Okay, so I kind of blew it last week. Whatever. If you lost money taking my advice you deserved it. Anyway, let’s try this again.
St. Louis at Detroit (-)
Two teams with a combined record of 1-12. Generally speaking, the home team gets a 3-point bump, but if the even odds stick through the weekend, that must mean nobody thinks anybody is going to show up. St. Louis, though, somehow, still has an easier game coming up in Week 14 when they play the winless Tennessee Titans. This isn’t a toss up game, though. The Lions have had a considerably harder schedule and hung around most of their games--unlike the Rams who couldn’t drive a Durango 80 yards. (Seriously, 60 points in seven games?!) Add in the Lions bye-week advantage and this just might be one of the safer bets this weekend. Detroit wins and there’s no reason to think the Lions won’t try to take out two years of impotent frustration on the Rams during the second half.
Minnesota at Green Bay (-3.5)
If the Superbowl was played between a team of giant squids and the 82nd Airborne division, this would still probably be the most hyped game of the season (though it would be close). With the average age of a Green Bay Packer being 25.7 years and Brett Favre not a day under 63, there really isn’t any personal vendettas here though. Minus the quarterbacks and Minnesota wins. Add in the quarterbacks, Minnesota still wins. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still not a believer in Favre’s Viagra-assisted viability for the entire season, but it’s still to early for his arm to get sore from handing the ball to Adrian Peterson. Vikings cover and Green Bay gets over it. God I hope nobody actually named their kid “Brett” because of this man.
Denver at Baltimore (-3.5)
Both teams had last week off, meaning Baltimore should have had time to stop their bleeding after three straight losses. Conversely, Denver’s had time to cool down after hot wins against Dallas, New England and San Diego. I can’t see Denver going undefeated, so they have to be at the sucker end of an upset sometime. This year, Baltimore is as sure to lose in a game of luck as Denver is to win, so this game better not come down to the last thirty seconds, because quoth the Raven, "I will never score"…that was awful, I apologize. For real, the Ravens consistently put up bigger points and are playing with a gun to their head (two games behind Cincinnati and Pittsburgh in their division). Ravens defense wins the game.
New York (Giants) at Philadelphia (+1.5)
The Giants have dropped their last two and did so with as little dignity as possible. They got throttled by New Orleans and lost convincingly, at home, against the wily Cardinals. The Eagles, though have stumbled into a 4-2 record almost by accident. Philadelphia doesn't have the personnel problems the Cardinals do, so they'll stick to the basic defensive strategies Eli Manning can handle. Meanwhile Andy Reid will flush half a dozen offensive plays down the toilet by putting in Michael Vick, which teams might not even being preparing for anymore. If the Giants lose here, they have serious problems. Luckily they don't: Giants win.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Friday, October 30, 2009
Life or Something Like It
I was reading the newspaper last week and saw somebody quoted in an article that couldn’t have been less interesting. In a sense, I didn’t know the person, in another sense: I did, and very well. This might be a true story.
I knew this girl. She was a girl who had no name. She had a face and history. She had real parents, friends, a bedroom and a TV in her bedroom--after 8th grade. But she had no name.
Upon recounting her life, the girl always felt apologetic. She didn’t want to bore anybody with her life story. Oh sure, she had fun, but for some reason she felt her fun, her life, never translated well into a good story, or even anecdote. Her friends were like her; the friends that weren’t like her weren’t her friends for very long. She’d go down a different road in life or they would.
In college she fell in love. Years later she’d admit she more fell into convenience. She needed a boy, she found a boy. When she didn’t need a boy, she got rid of the boy. She wrote some poetry when she felt blue or inspired but never showed anybody any of it. It wasn’t that she was modest, though she was, but it just wasn’t very good.
This girl with no name traveled occasionally. She went to Chicago and Austin. Once she went to Branson, but she didn’t care for it too much. She might have been a journalism major in college, but at times, even she couldn’t remember right away. After her freshman year, she switched and became a business major. She didn’t have any specific ideas for a business, but it seemed like a major that would help her be more successful in life. At one point she thought about opening a used-clothes store. She never would.
Around this time in college, the girl with no name decided to give herself a name. She had been in some school plays years ago and really liked it back then, so it made sense that she would choose the name: Madison Starr-the actress. Oh and what an actress she became. She auditioned for a play and everything. Hell, she auditioned for three plays in her first month of being an actress. Everybody knew she’d be famous someday. After all, her name was Madison Starr; she could do anything she wanted.
But after some time, Madison didn’t want to be an actress anymore. Being an actress has to be something you really, really, really want. And Madison only really wanted to be an actress. Madison eventually came to the conclusion that she was better suited to being a writer.
Madison had written some poetry when she was younger, remember? Granted it wasn’t award-worthy, but she felt she just needed some practice. And a new name of course. It was here that Madison became Joelle Johnston--but she preferred to go by “J.J.” She took a poetry class and went to some open-mic readings. She might have even read a poem or two to the crowd, but nobody really remembers, except for her. J.J. took up smoking around this time. It was kind of gross and kind of expensive and J.J. never really felt she was addicted, but her new friends smoked and well…peer pressure has a way of being pressure-less.
But being a writer wasn’t getting J.J. anywhere. She never liked the work she did a month after writing it. She was never going to get published, much less make a career out of being a “Greenwich Village wannabe”--her words. She was just plain tired of feeling miserable, so she stopped being a writer. She decided life is short and she should give something back to the world.
So Joelle, er, J.J., became Aleka Goodwin. Aleka was a social worker, whatever that is. She basically just helped people. It didn’t pay well, as any job that really helps people doesn’t, but she felt good about it. She felt she was making at least some difference in a few people’s lives. Aleka met some really great people. Some were volunteers and some were “travelers”--as many don’t want to be called “homeless”. But after a couple of years, Aleka’s energy started to fade. She became bored by the monotony. Same people. Same job. Same place. Same place. Same place.
That's when Aleka decided to go on a real adventure. Really do something exciting. Something that she could put down on a resume years later for a job she may not actually want. Aleka was going to find out who she really was, in her own unique way. Aleka went to Europe.
In Europe, Aleka became somebody else. The name doesn’t really matter anymore. At first she was an American backpacking the tourist spots, but over the months she became a European. It doesn’t really matter which country she was in, just so long as she could frown on the annoying American tourists.
But over time she became less a girl and more of a woman and went back to being an American again. Years later she became a mother, which brought along the name “Mommy”--and also some other name. Then she was the chapter president of some local club. As one name she owned a boat. As another name she owned a dog. Life continued. Names came and went. Emma, Hailey, Olivia, Sarah, Grace, Emma (again), Lilian and Cairo--though that one didn’t last very long. Eventually she decided to have grandchildren. Later she became the vice-president of another local club. At some point she received recognition from somebody about something. Two years later, the name on the plaque was wrong. Then she died.
And as stated in her will, her tombstone is altered accordingly every few months or years.
This might be a true story.
I knew this girl. She was a girl who had no name. She had a face and history. She had real parents, friends, a bedroom and a TV in her bedroom--after 8th grade. But she had no name.
Upon recounting her life, the girl always felt apologetic. She didn’t want to bore anybody with her life story. Oh sure, she had fun, but for some reason she felt her fun, her life, never translated well into a good story, or even anecdote. Her friends were like her; the friends that weren’t like her weren’t her friends for very long. She’d go down a different road in life or they would.
In college she fell in love. Years later she’d admit she more fell into convenience. She needed a boy, she found a boy. When she didn’t need a boy, she got rid of the boy. She wrote some poetry when she felt blue or inspired but never showed anybody any of it. It wasn’t that she was modest, though she was, but it just wasn’t very good.
This girl with no name traveled occasionally. She went to Chicago and Austin. Once she went to Branson, but she didn’t care for it too much. She might have been a journalism major in college, but at times, even she couldn’t remember right away. After her freshman year, she switched and became a business major. She didn’t have any specific ideas for a business, but it seemed like a major that would help her be more successful in life. At one point she thought about opening a used-clothes store. She never would.
Around this time in college, the girl with no name decided to give herself a name. She had been in some school plays years ago and really liked it back then, so it made sense that she would choose the name: Madison Starr-the actress. Oh and what an actress she became. She auditioned for a play and everything. Hell, she auditioned for three plays in her first month of being an actress. Everybody knew she’d be famous someday. After all, her name was Madison Starr; she could do anything she wanted.
But after some time, Madison didn’t want to be an actress anymore. Being an actress has to be something you really, really, really want. And Madison only really wanted to be an actress. Madison eventually came to the conclusion that she was better suited to being a writer.
Madison had written some poetry when she was younger, remember? Granted it wasn’t award-worthy, but she felt she just needed some practice. And a new name of course. It was here that Madison became Joelle Johnston--but she preferred to go by “J.J.” She took a poetry class and went to some open-mic readings. She might have even read a poem or two to the crowd, but nobody really remembers, except for her. J.J. took up smoking around this time. It was kind of gross and kind of expensive and J.J. never really felt she was addicted, but her new friends smoked and well…peer pressure has a way of being pressure-less.
But being a writer wasn’t getting J.J. anywhere. She never liked the work she did a month after writing it. She was never going to get published, much less make a career out of being a “Greenwich Village wannabe”--her words. She was just plain tired of feeling miserable, so she stopped being a writer. She decided life is short and she should give something back to the world.
So Joelle, er, J.J., became Aleka Goodwin. Aleka was a social worker, whatever that is. She basically just helped people. It didn’t pay well, as any job that really helps people doesn’t, but she felt good about it. She felt she was making at least some difference in a few people’s lives. Aleka met some really great people. Some were volunteers and some were “travelers”--as many don’t want to be called “homeless”. But after a couple of years, Aleka’s energy started to fade. She became bored by the monotony. Same people. Same job. Same place. Same place. Same place.
That's when Aleka decided to go on a real adventure. Really do something exciting. Something that she could put down on a resume years later for a job she may not actually want. Aleka was going to find out who she really was, in her own unique way. Aleka went to Europe.
In Europe, Aleka became somebody else. The name doesn’t really matter anymore. At first she was an American backpacking the tourist spots, but over the months she became a European. It doesn’t really matter which country she was in, just so long as she could frown on the annoying American tourists.
But over time she became less a girl and more of a woman and went back to being an American again. Years later she became a mother, which brought along the name “Mommy”--and also some other name. Then she was the chapter president of some local club. As one name she owned a boat. As another name she owned a dog. Life continued. Names came and went. Emma, Hailey, Olivia, Sarah, Grace, Emma (again), Lilian and Cairo--though that one didn’t last very long. Eventually she decided to have grandchildren. Later she became the vice-president of another local club. At some point she received recognition from somebody about something. Two years later, the name on the plaque was wrong. Then she died.
And as stated in her will, her tombstone is altered accordingly every few months or years.
This might be a true story.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Gays Admit Diabolical Plans
In a startling public confession, leaders of the homosexual community in the state of Washington admitted their plans to undermine traditional, God-fearing marriage. What many reasonable-thinking Americans assumed was morally righteous, hypocritical, paranoid-induced fear mongering has now been confirmed.
“It’s true,” boasts Lars Thunderbottom, president of all gay people, “As homosexuals, we’ve always wanted to outlaw Christianity, do illegal drugs, teach children to be homosexual and just overall gross normal people out.”
Apparently, the arguments for Washington’s Referendum 71 were all made up to get attention from a gay-loving liberal media, including: hospital visitation rights, legal adoptions, employer-heathcare coverage, pension benefits and death benefits already granted to heterosexual (or “traditional”) couples.
Now, of course, the obvious solution (expanding the rights of legally-bestowed “civil unions” to the same rights of denominationally-bestowed “marriage” rights) is void. Turns out this whole time, gay people (as they now prefer to be called) have wanted to re-write every Christian’s bible.
“They don’t need to buy a new pro-gay Bible,” explains Dani Jo, “That’d be crazy. Just let us come into your home and re-write some passages with a Sharpie.”
Jo would go on to concede that American society was just overall better 20, 40 or 60 years ago. Back then, all families stuck together (see the documentary “Leave it to Beaver”) and honest Americans treated each other right. Also there were no gay people.
The effects of gay marriage in other states and countries have already been felt, surely sending a damning message to the people of Washington. As previously reported by “Protect Marriage in Washington,” Scandinavia’s drug use doubled 19 times since approving gay marriage (without even being a country) and suicide rates in Massachusetts have equally skyrocketed (according to some guy whose nephew is a lawyer).
In Washington the effects can only be hypothesized but should probably be unconscionably ridiculous. Children growing up around gay teachers, doctors and even adoptive parents will become gay themselves. Upon turning gay, the children will then listen to new music that hardly even sounds like music and only watch football for the ass-slaps. So consumed by their “gayness,” the children will then grow up with no work ethic, never believe in a Christian god and let the Chinese devour us all (economically, of course).
The effects of the marriage legislation are already being felt by the future generations.
“I don’t know,” said little Timmy, “I guess I feel a little gayer now.”
There’s no telling how the rest of the country will react to this new, gay news. It’s likely Clint Eastwood will make a de-saturated period piece movie about a gay man over coming obstacles placed down by a demonized society...likely starring Morgan Freeman and oh…I don’t know, let’s just go with Matt Damon, he’s in a lot of shit. Of course then the Academy will give them all a bunch of Oscars because Hollywood has officially come out of the closest as a gay city.
When reached for comment, that guy who works at the coffee shop--who you’ve always suspected was gay--said, “I am a little frustrated that the normal, real Americans in this country have finally proven that morality is not subjective. Everyone knows the country was built on the idea of having a repressive majority--despite the fact that every immigrant in the last 500 years was clearly a minority in some context, whether it was religion, race, nationality or sexual orientation.”
“It’s true,” boasts Lars Thunderbottom, president of all gay people, “As homosexuals, we’ve always wanted to outlaw Christianity, do illegal drugs, teach children to be homosexual and just overall gross normal people out.”
Apparently, the arguments for Washington’s Referendum 71 were all made up to get attention from a gay-loving liberal media, including: hospital visitation rights, legal adoptions, employer-heathcare coverage, pension benefits and death benefits already granted to heterosexual (or “traditional”) couples.
Now, of course, the obvious solution (expanding the rights of legally-bestowed “civil unions” to the same rights of denominationally-bestowed “marriage” rights) is void. Turns out this whole time, gay people (as they now prefer to be called) have wanted to re-write every Christian’s bible.
“They don’t need to buy a new pro-gay Bible,” explains Dani Jo, “That’d be crazy. Just let us come into your home and re-write some passages with a Sharpie.”
Jo would go on to concede that American society was just overall better 20, 40 or 60 years ago. Back then, all families stuck together (see the documentary “Leave it to Beaver”) and honest Americans treated each other right. Also there were no gay people.
The effects of gay marriage in other states and countries have already been felt, surely sending a damning message to the people of Washington. As previously reported by “Protect Marriage in Washington,” Scandinavia’s drug use doubled 19 times since approving gay marriage (without even being a country) and suicide rates in Massachusetts have equally skyrocketed (according to some guy whose nephew is a lawyer).
In Washington the effects can only be hypothesized but should probably be unconscionably ridiculous. Children growing up around gay teachers, doctors and even adoptive parents will become gay themselves. Upon turning gay, the children will then listen to new music that hardly even sounds like music and only watch football for the ass-slaps. So consumed by their “gayness,” the children will then grow up with no work ethic, never believe in a Christian god and let the Chinese devour us all (economically, of course).
The effects of the marriage legislation are already being felt by the future generations.
“I don’t know,” said little Timmy, “I guess I feel a little gayer now.”
There’s no telling how the rest of the country will react to this new, gay news. It’s likely Clint Eastwood will make a de-saturated period piece movie about a gay man over coming obstacles placed down by a demonized society...likely starring Morgan Freeman and oh…I don’t know, let’s just go with Matt Damon, he’s in a lot of shit. Of course then the Academy will give them all a bunch of Oscars because Hollywood has officially come out of the closest as a gay city.
When reached for comment, that guy who works at the coffee shop--who you’ve always suspected was gay--said, “I am a little frustrated that the normal, real Americans in this country have finally proven that morality is not subjective. Everyone knows the country was built on the idea of having a repressive majority--despite the fact that every immigrant in the last 500 years was clearly a minority in some context, whether it was religion, race, nationality or sexual orientation.”
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Scholaristics
Rena was baffled, she was flabbergasted, she was…really baffled. Rena was frustrated by her synonym disparity.
Never before had Rena felt so dumb. Not dumb in the way she commonly embarrassed herself through unspeakable acts of physical discoordination; but dumb in the sense that everyone around her was smarter than her. Rena thought about the word “discoordination”; unsure if it was a real word.
She asked the group.
They laughed. Rena smiled, not knowing anything more than she had a minute earlier. Everybody liked Rena’s sense of humor. That must mean I have a smart sense of humor, Rena thought. When Rena was introduced to the group, she was described as “the illustrious Rena Becket.” An hour later, Rena had to look up the word “illustrious.” Upon reading the definition, Rena sighed at the unfulfilled prophecy.
Is it blasphemes to entertain the notion Abe Lincoln was shot for talking during a play? Rena never had her thoughts on one place for too long, even if she really wanted to.
For the next hour, Rena listened to the intellectuals around her discuss things of a different world. They were playing a cerebral game in a stadium of the mind. For example: “The Evolution of Pessimism.” Rena understood each of those words individually, but together opened up a context that itself was adapted and discarded before Rena stopped thinking about dinosaurs.
Should Rena ask someone to pass the plate of crescendos or were they called something else? Nevermind, she didn’t want them anymore.
Rena may have felt dumb but she wasn’t a fool. Or if she was going to be a fool, so was going to be a quiet one. Adalai Stevenson once said, “it’s better to remain a fool than to speak up and be a bigger fool…or something like that.” Rena pondered the self-remembered quote. That probably wasn’t exactly what President Stevenson had said. In fact, he probably wasn’t even the one who actually said it.
While trying to remember her presidents and quotes, Asher addressed Rena directly. His demeanor indicated he was giving some kind of friendly push, that he was trying to integrate her with a little teasing, but Rena would again have to look up a semi-joking word describing her: laconic.
Rena thought and she thought quickly. Say something smart. Something someone else once said. Nietzsche said something once, right? The stoner at the record shop talks about him all the time; or more accurately, one of the stoners at the record shop. Actually, a couple of them do. Nietzche must have been that traveling bongo player.
Rena had never played the bongos before but she used to love a guy who played the drums. She would have gone to Nebraska and back for him, she loved him so. But he was in a garage band. And like what happens every time girlfriends get mixed in with bands, the relationship gets strained and the rock star dumps her to save the band. Now he and his pals, known as “Free Beer,” are rounding out their tour circuit in North Grove, Indiana.
Her temporary disconnection from the group of young thinkers, poets and philosophists allowed Rena to miss the growing tension across the room until it degenerated into the lowest and loudest form of communication that evening.
“You are not an intellectual! You are a parrot on an intellectual’s shoulder!”
“Whatever! Your literary criticism is nothing more than a parlor trick!”
“That’s exactly what my insult was: you did it again!”
“No! You did it again!”
“Shove it!”
At this point Rena decided she’d had enough of this crowd. She was going to do the smartest thing anybody could do. After looking up a few words in the dictionary, Rena would down half a bottle of UV blue vodka while watching “I Heart New York” and pass out in her living room.
Never before had Rena felt so dumb. Not dumb in the way she commonly embarrassed herself through unspeakable acts of physical discoordination; but dumb in the sense that everyone around her was smarter than her. Rena thought about the word “discoordination”; unsure if it was a real word.
She asked the group.
They laughed. Rena smiled, not knowing anything more than she had a minute earlier. Everybody liked Rena’s sense of humor. That must mean I have a smart sense of humor, Rena thought. When Rena was introduced to the group, she was described as “the illustrious Rena Becket.” An hour later, Rena had to look up the word “illustrious.” Upon reading the definition, Rena sighed at the unfulfilled prophecy.
Is it blasphemes to entertain the notion Abe Lincoln was shot for talking during a play? Rena never had her thoughts on one place for too long, even if she really wanted to.
For the next hour, Rena listened to the intellectuals around her discuss things of a different world. They were playing a cerebral game in a stadium of the mind. For example: “The Evolution of Pessimism.” Rena understood each of those words individually, but together opened up a context that itself was adapted and discarded before Rena stopped thinking about dinosaurs.
Should Rena ask someone to pass the plate of crescendos or were they called something else? Nevermind, she didn’t want them anymore.
Rena may have felt dumb but she wasn’t a fool. Or if she was going to be a fool, so was going to be a quiet one. Adalai Stevenson once said, “it’s better to remain a fool than to speak up and be a bigger fool…or something like that.” Rena pondered the self-remembered quote. That probably wasn’t exactly what President Stevenson had said. In fact, he probably wasn’t even the one who actually said it.
While trying to remember her presidents and quotes, Asher addressed Rena directly. His demeanor indicated he was giving some kind of friendly push, that he was trying to integrate her with a little teasing, but Rena would again have to look up a semi-joking word describing her: laconic.
Rena thought and she thought quickly. Say something smart. Something someone else once said. Nietzsche said something once, right? The stoner at the record shop talks about him all the time; or more accurately, one of the stoners at the record shop. Actually, a couple of them do. Nietzche must have been that traveling bongo player.
Rena had never played the bongos before but she used to love a guy who played the drums. She would have gone to Nebraska and back for him, she loved him so. But he was in a garage band. And like what happens every time girlfriends get mixed in with bands, the relationship gets strained and the rock star dumps her to save the band. Now he and his pals, known as “Free Beer,” are rounding out their tour circuit in North Grove, Indiana.
Her temporary disconnection from the group of young thinkers, poets and philosophists allowed Rena to miss the growing tension across the room until it degenerated into the lowest and loudest form of communication that evening.
“You are not an intellectual! You are a parrot on an intellectual’s shoulder!”
“Whatever! Your literary criticism is nothing more than a parlor trick!”
“That’s exactly what my insult was: you did it again!”
“No! You did it again!”
“Shove it!”
At this point Rena decided she’d had enough of this crowd. She was going to do the smartest thing anybody could do. After looking up a few words in the dictionary, Rena would down half a bottle of UV blue vodka while watching “I Heart New York” and pass out in her living room.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Economics on Tips: Tips on Economics
Me-“When you give a server a tip, you’re not giving him or her advice. You’re rewarding them for giving you special attention, whether they did or not. To me, it makes more sense to tip a server, or any professional, before they’ve provided their services. If you tip well, or at least adequately, than the money is not going to waste—for you—because the server will take your early tip into consideration and give you the appropriate amount of service.”
Louis-“But our tipping is meant as a reward system, not the classical acronym: To Insure Prompt Service, as you are implying.”
Me-“Implying nothing, I’m saying straight up: It’s inefficient. Besides a false sense of moral righteousness, what’s the benefit to tipping well? And don’t say karma.”
Louis-“The server will remember you for next time.”
Me-“Exactly. But the server has scores of customers every night, seems like that’s a lot to keep track of even if a well-tipping customer shows up say…once every other week. However, this hypothetical customer only needs to remember one server. Much, much more doable; especially if the server responded notably well or not after a previous tip.”
Louis-“Would this mean people would tip less?”
Me-“I don’t think so, because then you get a societal, blind, silent auctioning for the limited number of servers. Every customer is then directly competing with every other customer. Also, these customers will feel like they are purchasing something--the server’s attention--with their tip. And people always pay more when they know more. I'm sure we'll come back to this.”
Louis-“Okay, but if the restaurants thought their servers would get more tips, couldn't they pay them even less? But I guess that could mean the food prices would go down."
Me-“Cool it Adam Smith. First thing: restaurants are only able to pay their employees less than minimum wage because they expect the tips. However, if a server gets no tips, for whatever reason, the restaurant legally has to compensate the server to the minimum wage salary. So at no point does a server make less money than anybody else working at minimum wage. Secondly, servers only have to work below minimum wage because other people would if they didn't. If nobody would work for $3/hour, nobody would have to. Thirdly, there is no reason to think food prices would go down if the restaurant could cut costs.”
Louis-“Sure there is. The restaurant can make the same profit on an individual item, they’ll lower their prices to reach out to more customers. It’s supply and demand.”
Me-“Okay, it's not exactly. It's the power of knowledge. Supply and demand is not the three-word answer to every economics discussion—especially when it’s more fun to use a few hundred. If society is functioning, as time goes on, people make more money and things cost more.”
Louis-“You’re talking about inflation.”
Me-“Winner. Now, every business is trying to maximize profits. No business can afford to just be content and sit on their hands. Everybody raises their prices until demand for said item or service starts to decrease. Think of it this way: if a $20 streak costs a restaurant $5, but then a cold snap kills a million cattle and $5 cost shoots up to $10, there is no inherent reason the $20 cost to the customer should raise to $25.”
Louis-“Sure there is. Less beef, or supply, means there’s more demand for what’s left.”
Me-“But that only works if the people know about the less supply so they can feel validated with their increased costs. However, if the number of people willing to pay an extra $5 decreases more than the profit gained of the remaining, extra $5-paying customers, the restaurant will not raise it’s prices. It would take the direct hit into the profit margin and keep the larger amount of customers. If people, without knowledge of a cattle-killing cold snap, would largely pay $25 for a steak—then you better believe the restaurant will charge $25 for a steak that still only costs them $5.”
Louis-“This is all very complicated.”
Me-“Of course. People spend their entire lives trying to figure it out. Just remember that people are not victims of economics, they are the driving force. If you want to know why anything costs any amount of money, it's because people will pay for it. Gas is $2.60 because people will pay for it. Gas will cost $3.50 because people will pay for it later. The toll both from Topeka to Lawrence cost 85 cents at exit 202 and a buck at exit 204 because…”
Louis-“People will pay it. But why does Taco Bell charge 99 cents for regular nachos, that is, cheese and chips but only 89 cents for their five-layer nachos?”
Me-“...”
Louis-“…”
Me-“Because Taco Bell is an a economic world between dreams and nightmares. An eatery between mysticism and reality. A place we can see, smell and hear but cannot comprehend. It is…the Twilight Zone.”
Louis-“But our tipping is meant as a reward system, not the classical acronym: To Insure Prompt Service, as you are implying.”
Me-“Implying nothing, I’m saying straight up: It’s inefficient. Besides a false sense of moral righteousness, what’s the benefit to tipping well? And don’t say karma.”
Louis-“The server will remember you for next time.”
Me-“Exactly. But the server has scores of customers every night, seems like that’s a lot to keep track of even if a well-tipping customer shows up say…once every other week. However, this hypothetical customer only needs to remember one server. Much, much more doable; especially if the server responded notably well or not after a previous tip.”
Louis-“Would this mean people would tip less?”
Me-“I don’t think so, because then you get a societal, blind, silent auctioning for the limited number of servers. Every customer is then directly competing with every other customer. Also, these customers will feel like they are purchasing something--the server’s attention--with their tip. And people always pay more when they know more. I'm sure we'll come back to this.”
Louis-“Okay, but if the restaurants thought their servers would get more tips, couldn't they pay them even less? But I guess that could mean the food prices would go down."
Me-“Cool it Adam Smith. First thing: restaurants are only able to pay their employees less than minimum wage because they expect the tips. However, if a server gets no tips, for whatever reason, the restaurant legally has to compensate the server to the minimum wage salary. So at no point does a server make less money than anybody else working at minimum wage. Secondly, servers only have to work below minimum wage because other people would if they didn't. If nobody would work for $3/hour, nobody would have to. Thirdly, there is no reason to think food prices would go down if the restaurant could cut costs.”
Louis-“Sure there is. The restaurant can make the same profit on an individual item, they’ll lower their prices to reach out to more customers. It’s supply and demand.”
Me-“Okay, it's not exactly. It's the power of knowledge. Supply and demand is not the three-word answer to every economics discussion—especially when it’s more fun to use a few hundred. If society is functioning, as time goes on, people make more money and things cost more.”
Louis-“You’re talking about inflation.”
Me-“Winner. Now, every business is trying to maximize profits. No business can afford to just be content and sit on their hands. Everybody raises their prices until demand for said item or service starts to decrease. Think of it this way: if a $20 streak costs a restaurant $5, but then a cold snap kills a million cattle and $5 cost shoots up to $10, there is no inherent reason the $20 cost to the customer should raise to $25.”
Louis-“Sure there is. Less beef, or supply, means there’s more demand for what’s left.”
Me-“But that only works if the people know about the less supply so they can feel validated with their increased costs. However, if the number of people willing to pay an extra $5 decreases more than the profit gained of the remaining, extra $5-paying customers, the restaurant will not raise it’s prices. It would take the direct hit into the profit margin and keep the larger amount of customers. If people, without knowledge of a cattle-killing cold snap, would largely pay $25 for a steak—then you better believe the restaurant will charge $25 for a steak that still only costs them $5.”
Louis-“This is all very complicated.”
Me-“Of course. People spend their entire lives trying to figure it out. Just remember that people are not victims of economics, they are the driving force. If you want to know why anything costs any amount of money, it's because people will pay for it. Gas is $2.60 because people will pay for it. Gas will cost $3.50 because people will pay for it later. The toll both from Topeka to Lawrence cost 85 cents at exit 202 and a buck at exit 204 because…”
Louis-“People will pay it. But why does Taco Bell charge 99 cents for regular nachos, that is, cheese and chips but only 89 cents for their five-layer nachos?”
Me-“...”
Louis-“…”
Me-“Because Taco Bell is an a economic world between dreams and nightmares. An eatery between mysticism and reality. A place we can see, smell and hear but cannot comprehend. It is…the Twilight Zone.”
Monday, October 26, 2009
Conversations with Obama
There is no context for this situation. There never was and never really could be. Regardless, President Barack Obama had the pleasure of sitting down with yours truly. In other words, there were no cameras and he didn’t know about my hidden tape recorder.
No matter your political ideology, he was exactly what you’d expect. I wish I could say he scratched his ass and belched, but he didn’t. By the same token, he wasn’t surprised when I did.
“Mister President,” I started.
“Barack’s fine.”
“You’re the leader of our country,” I began to ask. “Members of three separate generations have claimed you are the leader of their generation…” I slowly lose the words.
“Do you know what you want to ask?”
“I do, but I don’t know how.”
“Is this about your reGeneration?”
“Yes. I don’t remember having an idol growing up. I didn't look up to anybody I didn't know personally. Sometimes I want to blame my journalistic predecessors. Every famous person of the last century has been dug up, analyzed and tossed aside. Every idol, role model and ideal has been deconstructed to their cynical roots. It seems that anyone with any social respectability, admiralty or power can be dragged through the mud; yet I feel like there’s pressure to find a role model. Someone somewhere must be the worth the status.”
Obama formed an L with his hand and rested his head so that his index finger paralleled the side of his face. He thought for a moment, sacrificing a quick response for a deliberate one.
“You can’t ask people to be perfect--”he began.
“Even if they are trying to be?”
“Is that a shot at me?”
“'Afraid not, Daniel Webster. But I am curious: Are you afraid of being an elitist?”
“That’s a good trick question.”
“Have you ever read the Trial of Socrates?”
“Yes.”
“According to Plato, Socrates was executed because he tried to teach reason over mysticism,” I paused, letting Obama start to put together the rest of the linguistic and historic puzzle, before continuing, “More importantly though, Socrates had a chance to escape his execution but refused. He died willingly so that he could be vindicated by history.”
“Was he?.”
“Not completely.”
“It’s dangerous, if not inaccurate, to call people’s religion mysticism.” I knew what Obama met. Always the politician. But that doesn’t mean he was wrong. Socrates wasn’t vindicated in the last 2300 years, so it didn’t seem likely to happen in the next five minutes.
“I heard at one point that your favorite show was ‘Entourage’,” I asked without asking.
“Yeah. Are you fan?”
“Yeah but I haven’t watched much of season sixth; stuff just keeps coming up.”
He smiled. “I know exactly how you feel. I think there’s more to the show than a lot of people give it credit for.”
“I’d agree, sir.”
“The show is a dichotomy of an aimlessly ambitious group of multi-talented best friends. Their Hollywood ambitions aren’t exactly noble in nature, but it’s fun to watch. They all have such strong and different personalities that they can cover all spectrums of a situation.”
“That’s good writing” I quipped.
“That’s a good group of friends” he quipped back. “You think my political advisors don’t have different personalities?”
“I suppose so, sir. But now I can’t help but picture you and Joe Biden trying to sneak into the Playboy Mansion.”
“Okay, so the comparison wasn’t perfect.”
I smiled, but it faded as I realized I forgot what else I needed to ask the President.
“Nick,” Obama said, instantly getting my attention, “I’m curious what it is you’re doing. Not many people ever talk to me without ever talking to me. Or at least they don’t get a response.”
“Is it too weird?”
“No, not at all. You learn through experimentation, right? Take your time, keep an open mind. When you have the opportunity: take it, because you don’t always have it.”
“You can’t get real experimental with the Afghanistan War, huh?”
“That’s right. But you, and your generation does have the opportunity.”
“School kind of takes up a lot of time.”
“I know,” he said smiling, revealing that he had a had a flip remark up his sleeve, “Too often schools get in the way of a proper education.”
“So we need a better education?”
“You and your friends will be plenty educated before long. Just like your parents. But what I want to see is the younger generations, your reGeneration, not only find the faults in society others can’t see, but to fix them. Or at least put the even younger generations in a better position."
I considered this. "I think that's your job, too, sir."
"It is. But we're not talking about me. We're talking about you. Maybe I’m asking too much, but that's the way it should be. Don't get discouraged. If you hit specific goals and always see the bigger picture for society, we might just have a generation full of the role models you said you were looking for.”
Game on.
No matter your political ideology, he was exactly what you’d expect. I wish I could say he scratched his ass and belched, but he didn’t. By the same token, he wasn’t surprised when I did.
“Mister President,” I started.
“Barack’s fine.”
“You’re the leader of our country,” I began to ask. “Members of three separate generations have claimed you are the leader of their generation…” I slowly lose the words.
“Do you know what you want to ask?”
“I do, but I don’t know how.”
“Is this about your reGeneration?”
“Yes. I don’t remember having an idol growing up. I didn't look up to anybody I didn't know personally. Sometimes I want to blame my journalistic predecessors. Every famous person of the last century has been dug up, analyzed and tossed aside. Every idol, role model and ideal has been deconstructed to their cynical roots. It seems that anyone with any social respectability, admiralty or power can be dragged through the mud; yet I feel like there’s pressure to find a role model. Someone somewhere must be the worth the status.”
Obama formed an L with his hand and rested his head so that his index finger paralleled the side of his face. He thought for a moment, sacrificing a quick response for a deliberate one.
“You can’t ask people to be perfect--”he began.
“Even if they are trying to be?”
“Is that a shot at me?”
“'Afraid not, Daniel Webster. But I am curious: Are you afraid of being an elitist?”
“That’s a good trick question.”
“Have you ever read the Trial of Socrates?”
“Yes.”
“According to Plato, Socrates was executed because he tried to teach reason over mysticism,” I paused, letting Obama start to put together the rest of the linguistic and historic puzzle, before continuing, “More importantly though, Socrates had a chance to escape his execution but refused. He died willingly so that he could be vindicated by history.”
“Was he?.”
“Not completely.”
“It’s dangerous, if not inaccurate, to call people’s religion mysticism.” I knew what Obama met. Always the politician. But that doesn’t mean he was wrong. Socrates wasn’t vindicated in the last 2300 years, so it didn’t seem likely to happen in the next five minutes.
“I heard at one point that your favorite show was ‘Entourage’,” I asked without asking.
“Yeah. Are you fan?”
“Yeah but I haven’t watched much of season sixth; stuff just keeps coming up.”
He smiled. “I know exactly how you feel. I think there’s more to the show than a lot of people give it credit for.”
“I’d agree, sir.”
“The show is a dichotomy of an aimlessly ambitious group of multi-talented best friends. Their Hollywood ambitions aren’t exactly noble in nature, but it’s fun to watch. They all have such strong and different personalities that they can cover all spectrums of a situation.”
“That’s good writing” I quipped.
“That’s a good group of friends” he quipped back. “You think my political advisors don’t have different personalities?”
“I suppose so, sir. But now I can’t help but picture you and Joe Biden trying to sneak into the Playboy Mansion.”
“Okay, so the comparison wasn’t perfect.”
I smiled, but it faded as I realized I forgot what else I needed to ask the President.
“Nick,” Obama said, instantly getting my attention, “I’m curious what it is you’re doing. Not many people ever talk to me without ever talking to me. Or at least they don’t get a response.”
“Is it too weird?”
“No, not at all. You learn through experimentation, right? Take your time, keep an open mind. When you have the opportunity: take it, because you don’t always have it.”
“You can’t get real experimental with the Afghanistan War, huh?”
“That’s right. But you, and your generation does have the opportunity.”
“School kind of takes up a lot of time.”
“I know,” he said smiling, revealing that he had a had a flip remark up his sleeve, “Too often schools get in the way of a proper education.”
“So we need a better education?”
“You and your friends will be plenty educated before long. Just like your parents. But what I want to see is the younger generations, your reGeneration, not only find the faults in society others can’t see, but to fix them. Or at least put the even younger generations in a better position."
I considered this. "I think that's your job, too, sir."
"It is. But we're not talking about me. We're talking about you. Maybe I’m asking too much, but that's the way it should be. Don't get discouraged. If you hit specific goals and always see the bigger picture for society, we might just have a generation full of the role models you said you were looking for.”
Game on.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
The Vitruvian Man
Leonardo da Vinci was everything anyone could ever hope to be. Among his modest amount of paintings and sculptures, were the Mona Lisa and The Last Supper. He developed early forms of solar power through various experiments but “focused” more on astronomy, anatomy, hydrodynamics and mathematics. Among other research, he would hypothesize the existence of Earth’s plate tectonics nearly 400 years before proven correct. And in his spare time he made revolutionary conceptual designs for tanks, helicopters, calculators, double-hulled ships and hang-guilders.
On his deathbed, Leonardo da Vinci’s last immortal words were, “I have offended God and mankind because my work did not reach the quality it should have.”
I’ve been thinking about Leo da Vinci a lot lately. Colin never liked it when I called the man Leo—which actually reminds me about a story about Colin. I don’t think Leo da Vinci is related but I’m sure someone somewhere could make a connection.
It’s was about a year ago, no wait--it was more like six months ago. So anyway, about three months ago, Colin calls me up. He hadn’t called me for some time so I made sure to answer. Not that I was doing anything terribly important. I would have answered the phone for anybody I suppose. He said the flame of his life had run away--or burned out or something like that; it was actually rather poetic whatever it was. Apparently he was walking a dog down the street when Colin’s boss drove around a corner too sharp. Colin’s boss swerved Colin, ramped up the curb and crashed into an butternut tree. Maybe it was an elm tree. Anyway Colin’s boss broke his hand and the front axle suspension. Also he ran over and killed the dog. Colin was pretty broken up about it, but Colin’s girlfriend was more devastated since it was her dog. Think the dog’s name was Atticus. Don’t remember the girlfriend’s name. Actually now she's the ex-girlfriend.
Anyhow Colin was fired for off-duty negligence and decided to call me up because he was feeling kind of blue. I asked if he wanted to go get a drink but he said liver disease was too slow. The week prior he had bought himself two handguns on account of the Democrats getting back into the White House. Actually he got a free gun, too, because of a buy two, get one free deal. Personally I don’t know how a fellow could properly use three handguns at one time, but I guess it was a pretty good deal. Regardless of how many guns Colin bought, he only needed one and intended on using it right quick.
I hung up the phone and drove over to Colin’s house as fast as I could. About half way there I realized I probably shouldn’t have hung up on a man with suicidal intentions, but that would just have to be a lesson learned for next time.
I went to Colin’s house and got inside. I noted that I should tell Colin to lock his door so those punk kids don’t come robbing the place. But then I found Colin sitting, and breathing, in his favorite chair. He had a gun in one hand and a piece of people in the other. He handed me the piece of paper. At first I wanted the gun but I took the paper anyway. Go figure it was a suicide note not yet put to use. And what I read was simply incredible.
The words flowed like mountain water. Colin had written in brisk imagery, joyous alliterations and heart-crushing metaphors. The words created a rhythmic pattern Buddy Rich would envy. Colin had created silk with his vocabulary alone. The sheer linguistic beauty of what Colin wrote rendered me to tears. In short, it was a bit more fluent than this here story.
And my reading experience wasn’t alone. Colin told me that after he read what he wrote, it was too wonderful to kill himself. If he died, he could never read it again. If he died, he could never write like it again--and that wasn't fair to the world. It was on that day there that Colin decided he would forever be cheerful, energized and inspired. From that day on, Colin would be a writer.
On his deathbed, Leonardo da Vinci’s last immortal words were, “I have offended God and mankind because my work did not reach the quality it should have.”
I’ve been thinking about Leo da Vinci a lot lately. Colin never liked it when I called the man Leo—which actually reminds me about a story about Colin. I don’t think Leo da Vinci is related but I’m sure someone somewhere could make a connection.
It’s was about a year ago, no wait--it was more like six months ago. So anyway, about three months ago, Colin calls me up. He hadn’t called me for some time so I made sure to answer. Not that I was doing anything terribly important. I would have answered the phone for anybody I suppose. He said the flame of his life had run away--or burned out or something like that; it was actually rather poetic whatever it was. Apparently he was walking a dog down the street when Colin’s boss drove around a corner too sharp. Colin’s boss swerved Colin, ramped up the curb and crashed into an butternut tree. Maybe it was an elm tree. Anyway Colin’s boss broke his hand and the front axle suspension. Also he ran over and killed the dog. Colin was pretty broken up about it, but Colin’s girlfriend was more devastated since it was her dog. Think the dog’s name was Atticus. Don’t remember the girlfriend’s name. Actually now she's the ex-girlfriend.
Anyhow Colin was fired for off-duty negligence and decided to call me up because he was feeling kind of blue. I asked if he wanted to go get a drink but he said liver disease was too slow. The week prior he had bought himself two handguns on account of the Democrats getting back into the White House. Actually he got a free gun, too, because of a buy two, get one free deal. Personally I don’t know how a fellow could properly use three handguns at one time, but I guess it was a pretty good deal. Regardless of how many guns Colin bought, he only needed one and intended on using it right quick.
I hung up the phone and drove over to Colin’s house as fast as I could. About half way there I realized I probably shouldn’t have hung up on a man with suicidal intentions, but that would just have to be a lesson learned for next time.
I went to Colin’s house and got inside. I noted that I should tell Colin to lock his door so those punk kids don’t come robbing the place. But then I found Colin sitting, and breathing, in his favorite chair. He had a gun in one hand and a piece of people in the other. He handed me the piece of paper. At first I wanted the gun but I took the paper anyway. Go figure it was a suicide note not yet put to use. And what I read was simply incredible.
The words flowed like mountain water. Colin had written in brisk imagery, joyous alliterations and heart-crushing metaphors. The words created a rhythmic pattern Buddy Rich would envy. Colin had created silk with his vocabulary alone. The sheer linguistic beauty of what Colin wrote rendered me to tears. In short, it was a bit more fluent than this here story.
And my reading experience wasn’t alone. Colin told me that after he read what he wrote, it was too wonderful to kill himself. If he died, he could never read it again. If he died, he could never write like it again--and that wasn't fair to the world. It was on that day there that Colin decided he would forever be cheerful, energized and inspired. From that day on, Colin would be a writer.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
NFL Predictions: Week Seven
Minnesota at Pittsburgh (-5)
The Vikings nearly blew a three-possession lead last week to the crest-fallen Ravens. My guess is that the Vikings started watching Steelers footage during the game; which ironically would only teach them how to blow a huge fourth quarter lead. Both teams should just agree to skip the first three quarters because that’s only going to keep them as equals. Vikings (nearly) made one fourth quarter fuck up, but the Steelers (nearly) do it every week. This is a case of learning from a mistake vs. correcting a habit. Will the Viking’s kicker Longwell hit the game winning field goal? Doesn’t matter. Viking’s cover.
San Diego at Kansas City (+4.5)
The Chiefs are better this year than last year, albeit only a touchdown or two better. They played the Chargers twice last year and lost by a COMBINED two points. Last week the Charges just lost a rough game against a very good Broncos team and the Chiefs squeaked past a pretty awful Redskins team, which would give San Diego a clear edge in most situations. However, that Chargers’ loss hurt them bad in their playoff hopes and the Chiefs escaped Detroit-esque notoriety with their win. Chief fans need a win at home. Small time upset in the works. Chiefs more than cover, they win.
New England at Tampa Bay (+15) at London
I hate the NFL sending games overseas. I always feel like some idiot showing off a stupid pet trick to a friend but the pet won’t do the trick this one damn time just because someone else is watching. American football is the stupid pet and no single game--whether the trick is pulled off or not--is going to convince those cross-pond soccer fanatics to pick up a football team, much less start a league of their own. (Note: the European football league is a joke funded by NFL owners who want to keep young talent rust-free.) Also, if the Patriots can’t beat the winless Buccaneers by at least twenty points they should all have to swim back to Boston.
Atlanta at Dallas (-3.5)
If a legacy could be redeemed for points Dallas would be undefeated, but it can’t and they’re a hiccup away from a frustratingly expected .500 season. The Cowboys are fresh from a bye-week, meaning Jerry Jones had plenty of time to shove wads of money down Tony Romo’s throat in a vain effort to make him a better quarterback, but the Falcons are rolling from respectable wins against the 49ers and Bears. Dallas gets a three-point bump for being at home and another point because people want to go back to “the good old days.” On a neutral field, Atlanta scores when they feel like it—at Dallas, they just make sure to win. Atlanta.
The Vikings nearly blew a three-possession lead last week to the crest-fallen Ravens. My guess is that the Vikings started watching Steelers footage during the game; which ironically would only teach them how to blow a huge fourth quarter lead. Both teams should just agree to skip the first three quarters because that’s only going to keep them as equals. Vikings (nearly) made one fourth quarter fuck up, but the Steelers (nearly) do it every week. This is a case of learning from a mistake vs. correcting a habit. Will the Viking’s kicker Longwell hit the game winning field goal? Doesn’t matter. Viking’s cover.
San Diego at Kansas City (+4.5)
The Chiefs are better this year than last year, albeit only a touchdown or two better. They played the Chargers twice last year and lost by a COMBINED two points. Last week the Charges just lost a rough game against a very good Broncos team and the Chiefs squeaked past a pretty awful Redskins team, which would give San Diego a clear edge in most situations. However, that Chargers’ loss hurt them bad in their playoff hopes and the Chiefs escaped Detroit-esque notoriety with their win. Chief fans need a win at home. Small time upset in the works. Chiefs more than cover, they win.
New England at Tampa Bay (+15) at London
I hate the NFL sending games overseas. I always feel like some idiot showing off a stupid pet trick to a friend but the pet won’t do the trick this one damn time just because someone else is watching. American football is the stupid pet and no single game--whether the trick is pulled off or not--is going to convince those cross-pond soccer fanatics to pick up a football team, much less start a league of their own. (Note: the European football league is a joke funded by NFL owners who want to keep young talent rust-free.) Also, if the Patriots can’t beat the winless Buccaneers by at least twenty points they should all have to swim back to Boston.
Atlanta at Dallas (-3.5)
If a legacy could be redeemed for points Dallas would be undefeated, but it can’t and they’re a hiccup away from a frustratingly expected .500 season. The Cowboys are fresh from a bye-week, meaning Jerry Jones had plenty of time to shove wads of money down Tony Romo’s throat in a vain effort to make him a better quarterback, but the Falcons are rolling from respectable wins against the 49ers and Bears. Dallas gets a three-point bump for being at home and another point because people want to go back to “the good old days.” On a neutral field, Atlanta scores when they feel like it—at Dallas, they just make sure to win. Atlanta.
Friday, October 23, 2009
An Open Resume
Dear Charley Cooper,
I’m responding to the employment opportunity you placed on the Georgetown University website—that you are looking for a personal assistant. As a 21-year-old college student with an irrelevant major and no dress shoes to speak of, I feel I am more than qualified to meet your needs; after all, I’ve got two more years of life experience than you.
The job duties required of your personal assistant are specific and include: organizing your closet, driving you to/from work, putting gas in your car, managing your electronic accounts, doing your laundry (mostly polo shirts) and scheduling in your haircuts--though admittedly it’s been a while since I’ve personally done that. But I have a few questions and suggestions.
Firstly, you estimate that it’ll take about 7 hours a week. I find that amount of time outrageously low. There are 168 hours in the week. If I sleep away 50 of them and have class another 15, that’s only 103 hours left! That might seem like a lot, but remember, I fill that time every week with stuff like: organizing my shit, driving to/from places, putting gas in my car, managing various accounts, doing laundry (mostly bandanas) and scheduling haircuts--which again, doesn’t take up as much time as it used to. There’s no way I could live my life twice in one week, but if you just need to trim 7 hours of yours I think I could help; what’s one night of sleep?
Secondly, is this your way of trying to meet girls? Seriously. If it is, that’s cool. I don’t mean to intrude on your game. I know how it goes. You watch one too many episodes of “Mad Men” and you get to thinking, “Hey, I could be like those guys. All I need it a pretty, young, female assistant who will take misogynistic abuse and eventually fall in love with my cunning wit and professional success.” After all, you are majoring in finance and management.
Thirdly, and I’m not trying to be lazy here, but, could the assistant just follow you around all day whipping you in the back when you start wasting time? Personally, I would find that much more rewarding--for the future assistant and yourself. Though the first work week or two might last longer than 7 hours, I bet things speed up pretty fast before long. I guess that’s just something to think about.
In all honesty, I am sorry if your family is going through some tough medical times, but no more sorry than I am for any family going through medical problems—and by the way, there are quite a few of those. If your life is truly that exceptional, so unique, overwhelming and important to warrant a personal assistant, then congratulations Mr. Cooper, you are truly remarkable at a private university of over 15,000 students.
Wait, I just read you are willing to pay up to $12 an hour. Are you joking? Seriously...are you joking? Do you want a cover sheet for my resume?
Sincerely,
Nick
I’m responding to the employment opportunity you placed on the Georgetown University website—that you are looking for a personal assistant. As a 21-year-old college student with an irrelevant major and no dress shoes to speak of, I feel I am more than qualified to meet your needs; after all, I’ve got two more years of life experience than you.
The job duties required of your personal assistant are specific and include: organizing your closet, driving you to/from work, putting gas in your car, managing your electronic accounts, doing your laundry (mostly polo shirts) and scheduling in your haircuts--though admittedly it’s been a while since I’ve personally done that. But I have a few questions and suggestions.
Firstly, you estimate that it’ll take about 7 hours a week. I find that amount of time outrageously low. There are 168 hours in the week. If I sleep away 50 of them and have class another 15, that’s only 103 hours left! That might seem like a lot, but remember, I fill that time every week with stuff like: organizing my shit, driving to/from places, putting gas in my car, managing various accounts, doing laundry (mostly bandanas) and scheduling haircuts--which again, doesn’t take up as much time as it used to. There’s no way I could live my life twice in one week, but if you just need to trim 7 hours of yours I think I could help; what’s one night of sleep?
Secondly, is this your way of trying to meet girls? Seriously. If it is, that’s cool. I don’t mean to intrude on your game. I know how it goes. You watch one too many episodes of “Mad Men” and you get to thinking, “Hey, I could be like those guys. All I need it a pretty, young, female assistant who will take misogynistic abuse and eventually fall in love with my cunning wit and professional success.” After all, you are majoring in finance and management.
Thirdly, and I’m not trying to be lazy here, but, could the assistant just follow you around all day whipping you in the back when you start wasting time? Personally, I would find that much more rewarding--for the future assistant and yourself. Though the first work week or two might last longer than 7 hours, I bet things speed up pretty fast before long. I guess that’s just something to think about.
In all honesty, I am sorry if your family is going through some tough medical times, but no more sorry than I am for any family going through medical problems—and by the way, there are quite a few of those. If your life is truly that exceptional, so unique, overwhelming and important to warrant a personal assistant, then congratulations Mr. Cooper, you are truly remarkable at a private university of over 15,000 students.
Wait, I just read you are willing to pay up to $12 an hour. Are you joking? Seriously...are you joking? Do you want a cover sheet for my resume?
Sincerely,
Nick
Thursday, October 22, 2009
The Saints Came Marching Back
Despite all self-created obstacles, gung-ho filmmaker Troy Duffy will finally release the much anticipated, and questionably necessary, sequel to his cult-classic: THE BOONDOCK SAINTS. The platform-released sequel—meaning no one really knows how many theaters could eventually show it—opens later this month and is being met with fanboy fervor equal to…actually, given its limited budget and even more limited advertising campaign, there may be no equal. And here is the unequal problem: THE BOONDOCK SAINTS and it’s sequel, ALL SAINTS DAY, may just be the most religiously arrogant, if not racist, film(s) to receive this level of non-controversy.
The first film is easy to overlook as it was smothered by a thin story, mediocre acting, distracting casting and vigilante pretensions. Of course some, including a 9th grade version of myself, thought the Boston-Irish brothers’ badass tendencies (including interrupting church services, punching butch women, killing Russians, kitchen table surgery, giving Latin pre-mortem eulogies, etc) and an equally badass Irish/opera score easily won out during the entertaining buck fifty running time. The infamously-alienating writer/director, Troy Duffy, though would blame the Columbine shootings and other acts of gun-used madness of giving the film an initially cold reception. What Duffy and others should note though, is the influence another American tragedy (should have) had on the pair of “Saint” films.
Let’s for a moment take the terrorist group Al-Quaeda at their word and assume they were wholly responsible for the attacks on 9/11/01. Let’s also take their word that they did it for the reasons they say they did; that American infidels trespassed on sacred land in the 1990s and continue an immoral occupation of various holy lands. Whether it is to Americans or not, the resulting conflict all over the world is at least one-half a “holy war”. As immoral, hateful and reprehensible as the Muslim terrorists are, they are killing for what they believe is Allah’s word. Unfortunately for everyone, this belief is a call to action to kill evil-doers (i.e. Americans--and some of the more aggressive British).
Jump to Duffy’s gun-totting, foul-mouthed “Saint Universe” where two sons, their father and some Carnival worker in a wife-beater go around making every mob-employed Russian and Italian a bit more hole-y. Justification for this murderous crime spree? They are doing the work of God. This is not a case of them wanting personal revenge--as seen in KILL BILL, THE PUNISHER, GLADITOR, ONCE UPON A TIME IN THE WEST, THE GODFATHER, etc. The iconic brothers had lost no one prior to their numerous, premeditated murders. In fact, they hear the voice of God (through a preacher) echoing in their dreams early in the first film. And just because they say their prayers at night and live in an equally Christian-devoted city they can fill the air with lead to the delight of every American in the film and audience? If these boys had been darker and heard the word of Allah, they would be called religious fanatics and terrorists…because that’s exactly what they are. They are publicly killing people to scare the survivors. Textbook terrorism…if there was a textbook on terrorism.
So please, if not with this specific case, take to heart the idea of reversing cultural standpoints. When movie elitists (such as myself) complain about certain movies damning American movie-going audiences with rampant, uninhibited, violent or flatulent ignorance--just listen. It's the little things in movies--the little racism, sexism, phobias and cultural double standards--that affect audiences on various levels, only to be imitated in their real lives. Movies should inspire and continually raise the bar of entertainment, not pander to unchecked cultural arrogance.
The first film is easy to overlook as it was smothered by a thin story, mediocre acting, distracting casting and vigilante pretensions. Of course some, including a 9th grade version of myself, thought the Boston-Irish brothers’ badass tendencies (including interrupting church services, punching butch women, killing Russians, kitchen table surgery, giving Latin pre-mortem eulogies, etc) and an equally badass Irish/opera score easily won out during the entertaining buck fifty running time. The infamously-alienating writer/director, Troy Duffy, though would blame the Columbine shootings and other acts of gun-used madness of giving the film an initially cold reception. What Duffy and others should note though, is the influence another American tragedy (should have) had on the pair of “Saint” films.
Let’s for a moment take the terrorist group Al-Quaeda at their word and assume they were wholly responsible for the attacks on 9/11/01. Let’s also take their word that they did it for the reasons they say they did; that American infidels trespassed on sacred land in the 1990s and continue an immoral occupation of various holy lands. Whether it is to Americans or not, the resulting conflict all over the world is at least one-half a “holy war”. As immoral, hateful and reprehensible as the Muslim terrorists are, they are killing for what they believe is Allah’s word. Unfortunately for everyone, this belief is a call to action to kill evil-doers (i.e. Americans--and some of the more aggressive British).
Jump to Duffy’s gun-totting, foul-mouthed “Saint Universe” where two sons, their father and some Carnival worker in a wife-beater go around making every mob-employed Russian and Italian a bit more hole-y. Justification for this murderous crime spree? They are doing the work of God. This is not a case of them wanting personal revenge--as seen in KILL BILL, THE PUNISHER, GLADITOR, ONCE UPON A TIME IN THE WEST, THE GODFATHER, etc. The iconic brothers had lost no one prior to their numerous, premeditated murders. In fact, they hear the voice of God (through a preacher) echoing in their dreams early in the first film. And just because they say their prayers at night and live in an equally Christian-devoted city they can fill the air with lead to the delight of every American in the film and audience? If these boys had been darker and heard the word of Allah, they would be called religious fanatics and terrorists…because that’s exactly what they are. They are publicly killing people to scare the survivors. Textbook terrorism…if there was a textbook on terrorism.
So please, if not with this specific case, take to heart the idea of reversing cultural standpoints. When movie elitists (such as myself) complain about certain movies damning American movie-going audiences with rampant, uninhibited, violent or flatulent ignorance--just listen. It's the little things in movies--the little racism, sexism, phobias and cultural double standards--that affect audiences on various levels, only to be imitated in their real lives. Movies should inspire and continually raise the bar of entertainment, not pander to unchecked cultural arrogance.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
An Anecdote That Will Leave You Roland
"I hate being credited with shitty quotes that I never actually said." - Winston Churchill.
She pointed out that Roland had several colorful bracelets. It was the first time since Roland sat down that she attempted to engage him in conversation. Roland considered pointing this out but then thoughts that'd be rude; he was trying to fight the rude habit of challenging people with sharp, specific and blunt observations. While he was successfully fending off the habit, he was not making any new friends.
Roland liked doing things, but he like doing things better with people he liked. For reasons Roland could never figure out though, the fun things he liked did not help him meet people.
Last week Roland went bowling. He didn't go with anybody because he didn't have anybody to go with. Roland was convinced that he could make a friend there though because they would have at least one interest in common. And while no one will admit they don't want to make friends, no one wanted to make friends with Roland at the bowling alley. It was weird.
Roland wasn't funny to anybody but Roland. His jokes were dry, quietly delivered and mildly obscure.
Did Roland want a best friend? A drinking buddy? A partner-in-crime? A girlfriend? Some casual sex? Roland wanted everything and more. He wanted any kind of human connection in his cosmically ambivalent life. Also, he wanted a drink. They don't have drinks at the bowling alley so Roland went to a coffee shop to get an ice-blend-moca-latte-capa-hazel-whatever.
Twenty minutes later he couldn't remember her name. Maybe it was Maddy. Or Tonya. Jesse? Either way, Roland snapped out of his internal monologue and realized this here girl had vocalized an observation herself.
And it was true. Months ago, Roland discovered a start-up company that sold colorful bracelets. Each color represented a different intention, but unlike the LiveStrong bracelets, these did little to cure cancer. Red meant the wearer was looking for love. Blue was friendship. Green was excitement. Purple was...well...Roland couldn't remember what purple stood for, but he was looking for it.
Problem was that everyone, save Roland, would be more willing to wear a Brett Favre jersey in Green Bay than make their social ambitions so transparent. Bigger problem was that Susie Q. was heading to the door because she had more important nonsense to tend to than to act like Roland was worth a second glance. Biggest problem: Susie Q. wasn't even her real name.
Two minutes later Roland threw his cheap $6 drink into the trash.
"Fuck you." - President Calvin Coolidge responding to a bet that he couldn't say more than two words.
She pointed out that Roland had several colorful bracelets. It was the first time since Roland sat down that she attempted to engage him in conversation. Roland considered pointing this out but then thoughts that'd be rude; he was trying to fight the rude habit of challenging people with sharp, specific and blunt observations. While he was successfully fending off the habit, he was not making any new friends.
Roland liked doing things, but he like doing things better with people he liked. For reasons Roland could never figure out though, the fun things he liked did not help him meet people.
Last week Roland went bowling. He didn't go with anybody because he didn't have anybody to go with. Roland was convinced that he could make a friend there though because they would have at least one interest in common. And while no one will admit they don't want to make friends, no one wanted to make friends with Roland at the bowling alley. It was weird.
Roland wasn't funny to anybody but Roland. His jokes were dry, quietly delivered and mildly obscure.
Did Roland want a best friend? A drinking buddy? A partner-in-crime? A girlfriend? Some casual sex? Roland wanted everything and more. He wanted any kind of human connection in his cosmically ambivalent life. Also, he wanted a drink. They don't have drinks at the bowling alley so Roland went to a coffee shop to get an ice-blend-moca-latte-capa-hazel-whatever.
Twenty minutes later he couldn't remember her name. Maybe it was Maddy. Or Tonya. Jesse? Either way, Roland snapped out of his internal monologue and realized this here girl had vocalized an observation herself.
And it was true. Months ago, Roland discovered a start-up company that sold colorful bracelets. Each color represented a different intention, but unlike the LiveStrong bracelets, these did little to cure cancer. Red meant the wearer was looking for love. Blue was friendship. Green was excitement. Purple was...well...Roland couldn't remember what purple stood for, but he was looking for it.
Problem was that everyone, save Roland, would be more willing to wear a Brett Favre jersey in Green Bay than make their social ambitions so transparent. Bigger problem was that Susie Q. was heading to the door because she had more important nonsense to tend to than to act like Roland was worth a second glance. Biggest problem: Susie Q. wasn't even her real name.
Two minutes later Roland threw his cheap $6 drink into the trash.
"Fuck you." - President Calvin Coolidge responding to a bet that he couldn't say more than two words.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Is Fox News in the Right?
Obama's administration, through several avenues, has recently criticized Fox News for being ideologically driven and not a reputable news source. Truly shocking. Truly shocking that it took this long. I don't care what political orientation you have, this is a great opportunity for Americans (inside and outside of the press) to have a serious discussion on the information we use to stabilize society.
Sidney Lumet hit the intrinsic flaws of television news in his film NETWORK--and that was in 1976! Television, more so than print media, is commercial. Networks (NBC, ABC, CBS, etc) are not owned by the government so they are victims and conquers of a capitalist system that thrives on people's inadvertent inattention to detail. Even simpler: quicker news=more viewers; more viewers=more money.
You get more viewers by being entertaining, by creating a hook. In the news, this is done with colorful personalities making any news of any day relevant--this how some missing children become near-celebrities, as the news can't have reruns. The colorful personalities make editorials to appeal to a fanbase that will then always come back to said color personality. Did it start with Walter Cronkite? Maybe. But his editorializing of the Vietnam War was just that: of the Vietnam War. He didn't say, "Prez Johnson is a trigger-happy, close-talking imperialist."
And if Cronkite had said that, that's okay, too. It's called editorials. Or op-eds. The problem that the Obama administration has with Fox News is that their news division, the anchors, the producers, reporters all have an ideology that, while legal, should not influence the natural news cycle. Time and time again, Fox News has given "fair and balanced" air-time to clearly unequal factoids, experts or events. In fact, this very controversy is a great example. As of 4:13 PM, 10.19.09, the ABC News, CNN, MSNBC, and even WikiNews main web pages have no mention of the White House's "war on Fox News". Conversely, Fox News has dedicated no less than 1/3 of it's entire main page to the ideological battle. Does this mean everybody except Fox News is in Obama's pocket? No. It's means that nobody else cares. The White House doesn't have that kind of power. No White House ever will. Nobody else gave nearly as much coverage/praise/publicity to the Tea Party protests, a clearly radical and aimless political sit-in. Seriously, once the Hitler-mustache is drawn it's a radical opinion, regardless of the person sporting the crumb brush.
It's also vital to remember that Obama isn't boycotting Fox News. His advisers will still make their rounds in a vain effort to reach out to "real" Americans. Hell, Obama has already subjected himself to Fox News interviews since the polarizing election season (which was actually all of 2008). Where was this discussion 2, 4, or 6 years ago? President Bush had an unbelievable disrespect for "liberal" journalism, in any form. Aside from giving reporters unwarranted and unwanted nicknames like "Stretch" and "Stretch Junior"...you know, never mind, this isn't about Bush, this is about covering the news.
Maybe I don't know where the line is between reporting and editorializing, as reporting straight facts is inevitably going to carry its own bias. (Ex. Did the Bush administration push the Dow to unprecedented levels or cause a 6,000 point drop in one year? Answer: both.) But when I see a news producer chanting rally cries for a radical political group, I know the line has been long passed.
24-hour news has a lot of problems. They are all susceptible to varying degrees of broad casted ideology, they all have fact-checking problems and annoyingly irrelevant news stories (if I see one more newly-popular YouTube video...I can't be held responsible for my actions). And again, nothing is wrong with opinions, analyzing, round-table discussions, interviews and other programming decisions. But there should be a clear indicator of when the news turns from reporting to personalizing and politicizing (which is apparently more entertaining to viewers).
Perhaps this is a little late but I'll just make clear that this entire piece is an editorial, and while it may inform readers using the best information at my (immediate) disposal, it is littered with long-winded grammatical and literary flare for fun and persuasive reading. Also there are a few, now intentional, misspellings.
On yet another side note, an easy way to cut down on the colorful personality "problem" is to have a randomized anchor system within the structure show programing. This would mean that viewers could not tune in to see what anchor Chip L. Stonewood has to say, but rather tune it to hear the news of the day. From there, the anchors/reports/pundits could no longer create financially profitable fanbases. Of course an idea this genius has to have considerable flaws, but it's viable example of problem solving.
So yeah, I applaud the Obama administration for accusing Fox News of being an unreliable and politically-driven news source. It raises the level of discussion in America above what celebrity failed to pay income taxes. I also understand that television will play to whatever audiences will watch. There's a market for it. There's also a market for rocket launchers and cocaine--but the federal government restricts that arm of capitalism. The difference with certain news-related programing though is that The Daily Show and like-minded, arguably liberal-leaning, comedy shows boast their intentions for comedy. The same clarity should be done for news outlets. Enough of this "voice of the people" shit, just say what you are. Say what you want to say and move on. Educate through entertainment if you must, but don't replace education with controversy-baiting, fear-mongering ideologues.
That's the bigger point and, today, that's my point.
Sidney Lumet hit the intrinsic flaws of television news in his film NETWORK--and that was in 1976! Television, more so than print media, is commercial. Networks (NBC, ABC, CBS, etc) are not owned by the government so they are victims and conquers of a capitalist system that thrives on people's inadvertent inattention to detail. Even simpler: quicker news=more viewers; more viewers=more money.
You get more viewers by being entertaining, by creating a hook. In the news, this is done with colorful personalities making any news of any day relevant--this how some missing children become near-celebrities, as the news can't have reruns. The colorful personalities make editorials to appeal to a fanbase that will then always come back to said color personality. Did it start with Walter Cronkite? Maybe. But his editorializing of the Vietnam War was just that: of the Vietnam War. He didn't say, "Prez Johnson is a trigger-happy, close-talking imperialist."
And if Cronkite had said that, that's okay, too. It's called editorials. Or op-eds. The problem that the Obama administration has with Fox News is that their news division, the anchors, the producers, reporters all have an ideology that, while legal, should not influence the natural news cycle. Time and time again, Fox News has given "fair and balanced" air-time to clearly unequal factoids, experts or events. In fact, this very controversy is a great example. As of 4:13 PM, 10.19.09, the ABC News, CNN, MSNBC, and even WikiNews main web pages have no mention of the White House's "war on Fox News". Conversely, Fox News has dedicated no less than 1/3 of it's entire main page to the ideological battle. Does this mean everybody except Fox News is in Obama's pocket? No. It's means that nobody else cares. The White House doesn't have that kind of power. No White House ever will. Nobody else gave nearly as much coverage/praise/publicity to the Tea Party protests, a clearly radical and aimless political sit-in. Seriously, once the Hitler-mustache is drawn it's a radical opinion, regardless of the person sporting the crumb brush.
It's also vital to remember that Obama isn't boycotting Fox News. His advisers will still make their rounds in a vain effort to reach out to "real" Americans. Hell, Obama has already subjected himself to Fox News interviews since the polarizing election season (which was actually all of 2008). Where was this discussion 2, 4, or 6 years ago? President Bush had an unbelievable disrespect for "liberal" journalism, in any form. Aside from giving reporters unwarranted and unwanted nicknames like "Stretch" and "Stretch Junior"...you know, never mind, this isn't about Bush, this is about covering the news.
Maybe I don't know where the line is between reporting and editorializing, as reporting straight facts is inevitably going to carry its own bias. (Ex. Did the Bush administration push the Dow to unprecedented levels or cause a 6,000 point drop in one year? Answer: both.) But when I see a news producer chanting rally cries for a radical political group, I know the line has been long passed.
24-hour news has a lot of problems. They are all susceptible to varying degrees of broad casted ideology, they all have fact-checking problems and annoyingly irrelevant news stories (if I see one more newly-popular YouTube video...I can't be held responsible for my actions). And again, nothing is wrong with opinions, analyzing, round-table discussions, interviews and other programming decisions. But there should be a clear indicator of when the news turns from reporting to personalizing and politicizing (which is apparently more entertaining to viewers).
Perhaps this is a little late but I'll just make clear that this entire piece is an editorial, and while it may inform readers using the best information at my (immediate) disposal, it is littered with long-winded grammatical and literary flare for fun and persuasive reading. Also there are a few, now intentional, misspellings.
On yet another side note, an easy way to cut down on the colorful personality "problem" is to have a randomized anchor system within the structure show programing. This would mean that viewers could not tune in to see what anchor Chip L. Stonewood has to say, but rather tune it to hear the news of the day. From there, the anchors/reports/pundits could no longer create financially profitable fanbases. Of course an idea this genius has to have considerable flaws, but it's viable example of problem solving.
So yeah, I applaud the Obama administration for accusing Fox News of being an unreliable and politically-driven news source. It raises the level of discussion in America above what celebrity failed to pay income taxes. I also understand that television will play to whatever audiences will watch. There's a market for it. There's also a market for rocket launchers and cocaine--but the federal government restricts that arm of capitalism. The difference with certain news-related programing though is that The Daily Show and like-minded, arguably liberal-leaning, comedy shows boast their intentions for comedy. The same clarity should be done for news outlets. Enough of this "voice of the people" shit, just say what you are. Say what you want to say and move on. Educate through entertainment if you must, but don't replace education with controversy-baiting, fear-mongering ideologues.
That's the bigger point and, today, that's my point.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Coens' Misstep
The Coen Brothers may be the strongest writing/directing team of the last twenty years, but even Michael Jordan missed 26 potential game winning shots (p.s. fact). Though I suppose the comparisons don't have to stop there as Jordan saw fit to punish humanity with his own dabbling in Hollywood. And while the worst of the Coen Brothers isn't as damning as SPACE JAM, its always frustrating when cultural icons prove themselves mortal. In an absurd attempt to give THE HUDSUCKER PROXY competition for loudest sigh response, the Coen Brothers flung a movie at audiences in 2001 called THE MAN WHO WASN'T THERE.
Ed, a quietly disgruntled and emotionally isolated barber played by Billy Bob Thorton, hatches a scheme to secretly blackmail his best friend and invest the money in a dry-cleaning start up company. For whatever reason people start dying an unusually heavy-handed, emotionally blunted and dull witted zaniness ensues. First off, it's always bothered me that Billy Bob Thorton's name is Billy Bob--which I connotate to being the first, (not) funny, phony name mouth-breathers articulate. But Billy Bob isn't even given the chance to passively stumble through any typically Katana-sharp Coen quips, idioms or tangents. The story, acting and writing are slowed to a unsympathetic trudge.
Set in 1940s California, the characters (led by Ed) collectively sigh for two hours about their dreary suburban lives and the paper-thin similarities to federal prison. The setting and writing ring false at best and mundane at worst. Protagonists being bored by their safe, well-to-do surroundings is nothing new in the world of cinema, but setting this tone in that brief period between WWII and the suburban housing boom is new. And it's new because it's more than a stretch to believe people are bored by their lives less than two years after America opened up a can of Harry S. Truman on the world. But the larger problem isn't historical accuracy, but rather why set the movie in 1940s California. The story certainly isn't setting sensitive. The Coen Brothers' knack for spatial and temporal dialects is unrivaled so it's justified to be thrown by this movie's lack of verbal style. At no point does the dialogue hit a nerve of understated irony or all-too familiar, yet undocumented, nuances that made the best Coen movies so damned enjoyable.
For the first 3/4 of the film, Joel and Ethan Coen spin a basic cause-and-effect narrative more than competently. Then they seem to get bored themselves jarringly jump to flashbacks, then the future and then to a five minute scene from months before the first scene then back to what I have to assume is the present and then more years into the future and then back to present. Eventually the movie ends, but not before Ed makes a voiced-over, mono-toned admission that he (and through him, the Coens) padded the length of this here story for a couple extra bucks. While frustrated by the slow-winded "joke," I almost felt better than when I thought I had sat on the remote control and pressed the "slow" button at some point because a 116 minute movie should not kill my entire afternoon.
And while I'm sure someone somewhere could dig up an example BB Thorton being saved by a more talented supporting cast, this movie won't be it. James Gandolfini is type-casted into a adversary reminiscent of the Tony Soprano role he was practically poured into. Perhaps his large frame and high pitched voice is the cause, but the man can not shake away from being a powerful man-child. He's big but he's got the emotional maturity of a neglected 10-year old (hell, he just did it again in WHERE THE WILD THINGS ARE). Falling in line, Scarlet Johansson plays an airy, underage idol to a time that's long since passed Thorton. Aside from not moving the film's plot one inch, her character reinforces the fear that men can fall in love with silk-skinned robots--which isn't actually bending that much subtext (at one point, a piano instructor accuses her of not having a heart).
However other elements of the movie are more black and white. In fact, the movie, itself has less photo color than SCHINDLER'S LIST--and less racial color than LORD OF THE RINGS, for that matter. The film noir style, galvanizing any film nerd, jumps back and forth between inconsistent and inaccurate (what noir film has a family reunion?). I never pinned down if the film was meant as a throw-back to the 1940s, send-up of a genre dead since 1959 or a short-lived, half-assed attempt to further a neo-noir style.
I'm a fan of the Coen Brothers; just see: FARGO, NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN, MILLER'S CROSSING, THE BIG LEBOWSKI, etc. But when I see such a emotional and thematic slip as seen in THE MAN WHO WASN'T THERE, it dampens my enthusiasm to see what appears to be a similar movie (A SERIOUS MAN) by the brothers set 20 years later and a frontier away. Any more, movies cost $8 to see. Though I found $4 in my pocket earlier today. So maybe I should see it. I don't know, fuck it; I'll just watch SPACE JAM because I hate myself.
Ed, a quietly disgruntled and emotionally isolated barber played by Billy Bob Thorton, hatches a scheme to secretly blackmail his best friend and invest the money in a dry-cleaning start up company. For whatever reason people start dying an unusually heavy-handed, emotionally blunted and dull witted zaniness ensues. First off, it's always bothered me that Billy Bob Thorton's name is Billy Bob--which I connotate to being the first, (not) funny, phony name mouth-breathers articulate. But Billy Bob isn't even given the chance to passively stumble through any typically Katana-sharp Coen quips, idioms or tangents. The story, acting and writing are slowed to a unsympathetic trudge.
Set in 1940s California, the characters (led by Ed) collectively sigh for two hours about their dreary suburban lives and the paper-thin similarities to federal prison. The setting and writing ring false at best and mundane at worst. Protagonists being bored by their safe, well-to-do surroundings is nothing new in the world of cinema, but setting this tone in that brief period between WWII and the suburban housing boom is new. And it's new because it's more than a stretch to believe people are bored by their lives less than two years after America opened up a can of Harry S. Truman on the world. But the larger problem isn't historical accuracy, but rather why set the movie in 1940s California. The story certainly isn't setting sensitive. The Coen Brothers' knack for spatial and temporal dialects is unrivaled so it's justified to be thrown by this movie's lack of verbal style. At no point does the dialogue hit a nerve of understated irony or all-too familiar, yet undocumented, nuances that made the best Coen movies so damned enjoyable.
For the first 3/4 of the film, Joel and Ethan Coen spin a basic cause-and-effect narrative more than competently. Then they seem to get bored themselves jarringly jump to flashbacks, then the future and then to a five minute scene from months before the first scene then back to what I have to assume is the present and then more years into the future and then back to present. Eventually the movie ends, but not before Ed makes a voiced-over, mono-toned admission that he (and through him, the Coens) padded the length of this here story for a couple extra bucks. While frustrated by the slow-winded "joke," I almost felt better than when I thought I had sat on the remote control and pressed the "slow" button at some point because a 116 minute movie should not kill my entire afternoon.
And while I'm sure someone somewhere could dig up an example BB Thorton being saved by a more talented supporting cast, this movie won't be it. James Gandolfini is type-casted into a adversary reminiscent of the Tony Soprano role he was practically poured into. Perhaps his large frame and high pitched voice is the cause, but the man can not shake away from being a powerful man-child. He's big but he's got the emotional maturity of a neglected 10-year old (hell, he just did it again in WHERE THE WILD THINGS ARE). Falling in line, Scarlet Johansson plays an airy, underage idol to a time that's long since passed Thorton. Aside from not moving the film's plot one inch, her character reinforces the fear that men can fall in love with silk-skinned robots--which isn't actually bending that much subtext (at one point, a piano instructor accuses her of not having a heart).
However other elements of the movie are more black and white. In fact, the movie, itself has less photo color than SCHINDLER'S LIST--and less racial color than LORD OF THE RINGS, for that matter. The film noir style, galvanizing any film nerd, jumps back and forth between inconsistent and inaccurate (what noir film has a family reunion?). I never pinned down if the film was meant as a throw-back to the 1940s, send-up of a genre dead since 1959 or a short-lived, half-assed attempt to further a neo-noir style.
I'm a fan of the Coen Brothers; just see: FARGO, NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN, MILLER'S CROSSING, THE BIG LEBOWSKI, etc. But when I see such a emotional and thematic slip as seen in THE MAN WHO WASN'T THERE, it dampens my enthusiasm to see what appears to be a similar movie (A SERIOUS MAN) by the brothers set 20 years later and a frontier away. Any more, movies cost $8 to see. Though I found $4 in my pocket earlier today. So maybe I should see it. I don't know, fuck it; I'll just watch SPACE JAM because I hate myself.
Earliest Thoughts on ReGeneration
If one accepts remodernism as a new form of art expression, then it should be applied to the larger society. Let me start with a simple example. My generation--usually associated with people born between the years 1982 to 1999--has been difficult to name. This is because the greater whole of society has not advanced past post-modernism in the sense that every work is a direct reflection of a previous work. So generational titles such as "Generation Y", "Generation Echo Boomers", "Generation Next" won't fit us, as those titles are reflections of Generation X and the Baby Boomers.
Now, if the remodernism trend is largely about building new constructs, meanings and genres, then my generation should have similar ideals in life. Like the remodernist tenets, these include, but are far from limited to:
New found optimism--idealism without ideology
Rejection of extremes and apathy
Irrelevancy of traditions, experience and precedent
Societal fear and chaos come in some small packages
Conformity is a weakness
Backlash to the 9-11 Decade marked by fear, derision and conspiracy
With these generational tenets in mind, I want to emphasize the rejection post-modern deconstruction, cynicism and meaninglessness. History is a continual reaction to what happened previously and so the most obvious direction for my generation is to rebuild, recreate and reorganize. Sensing the literary pattern here, I am proud to finally give us what I find to be the most relevant, reverent and revolutionary generational name: the ReGeneration.
P.S., I will elaborate on the aforementioned generational tenets and remember to include a good dose of humor--which has been severely lacking of late. Also, I'm under the impression that jokes are easier to remember than facts; and if you don't remember what you read did you really ever read it at all?
Now, if the remodernism trend is largely about building new constructs, meanings and genres, then my generation should have similar ideals in life. Like the remodernist tenets, these include, but are far from limited to:
New found optimism--idealism without ideology
Rejection of extremes and apathy
Irrelevancy of traditions, experience and precedent
Societal fear and chaos come in some small packages
Conformity is a weakness
Backlash to the 9-11 Decade marked by fear, derision and conspiracy
With these generational tenets in mind, I want to emphasize the rejection post-modern deconstruction, cynicism and meaninglessness. History is a continual reaction to what happened previously and so the most obvious direction for my generation is to rebuild, recreate and reorganize. Sensing the literary pattern here, I am proud to finally give us what I find to be the most relevant, reverent and revolutionary generational name: the ReGeneration.
P.S., I will elaborate on the aforementioned generational tenets and remember to include a good dose of humor--which has been severely lacking of late. Also, I'm under the impression that jokes are easier to remember than facts; and if you don't remember what you read did you really ever read it at all?
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Earliest Thoughts on Remodernism
I'm playing with the idea of writing a manifesto, half dedicated to the emergence of what I will call "remodernism." The principle idea being: post-modernism is old and artisans are naturally going in a new direction. This new direction is a variation/continuation/rejection of modernism and post-modernism. This principles, or tenets, are created from an artistic mindset but are meant to translate to other branches of society--like all art. Again, these are the earliest thoughts I have on the subject and will condense, reworked, drop and develop the tenets over the next few hours/weeks/years. When considering remodernism, consider:
Optimism about the continued variability of art
The foundation of greater things, things we can’t imagine—but know will exist one day
A divine being, Prime Mover or God can co-exist with reason and science
Religious faith is not a substitute for knowledge, morality or curiosity
Adaptable ideology is key; dogmatic ideology is a negative
Experimentation is authentic
Never stop experimenting. Never stop challenging.
Reconstruct new genres; don’t deconstruct old ones
Some genres don’t exist yet; some don’t have names yet
Intellectual constructions can be real, specific and practical
Consciously eliciting any emotion is a success
Consciously inspiring any thought is a success
Formal techniques employed should never warrant existence of a piece
Art can be made for art’s sake
Confusion doesn’t make one stupid; rejecting the confusion does
Art and life have meaning—the artists and audience should seek it in both
Art does not need an explanation
Cynicism is tiring, old and unproductive
Conservative values are not inherently righteous
Diversity is a physical representation of knowledge, not danger
Societal ills should be, and can be, corrected
Artists should be connected to the future more than the past
Everyone is real people and art exists in the real world
Reason leads to truth; the truth improves mankind
Traditional art theories and history isn’t destroyed but needs new words
Human intellect has not reached a limit and may never
Deconstruction does not inherently bring about equality
Optimism about the continued variability of art
The foundation of greater things, things we can’t imagine—but know will exist one day
A divine being, Prime Mover or God can co-exist with reason and science
Religious faith is not a substitute for knowledge, morality or curiosity
Adaptable ideology is key; dogmatic ideology is a negative
Experimentation is authentic
Never stop experimenting. Never stop challenging.
Reconstruct new genres; don’t deconstruct old ones
Some genres don’t exist yet; some don’t have names yet
Intellectual constructions can be real, specific and practical
Consciously eliciting any emotion is a success
Consciously inspiring any thought is a success
Formal techniques employed should never warrant existence of a piece
Art can be made for art’s sake
Confusion doesn’t make one stupid; rejecting the confusion does
Art and life have meaning—the artists and audience should seek it in both
Art does not need an explanation
Cynicism is tiring, old and unproductive
Conservative values are not inherently righteous
Diversity is a physical representation of knowledge, not danger
Societal ills should be, and can be, corrected
Artists should be connected to the future more than the past
Everyone is real people and art exists in the real world
Reason leads to truth; the truth improves mankind
Traditional art theories and history isn’t destroyed but needs new words
Human intellect has not reached a limit and may never
Deconstruction does not inherently bring about equality
Trial Run
Okay, first thing to do is upload a test blog without my computer catching on fire. After that, I'll start writing reviews, previews, rants and short stories that will momentarily lure people away from websites dedicated to online poker, Federal Reserve conspiracies and porn.
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