Orderly song lyrics

Possibly a recurring feature here at Brevity. I was referred to this quiz by Matthew Baldwin, in which he takes 50 songs and rearranges their lyrics... in alphabetical order. He's removed all capitalization and the repeated use of any word. After all that, it's amazing how short (and similar to one another) the songs look.

Some people may be able to internalize a collection of words and visualize the song, but for the rest of us, it helps to look for titles ("yesterday"), uncommon words/names (like "scaramouche") or rhyming words ("higher" and "pyre") to figure them out.

Once you waste a couple of hours there, feel free to try my contributions below. It helps that each is wordy and includes at least one uncommon word.

1.
a again ahead and are barely battle battles beat between build but car catch causing clearing come comes counting cup deluge don't door dream drum end ever feeling freedom get heart hey hole i'm in is it's know let liberation lost many me my never no now of only over page paper possessions proof relief right road roof see shadows steps suspicion t.v. tales the them there there's they to today towing traveling try turn us walking wall war waste we when while win with within without won't world you you'll you're your

2.
a ability agility and are away be been better blessed blood bob born brother brow bucket but by can't 'cause chug-a-lug come confide continue cough dance dancin' daughter deliver distress do don't down drink everybody excess feelin' feeling fertility for free from get give giver gone gonna good goodness got greedy he heart hell her his hoosegow how hug i i'm i've if in is it juice kaiser keep kingpin know less let life like little long love lovin' low lucky mama marley material me miser mobility mom more my never no now of off on or papa pauper people piggies poet powwow prophet put realize receive reeling right river rock say scrub sea see she shiver smart stop swimmin' talk taught tell than the then there's time times to unimpressed up upriser walkin' wanna want warm water what when wisely wiser with wither won't yes you you'll you've young your

3.
a across all an and are as at be better black blessed blows boat built bury but by came church city cold come congregations could crazy crows crumbled did died dying earth edge empire endlessly exists eye falling fat father ferry final flapping flowed fog for found from fussing garrison geese get go gods good had having he hear here him home horses house how i i’d if in inherit is it jesus laughing learn left light like lived looked make man men murder my needle never night northern not october of offer old on one only our out place play poor prayed prayers priestly priests rite river romans round sad saw sea seagulls serve shall shire silent sodium sound spoken stone stones sun swear take teach teachers tear temple than that the their then these they this ‘til time to today told tonight tower town two up us used walking wall was way were what where which wind winter's words workmen world worth young

Guess the song titles in the comments.

UPDATE! Quinn the Brain used her, uh, brain to solve all three. So avoid the comments if you'd like to solve them yourself. Then, if you're done and hungering for more, I'd recommend clicking over to this forum thread I started to see if other members post some more.

Think inside the box

Las Vegas culture, such as it is, creates an events checklist for the semi-ambitious resident.

Cirque du Soleil show? Check. (Mystere, O, and Zumanity.)
Speedway racing? Check. (NASCAR, still driving around in circles.)
Dinner-based production? Check. (Tony and Tina's Italian Wedding.)
Brush with D-list celebrity? Check. (Stupid Carrot Top.)
Hoops? Check. (UNLV vs. San Diego State, Minnesota, and 'Zona.)
Stage musical? Check. (Mamma Mia! and Avenue Q.)
Impersonator? Check. (Danny Gans and Trent Carlini.)
Red carpet movie premiere? Check. (88 Minutes earlier this year.)
Magic show? Check. (Lance Burton, Rick Thomas, and Brett Daniels.)
TV taping? Check. (NBC's America's Got Talent, just last week.)

Until Friday night, I'd never attended a boxing event. The sweet science has a long and storied history with the city of Las Vegas, but while fights aren't the high-priced attraction they used to be, there's still a place here for men determined to beat each other senseless.

The site was Cox Pavilion, just off UNLV's campus. Scheduled were a series of matches that were part of ESPN's Friday Night Fights. The undercard bouts were filled with comparatively young and hungry fighters, but the main event was the arrival of former heavyweight champion Chris Byrd, who slimmed down 2 weight classes over the past six months (from 211 to 175 pounds) to fight as a light heavyweight before he retires next year. I knew nothing about his opponent, Shaun George, but noticed that he looked a lot younger. (George is 30; Byrd 37.)

Opportunity appeared in the form of floor seats on the 4th row, just spitting distance from ringside. (Fortunately, no one on the canvas spit in our direction to prove this point.) We were in good company, surrounded by Byrd's friends and family members. Also present and seated two rows in front of us was ultimate fighter Randy Couture, who I didn't recognize but was very gracious in providing autographs and photo ops to fans and gawkers. (He was there just to have a good time, which is all you can ask for in a celebrity. Also, while casually dressed, he wears couture.)

A view from my camera phone. While the arena was far from packed, it was remarkable how quiet the match was. There were a few vocal fans who offered their coaching opinions, but you could still hear the pugilists breathe up there. Before the match I thought of things to yell (like "Eye of the tiger, baby" and "Sweep the leg") but abandoned them for fear of being, well, heard. So I applauded politely, and saved my loudest cheers for the Round 4 girl.

Both men got their share of punches, but you could tell that George had more energy and was tallying up the points on the scorecard. Byrd showed some fire toward the end, but a series of devastating punches floored him. He got up, but George kept at it, and his last punch left Byrd on the ropes, facing us. We saw what the referee saw: the former champ's eyes rolling, unable to focus on the man in front of him. TKO. Here's the ESPN recap.

So, boxing? Check. And I wouldn't mind checking it again.

[Final note: if you plan on visiting Las Vegas and would like to know more about any of the shows, venues, or events described in this post, let me know. Generally, I don't review local attractions, but I'll try to give you an idea as to what to expect.]

Second blood

The summer movie season is upon us, and you can break down the cinematic offerings into four categories:

1. Big-budget successes (often called "blockbusters")
2. Big-budget failures ("bombs" or "international blockbusters")
3. Low-budget successes (also known as "sleepers")
4. Low-budget nonstarters (maybe "future DVD sleepers")

Earlier this week I saw an advanced screening of Son of Rambow, a British film that may or may not become a sleeper. It's low on budget but high on concept: in the year 1982, schoolboy Will Proudfoot has grown up without a father and with the strict guidelines of the Plymouth Brethren movement. Even without exposure to television, music, and other forms of entertainment, he manages to hide an overactive and illustrative imagination. A chance meeting with Lee Carter, a school thief and bully whose own parents are absent, leads to a viewing of a pirated copy of First Blood (then in theaters).

With his first worldly exposure being the original adventures of Rambo, the boy's mind is warped and in visual overdrive. He concocts a story about being the son of "Rambow" -- the spelling isn't explained, but I have a feeling that the filmmakers didn't want to get sued* -- who has to rescue his imprisoned father from evil forces. Lee, interested in entering a youth filmmaking competition sponsored by the BBC, borrows his brother's videocamera and makes Will both protagonist and stuntman.

As the stunts get more outlandish, they catch the attention of a bizarre French exchange student and his local disciples. As the moviemaking crew expands, the sets and story get more elaborate but the boys' friendship gets more strained. And all the while Will tries to hide his secret life from his deeply religious community.

I'm not sure why the audience was full of families, because I suspect the younger children were bored. The film doesn't try to be accessible to American audiences, which I suppose is part of its charm, but it's really a movie designed for critics to love. It's cute and clever in places, and there's enough of a payoff to call it a crowd-pleaser eventually, but many viewers will have lost their patience before then. Go see it only if you're in the mood for something offbeat.

* The filmmakers later received Sylvester Stallone's blessing.

Protagonist protagonist setting

Woody Allen, still the world's creepiest celebrity stepfather, has a new movie entitled Vicky Cristina Barcelona. Find a surprisingly amateurish trailer here. I have two thoughts...

First: in a cast that includes Scarlett Johansson, Javier Bardem, Patricia Clarkson, and Penélope Cruz, I'm most excited to see Rebecca Hall. She played the charming brunette in Starter for 10, probably the best movie ever set in the world of 1980s British college quiz bowls. (Hmm, "excited" seems like a strong word, seeing as how I'm talking about a Woody Allen movie. Rephrase: I am not averse to seeing this, mostly because of Rebecca Hall.)

Second: the title "Vicky Cristina Barcelona" sounds like some exotic Euro-name but is far more mundane: it's about Vicky (Hall) and Cristina (Johannson) and their trip to Barcelona. Either the director has given up, or he's onto something. What if more movie titles followed the format "Protagonist protagonist setting"? Below are ten attempts to re-title famous movies; each is solvable, though tougher than, say, "Roxie Velma Chicago." Try to identify them in the comments. And feel free to create your own.

1. Norma Joe Hollywood
2. Tatiana Paul Kigali
3. Alfred Robert London
4. Rose Jack Atlantic
5. Joe Irving Rome
6. Billy Madolyn Boston
7. Colette Remy Paris
8. Red Andy Maine
9. Malcolm Cole Philadelphia
10. Daphne Sugar Miami

Where's the gong?

For part of the Mother's Day festivities, we returned to the Planet Hollywood Hotel and Casino, this time to attend a taping of the NBC summer series America's Got Talent. At first we considered any combination of picnics, art walks, or community festivals to mark the day, but in the end we could not deny the sheer marquee power of host Jerry Springer and judges David Hasselhoff, Sharon Osbourne, and Piers Morgan.

We had good (free) seats in the auditorium right next to the main cameras, which was ideal: we were close enough for a great view, but still hidden under the cameras. (Many have the desire to be captured on television; I am not one of those people.)

Before anyone famous showed up, the production crew filmed the audience doing things like standing ovations, seated applause, concerted booing, and the ever-usable collective shock and anger. Presumably, they'll add these moments where appropriate during the editing process. But it confirmed what I've long believed about television: it's all fake.

[Dramatic aside: After all that phony audience interaction, I became nauseous. I looked right and left, searching for ANYTHING that seemed real. And there he was, God's gift to Germany: David Hasselhoff. Thank you, Herr Hair.]

The judges ran down the aisle to their seats amidst timely applause, and the show began. After a few opening remarks in which he reminds us that he's not talented, Jerry Springer tries to invoke an anything-can-happen atmosphere, and reports that last season's winner has a recurring gig at the Las Vegas Hilton. So it's appropriate that the showrunners (including exec producer Simon Cowell, who didn't appear) wanted the competition here.

We witnessed about 16 acts perform, and some were clearly there for the sake of television. We were coached by the warmup guy, a Lewis Black wannabe, to chant "Off! Off! Off!" when we desired a performer to stop. (To me, this is a poor word choice. We were already cheering on Mr. Knight Rider with "Hoff! Hoff! Hoff!" so anything similar just made things confusing.)

Frequently I felt the need to act upon my wiseass tendencies in this venue. For example, when a mother/daughter pair of whistlers (they performed "Climb Every Mountain") interacted with the judges, the daughter -- who said she was about 40 -- started getting sassy. She mentioned to David Hasselhoff that she used to keep a life-size poster of him on her bedroom wall. "So did he," I yelled as a reply. I doubt he heard that, and I'm sure the adjacent cameras cut out the ambient noise, but at least I entertained those around me.

I met my sarcasm Kryptonite when a U.S. Army serviceman came on stage wearing fatigues and a guitar, and mentioned that he'd spent the past 15 months in Iraq. As he chatted with the judges, each of his responses was met with applause. Which was fine, but then he started singing that dreadful Edwin McCain song "I'll Be." Whether or not he was good enough, I sure as heck wasn't going to say anything.

Overall, it was an okay experience; I can kind of see why shows like American Idol have such a young, Stepford-esque audience willing to behave like idiots on cue. I would like to think that a taping of something like The Daily Show would be more entertaining, though similarly filled with stops and starts.

The cure for anemic cinema

Alternate title: The Futurist. (Totally pretentious, worth a listen.)

So much has changed since my days with Robert Downey, Jr. and James Spader at the Chateau Marmont. (Good times.) While I'm still building my legend, Spader's become an Emmy-winning liberal superhero of the law on Boston Legal, and Downey's taking his mightiness quite literally these days: he IS Iron Man.

This is a clear case of having the right actor in the right role at the right time. It's not a stretch to picture Downey as billionaire playboy and technical wizard, more pleased with tinkering in his lab and leaving corporate matters to his late father's partner (Jeff Bridges). His skill in weapons manufacture has brought him both success and isolation; he works at home and only interacts with his loyal assistant (Gwyneth Paltrow) and his close friend in the military (Terrence Howard). When he learns the truth about how his technology also helps his enemies, he grows a conscience.

The cast is in good form. Bridges' best work is probably behind him, but there's a certain amount of nonchalance and underacting that I appreciated here. (The Dude still abides.) Howard is not given that much to do -- part of the plot requires him to stay out of the loop -- but you get the feeling that his importance could grow in time. And as is common with superhero films, the heroine is the weak link, but Paltrow does well enough in her steely Girl Friday role to appear worthy of acting opposite Downey.

The film itself delivers as well; it's ambitious, but not overly so. There's a satisfying origin story that takes its time but provides sufficient humor and action. And the central conflict is, well, local in nature, so that director Jon Favreau can let loose in the inevitable (and welcome) sequel.

More (and more) of the same

Wednesday night offered an advanced screening of Harold & Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay. While events in this movie take place immediately after the end of their first film, Harold & Kumar Go to White Castle, John Cho and Kal Penn have used the 4-year interim to become much bigger names. It's tough to imagine that when that film was made, these guys were pretty much nobodies with small supporting roles in teen comedies (Cho in the American Pie series, Penn in Van Wilder). And now they've got high-profile gigs in Star Trek and House. Way to go, guys.

If there's anything you liked in the first film, chances are there's more of it in the sequel. More mockery of (white) America and its authorities. More locations. More marijuana. More obnoxiousness. More sentimentality. And especially more Neil Patrick Harris.

The plot is too ridiculous to recount, but I will say that Guantanamo Bay is a very small part of the film. (I'm surprised they went with that title.) The movie is genuinely funny in places -- Rob Corddry's Homeland Security character exists solely to project his stunningly clueless stereotypes of every minority -- but, man, is it filthy. I should add "more bodily fluids" to the list.

A final complaint: after this and Forgetting Sarah Marshall, is it asking too much to see a comedy without male full frontal nudity? (In the movie, one of Harold and Kumar's college friends has organized a bottomless party.) This is not a good trend; as a viewer, I'd gladly pass up female nudity if it would guarantee sausage-free cinema.