ON THE ROAD TO VICTORY: Oh, I'm a happy man today.

It was season ticket holders' open house at the new Eagles' stadium. Our seats have been on the fifty-yard line at the Vet since I was born (and since my dad went to games at Franklin Field in the 1960s), and the team has treated us well in transferring us across the street:



Yes, I blew up the yard marker just to confirm: dead center. The seats are higher than they were at the Vet, and the field's a bit further under street level, but the view's a great one because of how close the seats now are to the field. The angle's a lot better, and, what's more, we're now shaded by an overhang. Being up high at a football game isn't bad at all -- it gives you a lot more perspective on how plays develop, and lets you focus really well on the passing game.

On a personal note, I was heavily involved in defending the Philadelphia Authority for Industrial Development in litigation contesting the City Council ordinances which authorized the construction of the two new stadiums (see opinions 1, 2 or 3 for examples, all of which are in PDF), so it felt really nice to actually be in the stadium and say, hey, I'm a (very small) part of the reason this is here now. Cool.

Opening night against Tampa Bay is only 44 days away.

BYE BYE, MEIN LIEBER HERR: Liza Minnelli and David Gest have separated. I guess we can all stop worrying about completing their wedding registry now . . .

MY SMELL DOES COST A THING: Why do I love the Brit music blog No Rock & Roll Fun?

Items like this:

BAD ADVERTISING SLOGANS OF OUR TIME: J-Lo's Glow is going to be hobbled with the strapline "In the eye of the storm, I am still Jennifer Lopez", which makes you wonder what the ones they rejected must have been like: "Smells vaguely of potatoes"? "Could even mask the smell of Celine Dion"? "It's mainly water, but its got something in that makes if whiffy; but don't put it on your women's bits; it stings like a bloody jellyfish"?

Are we getting ready for Gigli? Oh, yes.

TWENTY YEARS AGO TODAY: I just happened to be at my cousins' house in Brooklyn on July 24, 1983, and was able to see The Pine Tar Game, live. I can still remember being stunned at George Brett's anger, and asking my dad to explain what the hell was going on.

For a good recap, go here.

THE ONLY WAY WE CAN PROTECT OURSELVES IS BY GOING MAD: Well, we're not going to be able to make fun of the Paris Hilton/Nicole Richie reality comedy "The Simple Life" (city slickers go to Arkansas) until the fall.

In the meantime, there's Bob Dylan's new movie Masked and Anonymous, about which much has been written, none of it good. For Zimmy, anyway.

Let's start with the Times' Tony Scott, mentioned on this blog for the second time today:

I did not see any cows at the screening, but only a many-stomached Bob Dylan fan could walk away from this film, which opens today nationwide, feeling well nourished. And some, undoubtedly, will. You may encounter people who tell you it's a stone masterpiece. The thing to do is nod politely. They mean no harm. For all I know, they may be right.

As a movie, "Masked & Anonymous," directed by Larry Charles, a master of the sitcom domain making his big-screen debut, is an unholy, incoherent mess. As a Bob Dylan artifact, though, it is endlessly, perhaps morbidly, fascinating.

Crossing the coast to the LA Times' Kevin Thomas, who calls it "a work of such pretentious self-indulgence":

With "Masked and Anonymous," director Larry Charles and Bob Dylan attempt an epic depiction of America in its death throes, taking their inspiration from the songs of Dylan. The movie, with a script attributed to Rene Fontaine and Sergei Petrov but actually by Charles and Dylan, attempts to be prophetic and put-on at the same time, thus falling into the ancient snare of trying to have it both ways — and being unable to pull it off. The look of the film is great, the soundtrack glorious, but more often than not the dialogue is atrocious, featuring a lot of long-winded gobbledygook.

Finally, The Onion A.V. Club's Keith Phipps makes enough points just by reviewing the "plot":

After a bus ride in which Giovanni Ribisi lays out the shifting tides of revolution and counter-revolution that direct whatever alternate universe contains the film, Dylan runs into Val Kilmer, who delivers a monologue about why animals are better than humans, then pretends to kill a rabbit. Meanwhile, journalist Jeff Bridges and girlfriend Penélope Cruz try to secure an interview with Dylan, then needle him about not appearing at Woodstock. Luke Wilson leaves his bartending job to bring Dylan a guitar belonging to Blind Lemon Jefferson, Mickey Rourke plays a power-mad generalissimo, Christian Slater and Chris Penn appear as wisecracking roadies, and the background is filled with extras dressed up as Gandhi, Lincoln, and Pope John Paul II. Eventually, Ed Harris shows up in blackface carrying a banjo to deliver a stern, puzzling monologue. Clearly, Dylan and Charles had ambitions beyond making two hours of nonsense, but they've succeeded at little more. . . . [Dylan's] an icon and he delivers an icon's performance, literally: He could easily have been replaced by piece of wood with his face painted on it. That distance also means he remains more or less untouched by the embarrassment going on around him, even though it's largely his own creation.

Let's repeat: Ed Harris shows up in blackface.

Do we have a picture? Yes. Will I post it? Of course:



Yeah, and you thought Milk Money was embarrassing.

MAYBE, I'M AMAZED: Yes, I've been down on this season of The Amazing Race.

But tonight's episode reminded me why I love it so much. Easily the best episode of the season, tonight's sojourn in Malaysia ("We're Not at Charm School Learning to How to Be a Gentleman, We're Racing") involved challenges which were actually challenging (the ladder climb, and just not-getting-lost-driving-in-a-foreign-country), great inter- and intra-team conflict, and a truly heart-pounding finish. And then add to that some nifty camerawork of the "we can see what the competitors are missing" variety -- road signs missed, markings on trucks ignored, clue wheelbarrows driven past over and over again -- all hallmarks of the show that once brought new meaning to the phrase "DIESEL FUEL ONLY".

The race rewards persistence, as a team is never really eliminated until everyone's at the pitstop and all the penalties (have there been any this season?) have been added up. Tonight was no exception.

Two teams have races really well throughout -- Team Who (the anonymous straight guys) and Team Yes We Are Clowns But We Do Not Amuse You. I expect to see them at the end.

Also, nutbunch. Just saying, is all.

Next week: South Korea.

SWERVING WHILE SIPPING? The National Highway Traffic Safety Administration has released its list of the ten most dangerous foods to eat while driving.

Raise your hand if you've actually tried to eat chili (#4) while driving. And where are ice cream cones on the list? You ever try to lick a dripping ice cream cone and keep the jimmies from falling on your clothing on a ninety-degree day?

(Why do I have the feeling that if Norm MacDonald ($25,000 to play your bar mitzvah/wedding/ice cream social) were doing this item, he'd find a way to work in the phrase "assistant crack whore"?)