Did the cake have a file in it?

I enjoyed this story about an this international smuggling-ring bust because it centered around two undercover FBI agents who organized a fake wedding:

[T]he bride and groom were actually undercover FBI agents who worked with the accused smugglers for several years, said Christopher J. Christie, the U.S. attorney in New Jersey.

“Invitations were sent out, a date was given and RSVPs were received from different points around the world,” Christie said at a Justice Department news conference.

For some reason, I’m getting a Mr. & Mrs. Smith vibe off of this story.

I mean, the official VM fiancee & I have gone over our guest list a bunch of times, and figuring out co-workers to invite has been a problem. I can’t imagine how tough it would’ve been for our two undercover agents to put together a plausible list: “Gosh, honey, if we invite the kingpin, then we REALLY need to invite those two foot-soldiers we met at the pier. . .”

What Goes On

Hey, gentlereader! Sorry to be absent for a while (except for those little goofy posts). I’ve been in a little bit of a writing-malaise lately, taking a mini-summer break.

I’ve also been exercising for the first time in forever. The upside is that I’m feeling a bazillion times better, even though all I’m doing is a half-hour on the treadmill. The downside is that I sweat worse than Patrick Ewing by the time I’m done. After that, I’m really not in a writing mood.

It’s only been about 3 weeks of exercise, but that’s an achievement for me, since I have zero willpower. I don’t run down physically, but it’s really tough to motivate myself to keep going. So nowadays I either pivot the gigantor-vision TV around so I can watch a baseball game while I’m treading, or I put an issue of the City Journal up on the display, so’s I can read while I’m on. Most magazines have too small a point size for me to read on the treadmill; I’m really hoping The Economist comes out with a large-print edition for myopic, out-of-shape mo’fo’s like myself.

Anyway, this post is more in the update mode than one with a particular theme. This week’s book is A Canticle For Leibowitz, after I got bored silly by Botton’s How Proust Can Change Your Life. I hoped for more out of that book, but through the first 85 pages it really focused far more on the biography of Proust than on the literary writing of Proust. Those are two really different things, and I’m not sure what Botton was thinking in focusing on that stuff. I’ll read the rest of it some evening, just to see if it gets better.

I’ve also been answering people’s questions about the Merck/Vioxx case. I mean, I’ve been trying to get them to understand the questions they’re asking, because the world’s a lot more complicated than “Did Merck lie?”

So today’s big lesson was that there’s a drug with more bizarre problems with Vioxx. A journalist called me earlier today to ask about some drug companies. Then he mentioned Mirapex, and wanted to know if I had anything to see about “the lawsuits.”

I’d never heard of the drug, so I googled it whle we were talking. This is what I found. Yup! There’s a Parkinson’s drug that may leave users with “powerful urges to gamble, shop, have sex and eat compulsively.”

Or, as I like to say, “It’s not a bug; it’s a feature!”

Adding injury to injury

I had an MRI in 1991 after I blew out my knee playing hoops. I don’t remember any office furniture flying through the air but, according to the NYTimes, there’s an epidemic of accidents caused by the strong magnets in the equipment.

The story sounds fine, but the pictures they posted with it (courtesy of Dr. Moriel NessAvier, who has a website on MRI safety) make me think it’s a hoax.

As the official VM fiancee put it, “Mr. Smith, I’ve found the problem. You seem to have an office chair wedged between your ass cheeks.”

Dr. NessAvier has more pix of flying stuff!

Cuban Sanction

Tom Spurgeon and I will post another NBA Preview this October, but the league has been going through upheval thanks to a weird, one-time clause in the new collective bargaining agreement, allowing teams to cut one player (they still have to pay him) to remove his salary from their luxury tax. It’s a complicated issue, but the upshot is that about 20 teams have cut players whom they’d recently given big contracts to.

Mark Cuban, the owner of the Dallas Mavericks, just wrote about his decision to cut Michael Finley, saving the team around $90 million. It’s a neat post, because it provides some insight into the financial landscape of the NBA, and philosophies on player development:

When the annual league revenue increases stopped and a luxury tax loomed, teams adjusted their financial profiles. To get under the tax threshold, they offered good players packaged with horrible contracts. We took them. We hoped the talent would get us a championship before the number of bad contracts we took on in trades caught up with us.

It didn’t happen.

Of course, he never does get around to explaining the Raef La Frentz contract . . .

Mobilize the Cabal!

According to this piece in the NYPost, the check at Parkhill’s Waterfront Grill in Allenhurst, NJ was presented to “Jew Couple”. No, seriously:

“We are a family restaurant, and we welcome everybody,” [the manager] said, adding that the words “Jew Couple” were never intended to be derogatory.

“We use it as a form of identity,” she said. She would not elaborate on what the restaurant does when there is more than one couple assumed to be Jewish at the restaurant.

Maybe they put different colored stars of David on the checks.

It’s an outrage! We’d better get our lawyers, bankers and entertainment executives on the case!

In other news, the born-again Christian who does a half-assed job as a receptionist at my office has been putting articles in my mail-slot that explain how the Israeli pullout from Gaza is defying Biblical prophecies and will lead to ruin.

One more of these, and I’ll launch into my “You belong to a psychotic death cult that believes true happiness can only come after apocalyptic destruction!” rant.

–Jew Blogger

It’s a digital world

The official VM fiancee didn’t believe me when I told her that Daryl Hannah’s missing part of a finger. So I looked up “daryl hannah missing finger” and found a page about celebrities missing fingers.

The subject arose because of the third paragraph of this Wikipedia entry on Matthew Perry:

Perry is missing part of his right middle finger due to a door shutting accident.

Don’t ask me why she was reading about Matthew Perry.