You can currently buy a 30-count box of these on Amazon for $18.49 (a mere 62¢ a pack!):

Please note that those are "candy sticks," not "candy cigarettes." The distinction is important, not because candy cigarettes are illegal in America (they are, in fact, very legal,^[1] so legal, in fact, that most of the world's supply is made here^[2]), but because Superman hates smoking so much, he once killed a cigarette peddler.^[3]

^[1] Per Wikipedia: "In the United States, it was reported erroneously in 2010 that the Family Smoking Prevention and Tobacco Control Act [of 2009] bans candy cigarettes. However, the law bans any form of added flavoring in tobacco cigarettes other than menthol; it does not regulate the candy industry."

^[2] Per Thrillist.com: "These days the manufacturers of candy cigarettes are small and secretive. New Jersey-based World Confections Inc. is the primary manufacturer, and the only big one left." And yes, World Confections Inc. is the manufacturer of these Superman Candy Sticks.

^[3] Rest in Peace, Nick O'Teen. I posted video of the assassination on June 5, 2018).

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34/2466. Big Eyes (2014)
Tim Burton's biography of the artist(s) behind the kitsch "Big Eyes" craze of the 1960s art world is big on atmosphere, which is much appreciated, especially since the drama of the story itself seems so slight. I assume that Burton's sympathies lie with the protagonist, but it's Jason Schwartzman and Terence Stamp who steal every scene they're in as, respectively, an art gallery owner and art critic who recognize bad art when they see it and aren't afraid to say so.

35/2467. Murder on a Bridle Path (1936)
The first Hildegarde Withers mystery movie in which the detective is played by someone other than Edna May Oliver. Sure, Helen Broderick tries her best, but she just doesn't have the same snark. Oh, well.

36/2468. Crime School (1938)
Humphrey Bogart tries to get The Dead End Kids to straighten up and fly right (and, frankly, I say he's by far too lenient with Leo Gorcey, who tries to have him killed). Pretty entertaining, actually.

37/2469. Invaders from Mars (1953)
Less entertaining, though mostly because this was made for kids. The "it was all just a dream, wait, no, it was a premonition!" twist ending is really a bit too much.

38/2470. The Comic (1969)
In this Carl Reiner and Dick Van Dyke crafted the meanest, funniest possible love letter to a bygone era of silent film comedians. The protagonist is despicable (a conglomeration of some of the worst biographical elements of Langdon, Lloyd, Chaplin, and Keaton) and would be completely intolerable if almost every scene didn't end with a punchline at his expense. Only the movie's last scene, in which the jerk, none the wiser for his many, many failures, is finally humanized, ends without a joke. Bravo. Seriously.

Pratfalls and slapsticks go better with Coca-Cola.

More to come.

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I've seen pictures of my younger self posed in pajamas in front of the refrigerator, but I have distinct memories of only three New Year's Eves in my life.

The first was spent at my uncle's mother's house with my older cousins. It was the 80s, and I barely made it to midnight to drink my non-alcoholic cider before I fell asleep. I probably wasn't 10 years old, but I do remember feeling, perhaps for the first time, like I was a real adult.

The second was while working as a waiter at Chili's in the mid-90s. The restaurant closed at midnight that evening, so the manager on duty brought some champagne for all of us who had to close (my favorite shift). I didn't finish my glass. It wasn't the first bubbly I'd had, but it did cement my opinion that I do not like it. Alcohol isn't my bag, baby.

The third was twenty years ago tonight: New Year's Eve 1999. Mom came from Scottsdale to Athens, and we had dinner at the 24-hour Shoney's restaurant Trey was working in. He had the overnight shift, so Mom and I went back to the house (on Big Oak Circle) to watch fireworks and waited for the Y2K bug to end civilization as we knew it. Good times.

Half a lifetime later, I'm planning on celebrating the calendar change tonight with my favorite pastime: playing video games. I probably won't be making any indelible memories, but I will start the new year while having a good time. Isn't that what New Year's Eve is really about?

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Mom went out of town for the week and left me in care of her two-and-a-half-months-old puppy, Audrey, who has been conditioned to Mom's 9 to 5 schedule. I also work 9 to 5. However, my 9-5 is on the other side of the clock. As you can guess, I haven't been getting a lot of sleep.

As much as I love dogs, I'm not big on puppies. Audrey is no exception. She's cute and all, but I'm not sure it's worth the trade off in trouble. For example, the first thing she did on the first day Mom was out of town was start digging into a fire ant pile. I grabbed her and tried to brush off the ants. So far as I can tell, puppy went unscathed. I got bit. A lot.

While I was treating my wounds, puppy turned her demonic path of destruction on my geriatric poodle. July's no fan of puppy, but that never detours Audrey. She nips and nips and nips until July finds a safe hiding place. That day, there were no places safe from puppy. Through the use of either her needle sharp teeth or razor sharp claws, Audrey cut open the sebaceous cyst under July's right eye. I left the bathroom to find blood everywhere. The house looked like a war zone.

Since then, Audrey has spent a lot of time in her kennel.

Mom came back yesterday, which is good. If she'd waited much longer, there wouldn't have been much of a home to come back to. The little devil is her problem now.

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Sorry, no post yesterday, but I have an excuse.

See, I was going to go to the UGA game versus Florida Atlantic University with Trey. However, I simply couldn't make myself care about spending 5 hours in a car (not to mention the $40 in gas and $20 for parking) to witness the Bulldogs beat a 43-point underdog. The only draw for the game was the ceremony to officially declare Russ, the UGA fill-in mascot for the past 3 years, as the official UGA IX. I'm not really big on ceremonies, so at the last minute, we decided not go.

Our plan was instead to sit around the house with Mom and watch the Florida/Tennessee game on one tv and stream the GA/FAU game on the computer. It sounded like a good plan. Unfortunately, the football gods frowned on my passing up stadium seats for the couch, and the cable went out. Since we have a cable modem, we couldn't watch football on television or the web. What a disappointment.

I don't think I'd do anything differently in repeat circumstances. Georgia went on to win 56 to 20 without my participation, I still have those 60 dollars in my bank account, and I'll definitely be back in Sanford Stadium next week when an actual SEC team finally comes to town. Maybe there is a lesson to be learned in this experience, but I guess like any good bulldog, I'm too stubborn to learn it.

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Cartoon Network's Adult Swim has recently begun replaying the entire 26 episode anime series Big O at 5 AM EDT. I'd seen a few episodes the last time around, but never from the beginning. And let me tell you, you cannot jump into season 2 halfway through and expect to have any idea what's happening.

Essentially the show is about Roger Smith, an independently wealthy professional negotiator who protects the amnestic futuristic Paradigm City and it's inhabitants. (Though he does frequently destroy more of the city than most protectors would ever dream of. Every time he comes to the rescue in his alter-ego titular giant robot, Big O, he destroys the street and usually several nearby buildings. I guess sometimes you have to break a few eggs to make a Big Omelette.) I really enjoy the show, and I think that it is an exceptionally deep story of the sort rarely tried outside of literature (or Alan Moore's graphic novels).

Roger's two sidekicks are his mustachioed butler, Alfred -- no, wait, Roger's butler is named Norman -- and his android R. Dorothy Wayneright. (Wayneright. I love that. So much about the show, from characters to setting to animation style, is reminiscent of Batman mythology.) To be accurate, Dorothy is not his property but his willing servant. Unlike so many other futuristic stories, in Big O sentient androids are usually treated as free willed, independent beings with rights equal to those of humans.

I'm quite smitten by Dorothy. I find her sensibility, her dry wit, her relative lack of emotion, even her hairstyle very attractive. It figures, I guess, that when I find a girl I like, she's an animated android.

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