Our memorial image to the right-- from the now-public-domain classic The Road to Bali -- of Eltham, England's favorite son -- was supplied via Elektronik Mail from the efficient staffers at Dr. Komputor's Imagefindinggeschellschaft. Danke schoen!

With regard to "The Terror Market" (via MeFi).

1. So, can I, like, short Russian success in Chechnya?
2. Has everyone gone absolutely and irretrievably barking johnnycakes?

Not long ago we rented The Great Escape (yes, of course I’d seen it before, but it’s been a little while and I wanted to torture Theresa with the soundtrack). I’ve decided he best part of the movie is the absurd-sounding British escape lingo: “Griffkins, you’re Beverages King.” “Right, Big X!” “Good. Parker-Wuggs, you’re Rivets Boss. Stunesly and Jellyflower, Deportment.” “Already in the works, Big X!”

And then Gavin lends us the Eddie Izzard Dressed to Kill video – which has a very good bit about The Great Escape.

What are the odds of that, eh?

...what? That’s not very interesting? Really?

Well, the hell with this then!

p.s. My friend Jessica’s excellent new pulp-literary endeavor Contemporary Press is about to be featured in a big ol’ glossy monthly magazine. Coming soon to a purveyor of seedy diversions (or a bookstore) near you.

As a steady diet of Paradise Hotel, American Idol Babies, Law & Order: Special Dismemberment Squad and so on have left all of us, I suspect, a little deprived in the hi-kulcha department, I thought I'd spruce up the joint a little bit with a nod to the theatre. Today's thespian-themed braindrainer:

In his first major directing job, before he was old enough to vote, a young director unveiled a production of a well-known play, at the Lafayette Theatre in Harlem, which opened to a sold-out crowd and intense media attention. The play was set in Haiti (an alteration of its original location), and the cast was entirely African-American.

Who was the director? For extra credit, what was the title of the play?

First correct answer posted to comments wins a tattered copy of Armond Fields biography of Fred Stone, circus performer and star of the musical stage. No Googling or calling that New York City theatre-history-hotline (that's for real theatrical-historical emergencies, pal). One guess per comment, but comment as frequently as you like.

Recording an a capella version of King Crimson's "21st Century Schizoid Man" (via MeFi).

Publishing Woody Allen (in the latest New Yorker, unfortunately not appearing in the online version) using material apparently lifted from a 1972 Beetle Bailey strip ("Now in the debate over whether everything is particles or waves, Miss Kelly is definitely waves. You can tell she's waves every time she walks to the water cooler.")

Passing off as a newsworthy trend the self-congratulatory bash-throwing of your media-world pals (via ed). Check out that picture -- dude, don't spill that premium tequila!

Best of all --staying up late chronicling ephemera on the Web!

There's a hilarious, if obvious irony, about the events chronicled in this Salon article about how a group of Northeastern governors have finally become exasperated by the Bush-Cheney stance on the environment (which, last time I checked, followed the program articulated by the Trammps in 1976).

Despite right-wing barking to the contrary, a number of even Republican governors see evidence that our environmental reckoning-days are approaching -- or, at least, they are savvy enough to realize that they weren't, on the whole, elected by people who think global warming is a myth. With the federal government continuing to pursue rollbacks in already inadequate environmental management, it seems that state governors have no choice but to take matters into their own hands.

Hence the irony:this is a conservative, states-rights dream come true! Big government steps back and devolves power on the individual states, just like it's supposed to (except in matters of Homeland Security, natch!) Perhaps this is the hidden strategy the Bush administration means to take -- to assign the responsibility for environmental regulation where it can be most effectively undertaken -- yes?

Um...no.

Arnold N. Nawrocki died on June 30th at his home in Sun City, Arizona.

He has been credited with being the inventor of the first practical instance of a packaging method, now widespread, which enabled the distribution of a specific product which has become closely identified with postwar America. Mr. Nawrocki first experimented with a coated wood substance; later he made his inroads using a previously patented cellulose product. One of the results of his innovation in packaging was the ability of the army to more efficiently distribute this product to soldiers in the field.

Mr. Nawrocki could not, apparently, take credit for being the first to attempt this particular packaging idea, but competitor Vincent L. Zehren, when interviewed by the Associated Press, noted that "his was the first practical apparatus...The company I work for, we were able to do it much better...But this was the beginning. This was the first." Zehren also said, "You can have some of these inventions and they have no practical use."

What product -- still widely sold today, using an adapted version of Mr. Nawrocki's packaging -- did his invention make practical?

First correct answer posted to comments wins my rare extended dance remix of Burt Bachrach's theme from The Blob. No Googling or consultation of your archive of old Popular Science articles. One guess per comment, please, although you may comment as often as you like.

The action began this weekend with our first ever trip to the precincts of Meow Mix, therein to witness the performative apotheosis of New York’s finest techno-chill-soul-world-art-funk ensemble, the unstoppable Den of Size (we take the unstoppability on faith, as no one has yet actually tried to stop ‘em. But they’d fail – oh how they’d fail!) The DoS jammed the joint with well-wishers and volunteer supporters, two of whom drove up from states it would not be incorrect to call “Southern,” with gorilla suits – actual, functioning, classic gorilla suits! Despite moderately swelterish conditions Laura “’Scuse Me While I Adjust my Headdress” Boutwell cast a spell over the sexed-up crowd, which gave it up for the sly beat-slinging and the climactic, totally dance-inducing groove about a flounder; indeed, we ourselves were personally asked by a stylish just-in-from-the-West-Coast gal if the dynamic LB was on the market, and we heard later that similar queries came from numerous quarters. Sorry, ladies, but we hear she’s taken!

Speaking of commitment...with synapses firing on extra-alert after the intellectual-creative goose provided by the Friday night show, I was ready for anything on Saturday. To my delight, "anything" came in the form of a delerious display of wedding-themed conspicuous consumption, on view at the church one block away from us. As the ceremony was drawing to a close, the plangent honking of backed-up traffic on Sixth Avenue drew me to the window, like the sleepy guy in his cap at Christmas, to seewhat was the matter. On the street below me, this fairy-tale vision of a chariot (here snapped around the corner, apparently post-duties), complete with liveried outriders who seemed to have stepped from a made-for-cable adaptation of Cinderella (there was a certain synthetic sheen to the otherwise high-quality garments,and there is no making a Brooklyn moustache into a Renaissance moustache, no matter how sweetly you ask "Will milady step in?") appeared to my unseasonably-wondering-eyes.

As I watched, the great beasts drew up to the church, and the happy couple emerged in splendor of tulle. White doves, released as the bride and groom made their appearance, completed the image, in much the same way that one of Thomas Kinkade's "master highlighters" brings your very own Kinkade print to perfection. But what really took this bridal fantasia up to an extra Spinal-Tap-worthy setting of eleven were the limos which flanked the noble carriage. You want class? You want to keep up with the Joneses? You want two damn white stretch Hummers, is what you want.

The weekend finished up at a Brooklyn Cyclones game, in the beautiful new stadium with a tremendous view of a scary-looking Coney Island ride we pray no one ever forces us to go on if they ever re-open it. The damn thing is positively sublime. We noted immediately how the moderately hapless Cyclones (who faced off Saturday against the equally uncertain Auburn Doubledays) are helped out in the crowd-entertainment field by numerous assistants, not least of whom is the redoubtable Party Marty -- a genial version of a thuggish Brooklyn whiteboy who wanders around, whipping up excitement and/or dread. He carries some sort of disturbing rag-doll monkey as well. When he arrived at our right-field section of the stands, the children in attendance (who were numberless as the grains of sand on the beach in the distance) began screaming in hysterical, desperate joy, as if confronted with life’s sole last opportunity to give voice. "PARTY MARTY!!!!" they demanded. "PARTY MARTY!!! It’s MY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!! HEY PAAAAAAAAAAARTY MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARTY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

It was a good weekend.

A late start and a busy morning mean that I'm going to get right to today's quiz question, which returns us to the ever-trivial world of the bestseller lists of yesteryear.

In 1974, not one but two of the year's top ten fiction bestsellers featured animals as main characters. Name both beastie-blockbusters.

First correct answer posted to comments wins a packet of Baked Chunk. No Googling and don't bother the school librarian -- can't you see she's hung over? One guess per comment, please, though you may post as many comments as you like.

There's a classic trap for writers, particularly the journalist/commentator types, which involves the appeal of the counterintuitive argument. Find a popular position (cell phones are dangerously distracting drivers), point out a flaw in its conception (cell phones are a very easy-to-spot new distraction, but no one is investigating the safety impact of the in-car CD player or a driver-distracting anecdote told from the next seat), and come to a specious conclusion: drivers using cell phones aren't any less safe than those who turn them off when they get behind the wheel.

Currently going at Slate: Daniel Gross explains why QVC is a better business than Amazon. Now, as I get paid by another online book retailer, I should be happy to see the Seattlites get negatively compared to another business -- it's depressing to see "the competition" get all the good press.

However, Gross's article irks on a basic level, because its premise -- that QVC, because it is currently more profitable than Amazon, "beats" Amazon-- is so simplistic as to be meaningless. Gross winds up telling us only that it is possible to make more money pushing (mostly) crap via the TV than selling books and electronics (and a lot of crap) via the Internet.

It's also possible to make more money selling oil, drugs, or whole buncha stuff at Target. If we compare businesses solely on this level, we don't learn much. To say that "t-commerce" is beating "e-commerce" is to suggest that the two are using two different media to serve the same purpose. But they're not. One is pushing a limited array of marked-down goods (with access to more if you have the computer to search), relying on the TV to capture interest of the browsing consumer. The other is offering a much wider product base to a different kind of customer -- the one unlikely to be reached by a TV pitch-person, the one shopping for a specific item or category of items. Amazon is, I think, competing more directly with big-box retailers (and, sadly, small booksellers) than with QVC.

Gross wants to pitch this as "sexy Amazon doesn't get the job done like unglam, down-market QVC" -- but what he doesn't say is that it's not the same job. Amazon (like other Internet retailers) offers a service that QVC -- due to the push-only nature of television -- can't; a large, dynamically run, fast-response catalog business. It's a business with limitations: it depends on its customers having computors at home or at work, and being happy to shop on them. Granted, more people have the TV/telephone combo that works for QVC -- but if I want a specific thing - a digital camera, a copy of The Magic Christian, whatever -- am I going to sit on the couch and wait for QVC to offer it up? I can go to QVC's website and search, of course -- but that would negate Gross's argument that it's the phone and the TV that do it for QVC.

Gross's bizarre conclusion suggests that QVC offers warmth and community lacking at digitally cold A-zon:

But QVC's advantage also lies in the overall shopping experience. In the end, watching QVC is a far richer and more satisfying event than shopping at Amazon.com. Customers can call in and chat with the hosts. Sales operators offer everyone who calls a friendly voice in the night. Purchasers are subject to the warmth of human suasion rather than the cool logic of data and text information. Online shoppers have to seek out Amazon and then search for items on it. By contrast, QVC reaches out to its customers. What's more, QVC offers more instant gratification to impulse buyers and serious shoppers alike. An insomniac with a credit card and a touch-tone telephone can make a purchase from the comfort of her couch. Despite all the hype, t-commerce still beats e-commerce.

I'm glad Gross has made pals with those warm and cuddly QVC operators and chatty hosts (no cool logic behind the pitches made there!), but someone -- perhaps his editor -- might suggest that after he hangs up, he get some sleep. Those long nights staring at the screen seem to have been having an effect.

Over on Metafilter, a discussion of A.S. Byatt's scolding of Harry Potter-worship (though not out of fear that Rowling is spreading paganism) features some good work in the thickets of argument by grumblebee.

Unfortunately, my own attempt at a contribution is sadly ruined by a typo in which I substituted "the" for "I," rendering an entire paragraph unintelligible.

By the by, Byatt awakens in memory the fact that as a child I read several of Alan Garner's books. I don't recall much about them, other than they were somehow creepier than Lloyd Alexander's resolutely gloomy fantasy, and not as inviting-of-rereads as Susan Cooper's Cold War-as-Magical-Struggle.

Final funny note -- the Christian witch-fearing crowd seems largely to have ignored Ursula LeGuin's Earthsea series, which is pretty damn pagan-friendly -- and teaches a godless Eastern philosophy to boot. And yes, you can get them at Wal-Mart.

No Friday quiz today: We're off to the City of Lovely Brothers, or the Lovely City of Brothers or whatever that cult leader William Penn called it. Presumably you're reading this long after having gorged yourselves on soy burgers, genetically-enhanced corn-on-the-cob, and Smirnoff Apple-Pie Flavored Malt Beverage. (Unless, of course, you're a globe-trotting Oz-naut.) In which case, we can offer you some reading in lieu of a better explanation for all of the outdoor gorging and loud noises.

(Speaking of globe-trotters -- we offer a special holiday greeting to our favorite American abroad, who, we hope, is taking this day off to blow something up as his heritage dictates.)

In an unrelated note, you might be interested in what happens if you type "Weapons of Mass Destruction" into Google and click "I Feel Lucky".

Gowanus Canal Boasts World's Most Punk-Rock Seal.

Shortly after it surfaced, the seal clambered out of the water and made its way over broken asphalt and glass. Mr. Quadrozzi said he could tell the seal was hurt. Blood was smeared across the seal's muzzle, and it lay on its side in the snow, with steam streaming off its skin. It munched a little snow and languidly waved a flipper that was tattooed with lesions.

Local restauranteurs show their boro pride by taking to our Straight-Outta-Red-Hook pinniped pal:

Theo Christodoulides, who operates the nearby Court Cafe, wants to post a picture of the seal on his restaurant's walls, and he is planning a seafood special featuring "whatever the seal would eat" named after the seal.

Excellent: the Famous Gowanus Seal Salad: tossed whole capelin, Artic cod, sand lance, and herring, served on a bed of ice. Comes with your choice of 70 different kind of invertebrates.