Zombie Lincoln Hypothesis Reboot

So, upon further consideration, I have determined that ZLH makes more sense as a television series than a movie, so, despite it never having been made into a movie (or written as a full screen play, or anything), I'm going to call this a reboot. Here are the opening credits:

[Voiceover]: A national tragedy... (Inside Ford's Theater, a shot of a booth with Lincoln. A man bursts through the curtain behind the booth and fires a pistol, and the screen goes dark)

[Voiceover]: A science kept secret from the world (steam punk style scientists bustle around Lincoln's body, taking measurements, looking at beakers, hooking wires and injecting fluids into the corspe)

[Voiceover]: Leads to an amazing rebirth (The prior scene has slowly been zooming in on Lincoln's face until it fills the screen. Lincoln's eyes flutter and open)

[Music swells]: (a series of quick cuts show Lincoln holding a confederate General several feet it he air by this throat; Lincoln steps off a ship flying a Spanish flag and drops into the water just as it explodes; Lincoln strides through a yellow gas and head-butts a man in a gas mask and one of those German helmets with the spike, cracking the mask; Lincoln pouring from a flask marked with a skull and crossbones into a cup, then ducking behind a curtain and Hitler walks in; Lincoln bursts from a bamboo cage and head-butts the Viet Cong solider guarding him, then walks through the wall of a building, leaving a Lincoln shaped hole in the wall)

[Voiceover]: Six foot five, never told a lie, and now he's keeping America safe from beyond the grave. Can you solve... the Zombie Lincoln Hypothesis? (as the words are spoken, Zombie Lincoln Hypothesis appears on the screen typed out with beeping in 80s style computer script)

(a series of scenes with the names of characters and a short description in the same script, along the bottom and smaller)

[Roc Mandamus: Vice President of the United States. Breaks ties in the Senate: railroad ties]: (Roc punches a skinhead covered in Nazi tattoos in the face, then hits another one behind him with that arm's elbow)

[Chester Rutherford: Deputy Director of the Double Secret CIA Plus]: (Chester walks away from a Mansion/fortress in the jungle as it explodes, throwing several guards armed with assault weapons in the air, as a chunk of burning masonry lands beside him he takes a cigar from his tweed jacket and lights it on the debris)

[Mary-Todd: Lincoln's great-great grand daughter]: (She gives a man with explosives strapped to his chest a deep kiss, then pushes him back, now holding the vest which is clearly disarmed. She kicks him in the groin and walks away as police come running)

[Zombie Checkers: Assassinated by a deranged Nixon hater, brought back to life by the same process as Zombie Lincoln]: (Checkers shakes Kim Jong Ill like a chew toy)

[Voiceover]: Zombie Lincoln: keeping America safe, Dead and Alive. (Lincoln is shown sledding down a mountain on Osama Bin Ladin's back, using his beard to steer as the scene zooms out and fades to black)

There you have it. Things to look forward to: Zombie Lincoln acting in risky ways to retrieve his stove-pipe hat, sexual tension between Roc/Chester and Mary-Todd, Chester peeing on an unconscious bad guy.

In Which I Reveal My Past

Many people know I am West Philadelphia born and raised. Except not technically Philadelphia, and not born. But, Upper Darby, raised after moving from Seattle as a toddler doesn't have as good of a ring to it. Even more people (or, more likely, the same number of people), know I went to the California Institute of Technology and achieved a B.S. in Geology, and then to Columbia Law School where I received a Juris Doctorate, which is like a PhD, only 2 years shorter and often 100s of thousands of dollars more expensive.

Still, I hope that one day not only will this weblog (webblog? is it just blog now?) series of writings what can be looked at on the internets will show up when people enter my name into Google (or "Alta-vista" me), but also that one day people will actually be performing such a search (i.e. "Asking Jeeves" about me. And yes, I did write this back in 2010, so all you people of the future should be duly impressed by my use of your current short hand term for internet searches (or "asking dot com me"). Thus, I think I should tell the world a little bit more about my past.

First, I am descended from the apes, as are all humans living in states that generally vote democratic, but unlike those people, I am also descended from bears. Specifically, my ancient ancestry goes like this: apes, ape-man, man, bear, man-bear, human, bear, human, me. This is less confusing if you realize that evolution is not a one way street. After all, what is a bear but a man who made a choice? And what is a man but a bear that stole too many pic-a-nic baskets and started wearing a ranger hat? And what is a man-bear but a former-ape-man after extensive unnecessary surgeries?

More recently (or at least no more than one time-of-the-bear ago), my ancestry was Scandinavian (a Swede is just a Norwegian that made a choice, and/or vice verse) and Scotch-Irish (someone from Scotland who moved to Ireland because when you have a chance to experience protestant-catholic violence, you can't pass that up). I may also have ancestors from other places (the foul depths of Atlantis, perhaps), but that is lost to history.

My Scandinavian past explains why I sometime have the berserk rage of the Viking (or Wiking, as they were called by some cultures of that time that had superstitions about two V's being better than one) and also explains my love of herring, cold weather, socialist medicine and fjords. In fact, legend (also, my grandfather) tells a story of how my name, Falk (without a U, because that is for Germans and NFL running backs, and comes from Faulkenberg) arose from the might armies of Sweden's King Gustav Vasa (or some other guy, maybe named Carl, the story isn't clear on that detail). Because Erick the Red or some other Eric or Erik were so popular, apparently 9 out of 10 men in Sweden at the time were named Erikson, including my noble ancestor. To make it possible for officers to yell at them, the army simply re-named the soldiers, presumably after whatever bird was flying over at the time. Thus, but for the grace of King Carl (or Gustav, or maybe Sigismund), my name could have been not Falk, but Seagullvson.

As for my Scotch-Irish side, my ancestry comes from the Hamilton and Lindsey clans, only one of which I really know anything about. Because my name isn't Lindsey. The Hamilton clan, before going to Ireland in search of religious strife and cabbage, was known for its valor and bravery, and also for hiding in the woods and pretending to be lumberjacks while the cops ran by. The Hamilton Crest features a tree crossed with a saw, and the phrase "Through", which is either Scottish or Irish for "Timber!" or possibly "Fore!" or "Watch Yo-self!" The story is that some great Hamilton patriarch had gotten on the wrong side of the law, or some other lord, or a baron with a police force or something, and had to run away. Once in the woods, the Hamilton found some wood cutters, paid them for their clothes and tools, and pretended to be chopping wood while the police chased (and presumably caught and summarily executed) the wood cutters. This explains my love of chopping wood (and also my love of pretending to chop wood), and my cleverness is dodging authority figures.

Stay tuned for more of my history, including parts that I was actually alive for.

Founding Fathers

Have you ever wondered what super-powers the founding fathers had? Me too, so I looked them up on the internet, and I'll reproduce the answers here:

George Washington could throw a quarter between two and eight miles, bite through a cherry tree in a single bite (provided he had his "wooden" teeth in), and survive sub-freezing temperatures indefinitely. He was between 6'8" and twelve stories tall, weighed one (non-metric) ton, possessed perfect hands, a crystal horse, a schnauzer, a mason ring and several wigs. He also apparently could throw a knife into heaven and may or may not have had an excessive number of sexual organs.

Ben Franklin could invent anything, including things from the future. He could also call down lightning from the sky, and was impervious to sexually transmitted diseases.

Thomas Jefferson was a polymath, which means he could take on the form of any man, living or dead. He could also fire lasers from his eyes and/or wig, breath under water, and speak French.

John Hancock could sign anything (Anything.) first.

John Jay, "the Judge" had the strength of ten gorillas, and had a magic gavel that would usually come back to him when the threw it. He could also turn mostly invisible to historians.

James Madison could grow to any height, but choose not to out of principle. He was also a master of karate (tiger style), compromise and American Sign Language.

Alexander Hamilton could punch so hard that his fist was engulfed in flames. He could dodge bullets, matrix style, but choose not to out of drunkenness. He was a master of karate (dragon style), stalwartness and Shouting. He and Madison hated each other.

John Adams's power was rock and roll.

John Quincy Adams's power was pan flute music.

Sam Adams could drink unlimited amounts of liquor, and kill with a glare.

Betsy Ross could vote.

Andrew Jackson was impervious to bullets, but not insults to his wife. He apparently could also time-travel.

Patrick Henry could hypnotize anyone with his voice, and unhypnotize them with his eyes.

Thomas Paine could hypnotize people with his gaze, and unhypnotize them with his voice.

Paul Revere could throw is head like a boomerang.

George Wythe, Samuel Chase and Gouverneur Morris could combine to form a giant robot.

A visit to the dark house

Another preview for the Zombie Lincoln Hypothesis, for those who can't wait a minute longer:

Victor looked quickly over his shoulder as he stepped into the alleyway. It would be scandal enough if a colleague recognized him in this part of town, but if he were noticed stepping into a such a dank, dead-ended passageway such as this, in his well tailored suit and expensive shoes, surely someone's curiosity would be aroused. Thankfully, there was no one on the street sober enough to be paying him any attention. He carefully counted three dumpsters, cursing under his breath at the fact that they always seemed to be overflowing with some new and disgusting filth, and poked gingerly at the boarded over door in the shadow of the third with his shoe. There was nearly silent whirring, and what had appeared to be a knot hole retracted. Victor hesitated, then braced himself as he placed his pinky-finger into the hole. He withdrew it quickly, but not before he felt the prick of a tiny needle. Moments later the door opened, and Victor stepped forward into an unlit hallway, which sack into pitch darkness as the door behind him closed. Victor began walking slowly forward, until he heard a second door close behind him, and a voice say "Please, Mr. Abrams, have a seat."

Victor sat, and a different voice said "Well Mr. Abrams, we'd love to know how you found our contact, but that can wait. You say you have urgent information about the recent... problems, that have occurred in Washington and Springfield?" Victor peered into the dark as the man spoke, waiting for his eyes to adjust and said "Yes, and I know about the attack near Charleston." This was greeted with several beats of silence, then "I see. Information on that last event has been difficult to assertion, even for us. Tell us what you know." Victor's eyes were not adjusting, it seemed the room was completely blacked out. Victor stared in the direction of the voice and slowly moved his hand into his pocket. "I can't give you that information for free...", a second voice cut him off "Money is not an object. We will determine how much your information is worth, but we can assure you, you will be well compensated." Victor turned his head sharply, as this voice seemed to be to his left, and above him. "I don't need your money, I want a promise. I don't want you to try to kill him." "We cannot promise that we will not kill. If a man needs to die for this nation to remain safe, we must do it" the first voice said. "Oh, I think you misunderstand me" said Victor, "I don't want you to _try_ to kill him. You wouldn't be able to, not at this point, but the trying will make him angry, and will make things much harder for all of us." A third voice spoke, from Victor's right: "You don't mean..."

"Yes" Victor said, as his fingers tightened around his phone, "Its him. Zombie Lincoln is back."

He whipped out his phone and depressed a key, flashing what he knew to be a dim light, but one that was blinding after the absolute darkness. The room was small and square, with only one door, behind him. There was no sign of the men he had been talking to. In fact, the room was empty, with bare walls except for a vent near the ceiling, where Victor thought he saw a whisp of smoke disappearing, but it was gone before he could find an application on his phone that was bright enough to show it clearly. Not wanting to spend another minute in the strange place, Victor shoved the door behind him open, walked quickly down the hall way, which was a unadorned as the room he had been in, and longer than he had realized, and slipped back into the alley. He walked back past the dumpsters and out of the alley, his pace increased as he looked around vainly for a cab to take him away. He hoped he had done the right thing, because it was begging to look like this time, Lincoln's plans were bigger than he could handle without help.

Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter and the Zombie Lincoln Hypothesis

A lot of people have been asking me recently: Have you heard of the new book and/or movie by Seth Grahame-Smith (who could do to lose a few of those last name letters), Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter? To which I must respond: Yes I have. And then they ask: did he rip off your idea from the Zombie Lincoln Hypothesis? Or are you two collaborating? Are you going to finish that? Did you steal the idea for ZLH from him? This is the only true answer to those questions (anything you read in US Weekly is a lie):

We have not spoken about our super-natural Lincoln projects, although I think it is safe to assume that I appeared to Seth in a dream, at least once, but possibly several times. That being said, we are both basing our stories on TRUE FACTS, so it is possible that there will be some common details. I don't think that there will be too much overlap, as it appears that his story is set during Lincoln's first lifetime, and ZLH deals with the modern day.

If you have any questions, please direct them to Seth and I jointly, ideally in a written form that appears in our dreams.

Who's buried in Grant's Tomb?

The Zombie Lincoln Hypothesis

Scene 1, outside of Grant's Tomb, before dawn, a shaky image as if by hand-held camera.

A Japanese woman is posing with the landmark when suddenly there is the sound of shattering marble, and a plume of dust and rock debris appears from the tomb, a car alarm goes off. The woman runs behind the view of the camera, which briefly loses focus and then returns to the tomb entrance, where there is no longer any motion. The camera approaches the source of the sound, along with several joggers. A gapping hole in the stone structure is revealed. The camera swings (as if its holder has heard a sound, unrecorded by the film), and a brief glimpse of a large figure moving jerkily and swiftly through riverside park is seen briefly, before the recording ends. Zoom out to reveal a large flat screen television showing the still-image of the last shot in the corner of a local news story wondering if the event was a terrorist attack or simple vandalism. A tall, thin man turns the TV off with a remote, spins his chair to pick up a phone on a large ornate desk, in what is revealed to be a well appointed office with views high over a large city.

The man speaks:

“The plan must commence. He's out.”

End Scene

Coming Soon

Look for a preview of my next screen play, The Zombie Lincoln Hypothesis", coming soon.

Back like Craker Jack

That title would be better if Cracker Jacks, or better yet crackerjack were in some way making a comeback, but to the best of my knowledge, they are not. On the other hand, I've finished my summer law firm job and have much more time/inclination to fill portions of the internet with my ramblings. If you're hoping for the deep dirt on what I was doing, you'll have to look elsewhere. If you're hoping for snide comments about walrus angst, this is the place.

Other than working this summer, I've also had foster kittens, who are either adopted yesterday or will be tomorrow. More on this later, or in an edit.

(Note: This was a lie)

I'm afraid not/I'm a frayed knot

I've noticed that many of my favorite jokes a dirty, but I don't think the one where the rope gets kicked out of a bar and tries to muss up its hair/unravel itself is.  I'm not going to assume it isn't though, so I warn you that there may be some mildly dirty jokes appearing in these pages.  Later I'll tell you about the penguin who had car trouble.  

Remember last week/a few posts ago when I said I was going to write every day?  Of course you don't, you either don't exist or you're reading this sometime far in the future and already know I didn't keep that promise.  Well, I'm going to try to get posts up every weekday or five times a week with posts on weekends, whichever comes first.  That way I can use loopholes and arguments about the week starting on Sunday/Monday/Thursday to cover up the fact that I will surely fail at that goal as well.  Just wanted to warn you.

I do love that Blogger has a tab that says "Monetize" up top, which makes everyone want to write awesome stuff that eventually gets tons of readers and results in more ads saying "Google pays me 1700 dollars a week to work at home, want to learn how?"  I should note, the answer to those questions tends to be "I get paid to perpetuate fraud on trusting internet users by claiming to be paid to work at home when in reality I'm being paid to perpetuate the fraud that I'm being paid, which I realize is all very circular, but send me a check and I'll show you how you can do the same thing."  Its very complicated, but hey, so is working for a hedge fund.

Here is a list of links that I've bookmarked, but that are probably not of any use to you: Copyright class wiki, Columbia Law School Lawnet, Columbia University Directory, Westlaw and LexisNexis.  I said I'd go over the things I do on the internet, but I think these are probably not of interest to people not in my particular position.  The first one is just notes/info for a class I'm in (there are no laptops allowed, so having the typed notes on there is useful), the second is how we log into CLS to get things like grades, seat reservations, course sign ups and materials and things like that and the third is just a way of looking up peoples Columbia e-mail addresses if you know their name (or vice versa).  The last two are the two competing legal research companies, which probably would be interesting to people, but for the fact that they cost money and require a log-in (unless you're a law student, in which case they're free to get you addicted).  You probably also aren't interested in the NY Public Library page or the CU Move page, but I may talk about those later.  Get ready for the future, when I'll list some other favorite websites of mine, only I'll discuss them.  

So, this penguin who works for government services in Antarctica has been saving up for years to take a vacation and see the United States.  He buys a ticket on a ocean liner (link NSFWwithsound) and heads up to Boston (penguins can't fly, its an inner ear thing), and makes his way down through the North East corridor seeing all the sites.  He catches a game at Fenway, goes to the top of the Empire State Building and sees the Statue of Liberty, goes to Independence Hall (and posts pictures of himself standing by the liberty bell, pretending to ring it, on his facebook page), and tours all the monuments, museums and government buildings in DC.  He wants to check out California too, so he rents a car and starts driving cross country.  He stops in Chicago, but then continues on, as he discovers that the middle of the United States is pretty boring for a penguin (since they're not that interested in grain).  He was driving through Arizona when the check engine light came on and he noticed the car was running a little roughly with some white smoke coming from the exhaust pipe.  He pulled off at an exit and luckily arrived at a little strip mall with a mechanics shop almost immediately.  The mechanic waved him in, told him he'd look at it in a minute, and suggested he go down the street to and get himself something to eat while he waited.  The penguin walked outside and saw a Diary Queen and decided to try ice cream (he'd never tried it before, they only have Italian ice in Antarctica.  Ice cream is kind of like polar bears that way).  He ordered a vanilla cone, not wanting to be too adventurous his first time getting ice cream.  He got his cone and went outside and discovered how difficult the coned ice cream experience is when you have flippers and a beak.  He finally managed to get most of it down by just smushing the cone into his face, although he got the ice cream all over his face in the process.  He was looking around for a napkin or something when he saw the mechanic waving him in.  He walked inside as the mechanic closed the hood and wiped his hands on a rag and said "Dude, it looks like you blew a seal..."

The Soul Question: Do you have it?

This question is directed at Killers lead singer Brandon Flowers.  The man clearly states "I [or I've, he doesn't state that clearly] got soul but I'm not a soldier" in All These Things I've Done.  He then proceeds to inform the listener that "I never had a lover, I never had soul" as well as disclaiming having had a good time, or getting cold/gold in Bones.  Well I say, pick a side.  We're at war.  War with terrorism.  And most of all, we're at war with ourselves.  And, following the logic of Stephen Colbert, you have to pick sides when you're at war.  

I guess my point is, if it turns out Flowers really didn't have soul, does that logically mean he was a soldier after all?  Or did I just BLOW YOUR MIND?!?

I actually don't have much to say today, so I'll let you know more about a website you have have stumbled upon if you've been following the links I squeeze in all over the place.  The site is Icanhascheezburger.com, and it features lol cats, an internet breed of the kitteh that generally speaks with poor syntax but manages to say amusing things.  These pictures have existed since 1905, and have expanded to include other animals.  There are associated memes, like walruses searching for buckets, which I may have referenced before.

The great thing about the site is combines humor with adorableness, giving insecure men and ironic girls an excuse to look at cute little kitties, as well as leading to some excellent genuine creative expression.  

Seriously, some of them are funny, and if you are aware of lol cats you'll be more hip to the younger crowd.  And some cats are too awesome not to want to impress.