A man in North Carolina claims to have captured the first thermal image of Bigfoot, whom he lured into camera range with a candy bar. Also, Bigfoot breathes heavy like Darth Vader. (You would think a Chewbacca comparison would be more apt.) What’s most amusing about this clip is the way voices of the reporter and the Bigfoot-searcher keep interrupting each other. It’s like an Aaron Sorkin movie or something. [Via]

“Local tea party groups are less organized and politically active than previously thought — and… much of the grassroots organization that swayed primaries was coordinated and financed by large national groups led by Republican insiders.”
 — You don’t say.

Here in New York, where we have changed ballot systems, voting may be a slightly more confusing process than usual. The state has switched to some kind of ludicrous Scantron form, which is much less satisfying than pulling levers and hearing that awesome clank once you’ve done your part for democracy. I’m sure it’s all a temporary stopgap until we’re all voting on iPads or whatever, but if your polling place is crowded — it’s possible, I guess; I went at 10:30 and it was only slightly busier than it was during the primaries — you will probably have to wait for a bit while the volunteers explain the process to the elderly people who are the bulwark of midterm elections.

Also, bring glasses. I heard a lot of folks — even those who appeared to be my age or younger — complaining about how small the type was. My eyesight, apart from a touch of color-blindness which I guess shows just how much of a man I am, is one of the few things left in my body that works exactly the way it should, and even for me it was a strain. Anyway, if you want my “endorsements,” which I hope do not conflict with the general voter guide, they are pretty simple: Vote the Working Families Party line wherever that’s an option and vote Democratic otherwise. There are two ballot issues on the back (I voted no on reducing term limits and yes on the other one but whatever), so don’t forget them. Good luck, citizens!

“The internal Reid numbers for the past three weeks show that Reid has actually had a lead ranging from 4 to 8 points (and last week, the National Republican Senate Campaign Committee had a similar internal poll showing Reid six points up).”
 — Nevada, Nevada, what will happen today?

“Cancers deep within the body are difficult to spot at an early stage, and early diagnosis is critical for the successful treatment of any form of cancer. What we have developed is a process which involves inserting proteins derived from luminous jellyfish cells into human cancer cells. Then, when we illuminate the tissue, a special camera detects these proteins as they light up, indicating where the tumours are.”
 — Professor Norman Maitland and his team at Yorkshire Cancer Research Laboratory at York University have made what seems to be an amazing and important breakthrough in the fight against cancer. Hopefully, inserting jellyfish cells into human beings will not cause human beings to turn into jellyfish.

Stereogum hosts a new track from Awl fave Destroyer. A collaboration between Dan Bejar and Tim Hecker, “Archer on the Beach” is a moody, seven-and-a-half minute track that sounds pretty much like winter feels. Check it out.

Well, that didn’t take long. Four games in — a stinker against the Boston Celtics followed by three dominant performances versus the Philadelphia 76ers, Orlando Magic and the New Jersey Nets — and LeBron James had heard enough negative reaction from all citizens of the Planet Earth that he came close to uttering to the two words that the Fonz was never able to. And despite his pseudo-defiant Nike commercial, where he rhetorically asked, “What should I do?” you can tell that deep down he’s actually thinking, “Oh man, what the fuck should I do?”

So far, the media coverage has been in lockstep, trying to paint the Heat as a besieged group of superstars who’ve filled the role of villains without actually being bad guys. And while the players will eventually emerge from their cocoons and begin appearing on gossip pages as well as sports pages, for now they are still keeping themselves sequestered until the fan rancor dies down. Prudently, I think.

Boston on opening night was a straight madhouse. With Celtics fans breathing down their necks, Heat players were disorganized and their boyish coaching placeholder Erik Spoelstra looked like he’d eaten some bad chowder. Meanwhile, Bosh crumpled and Wade wilted under the physical duress of Kevin Garnett and Rajon Rondo. Neither was factor in the final outcome. Despite the meerkat-iness of his teammates, James did what James has been known to do: he took the game over in spectacular fashion, transforming the team into the Cleveland Cavaliers circa six months ago. And just like that team, they lost in Boston. Score: 88–80.

The next two games were angry beat-downs, with the James and Wade taking turns playing “the Man”. Clearly, the double-barrel attack is a ways off, if it ever even manifests itself. It’s tough for two guys to take 30 shots apiece, unless you consider Kobe Bryant and his ego to be two guys.

The Heat’s home opener against the Sixers was a not-as-close-as-it-looks 97–87 win. The crowd welcomed the team to the tune of “In the Air Tonight” by Phil Collins. (As if there would be a more appropriate song for Miami, a cultural Mecca that peaked in 1981.) The Heat players showed boundless energy, eagerly playing the hammer to Philly’s nail.

But the result of the Magic game, a 96–70 Heat win? Now, that was a shocker. After all, Orlando was supposed to challenge the Heat. They would be the People’s Champions, the homegrown team. The crowd was nasty, and not surprisingly, the Heat players were defensive afterward, offering monosyllabic responses to the overheated reporters, before retreating to their hotel rooms. So you knew it was coming — James’s “I’ve made mistakes” moment — but you didn’t know when.

James’s mea culpa, which he repeatedly swore was unnecessary, began to emerge after the Heat’s complete obliteration of the New Jersey Nets, a “team” in name only. I’m not saying the Nets are awful but I will offer that when your best player is a twin named Brook Lopez, the chances of you being beaten both regularly and thoroughly are pretty great.

With their new Russian owner/Bond villain doppelganger Mikhail Prohkorov looking on from his skybox, the Nets were very competitive until the opening tip, eventually losing 101–78. Finally, the Heat’s super trio were evenly overwhelming, taking turns scoring at will, rebounding and playing inspired defense. Even Bosh, who has been charitably referred to as Ringo Starr, but is actually closer to a more coordinated Samwise Gamgee, was forceful in calling for the ball.

Say this for the Nets fans, though: they are a determined lot, relentlessly hurling abuse at the Heat. Their most personal vitriol was directed at James specifically. Every time he touched the ball the crowd howled, an effort that lasted the entire game. Usually, the fans don’t even stay in the arena the entire game.

It must have been unsettling for the Heat players as a hint of things to come, because New Jersey is as dispirited a fan base as it gets. The Nets fans have been like a whipped dog since Kidd, RJ and K-Mart left town. And with their screechy new coach Avery Johnson, respectability is still a long ways away. The only time Michael Jordan ever visited during the playoffs he was treated like a returning hero. The look on his face during warm-ups was a mixture of surprise and disgust.

After the Nets game, James emerged from the visitor’s locker room, which resembles a charmless concrete bunker, and quietly admitted the he had some real regrets about the way his TV extravaganza, “The Decision,” was handled.

“If I had to go back on it,” he said slowly, grudgingly, “I probably would do it a little bit different.”

He’s almost ready to admit the obvious. Not quite. But then again, there are 25 more cities to visit. Including Cleveland.

Tony Gervino is a New York City-based editor and writer obsessed with honing his bio to make him sound quirky. He can also be found here.

Photo by achihm, via Flickr.

Have we finally found a cure for the dreaded WINTER VOMITING BUG? Science say yes, but Science is always saying yes. I remain skeptical. And a little nauseous.

by Abe Sauer

It’s the first Tuesday in November, so you know what that means? That’s right: it’s time to fucking vote.

There will be no whining about not making any real difference, like that bullshit Freakonomics piece argued, or the weather, or the complete dearth of respectable candidates. This is your duty as an American. And being guilted into voting is what it means to be American. You do consider yourself an American, don’t you?

Hold on. No. You don’t just run the fuck out and yank that lever. Voting takes preparation. You can’t just “figure it out when you get there.” That’s how you ended up with that Camry with radiator problems, remember? Before you slouch back into that high school gymnasium where that thing you maybe don’t want to talk about once happened, you have to figure out exactly which poor bastard is going to be awarded for best spending his (or even her) television advertising money.

Now, I’m not going to ask you if you’ve read the position papers from all the candidates. Not because I don’t want to embarrass you, but look, I get it, The 40 Year Old Virgin was on and who doesn’t always end up watching the rest of that? And mom needed her insulin injection and, yes, Farmville animals fucking die if not tended.

Here’s a few easy tricks so you can correctly identify your party in about five minutes.

• Look around your house. Did you find a firearm? Did you expect to find one? Yes? Do you fear losing it? Fuck all the other considerations, you’re voting for every Republican on that fucking ballot. Yes, even the fucking comptroller because, who knows. Sure, some of those Dems in more rural states may have been blowing smoke up everyone’s asses about being pro-gun, but how can you be sure? By voting for NRA-endorsed fucking Republicans, that’s how.

• Find drug “paraphernalia?” You’re voting Democrat. Find a subscription to The New Yorker? Dem. Field and Stream? Republican. Guns and Ammo? Libertarian. Garden & Gun? Tricky: Democrat! Find an old Dixie flag? You’re voting Republican. Find a union membership card? Democrat. A Huffington Post bookmark? Democrat.

• While you’re looking around the house, look for pictures of Jesus Christ. Maybe crucifixes? Did you find some? Nearly everyone on the ballot is Christian, so you can’t fucking lose!

• Did you find some religious imagery that isn’t Jesus? Are you sure you’re qualified to vote? Just don’t bother — some bastard down there might challenge you on account of your garb. How embarrassing would that be? Stay home and cook yourself some fucking hummus instead.

• Do you in any way consider yourself part of the non-partisan “Tea Party” movement? It’s tricky but here’s a not-too-complicated tactic to identify the tea party candidates running against the “politics as usual” candidiate in each race. Just run your finger down the ballot next to each name. Do you see an “R?” There you go! That’s the tea party candidate!

• Look in the mirror. Who is staring back at you? Does it resemble an artist sketch of a person of interest the authorities are frequently seeking for questioning? Yes? You’ll be voting Democrat. Oh, and drive very carefully on your way to the polls. All they need is one reason and you’ll be not voting… from jail.

• Now, stand up straight and say “Hello.” Did it come out as “Hola?” Then forget voting and stay home to feed that anchor baby. Hasn’t this country already done enough for you?

• One last test, before you run to the polls, take a good look at this picture.

Now, did that turn you on? You’re voting fucking Democrat. Uh oh. You’re very distraught that you were turned on by that? Then forget voting, just get down to City Hall immediately and file paperwork, because people should be fucking voting for you!

I’m sorry, say again? Oh, you want to suss out individual candidates to vote for? Good one! Just fucking vote the ticket. You think you’re really going to put in the time to figure out the position differences in the candidates for sheriff? The state assemblymen? Pfffffffft. Please.

And that’s right, we didn’t cover economics. Sure that’s what the pundits say is the driving theme of this election. But you know why we didn’t cover that? Because despite all the position papers in the world, nobody on any ballot today actually knows one fucking thing about how to genuinely improve the economy. So just vote on the other shit.

Okay, now you’re ready to to go. You want a drink first? No sweat, ease the weight of all that patriotic responsibility with a glass of wine. Make it red. And make it big and chubby. Hell yeah, use those middle-age lady goblet glasses. Most Americans were hammered for the first 100 years of voting. If you live in Wisconsin though, you’ll probably want to be sure to vote for incumbent attorney general J.B. Van Hollen over challenger Scott Hassett, especially if you drive better after a few drinks.

Right, of course: you should probably find your fucking polling place first.

Once you get there, while in line, take some time to ponder how good it feels to be an American. Consider this: In a nation where voting is considered the ultimate honor and duty, one can get a cooked 1/2-pound of beef laid out on a toasted piece of bread with lettuce and cheese and a side of a peeled and sliced potato deep fried in oil with an iced and carbonated beverage in a fraction of the time and in more locations than it takes to cast a fucking vote.

Bring your child? Great. Go ahead and take him or her in the voting booth with you. There’s no way for a child to better learn about the democratic process than to watch a parent exercise the right to select political representation. Plus, the experience will serve as a sweet memory to pass down to his or her children after the right to vote is eliminated by their Chinese overlords.

Now, you may have a lever to pull or a screen to touch or some little holes to punch out. Take your fucking time with this. Read the fucking directions. There’s nobody watching you, so it’s not like you’ll embarrass yourself or look “uncool.” Can we please have just one goddamn activity in the fucking country that one doesn’t have to do while at the same time being “attractive?” Is that too much to ask!?

Now that you got that down, find those candidates you selected earlier.

What’s that? You didn’t plan on voting but you got all excited about that way fucking awesome Daily Show rally this weekend and even though you kinda went there on a lark to hang and be part of the party you ended up, like, somehow coming to understand that this shit is serious and that young people better cowboy the fuck up because ain’t nobody else looking out for my future and shit’s just getting way stupid and we all best be doing something about it? Well, good for you. Get out there and be counted. You did remember to register last month, right? Oh. You didn’t, did you, dipshit. Actually no: good intentions don’t mean shit in an election.

Oh, your child just exercised his right to make a political statement in his pants? Just go right ahead and use the voting table to swap that dirty nappie. Indeed, this is the only likely change that will result from you going into that booth anyway.

Okie dokie! Done? That’s great. Give a smile to the old ladies manning that poll. Those old battle-axes are the lube of the democratic process. Without them, we’d have to have Mexicans run the whole operation.

Hey, what the fuck is that? A sticker? “I voted?” You think our founding fathers would have worn fucking stickers? Do you know WHY they even give those out? Because voting is so rare that Americans have to be proud that they did it at all, like they deserve some kind of fucking medal. Know what your medal is, jerkwad? A dumbaas sticker.

Should you have a job, it’s time to hustle off to work. Employers are legally bound to allow you time to vote… Riiiiiight. Ha, a job.

Finally, when you get home, don’t turn on the 24-hour squawking nincompoops to see if your team won. Fuck them. Be confident you did all you fucking could to make this country a better place despite itself.

Go ahead and cook yourself a fucking steak instead. You deserve it, you goddamn patriot.

Abe Sauer won’t be accidentally voting green.

“I work extremely hard and if every now and then I look at the face of a beautiful girl then it’s better to be passionate about beautiful girls than gay.”
 — Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi brushes off the recent sex scandal controversy concerning a Moroccan teenage belly dancer.