The Internets inform me that a new Scooby-Doo show is apparently coming out in July called SCOOBY-DOO: MYSTERY INCORPORATED.

This would not normally be a big blip on my radar, but for one fact: the recently released teaser for the first season gives the impression that the show might actually be witty and, Zombie Christ help me, good.

The first episode premieres on July 12th on Cartoon Network. I may have to check it out, if only to see if it can live up to the teaser’s promise.

Tomorrow morning I head to beautiful Washington, D.C. for an afternoon/evening visit with my grandmother, and then on Saturday I’m attending a family reunion somewhere in one of the Virginias. I can’t recall for sure, though I believe it might be that there western one.

It’s not going to be a long trip; we leave early tomorrow and will be back late Saturday night. But it will be good to see family members I only see once a year.

So in honor of this little trip, how about some appropriate music?

Though I think a far more worthier mission would be sending him back in time to stop TERMINATOR 3 and TERMINATOR SALVATION from ever having been made, but that’s a horse of a different color. Whatever that means.

[Via Pundit Kitchen]

I was at the pool earlier, looking super-cool lying on my Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles towel and reading A PRINCESS OF MARS, when this girl came over to me and said, “Hey, that towel is really cool. Where did you get it?”

I told her I couldn’t remember, but that I was pretty sure that I’d had it for a while.

The girl was pretty hot. Wore some kind of tiny yellow bikini. A bit young-looking, though. Not so obviously young as to be a middle-schooler or anything, but still. Made me a bit uneasy.

She sat down in the beach chair next to me. We talked for a couple of minutes about meaningless shit, then the conversation turned to the subject of summer. But she referred to summer differently than me, like it was more of an event. Not summer, but Summer. A quiet warning bell went off in the back of my head. Okay, I thought. She’s probably a college student or something, because no way she could still be in high school, right? She just doesn’t look that young.

And then she mentioned the SATs and ACTs. Specifically, how she had taken them the past year and done pretty well.

I nodded, still continuing to smile, and slowly backed away . . .

Spending some time in the café at Barnes and Noble, attempting to get back on track with the Project of a Novelish Nature.

I’m sitting next to a wire rack filled to the brim with SparkNotes, a study aid similar to the hallowed CliffsNotes. It’s odd to think that when I first encountered SparkNotes back in 2000 or 2001, it was merely one small section on the website formerly known as TheSpark.com. The Spark, among other things, featured such scholarly pursuits as the “The Fat Project” and “The Stinky Feet Project” (both of which can still be found at OKCupid, a sort of successor site to The Spark.)

That’s right: the line of study guides students now use instead of reading assigned books for school was co-founded by a guy who once went two weeks with his feet wrapped in plastic bags to see if he could get athlete’s foot, and then documented the experience for the Internet.

I wonder if Cliff Hillegass could top that?

Last night I attended an art show downtown featuring some work by my friend Nick Arnold. The show is part of his somewhat newish art collective, Broken Dayton. Their slogan isn’t “In Soviet Russia, Art Make You,” but I really wish it was.

I took in the various works (Ferris Bueller style, of course), drank a bit, and hung out with Nick and another friend, Diana, for a while. The venue, while hotter than a motherfucker, was nice and spacious, and the artists talented. It was good to see some people I don’t see very often again, even if it was only for a couple of hours.

The show runs until the end of next weekend, so if you’re in downtown Dayton and have some free time on your hands, I recommend you pop in for a few. More details/directions here.

This piece by Nick was quite wonderful. All were funny, but the one in the bottom left corner was my favorite. So I bought it, since really what home doesn’t need a lovely piece of rainbow unicorn art that says “Stop Being A ShitBag” hanging on the wall?

Tomorrow I am off to Detroit for an overnight trip with Brandon and Dan. Dan has meetings tomorrow afternoon and Tuesday morning, so Brandon and I will be bumming around downtown Detroit for several hours, though I suspect there will be much imbibing of spirits happening tomorrow night.

Until then . . .

There is something mildly terrifying about this giant sinkhole that appeared in Guatemala after tropical storm Agatha had its way with the countryside.

According to Pensa Libre, the sinkhole (hundimiento in Spanish) is 15 meters in diameter and 20 meters deep (approx. 49 feet by 65 feet). A three-story building that housed a tailor shop used to occupy the space.

[Via BoingBoing]

This past Sunday I went to a birthday party for my devildaughter Kennedy. She turns one year old today. I got her a Spider-Man plush toy and some kind of rider thing bearing the likeness of Kai-Lan (think an Asian Dora the Explorer).

Kennedy is big for her age. I think her dad told me that size-wise she’s in the top 75th percentile, and — heh — her adorably large freak head is off the charts.

Because people tend to joke about the size of her head, some of her family thinks she’s going to end up with a complex about it when she’s older. I disagree. Making fun of a child is a good way to build self-esteem. It’s how I was raised, and I turned out fine, right?

Anyway. Happy Birthday, Kennedy. It’s all downhill from here, kid . . .

Nothing screams “Good morning, world” like a migraine so fierce you wake up dizzy, immediately followed by nauseous. S’why breakfast today consisted of donut holes from Jim’s Donuts, tea, and Vicodin. I had planned on getting some shit done this morning. We’ll see if that happens now. Seems like it’s gonna be one of those days.

. . . aaand now the tiny retarded dog upstairs is performing its annoying, staccato high-pitched barking routine. It probably senses that I hate it. And/or that my head wants to explode.

Christ. Yeah, definitely gonna be one of those days.

I’m not even gonna preface it, but to say this: you must read through — and withhold all judgment — until the end.

[Link via Scalzi]