Where nothin' moves, just a strange breeze

File these photos under unexplainable things.

At least to me.

Captain Beefheart, who died last week, was a mysterious and bizarre musician, responsible for some of the strangest work in all of music. I can’t say I understood most of it, and Trout Mask Replica, his masterpiece, is one I worked hard trying to access. Its oddball blues and freeform chaos never really hit with me.

But in an attempt to reveal my coolness, I put on the album during a first date long ago. By the time it got to “Moonlight in Vermont,” it became abundantly clear why I had little to no success with women.

But here's one I DO get: Captain Beefheart -'I'm Gonna' Booglarize You Baby"

And once and for all, that’s a catfish and not a trout on the album cover.

Speaking of strange (and "booglarizing"): the Giants performance on Sunday. I have now, 48 hours later, just recovered enough to acknowledge that it happened. While the media heaps holy hosannas on Vick and Jackson, my only comment is that with about eight minutes to go, the Giants laid down.

Like dogs.

I'm not sure what "booglarize" means exactly, although I have a pretty good idea. And I think that's what happened on Sunday: The Eagles booglarized the Giants.

While not as bad as the 49er playoff meltdown, it still ranks as the worst and most embarrassing regular-season loss in franchise history. It was disgraceful to have that team come into your building and, after getting pushed all over the field for 3 ½ quarters, go on a rampage while you did nothing. Poor coaching, worse execution, no guts. It was absolutely, positively Fassel-like in its vulgarity. How does Coughlin keep his job?

Bah, humbug.