the NFL commissioner is actually Dan Didio. (Next week: Anttaj Hawthorne-Prime punches Damon Huard's head off!) Monday afternoon I waited in line with a bunch of check-bouncing losers down at the cable company so I could exchange my vomitty old cable box for a not-so-hurled-upon new one. The swap went smoothly and I was able to catch Monday night's "popamatic" Buccaneers/Panthers match-up. (I'm thinking some prankster filled the ball with Mexican jumping beans. It had a mind of its own!)

• Tony Kornheiser's combover is revolting on a quantum level and the sheer ridiculousness of it makes me angrier by the week. At this rate, by the time the Superbowl rolls around, the merest glimpse of it will transform me into a Hulk-like creature.
• Astroturf now comes in plaid, and Michelle Tafoya is wearing it.
• In the stands: a freaky Panthers fan in something approximating a sky-blue wizard costume (assuming the wizard is named Don King) and... an angrily thin blonde Lady Of A Certain Age. Ann Coulter? Or just an upended rag mop with some bite marks on the handle? Also, there were enough freaky panther-people in the stands I started to wonder if I'd accidentally tuned into the premiere of a new Andrew Lloyd Weber musical on Bravo. And speaking of musicals...
• 1st quarter: a lost football results in a bizarre "standing pile" (I just made that term up. You're welcome.) where a bunch of players from both teams form a perfect circle shape that looks like the beginning of a Busby Berkley routine. All it needed was Ruby Keeler rising from the center of it on atop a giant football.
• Near end of 1st half: Ronde Barber's interception is followed by a "group demonstration" penalty because maybe three or four guys half-heartedly rocked their elbows back and forth.
• 2nd quarter: Kornheiser pronounces the word "dispirited" as "de-spurted" which makes me think of depleted ball sacks or, similarly, Kornheiser's head. Effing Kornheiser...!
• In last four minutes of 4th: Carolina's Steve Smith makes a decisive touchdown, helping the Panthers to win the game, 24-10. Not bad considering he'd been puking with frightening regularity on the sidelines for most of the night. Bulimic wide receivers... tomorrow on Springer! (Just stay away from my cable box, Smith.)

This weekend I rented "Doppelganger" because it was directed by Kiyoshi Kurosawa, who'd directed one of my favorite horror films of all time, the original "Pulse." Not to be confused with last summer's crappy Kristen Bell version. (That's right; she both wrote and directed it. No-talent hack! Kidding. You know what I mean.) "Doppelganger" was marketed as a horror film, right down to the DVD menus, but it's really not. It's just kind of goofy and boring, instead. The premise is good -- a driven but introverted man's life is invaded by his duplicate, who acts upon impulses the original would never dare to. There's a scene where the main character watches hunkered down in his car as the double suddenly grabs the arm of a woman who had a crush on him, and drags her off for God knows what. Not much else in the film has that level of suspense or horror. In the final act, the film transforms into basically a screwball comedy with gunplay and beatings, which isn't nearly as entertaining as it sounds. Needless to say, I felt ripped-off. However, I strongly recommend renting "Pulse" a.k.a. "Kairo" if you get the chance.

Also this weekend, I went to a company function at a bowling alley and got roped into entering a karaoke contest. (I think I had a decent shot, but I was outsung by two squeaky belters who were like the pre-makeover Clay Aiken. Kudos, Poindexters!) My repertoire included "Brick House," "Bad To The Bone," "Losing My Religion" and "Love Potion Number Nine." Like Ralph Wiggum, I was a pop sensation! Also, some unidentified person signed me and some other guys up to sing "American Pie" without asking us, and the only part of the song any of us knew was the chorus. And that's one long-ass number! We were trapped in front of that microphone for what felt like an hour with our eyes glued to the lyrics scrolling up on the monitor and trying to remember how the goddamn melody even went. ("Mmmn, um, mmph, uh, la la laaa la mmph mm AND THEY WERE SINGIN'! BYE BYE MISS AMERICAN PIE! (ten seconds later) THIS'LL BE THE DAY THAT I DIE-YI-YIII! Hmmm, mmmph, um, la la la...") Hear me now: If I ever find out who did this to me I will stone-cold murder their ass.