Somebody's putting up the old radio show "The Lost Lennon Tapes" as a podcast. Originally aired on Westwood One in the late 80s. Perfect for marinating your brains, should you want to do that.

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While surfing the 'net trying to find the video where John Lennon calls Paul Simon "an evil dwarf" (accuracy is everything, folks), I found this EXCELLENT version of Paul McCartney's' "Coming Up." At the beginning, Lennon is heard praising it--something he didn't usually do.

Listen, would some of you out there devote your lives to making Beatle-type music? 'Cause otherwise, I'm going to have to quit writing immediately and spend 40 years learning how.

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Do you know about Daniel Brook's new book, "The Trap"? If not, here's an introduction and web-chat sponsored by Firedoglake.

To summarize: Brook states that the reason for supposed "apathy" on the part of 20- and 30-somethings in America is found in the crushing debt-loads that most of them accumulate via college. Pursuing one's dreams, be they activism or art or really anything BUT law or investment banking, requires a level of personal sacrifice that scares most people off.

And, having gone through it myself, I say "rightly so."

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For best viewing, allow the video to load completely. Audio version is here.

So I saw 2001: A Space Odyssey last night. On the big screen. In 70mm. Totally sober. And I didn’t fall asleep. This is newsworthy.

2001 was one of my favorite movies when I was a kid. I was born a year after it came out, and for most of my childhood, it seemed completely reasonable that we'd have at least a moonbase by 2001, and probably a lot more. Wonder why it never happened? Oh, I remember—the country went insane.

The only thing more powerful than Humanity's unconquerable urge to explore is, apparently, its love of tax cuts.

That Moonbase? It’s been turned into McMansions.

Boy, am I glad we kept all that money out of the hands of the government. They might’ve wasted it.

You think we’d be trading blood for oil if Stanley Kubrick were running things? Do you think we’d be burning that oil and wrecking our planet? Of course not. The insane computers wouldn’t let us!

If aliens did attempt to contact us in 2001, I bet they took one look down and thought, “These jokers are beyond help…Anyway, Zorak, I like our monoliths better.”

There’s no organized religion in 2001 the movie, all of Humanity’s spiritual urges apparently having been replaced by groovy Sixties design. But Kubrick's vision of the future is far from perfect. For one thing, it’s as white as Greenwich Country Club. And if you see this—RUN!

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I am wearing new glasses. They look pretty great; with luck--and enough bourbon--by this weekend my marriage of nearly six years will stop being a sham. Unfortunately, they have temporarily impaired my funniness, which is located in several small muscles in and around my eyes. But because I take my thrice-weekly commitment to you so very seriously, here's a new video from Dirk.

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Alan Greenspan is a lot like Henry Kissinger; both men got famous while in jobs that, if you’re doing them right, shouldn’t make you famous.

But among a certain crowd—old white guys—the cult of Greenspan is second only to the cult of Warren Buffett. If either one of them could also win the Super Bowl, they’d become Dictator-for-Life.

Now Greenspan has written a memoir, where he supposedly sets the record straight about his 20 years leading the Fed. Greenspan’s got what I like to call “Gore’s disease”: the only appropriate time to speak your mind is after you’ve relinquished all power and influence. Anything else is just rude.

The book’s first bombshell is Greenspan’s admission that our war in Iraq is really about oil. The second bombshell is anybody who doesn’t realize this already, won’t believe Greenspan, either.

The book also talks about other facets of Greenspan’s life—for example, his years as a jazz musician. So that’s why he kept interest rates so low for so long—he was on the nod.

Let’s face it: Greenspan’s book will be a lot more talked about than read. After all, nobody really wants to know what Andrea Mitchell likes in bed. On the other hand, now you know what to get Gramps for Christmas.

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OJ Simpson is in the news again, this time after some sports memorabilia was ripped off from a seedy Vegas casino. The cops think he might have been responsible, but OJ was happy to come in for questioning. "I'm not the kind of guy to cut and run."

[Does the world need more OJ jokes? I don't think so. Instead, here's a new short from The Elders of the Dark Tower (of Xxoron).]

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Researchers at Aberdeen University in Britain have determined that oral contraceptives—commonly known as “Man’s best friend”—do not increase a woman’s risk of cancer. In fact, the researchers say, the pill actually reduces the risk of some cancers. Specifically, the sentient, inter-uterine kind.

This is perhaps the most devastating cancer of all, since you have to pay to send the tumor to college.

Since the pill was introduced in the early 1960s, there have been literally hundreds of studies on its risks and benefits. After all, Cosmopolitan’s got to put something on its cover. But while the pill doesn’t increase your risk of cancer, unfortunately having sex does.

Just kidding. Like you would’ve stopped anyway. “Every—body’s—gotta—die—sometime.”

Despite the positive conclusion, the report is being dismissed by some as “junk science.” “We have no problem with their methods,” one critic said, “we just reject any research having to do with people’s junk.”

Over the past 50 years, more than 300 million women are thought to have used oral contraception, often for prolonged periods of time. Great—all those dry spells just became my fault.

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As everybody knows, today marks a profoundly important day in the history of our country. After September 11th, America—and the world—would never be the same.

All around the globe, the wicked celebrate this anniversary, while the good and decent pause in their labors only for a moment—then rejoin the fight with redoubled resolve.

It was an attack on our values, even on our way of life. But this challenge has brought us together, showing that while we may disagree on many things, on this issue all Americans speak as one.

We all know the story: a small group of highly trained fanatics, working in secret and brainwashed after years of exposure to poisonous doctrine, came together to execute a plan surely authored by Satan himself.

That these misguided young men were successful is tragedy enough. But the greater heartbreak is that their actions have inspired others around the world to follow in their footsteps. The conflagration they started shows no signs of abating.

I’m talking, of course, about the founding of The Yale Record. On September 11, 1872, a group of students at Yale University created what was to become the first humorous undergraduate periodical. Once unleashed, this type of humor spread relentlessly, as if guided by some aged-yet-ageless scotch-drinking bird.

Now, 135 years later, what was started in New Haven has engulfed the entire planet—on TV, in Hollywood, and on the web, college humor is the dominant form of comedy in America and the world. Not bad for a bunch of people who were probably half in-the-bag.

So have one on us today, because at The Yale Record, we may not remember everything, but we will never forget.

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Still recuperating after finishing a draft of this Beatle book. So instead of new Newsbreaks, go check out the incredibly amazing Midwest Teen Sex Show.

Thank God Kate didn't see the one about "Older Boyfriends."

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For best viewing, allow the video to load completely. Audio version is here.

Two weeks ago, a 76-year-old woman disappeared during a hunting trip with her husband. This is called “a backwoods divorce.”

Amazingly, the woman has been found, and it looks like she’s going to make it. Grizzly Adams, meet Grizzly Eves.

Authorities found Doris Anderson at the bottom of a canyon near Baker City, Oregon. “Thank god you found me,” she said to rescuers. “I gotta get home and watch my shows.”

She and her husband Harold had gone bow hunting. That’s a variation of the sport where instead of killing the animal, you decorate it.

Mrs. Anderson was slightly dehydrated and had suffered a small injury to her hip, but was otherwise unharmed. It’s remarkable, considering that the only tool she had was her upper plate. Maybe she used it like a throwing star.

Doris’ sister Iris credited her survival to prayer. And an intense desire to kick Harold’s ass. “Just going to take a leak, huh? I’ll give you a leak.”

I don’t like Harold’s chances. That’s no old lady, that’s a Terminatrix.

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As you may have heard, there’s a new book out that goes inside the Bush Presidency. It’s called “Colonscopy.” No, actually, it’s called, “Dead Certain,” which is inspired. Everybody will think it’s half-right.

The President granted the author unprecedented access to himself and his advisors. Cheney, Rice, Luthor, Bizarro, Manta Ray…

Bush said that, despite the pressure of being President, he feels he has to be strong. "I fully understand that the enemy watches me, the Iraqis are watching me, the troops watch me, and the people watch me," Bush said. We watch “30 Rock,” too, but you don’t see Tina Fey invading anybody. Maybe we should stop watching him, and see if that helps. It certainly would make us happier.

But, President Tough-Guy admitted, “I do tears.” That’s different from crying. Crying involves deep emotion, and the possibility of learning something. “Doing tears” is just a side-effect of Ambien.

Still, it’s nice to finally know what the President thinks he’s doing. You know—the strong, silent type. Like John Wayne. Or maybe Travis Bickle.

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I'm finding that more people watch Newsbreaks when they're NOT every day (convenient for me, I know, but true). So I'll do 'em Mon/Wed/Fri for a while, okay? Okay.

In the meantime, I saw the movie "Monterey Pop" over the weekend, and was knocked out by Jimi Hendrix. Here's a clip; enjoy.

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