It’s a Mad Mad Mad Mad Cannes

Cannes is so many things at once it all but creates a dimension of its own. Simultaneously an art festival and a jumbo-sized machine for cranking out media buzz, it’s a red-carpeted stage for movie buffs, business folks and assorted wackos alike. Half-naked cuties traverse the beach, hardcore fans organize parties to celebrate the 40th anniversary of Troma studios (I just said hi to a Toxic Avenger), and tuxedoed civilians stand for hours hoping to get a ticket from a benevolent insider. It’s a frenzy, and it’s fun — but boy, do I need to get some sleep.

When you’re a journalist, Cannes is all about hierarchies. The press pass is free and quite easy to get. However, if you happen to be a rookie (as I was last year), you end up with the weakest badge of all: the dreaded yellow pass, which makes it hard to get into the most-awaited screenings. It also forces you to sit at the very top of the balcony, making the screen below so tiny you could practically hold it at the end of a toothpick. The more coverage you do, the more regularly you come and the bigger your publication, the better badge you get. Going up the ladder of importance, there’s blue, pink, pink one with a yellow dot and then the all-powerful white pass that reportedly helped Moses part the Red Sea.

No matter what your pass looks like, though, lines are always huge. This year, it doesn’t help that it’s been raining cats and dogs at Cannes for the past couple of days. Last night, I spent an hour and fifty minutes queuing up before the new Coen brothers movie, which was actually shorter than the time I stood in the rain, sheltered only partially by my raggedy old umbrella. The crowd was so tight, drips from adjoining umbrellas formed little waterfalls, one of which found its way straight under my jacket’s collar. It’s a good thing my film critic buddies were there to keep me company — at one point, we turned our shared predicament into a sing-a-long, starting out with selected verses of Billy Joel’s “Goodnight, Saigon” (“Yes we would all go down… together…”) and ending with a Sondheim marathon (“I’m Still Here” kicked off entire series).

Standing in lines forms bonds and enables new friendships. One of the great things about Cannes is that you can safely assume everyone around is at least as movie crazy as yourself, so it’s safe to open a conversation in a way that would normally earn you a slap in the face or a weird look at the very least (“Say, what do you make of the new Kiarostami?” is a terrible pick-up line anywhere except Cannes). And even if you have something less than seduction on your mind, you’re sure to leave the festival with more friendships you came here with. Most of the folks you won’t see until next year, but it doesn’t matter. Next time you’re here, you will bump into each other in front of Grand Théâtre Lumière and say: “Isn’t this just crazy? I almost didn’t make it to the new Jia Zhang-Ke!”

The ultimate goal for many is to make themselves visible at Cannes. To stand out is to earn a badge of honor that trumps all official colors. Costumed fan boys and girls aside, there’s a tribe of beautiful people looking their best and roaming the fest turf in the hope of being spotted by a big-time producer and play out “A Star is Born” in their real lives. Then, there are the hipsters and the fashionistas, as well as mutations of both. Just the other day I saw a gorgeous girl wearing stilettos at 11am, lining up for a screening and totally immersed in her copy of “On the Road,” the movie version of which played in last year’s competition. Talk about new cool.

After each screening, it’s time for a Twitter-palooza. Hundreds of minds share their first-time impressions, giving the movies their very first critical spin, which will stick for better or worse (unless there’s a backlash in opinions). Reviews are written in matter of minutes, opinions abound, and all this in the press office packed so tightly even the floor serves as a desk. It’s the closest thing to working in an old-fashioned news room and waiting for Cary Grant and Rosalind Russell to show up and trade verbal blows, before they yell "Stop the presses!"

As tiring as it is, it’s also a kind of heaven. Its denizens pride themselves on their exhaustion, but they all end up here the next year, and the next — possibly hoping for their pass to get bumped up to a flashier color. How can you not love a place in which reports of a stolen necklace are making news just like in the good old days of “To Catch a Thief”? Only yesterday a bitter letter from a Jerry Lewis-supporter and fan got leaked, and it felt like a real-life version of Martin Scorsese's “The King of Comedy.” As naughty, gaudy, bawdy and sporty as 42nd street used to be before the reign of Simba, Cannes is truly something else and it doesn’t give a damn if you love it or hate it, as long as you talk about it and keep the buzz going.

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Pain and Gain

While Michael Bay originally conceived "Pain & Gain" as a "small movie" that he would make before his most recent "Transformers" sequel, nothing about Bay's new film is little. As we're repeatedly reminded throughout the film, "Pain & Gain" is based on a true story: Between 1994 and 1995, three Floridan body-builders tried to get rich quick by robbing and killing. 

In "Pain & Gain," Bay's typically vile brand of chauvinism is amplified in order to make a silly but grand cynical statement about the scam that is the American dream. Everyone in "Pain & Gain" is corrupt, decadent, or stupid because anyone involved in an American institution is participating in a giant pyramid scheme, including the Florida Savings and Loan, the Miami PD and the gum-chewing blonde at the local Home Depot. 

Bay and screenwriters Christopher Markus and Stephen McFeely ("The Chronicles of Narnia The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe") don't hold back any bile here: With one striking exception, all of the film's characters are immodestly pathetic. "Pain & Gain" is irrepressibly sleazy, frequently exhausting and sometimes as bitterly funny as its creators think it is.

When we're first introduced to Daniel Lugo (Mark Wahlberg), he's running from a SWAT team in slow-motion as ropes of spit fly from his gaping mouth. After getting hit by a car, Lugo insists that it's the responsibility of all Americans to realize their potential. "All my heroes are self-made," Lugo burbles enthusiastically, adding that anyone who "squanders their gifts" is simply "unpatriotic." Lugo's delivering a sales pitch to us, and the product he's selling is the story of his failed get-rich-quick scheme. 

Together with fellow strongmen Adrian Doorbal (Anthony Mackie) and Paul Doyle (Dwayne Johnson), Lugo plots to kidnap and rob slimy entrepreneur Victor Kershsaw (Tony Shalhoub), a client at Lugo's gym. But Doorbal, an anxious man with steroid-shrunk gonads, and Doyle, a cocaine-addicted born-again Christian, are as simple-minded as Lugo is short-tempered. So while Lugo's failure is foretold in the film's opening scene, it's also treated as the inevitable conclusion to his story because almost everyone in "Pain & Gain" is a narcissistic dimwit. 

Throughout "Pain & Gain," anyone who aspires to authoritatively represent something bigger than himself is dismissed as a dumb shill. Priests are horny, weapons salesmen are Christian rock-listening tools, cops are presumptuous racists, and even Kershaw, the film's victim, is a loudmouthed opportunist. Kershaw is what Lugo wants to be, an aspiration confirmed when he sneers that salad was invented poor people. That's a Lugo-worthy line if every there was one. 

The teasing promise of more power, status, virility and money makes everyone myopically foolish. Bay rams home that point by juxtaposing the science-fair-worthy neighborhood watch poster boards Lugo makes to dupe his neighbors with the presentation that the Miami police chief gives to his men. In their own crude way, the film's creators are constantly howling about the pervasiveness of cultural indoctrination. They even go so far as to implicate themselves, if only just to prove they're not taking themselves seriously, when Lugo tells Doyle, "I watch a lot of movies, Paul. I know what I'm doing." 

The only competent/intelligent character in "Pain & Gain" is retired private detective Ed Du Bois (Ed Harris). Du Bois is unhappy in his retirement and doesn't like the idea of whiling away his remaining years playing golf or going fishing. He doesn't pursue Kershaw's case out of a sense of responsibility, but simply because it's a way to break up the tedium of his life. But even Du Bois is not infallible; to prove it he's afflicted with back pain, if only momentarily.

The pervasive juvenile nihilism inherent in "Pain & Gain" is mitigated by its creators' zeal for destructive social criticism. Bay makes some far-out creative decisions, like his sporadic use of randomly-timed inter-titles such as, "This is still sadly a true story," or a list of potential side effects of cocaine use, including anxiety and ejaculation. 

For his ostensibly small movie, Bay experiments with harness-rig digital camerawork and ostentatious tracking shots that pull viewers through pinhole-sized openings in walls and windows. As ambitious and vibrant as it is ugly and scattershot, "Pain & Gain" is the most charming Michael Bay movie in a long while.

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It's a Disaster

Seven friends and one newcomer gather for a Sunday “couples brunch.” Because most of them have known one another for years, and because they are fairly petty and duplicitous, they embed covert barbs and hidden agendas in almost everything they say and do. Conversations appear familiar and convivial on the surface but carry a disconcerting undertone of cattiness that’s almost a private language.

Even before they sit down to a feast of mimosas, Tracy’s vegetable crockpot stew-that-started-out-as-soup and Emma’s vegan quiche (Lexi’s new trendy thing is not eating animal products, so everybody has to suffer), they are annoyed to find that the smartphone reception in the neighborhood is spotty and the cable is out. Then the electricity goes off. A neighbor in a bright yellow hazmat suit stops by to borrow some D batteries and informs them that several dirty bombs have been detonated a few miles away, in downtown Los Angeles. Hedy, the scientist in the group, estimates they have about three hours before enduring slow, agonizing deaths by tasteless, odorless VX nerve gas. It’s the start of a really awkward afternoon. 

“It’s a Disaster" is a comedy. The casting of David Cross (“Arrested Development,” “Mr. Show”) and several Second City Chicago alumni, should tip you off to that. But I’m not sure I’d describe the movie as a “black comedy,” although the specter of imminent annihilation is, I grant you, a little on the “dark” side. This is more like a comedy of manners — really bad manners. The humor is indirect and relatively low-key, like the random sirens outside that nobody pays any attention to. (Why would they? They’re just sirens. Only later do the insistent wails of emergency vehicles take on greater significance.)

The movie’s funniest touches are quiet flashes of character, expertly timed and nimbly played by a deft ensemble. “It’s a Disaster” is consistently funny, but you wince more often than you laugh out loud. It’s like a Christopher Guest improvisational farce with the volume turned down to 5. 

Hosts Emma (Erinn Hayes) and Pete (Blaise Miller) are preparing to drop their own relationship bombshell on their friends. Hedy (America Ferrera) and Shane (Jeff Grace) are stuck in a six-year engagement with no end in sight. Lexi (Rachel Boston) and Buck (Kevin M. Brennan) fancy themselves as free-spirited rebels (she plays the glockenspiel, man). Nervous Tracy (Julia Stiles) is introducing her friends to mild-mannered Glenn (Cross) on their third date. 

The movie’s sense of humor is expressed in its opening credits, which appear over a slow reverse-zoom on a vintage black-and-white photograph of a tropical beach, with palm trees and a couple of rustic, thatched-roof shelters in the foreground. At some point you notice a huge column rising out of the water in the distance. Eventually you see that it’s topped by a mushroom cloud. It’s an image of the 1946 Bikini Atoll nuclear test. That’s the way things detonate in “It’s a Disaster”: gradually building up to climactic revelations (like Tchaikovsky’s “1812 Overture” and Ravel’s “Bolero” on the soundtrack), always teetering on the brink of … disaster. 

The film’s premise appears to have been adapted from Luis Buñuel’s famous 1962 satire “The Exterminating Angel,” in which a group of aristocrats gather for dinner and then find themselves inexplicably unable to leave the dining room. “It’s a Disaster,” written and directed by Todd Berger, traps its privileged Angelenos in a handsomely remodeled California bungalow, the plausible rationale for their confinement being the presence of deadly nerve gas outside. The crows don’t seem to be bothered by it, but you know crows. Probably nothing can kill them.

I read somewhere (and sentences that begin like this one are the stuff of which awkward brunch conversations are made) that Berger’s comedy was rooted in the characters’ inappropriate reactions to their situations. But I don’t think that’s quite accurate. What’s funny is that, apart from acknowledging the whole impending death thing, they do exactly what most people do all the time: They lapse into denial and retreat into the familiar patterns of behavior they’ve become accustomed to, as if stubbornly determined to act just like themselves even under the most extreme of circumstances. It’s easier to get outraged over some newly discovered relationship betrayal than it is to wrap your head around a possible alien invasion or nerve gas attack, which you can’t really do a whole lot about with a single roll of duct tape, anyway. 

While it’s always bad form to give away a comedy’s jokes, in this case there isn’t much that anybody could give away because the best material isn’t dependent on punch lines. Julia Stiles and America Ferrera prove themselves adept comedic actors, and they’re in good company. While we know that David Cross is a genius of funny, it’s still amazing how much he can get out of an inconsequential throwaway line like, “Mmmm, good carrots.”

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A mysterious sci-fi relationship primer

A romance, a thriller, and a science-fiction drama, "Upstream Color" tantalizes viewers with an open-ended narrative about overcoming personal loss. It's the long-awaited follow-up to the equally sophisticated 2004 time travel drama "Primer" by American indie wunderkind Shane Carruth, and it's every bit as good. A young couple are connected by a singular, mysterious experience, a form of hypnosis caused by body-snatching maggots that alienates them from everyone around them.

"Upstream Color" is about pattern recognition, but it's also about how a couple's inexplicable attraction is fostered by (shared?) trauma. Immediately after Kris (Amy Seimetz) is introduced, she's abducted and, for lack of a better word, hypnotized. For reasons that are never made explicit, a thief subjects Kris to mind-and-body-controlling maggots. The experience completely throws her routine out of whack: She loses her job, and bankrupts herself without knowing why. Once that ordeal is over, she finds herself weirdly drawn to Jeff (Carruth), a man she initially feels no connection with, but soon can't stop bumping into.

Post-brain-washing, Kris and Jeff's intertwined lives are presented through a drunken haze. Their relationship develops at a brisk pace, and while it's ambiguous to what extent Jeff and Kris have had the same thing happen to them, the two keep bumping into each other. Their motives are not always clear, even to themselves, but that's because they're never not struggling to figure out what's happened to them, and why everything now seems alien and menacingly opaque.

Kris and Jeff's bond is established and developed by small, telling gestures. Carruth bombards viewers with information, but he does this in small, unassuming ways, like the first time Kris hears Jeff describe a scene from his childhood. While they eat dinner, Jeff tells a story from his past. Kris interjects a detail, then lets him excitedly continue while she quietly wonders why his past sounds just like her own. This is the first of several conversations where Kris and Jeff seem to share each other's memories. In a later even, Jeff describes with photographic accuracy exactly where in his old office building Kris is as she tries to exit. And in an even later scene, after several heated conversations about grackles and starlings (it might also be just one conversation that goes in several different directions) Kris accuses Jeff of confusing his memories with hers. Eventually, it's uncertain whether Kris is retracing Jeff's steps, or vice versa.

The complex bond between the two characters is defined by questions that they don't ask each other, and gestures that don't have meaning outside the relationship itself. "Upstream Color" is about how, once co-dependent attachments are formed, people create new contexts for their lives, effectively distancing themselves from their identities as individuals. Kris and Jeff aren't just themselves anymore, they're a couple, redefined by their shared experiences, including those from before they met -- like when Jeff connects himself with Kris by describing what it was like to be ostracized by his peers after making bad business decisions that even he can't fully explain.

It's unclear how Kris and Jeff are linked to Sampler (Andrew Sensenig), a man who runs a pig farm and makes ambient noise music by distorting natural sounds on a synthesizer, or how Sampler facilitates the growth of the maggots. But finding answers to these questions is of secondary importance compared to watching the effect that certain triggers, like the color blue, or passages from Thoreau's "Walden," have on Kris and Jeff. As a couple, Kris and Jeff advance towards a new future together, one characterized by abstraction, but defined by a genuine sense of wonder.

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Tomorrow's Doctors Will Be Nothing More Than Technicians

I grew up in a solidly middle class neighborhood of second and third generation Jewish immigrants. Our grandparents lived in enclaves like Bensonhurst and the South Bronx. Our parents moved to Queens and Long Island where they became salesmen or shop owners.

It fell to my generation to earn advanced degrees and join the professional class. We had a few lawyers, some accountants, and one or two dentists. (My best friend Billy Ebenstein and I were the only ones to become professors.) Becoming a doctor was the pinnacle of success, with prestige, guaranteed financial security, and a lifetime of professional fulfillment.

As kids, our iconic physician was Marcus Welby, the eponymous lead character of television’s top rated drama series. Dr. Welby’s world of an independent private practice, free from interference from administrators and insurers, has ended. Not coincidentally, Marcus Welby was portrayed by Robert Young, who had previously played the lead role of Jim Anderson on Father Knows Best. Our doctors were parent figures, get it?

Physicians can no longer expect to enjoy similar relationships with their patients. Even the world of Gregory House, where the practice of medicine was reduced to finding the best application of diagnostic skill and modern technology, seems a distant memory. At least Dr. House held sway over his boss, Dr. Cuddy, and he never let costs get in the way of his medical decisions. When we last saw Dr. House, he was motorcycling off into the sunset with his dying friend Dr. Wilson. House got out just in time.

In the blink of an eye, the world of medicine has changed. We are witnessing massive vertical integration as providers try to make money from ACOs. At the same time, Medicare and private insurance have gone all-in on pay-for-performance. Only they have forsaken outcomes measurement and instead given us strict process guidelines. As a result of these changes, newly minted physicians can expect to spend the bulk of their careers employed by a hospital or a large multi-specialty group practice. They will not build and maintain a practice – their employer will do that for them. And they will have little discretion over diagnostic testing and treatment plans – they will instead follow strict treatment guidelines.

As a result of these changes, I see the end of professionalism. Tomorrow’s doctors will not be in loco parentis, instead, they will be more like carpenters or electricians, applying their tradesman-like skills to blueprints laid down by others. No one will place tomorrow’s doctors on a pedestal. Parents will no longer brag to their neighbors, “Let me tell you about my son, the doctor.”

Medicine will still be a financially rewarding career path. But if money is what matters, there will be far better choices. It will still take 8-10 years to finish medical school plus residency. During that time, a bright young college graduate could have instead completed three years at a top ranked law school and taken up with a big law firm, or worked at a financial firm, gone to a top business school, and taken a job in consulting. Not only would they earn money sooner, as a lawyer or consultant, they would not have to worry about Medicare slashing their fees.

Recent increases in marginal tax rates make medicine even less attractive. College students who choose medicine may give up 8-10 years of good income, but they could reasonably expect to make even more money once they finish their residencies. The net present value of a medical degree just might be worthwhile. Yet if you combine new federal marginal income tax rates that approach 45 percent with state income tax rates that often exceed 5 percent, then the net present value calculations do not look so good. Many college students will be wondering why they should give up a solid, steady income today in for a higher income as a doctor in the future, when the government is going to take over half of that higher income.

When I grew up, I was always told that medicine was a “calling.” Perhaps it was, though the money didn’t hurt. I don’t know how many young people will be “called” to become technicians. But technicians they will be. And with no real financial argument to support the choice, I wonder why anyone would choose to become a doctor.

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What Stockton's Bankruptcy Means for the Rest of Us

What happens when the government goes bankrupt? This question is
one that sounds like a hypothetical exercise in a law school
classroom from just a few years ago, where it might have been met
with some derision. But today, it is a realistic and terrifying
inquiry that many who have financial relationships with governments
in America will need to make, and it will be answered with the
gnashing of teeth.

Earlier this week, a federal judge accepted
the bankruptcy petition of Stockton, Calif., a city of about
300,000 residents northeast of San Francisco, over the objections
of those who had loaned money to the city. The lenders -- called
bondholders -- and their insurers saw this coming when the city
stopped paying interest on their loans -- called bonds. In this
connection, a bond is a loan made to a municipality, which pays the
lender tax-free interest and returns the principal when it is due.
Institutional lenders usually obtain insurance, which guarantees
the repayment but puts the insurance carrier on the hook.

The due dates of many of these bonds have come and gone, and the
bondholders and their insurers want Stockton to repay the loans.
But the city lacks the money with which to make the repayments. It
borrowed money from the bondholders during good financial times,
when its real estate-generated tax receipts were greater than
today, and when its advisers predicted no foreseeable end to the
flow of cash to the city. The expected flow of that cash, the
natural inclination of those in government to want to give away
other people's money, and the self-serving manipulations of those
in power who rewarded their friends and themselves with rich
pensions combined to cause the city to make generous pension
commitments to its employees.

It is politically easier to offer generous pension payments to
municipal employees in the future than it is to raise their
salaries today. The promise to pay a pension to qualifying retirees
upon their entry into the retirement system, just like the promise
to repay bondholders the money they loaned, is a legally
enforceable contract.

So, confronted with an obligation to repay more than $200
million in loans to bondholders and more than $900 million to the
California pension system for its current and former employees, and
confounded by a serious reduction in real estate tax revenue, so
serious that Stockton cannot afford to pay either the bondholders
or the pension system, let alone both, the city that over-borrowed
and over-spent and over-promised has sought the protection of a
federal bankruptcy court.

Bankruptcy in America is a strange bird. It permits debtors to
be relieved of their financial obligations by paying less, often
far less, than they owe. It compels creditors to accept less, often
far less, than they are due. It is generally an orderly and
mechanical process presided over by a neutral judge without a jury.
Its goal is to get the creditors something, leave the debtors with
something, and let all parties go home in peace and resume their
livelihoods.

But it rarely happens to the government. That's because the
government, which has no competition, creates no wealth, doesn't
produce anything of value and needn't attract clients, has a
monopoly on the use of force with which it can extract what it
needs to pay for its mistakes in the form of higher taxes. These
extractions, of course, are not voluntary transactions as when you
buy gas for your car or food for your table. They are mafia-style
transactions: Pay us more, or else.

But there must be a limit even to the Stockton taxpayers'
willingness to part with their wealth in the form of taxes, hence
the filing for bankruptcy. The Stockton case presents a rare
opportunity for a federal judge to interfere with the contractual
obligations of a municipal government and actually modify or even
nullify them.

It also presents a confluence of a culture in California of high
taxes and generous -- often non-contributory -- pensions for even
short-term government employees and a federal system that when it
faces a shortfall simply goes to its banker -- the Federal Reserve
-- and asks it to print more cash. Stockton cannot legally print
cash the way the Fed can.

How does this affect the rest of us? Currently, state and local
governments owe about $4 trillion in pension benefits that they do
not have to current and former employees, and they know they cannot
politically acquire it by raising taxes. This affects all 50
states. So the odds are that the states and the similarly situated
Stocktons in America will go to the Obama administration and ask
for free cash. And the president will no doubt find it for them.
That "found" cash will be borrowed from the Federal Reserve and,
like all of the federal government's debts to the Fed, will never
be repaid. But countless generations of American taxpayers will
make enormous and endless interest payments on it.

Does that sound too apocalyptic for you? Well, consider this:
The federal government is still paying interest on the $30 billion
it borrowed to wage World War I nearly 100 years ago. So, to the
feds, mortgaging your children's future to save the Stocktons of
the country from the consequences of their own profligate ways is a
no-brainer.

Should Americans yet unborn pay for all of this? Is this what
you elected the government to do? What will it take to keep the
government within the confines of the Constitution?

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"Anti-Government" Couple on Run After Kidnapping Their Own Children From Court-Appointed Guardian

This story probably isn't going to end well:
Joshua Michael Hakken and his wife Sharyn Hakken are on the run in
Florida after kidnapping their own two children from Sharyn's
mother this morning. Patricia Hauser has had legal custody of her
grandchildren, four-year-old Cole and two-year-old Chase, since
2012, when Joshua and Sharyn lost custody for displaying pot in
front of their sons at an "anti-government rally" in Louisianna.

ABC Action News has more: 

Investigators say Joshua Michael Hakken, 35 entered the home of
Patricia Hauser at 14040 Shady Shores Drive around 6:30 a.m. Hauser
is the maternal grandmother of Chase Hakken, 2, and Cole Hakken, 4.
It's believed Hakken's wife, 34-year-old Sharyn Hakken was waiting
outside.

Investigators did not know if the children were taken at
gunpoint and it was not clear if the mother was directly involved
in the abduction.

Reporters were told at a Wednesday afternoon news conference the
State of Louisiana took away the parents' parental rights and gave
Hauser temporary custody. 

Joshua Hakken tied up Hauser, took the children and fled in
Hauser's 2009 silver Toyota Camry, which was later found a few
blocks away.   

According to investigators, the couple lost custody of the two
boys after an anti-government rally in Louisiana. The father was
charged was possession of marijuana in the presence of the
children.

Afterward, Joshua Hakken tried to take the children, reportedly
at gunpoint, from a Louisiana foster care facility, but was
thwarted, according to the sheriff's office.

There aren't a lot of details out there right now, so it's
possible that the Hakkens really were a danger to their kids. But
it will be just so goddamn awful if all of this is the result of
them using some marijuana at a rally in front of their
kids. 

According to the Tampa Bay Times, the Hakkens run an
engineering firm in the Tampa area. Their parental rights were
terminated by a Louisiana court yesterday. 

Update: More on Hakken's June 17, 2012 drug
charge that may have gotten his kids taken away,
from the Time-Picayune police blotter: "Joshua M.
Hakken, age 34 of 3609 S Sterling Avenue, Tampa, FL, was arrested
for Possession of Marijuana, Possession of Drug Paraphernalia and
Possession of a controlled dangerous substance in the presence of a
minor."

Update II: Florida media outlets are really
playing up the anti-government angle. This is at the top of the
Orlando Sentinel's home page.

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We Asked 9 Real Guys Their Biggest Financial Deal Breakers

Money is never a more sensitive subject than when it comes up in relationships. In fact, fighting about money is one of the biggest predictors of divorce.

But it doesn’t have to be: Here we explain how to have the money talk—and why it’s so important.

And—newsflash—not only can knowing how to talk about money make your relationship more peaceable, knowing that you know how to handle it makes you more attractive to your significant other.

Don’t believe us? We asked nine guys ages 28 to 40—some married, some about to be, some on the market, some straight, some gay—to reflect on the financial issues they take into account before getting serious with someone.

Hear how they really feel about everything from the “wallet reach” and cheap tippers to settling down with someone who has a lot of debt.

LearnVest: What do you think of ‘the reach’—when your date reaches for his or her wallet when the check comes?

“It’s appreciated and the polite thing to do. Within the first three dates, the guy should politely say ‘I got it,’ but the woman should offer. It shows she isn’t being a user.”
Kevin, Westfield, NJ

“‘The reach’ is a bit awkward—it’s like, ‘I’m going to make a very obvious, slow-motioned movement just to be considerate, but I’m expecting you to pay.’ The gesture is nice in a way, but honestly, I just want a woman to give a sincere ‘thank you’ afterward. I’d prefer she say something like, ‘Would you like me to help pay?’ It acknowledges the elephant in the room in a direct, but polite way.”
Greg, Houston, TX 

“Depends on when it happens in the relationship. A girl can’t go wrong doing the reach early. It’s the safe play. If there was no reach after date number two—or an offer to pay the tip or, ‘At least let me treat next time’ – then that’s a problem and would give me a little pause.”
Brian W., New York, NY

At what stage of the relationship should a significant other start picking up the tab?

“I’m very old-fashioned, and I still think the person who asks someone out should pick up the check. At least on the first date. I think it starts pretty naturally from the beginning of a relationship and gets easier over time.”
Pat, Pittsburgh, PA

“I think the bigger deal is kind of the opposite—I’d know I’m close to ‘something real’ if we stop thinking so much about who gets what and we started thinking more like we’re making decisions like a pair and less like two individuals.”
Dan, New York, NY

“I think after three or four dates, or once it has become an exclusive relationship, it is probably time to start sharing the cost.”
Brian W., New York, NY

How do you feel about dating an over-spender?

“Won’t do it. Not interested.”
Dave, Philadelphia, PA

“If a girl is an over-spender with a ton of credit card debt and a closet full of stuff she never wears or uses, I think it demonstrates an undisciplined ‘live for the day’ type of attitude. I would be fine dating someone like that but that is as far as it would go—dating.”
Kevin

How do you feel about dating a spendthrift?

“HATE IT. Perhaps I don’t have much willpower, but having money for the sake of having money isn’t something that works for me.”
Pat

“Would not enjoy that.”
Brian S., Covington, KY

“I have never dated one, but would not like to. YOLO, and you can’t take it with you.”
Chad, Richmond, VA

How do you feel about dating someone who makes more money than you?

“Totally fine, as long as it isn’t used as a weapon for leverage in other aspects of the relationship.”
Frank, New York, NY

“No problem. I think I’d like it, actually. Ego is not important to me, but what is important is understanding the consequences of that high salary. Making good salaries typically means more responsibility, working more and sacrificing other parts of your personal life. If that negatively affects the relationship, that’s not good. If kids are involved, it becomes more complicated. How does it impact the family? Plenty of dual-income families are successful, but it’s important to have a good, strong understanding of the true costs and benefits.”
Greg

“I don’t really care, as long as it’s not too much more. If the other person was making $1 million a year, that may be a problem.”
Dave M.

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If 'Girls,' 'Full House' And More Had 'Game Of Thrones' Sigils

HBO has released a delightful sigil-maker before the start of the third season of Game of Thrones. This got me thinking, what would some of the most famous characters from fiction adopt as their sigils and mottos if they were in the world of Westeros? Let's have a look.

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Wedding Stress: How Brides Relaxed On Their Big Days

After spending months planning your perfect wedding, it's only natural to be stressed when the Big Day finally arrives. Add to that the emotional gravity of marrying the man or woman of your dreams and it's no wonder you're feeling a little overwhelmed!

On Saturday we asked our Twitter followers to share their best chill-out strategies for banishing Big Day stress. From planning a pre-wedding brunch with friends to fantasizing about a Caribbean honeymoon, our readers sure know how to kick back and relax! Click through the slideshow below for 12 of the best responses.

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Game Developers Are Migrating To Mobile

Game developers are increasingly turning to smartphones and tablets for their next project. A survey of 2,500 developers from the organizers&of the recent&Game Developers Conference&found that 58 percent were planning their next project for mobile devices. Approximately 38 percent of those surveyed said their last project was on mobile. Over 50 percent of those surveyed said they were independent developers, indicating that their could be some bias towards mobile in the survey, since mobile games are cheaper to develop than budget-busting console games.& Mobile gaming isn't going to knock out more immersive and graphics-driven desktop and console gaming any time soon. Hand-held consoles, however, are directly threatened by the increasingly sophisticated crop of iOS and Android games and will see less and less developer interest. Mobile games have been the primary beneficiary of the app store era. No wonder, given they are the largest time bucket on both smartphones and tablets.&A BII analysis found that 70 percent of the top 200 grossing apps on the iOS App Store were games (the proportion was 75 percent on Google Play). Among developers working on mobile, 90 percent planned working on iOS, 75 percent on Android, and only 15 percent on Windows Phone. Click here to view a larger version of this chart.
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