It seems that Christian rap has invaded the Land of the Bard.

On one hand, the idea of former gang members becoming Christian rappers is kind of appealing. Rapping about Jesus instead of 'hos and killing cops is a definite improvement. And envisioning Christian rappers performing in ultra-secular London is downright amusing.

Truce, an American evangelical Christian organization, is sponsoring the group, whose leader is Nicky Cruz, a former leader of the New York gang Mau Mau. The rappers serve as missionaries, attempting to draw in the gangs of east London.

Sounds fine on the surface, doesn't it? Until you learn that, in comments on his Web site, Cruz says that "being homosexual is just as much a handicap as being hooked on junk" and lesbians are "God's lost sheep," among other things. He kind of sounds like another bigoted Reggie White, minus the jock strap. I can't blame the English for being upset that "the Yanks are coming, the Yanks are coming," and they're using public funds to promote a homophobic, anti-choice message.

Terry Stewart, of Hackney Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transsexual Independent Network, said: "We want to know why public funds are being used to bring evangelical organisations over to deliver services that the Met and the local authority should be providing. He is Bush with a Bible." Amen, brother. And welcome to our last five years.

People are writing hate mail to photographer Jill Greenberg, creator of the exhibit "End Times" that's currently on display at the Paul Kopeikin Gallery in Los Angeles. The exhibit features photos of tear-streaked toddlers, crying as if the world were ending.

What's got people's panties bunched is the method Greenberg uses to ellicit those tears: she takes a lollipop away from the child (which she later returns). She's being accused of child abuse for making the darlings cry.

Oh, please. I watched a toddler have a meltdown yesterday at Wal-Mart because his mom wouldn't buy him a Digger the Farting Dog. That evil woman, letting her child sit in the shopping basket, crying his eyes out because he didn't get his heart's desire! I'll bet you he forgot about Digger before they reached their car. Kids cry, then they get over it, unless adults make a big deal about it.

Greenberg's photos are lovely. I think we're in for another rendition of Generation Me...perhaps Generation Me Me...of people upset because every day of their lives isn't filled with sunshine and presents.

Good Lord, Wonkette has just been appointed the new Washington editor for Time magazine's Time.com Web site. And she's only 33-years old. I'm not sure how I feel about this. On one hand, it's great that a blogger gets that kind of recognition and credibility. On the other, it's kind of a sell out.

It's nice that Condoleeza Rice is concerned about the humanitarian crisis in Lebanon. Too bad she and the president weren't concerned about the humanitarian crisis along the Gulf Coast last August.

Oh, I could write sooooo many captions for this photo!

How about:

"Not bad, but he could use a little A-1."
"I said I was having YOU for dinner."
"Take a bite out of crime."
"I'm never going to a prom with that Carrie girl again."
"Don't worry, dear. Tide will take out the blood stains."
"It's just a flesh wound."

...Now this humanoid is rolling me around Comic-Con! Where's Master Luke?"

Another interesting scene from Thursday afternoon at Comic-Con.

This is what happens when you cross Nip/Tuck with Star Wars: plastic surgeons in the Dagobah System.

This is one of many photos I took today at Comic-Con International. I was actually there for work (tough life, huh!); we had a booth. I had a blast.

I saw more stormtroopers than I could count, one Vulcan, several Obi-Wans, lots of Lord of the Rings imitators and Harry Potter characters and Pirates of the Carribean wannabes. Plus a bunch of costumes representing I-don't-know-what.

I'm tired. I'm going to bed. I'm sure I'll have visions of Japanese anime dancing in my head.

...Cause I'm reading John Grogan's Marley & Me. One of my pet rats died a few days ago, so this probably isn't the best book for me to read at the moment. The author reported in a recent Philadelphia Inquirer column that Howard Stern cried so hard while reading it on a cross-country flight that a flight attendant asked if he needed assistance. I'm in trouble.

I had a Barnes & Noble gift card burning a hole in my wallet, I enjoy Grogan's Inquirer columns, and I love animal stories; I've read all of James Herriot's books multiple times. I know I'll love this book, even if my waterworks run full blast.

I'm thinking of an evening in Oban, an evening when the world was at peace. An evening of subtle shades of blue and orange and grey, of winds sweeping in from the Atlantic, of ships leaving the harbor, riding the waves toward Mull. I'm remembering the taste of mead on my lips, of a woollen shawl around my shoulders, of hearing seagulls and bagpipes and the distant horn of the ferry hang in the evening air. I'm again seeing the outlines across the bay of Mull and Kerrera and Lismore, islands sleeping in the slate-colored water like dozing whales. So far away from strife, from words of hate and war, from uncertain futures and corporate greed and the stress of city life and opportunities missed. I'm thinking of an evening in Oban, and I swear, it feels like if I think hard enough, I can almost be there.

Is it just me, or does Hillary Clinton look really old in this photo? Much has been said about how presidents age while in office. I think her husband's two terms took a toll on Hillary as well.

Turner Classic Movies is airing Oliver! tonight at 10:15 p.m. EST (7:15 PST). I haven't seen this movie since I was 10 years old, when I watched it with my cousin Rex Kelly in New Zealand. This will be a walk down memory lane for me for several reasons, which I'll write further about tomorrow.

I was ready to rip my hair out, trying to fix a compatability/template problem I was having with Mozilla Firefox and this blog. Fortunately, I came across the helpful folks at bloggerforum.com. I joined the forum (it's free), posted my problem, and within 12 hours someone replied with the solution. If you're a new blogger or someone who wants to learn the finer points and share your blog with others, I recommend this site.

The only thing I like about summer is making sun tea. I have a jug of tea brewing on the patio right now; it's regular Lipton plus four bags of Celestial Seasonsings black cherry berry tea.

Anyone who doesn't believe in global warming should try living in my apartment today. I feel like I'm living in the Twilight Zone episode titled "The Midnight Sun." And in San Diego, I don't even have winter to look forward to.

Google this!

Word is that Google has lost it's trademark. So many people use the term as a verb meaning "to look something up on the computer" that it's been included in new editions of popular dictionaries. The same thing happened to Refrigerater, Kleenex, and Xerox has been fighting it for years.

The Gap

The reason why there's a large gap below (and above) is MOZILLA FIREFOX. This is the crappiest browser I have ever used! When I enabled the title bar for posting, it worked fine with IE, but not Mozilla. This browser gives me a devil of a time when I develope Web sites at work and for myself. Netscape and IE are fine; Mozilla is a mule. Don't use it.

If this blog looks odd to you, please view it in Internet Explorer or Netscape. Thanks!

Bear With Me

I finished Greg Bear's Darwin's Radio last week. A very good read, although I'm admittedly not an expert on the human genome or molecular biology. That's okay, because Bear is. I must admit that I skimmed some of the "deep science" passages and cut to the plot, which was very good: the human race is about to make a large evolutionary leap forward, and some people are very uncomfortable with that. The scenarios he described (hysteria over mass miscarriages, government control over pregnant women, shunning the new breed of humans) are all too plausible. Give it a read sometime.

A View from Above

I'm afraid of heights, but I couldn't miss the opportunity to photograph the colorful San Diego County Fair from the Ferris wheel.

The fair ended July 4, and I picked up my entries yesterday. It's always sad to watch the concession booths being towed away, the rides disassembled, and the big stuffed dogs and Nemo the fish being stuffed into a van, ready for their trip to the next fair. It's like watching a temporary city take flight.

Questionable Priorities

It's hard to believe that the police, FBI, and Secret Service in western Massachusetts had nothing better to do than hunt for a camera containing unauthorized photos of Brad Pitt and Sausage Lips. I know they've been spending a lot of time in Africa, so have they adopted the notion of some African tribes that a photograph captures the soul? It's ridiculous to me that three divisions of law enforcement would be involved in tracking down celebrity photos. Come on, people, Brad and Sausage are not gods, and the camera didn't capture their souls. Get some perspective.

Note to Brad and Sausage: If you didn't want your photographs taken, you should have chosen other careers. It's part of being a celebrity, and it's the price you pay for your lavish lifestyle.